Wild Roses

by Hannah Howell

  “And that is when you steal all that is important to him, isn’t it, Eleanor,” Ella said, forcing herself to concentrate on Eleanor’s crimes and to try to forget the woman’s love affairs.

  “If the man does not have the strength or the wit to cling tightly to what is his, he deserves to lose it.”

  “No man deserves the treachery you visited upon those poor fools you wooed, won, and discarded.”

  “How high-minded you are. If all you mean to do is preach to us, I believe we will leave you alone.”

  “I am prostrate with grief.”

  “You have more than earned your fate,” snapped Margaret. “If you had tried harder to be more amiable, more pleasant of nature, you would not have stirred Papa’s anger.”

  “I have not stirred his anger, Margaret, only his greed.”

  “Curse you and the fates that made you stay behind the day the rest of your family went boating. You ruined many a good plan.”

  Ella stared at the door as she listened to the two women walk away. A coldness gripped her, sweeping through her body until she shivered. She told herself that Margaret’s parting words were simply meant to be hurtful, no more than a spiteful child’s wish that she had died years ago so that she could not plague the woman now. It was not an assertion she could make herself believe, no matter how often she repeated the words. The words Margaret had spat out were little more than a curse; it was the cold, hard way Margaret had spoken them that troubled Ella so.

  She gritted her teeth, forced herself to walk to the bed, and sat down. Her hand shaking slightly, she clutched at her locket, running her thumb back and forth over the embossed rose on the front. There had been knowledge weighting Margaret’s words, the strong insinuation that she knew something about the boating accident that had stolen away Ella’s family that warm summer day seven years ago. Ella was certain that Margaret knew it had been no accident.

  “How could I have been so blind, so utterly stupid?” she whispered, fighting back a grief she had thought she’d conquered years ago.

  There was no doubt in her mind now that her family had been murdered. She was also certain that no one would believe her if she made the accusation. She had no proof, and, if she repeated what Margaret had said, she would be thought foolish or mad to have read so much into one angry statement. There was no clear admission in those harsh words, but Ella knew that was exactly what it was.

  Fear became a hard knot in her stomach. She had known for a long time that Harold wanted her dead. Knowing that he had already committed murder, however, made it all the more starkly certain, and much more terrifying. Anyone who could kill three people, including a babe in arms, would not blink an eye at killing her. A small part of her had always hoped that she could change Harold’s mind or continue to elude him. Now she knew she had never had a chance.

  The sound of the door being unlocked yanked her from her dark thoughts. She struggled to push aside her fear, to adopt an expression of anger and derision, as her uncle by marriage and two of his hulking men entered the room. As she held Harold’s cold stare one of his men set a tray of food and drink on the small writing desk in the corner of the room.

  “Food for the prisoner? How kind,” she drawled.

  “You brought this trouble upon your own head, m’dear,” Harold said in a soft, cold voice.

  “Odd, I do not recall requesting that I be dragged back here and locked in this room.” Ella could see that she was angering Harold and knew that was dangerous, but a cold, cynical voice in her head said that it did not really matter. The man intended to kill her, and being sweet and obedient would only make it easier for him.

  “This treatment is necessary because of your constant attempts to run away.”

  “Not attempts—successes. You would never have pulled me back here without help.”

  “Which cost me dearly,” he said, his voice slightly rougher as his anger grew stronger.

  “Good.” She resisted the urge to lean back when he took a step closer to her. “I should hate to think that my life was bought cheaply. I just hope you used your own money and not what you anticipate gaining from my death.”

  “Child, I am your guardian—”

  “Only because you killed my parents before they could alter their will.”

  It was hard not to stare at him in surprise when he visibly reacted to her accusation. His too-narrow face hardened, the bones standing out with an ugly clarity. His cold eyes narrowed and he clenched his hands so tightly that his thick knuckles turned white. Obviously there was proof of his crime somewhere, or he thought there was, and he now believed that she had found it. Ella knew she had just given him another reason to kill her.

  “You clearly need more time alone to reflect upon your errant and foolhardy ways.” He signaled the two men with him to go out the door even as he backed toward it. “You have not yet recognized your own faults and weaknesses in character.”

  “My only fault was in trusting you, and my only weakness was in allowing you to keep breathing,” she snapped, racing toward the door even as he shut it behind him and locked it.

  Ella fruitlessly yanked on the door latch, then kicked the door, cursing when she hurt her foot again. Part of her fury was bred of fear, but a greater part was born of the injustice of it all. Even if she escaped, or her Aunt Louise made the man pay for whatever he did to her there would never be any retribution for the death of her family. Even if Harold feared there was proof, Ella doubted there was any, not after seven long years.

  She limped over to her desk and sat down, staring morosely at the meal in front of her. Although she was not hungry, she knew it would be foolish to weaken herself through hunger. There was always the slim chance that she could escape or be rescued and she needed her strength so that she could grasp whatever small opportunity might come her way.

  The food was tasteless to her, her mind too clogged with thought for her to appreciate the cook’s efforts. She had let her anger take control again and it had cost her. Not only had she made Harold even more determined to kill her, but she had neglected to find out what had happened to her aunt and the others. Ella was not sure how much trouble Harold could make for them, and she needed to know if they were free.

  She stared out of the barred window as she drank the tart lemonade, thinking morosely that Harold had planned well for her return. So well that she might not be able to escape even if Louise and the others were free to help her. It took more effort than she thought it ought to to push away the sudden sense of defeat that swept over her. She would not let it take root, however. It just did not seem right that a man like Harold could continue to commit such crimes and never have to answer for them. It certainly did not seem right that she should have to die simply because she had money.

  As she set the glass back on the desk, she frowned, wondering why that simple act had suddenly seemed so difficult. Ella shook her head. There were still a lot of thoughts swirling about in her head, but they were no longer clear. It was hard to center her mind on any one of them. She fiercely blinked her eyes as the objects on the desk became less distinct, but that only made her dizzy. Suddenly, in one brief flash of clarity, she stared at the now empty glass. The lemonade had held a lot more than a refreshing tartness. Ella struggled to stand up, then cursed Harold as blackness flooded through her mind and she slid to the floor.

  “I wasn’t really sure that would work,” Harold said as he tossed Ella’s limp body onto the bed.

  Margaret stared down at her unconscious cousin. “I think my slip of the tongue might not have been as ill-advised as we thought. I suspect it made her a little less sharp and cautious than she usually is. It was probably completely occupying her mind.”

  “True. It has, however, made killing her far more necessary. She is clever. I don’t think she can find any proof that I murdered her family, but if there is some out there, she is one who could find it.”

  “And she is stubborn enough to never stop looking for it.” Margaret grima
ced. “Sorry, Father.”

  “No real harm done, dear. I understand how furious the bitch can make a person. We will just have to move a little faster than we planned. It’s probably wise, anyway. Mahoney is still poking around in our business, and Thompson is getting nervous about keeping Louise and her mongrels in jail when he has nothing substantial to charge them with.”

  “Louise could be charged with Robin Abernathy’s death.”

  “Not any more. Not only has it been eight years, but not many people still believe the tale we so assiduously put about back then. It did what it was intended to—got rid of Louise before she could get her brother to change his will. I remained the heir.”

  Margaret lightly chewed on her bottom lip. “Louise could be trouble.”

  “Not if we’re careful. Everyone thinks the woman is mad, an embarrassment. And now that they have seen the sort of people she travels with, many think she is little better than a whore.” Harold put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and led her toward the door. “I am a little more concerned about Mahoney. It’s time to come up with a way to completely destroy his credibility.” Harold paused outside the door to speak to the muscular, bearded man standing just outside. “The minute she shows signs of growing clearheaded, make her drink some more of the lemonade.”

  “What if she won’t drink it?” the man asked.

  “Then pour it down her damn throat.” He shook his head as the man shuffled into the room and shut the door behind him. “Once I have Ella’s money, I think I’d better loosen my purse strings enough to hire a few men with some brains.”

  “Brawn is also important, Papa,” Margaret said as they headed down the stairs.

  “True, but just once it’d be nice to give an order without having to explain it or repeat it.”

  “How long are you going to hold Ella in that room and pour opium down her throat?”

  “A few days, just until she is so filled with it that it’ll take a long time for her mind to clear, and long enough for a few select people to notice her problem before we take her to the river.” He smiled. “People will shake their heads and murmur poor girl. They’ll recall what an emotional little thing she was and the ones we allow to see her will speak of the opium, the glazed eyes, and the incoherence of the girl in her last days. They will all think it a tragic suicide.”

  “Ah, yes, the poor thing never really did recover from the death of her family, did she?” Margaret laughed along with her father.

  A voice in Ella’s head warned her not to swallow, but she had already done so. She looked up at the bearded, homely man who had poured the drugged lemonade down her throat and wished she could think of some curse to spit at him. Tiny flashes of memory poked through the haze enveloping her mind. There had been people in her room, tsking, and shaking their heads as they had looked down at her. That should worry her, but she was not sure why.

  Her uncle’s face came into her view and she felt a sudden strong wave of hatred and fury, but it faded as fast as all other feeling and thought. “How long have I been like this?” she asked, fighting to cling to the tiny scrap of rationality she had grasped, before it was swept away by the new dose of opium forced upon her.

  “Only three days, Ella.” He sighed and shook his head, looking at someone behind him. “I do not understand such mental disorders, Mr. Stanton. I just do what I can. She is either like this, or raging and thus a danger to us as well as to herself.”

  Ella looked at the man who moved to stand next to Harold, and heard herself laugh, a strange giggle that alarmed even her. Harold was lining up his witnesses. Who would question the minister of their church when he said that poor Ella Carson had lost her mind? Ella wished she could think straight so that she could figure out how spreading the tale that she had lost her mind would help her uncle.

  “It’s the lemonade,” she said, and could tell by the way Mr. Stanton shook his head that her words made no sense to the man, simply worked to confirm Harold’s claim of madness.

  “Has there ever been insanity in the family?” asked Mr. Stanton.

  “Well, we have often wondered about poor Louise,” Harold replied. “We always tried to explain away her wild actions by saying she had too much spirit, or that her upbringing was unusual, but now, I confess, I begin to wonder. Right now Louise is in jail, alongside the four half-breeds with whom she’s been galloping over the countryside,” he added, as if revealing some confidential family shame.

  “Only two are half-breeds,” Ella said, but no one paid her any heed.

  When the two men moved away from the side of the bed, Ella struggled to lift herself up enough to watch them. Neither man paid any attention to her, talking as if she was not even in the room. It was clear that Harold’s tale of madness had its believers already. When the men walked out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind them, she flopped back down onto the bed.

  There was a faint hint of clarity in her mind and she fought to hold onto it. Lethargy held her body in a tight grip. She knew she was in danger, but each time her mind tried to tell her to save herself, she either did not heed it or she forgot the warning the minute it had sped through her mind. Her strength and will were still there but it was as if they were held captive in hundreds of layers of heavy batting. The opium was making her more of a prisoner than the locked doors and the bars on the window.

  All the doses forced upon her after the first one had been weaker, she realized. Harold did not want her unconscious. He wanted her to be awake enough to confirm his tale of insanity with the strange way she acted and the odd, disjointed things she said. This was the clearest of mind she had been in a long while, although it was still not enough for her to plan an escape and enact it. She could feel the newest dose of the drug intruding upon her mind and trying to steal away her thoughts.

  There was no way to fight it, she thought with a flash of alarm that was immediately soothed by the drug. That inability to be afraid, that sweet blind compliance now infecting her, was the worst, she thought as she slowly closed her eyes. She was going to walk to her death with a smile on her face and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Harrigan scowled at the papers spread on his desk. They blended with all the testimony he had gathered to paint a very grim picture. His blood ran cold as he finally conceded that everything Ella had told him was the truth. In fact, he suspected Harold was even worse than she had ever imagined. He had given Ella over to her executioner just as she had tried to tell him so many times.

  There was no doubt in his mind that he had let fear overcome his true instincts. The closer they had gotten to Philadelphia, the harder his common sense had tried to tell him to listen to Ella, to at least hesitate before handing her over to Harold. He had refused to listen to those instincts, too alarmed by the strength of his feelings for Ella to be impartial or analytical. All he had been able to think of was putting some distance between them before he was unable to, before he gave himself over to her, heart and soul. Now he was not sure he had even accomplished that goal.

  He cursed and swept everything from his desk, then reached for the crystal decanter that held his dwindling supply of strong whiskey. The question he had to answer now was what he should do with all he had discovered. Harrigan cursed again and took a long drink of whiskey as he realized there was not much he could do. It raised a hundred and one questions, but answered very few. It roused a lot of strong suspicions but held no real proof of a crime. Even if, by some miracle, his information proved to be enough to get Harold before a judge, the man needed only a mediocre lawyer to get it all laughed right out of court. About all he could do was spread a lot of nasty rumors around and maybe hurt Harold Carter’s business. If he was going to help Ella, he needed a great deal more than that.

  Louise and her friends were in jail, so they could not help him unless he could come up with some way to set them free legally. Thompson really had no crime to charge them with, but Harrigan did not thi
nk he had the power to make the man go against Harold’s orders. That was just another problem he had to solve.

  There was always the option of just taking Ella away from Harold, he mused, then shook his head. That would only help Ella for a little while. Harold would simply hire men to come after them and they would all be on the run again. Harrigan knew it would be impossible to find proof of Harold’s crimes if he was in hiding, constantly watching his back. And if Harold caught them, this time he would be the one in jail, charged with kidnapping and anything else Harold could think of. Ella would then be completely alone.

  The only thing he was sure of was that George would readily help him if he could come up with a plan that would remove Ella from her guardian’s deadly grip, yet not set the law on their trail. That, he decided as he sipped at his drink, would not be easy. He was not sure how much time he had to come up with something, either.

  “You look very dark spirited,” came George’s voice next to his ear.

  Harrigan started and nearly spilled the last of his whiskey, then slouched in his chair and watched George pour himself a drink. “Just trying to think of a way to clear up some of the mess I’ve made.” He was glad when George did not press him to be more specific. “I have all the information I need to call Harold a snake, but not one thing I could take before a judge.”

  “Harold is a smart thief.”

  “He’s worse than that, my friend. He’s also a clever killer.”

  “Who has he killed? Not Ella? I’ve been watching and I haven’t seen anything yet.” George helped Harrigan pick the papers up off the floor and restack them on his desk.