by Jillian Kent
“You stay here, Donavan. I’ll explore.”
Donavan shook his head. “No. If anyone goes, I will. ’Tis too dangerous.”
“You worry like an old woman, Donavan,” Madeline said, keeping her voice low. “I must find my mother!”
“You won’t be able to help your mother if ye get caught, now, will ye?”
“Agreed. I will wait here, but come right back. Don’t go far, and tell me what you find,” she insisted.
“I will.” Donavan disappeared into the hallway.
The moment Donavan left, she became frightened for him. What if he becomes lost or captured? she thought. Tentatively she moved down the hallway.
A black-gloved hand appeared in front of her face. A handkerchief smothered her nose and mouth. She stumbled backward and fear gripped her heart.
“Blast it!” From a nearby hillside Devlin watched two shapes run from the stable toward the house. The rain nearly obscured his view, but he was close enough to know it was Madeline and Donavan.
The fools! What do they think they’re doing? I told Donavan to protect her, and he’s leading her into the lion’s den.
Dressed in black from head to toe, Devlin blended in well with the storm. He had been circling around the estate for over an hour, watching for movement within and trying to make a plan of attack. Now Madeline had forced him into action.
He led his horse into an old shed, not wanting to get too close to the house. He studied the surrounding area to be certain he was alone. The fierceness of the storm covered normal sound, and it would be unwise to consider himself safe. Vale could be anywhere.
A tree limb broke behind him. He turned and came face-to-face with Amos Sullivan… and a loaded pistol. Wrapped in a black cloak, his hat streaming rain, the man presented a formidable figure.
“So you’re still alive,” Sullivan said. “More’s the pity. Now toss me your gun, and carefully,” he ordered. “I don’t trust desperate men.”
Devlin raised his hands. “I’m hardly desperate, Sullivan. Seems to me that you’re the one that’s been running scared. Where are you going to hide?”
“None of your business. Now lay down your gun. You’ve wasted enough of my time.”
Devlin removed his gun from his coat and laid it on the ground. “And why did you enter the asylum to stab me? Why take that risk? I thought you were afraid of smallpox.”
“I had the vaccine,” Sullivan said, scooping up the gun. “’Twas a convenient excuse to stay as far away from the lunatics as possible during the epidemic.” He waved his pistol. “Start walking. I’ve had enough of this rain, and as I said, I don’t trust desperate men.”
“And I told you, Sullivan,” Devlin growled. “I’m not the one who’s desperate.”
“You will be.”
A clap of thunder echoed through the black sky in ominous warning. Devlin prayed for wisdom. The real storm was about to break loose.
Madeline’s head ached as though someone had taken a mallet to it. Her eyelids—so heavy. Suddenly she remembered the black glove, the acrid smell, the difficulty breathing. She felt her confinement. He’s tied me to a chair. Well, I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. He must be close. Think, girl, think. God, what should I do?
“I know you’re awake. You can’t fool me, sweet Madeline.”
Vale’s voice forced her heart into her throat. She steeled herself for the battle to come and prayed that God would give her courage. Raising her head, she slowly opened her eyes to meet her captor’s.
“Vale.” She tested her bonds. They held firmly. “You coward.” Her head ached. “How dare you take my mother!”
“She’s my wife. I can do as I please.”
“Where is she? I want to see her now!”
“What’s this? You remain a she-cat? How disappointing, my dear.” He walked toward her, his black boots quiet on the wooden planks. “I assume you are not happy to see me.” He moved behind her. “I, on the other hand, am very happy to see you.” He combed through her dark wet tresses with his long fingers.
Madeline shuddered at his touch. God, give me strength.
“What have you done with my mother and Agnes?” she demanded, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. “They’d better be unharmed, or you will pay dearly.”
“You are in no position to demand anything. Perhaps you should adjust your tone to something more respectful.” His fingers came around to cup her chin as he moved in front of her. He tilted her face up. “Mayhap I should have married you, instead.”
“You vulgar, good-for-nothing, evil, thieving—”
Vale stuffed a rag in her mouth, cutting off her torrent of venomous words. “You really must learn to use more appropriate language, my sweet.” He bent and whispered in her ear. “I must insist upon it.”
His foul breath wafted across her face, causing her to wrinkle her nose. He ran his finger down her cheek, a lingering, tormenting warning of what he was capable of doing.
Show no fear. The words echoed in her brain, a reminder of her intent. Again she tested her bonds, hoping to find them weakened. They held tight. Where had Donavan disappeared to?
“I must leave you for a while. I am expecting more company.” He patted her head as though she were a child of no significance and left her.
How could I have been so foolish? As he headed down the hillside toward the gloomy estate, head down against the driving rain, Devlin mentally ticked off his options, but none seemed feasible. He couldn’t turn on the man out here without being shot. His mind raced ahead. “Where are you taking me?”
“To Vale, of course. He will pay a pretty penny to watch you tortured and shot.” Sullivan pushed Devlin ahead of him toward the stable, a half mile away.
An agonizing ten minutes later they arrived at the stable doors. “Open them,” Sullivan commanded.
Devlin pulled open the heavy wooden doors. As they entered, a cat jumped off a ledge and darted in front of them.
Seizing the opportunity, Devlin turned and lunged at Sullivan. They wrestled to the ground fighting for the gun. It exploded, the bullet barely missing Devlin’s face. He scrambled for the weapon. Sullivan gained his footing and tried to kick the pistol away.
“No, you don’t,” Devlin roared. He grabbed Sullivan’s foot. The man went sprawling to the ground. Devlin leveled the gun at Sullivan. “Don’t move,” he warned from where he knelt on the floor. He felt a warm trickle of blood soak through his shirt where his stitches had ripped open.
“Where are they?”
Sullivan went pale. “I don’t know.”
“I will give you to the count of three, and then I will pull the trigger. One. Two.”
A gunshot blast thundered through the stable, competing with the storm outside. Sullivan looked past Devlin with dead eyes, a hole through his head. He slumped forward.
“Three.” Vale concluded. “I should have done that a long time ago. You may drop the gun, Ravensmoore, and say your prayers. I will not fail.”
“So you’re finally doing your own dirty work, Vale.” Devlin seethed with anger. “Where is Madeline?”
“If you wish to see your sweet Madeline again, Ravensmoore, throw down the gun.”
Devlin weighed his options.
“I said, throw it away.”
Devlin gritted his teeth and laid the gun on the floor.
Vale picked it up and stood over him, studying the red stain spreading across Devlin’s shirt. “So Sullivan shot you. That should make things easier. I’ll just let you bleed to death. Then I’ll set my next plan in motion. But first, I must take care of a few details.”
“You are insane.”
“I disagree with your diagnosis, Doctor. All will work to my advantage. It always does. Now get down on the floor.”
Vale brought his heel down on Devlin’s back. “Is it this side? No? Then it must be this side.”
Devlin groaned his agony when the remaining stitches gave way and blood coursed down his back, so
aking his shirt.
Vale sneered. “I win.”
Devlin blinked, trying to clear his vision. When he lifted his head, there seemed to be two of Vale. “You will not win. Never.”
“You’re dead already, Ravensmoore.” Vale stomped on his back again.
A jolt of excruciating pain burst through his skin. Devlin thought of Madeline at the mercy of this madman. And then all thought that loomed in his mind went black.
Madeline worked at the knots in the rope that tied her wrists. Sweat seeped through her clothes, and her fingers burned as she labored against the rope. A hand closed over hers.
“Shhh.” Donavan put a finger to his lips as if he didn’t see the gag in Madeline’s mouth.
Madeline couldn’t believe her eyes. Thank You, Lord! Then frustration simmered while Donavan worked on her bonds, failing to remove the gag. As soon as the ropes fell, Madeline yanked out the gag and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Donavan.” She breathed hard. “Did you find my mother?”
“Not yet. I’ve been keeping watch over you,” Donavan whispered. “Vale will come to the house soon. I must get you out of here.” He jerked her toward the door.
“Wait!” She looked out the window and froze. “God protect us. Vale is coming.”
She turned and nearly collided with Donavan. “Hurry. We must get out of here. He’s coming!”
She ran ahead, Donavan following, and they made it to the first floor and ran through drawing room where they had entered the house.
The front door slammed shut. “Vale,” she whispered. “He’ll find us.”
Donavan grabbed her hand. “This way.” They slipped through a window that led outside, and within moments they were running toward the stables. They reached the shelter of the barn, and Donavan pulled her inside. “I must return to the house. I’ll find your mother and Agnes. Make not a sound, and you’ll be safe here.” He turned and disappeared into the deepening gloom.
The storm raged fierce and strong, and the stable was so thick with darkness that Madeline could barely see. Her eyes now adjusted to the dark, she looked up and saw Sullivan’s body, slumped in the corner, a bullet hole in his head. Her blood ran cold.
Tentatively she stepped farther into the barn. Then she heard a sound. A groan. She followed the sound and spotted a dark form slumped at the base of a horse’s stall. She crept nearer. “Devlin!”
She ran to him, kneeling at his side. Her hands slipped under his coat and closed around his back. A sticky wetness covered her fingers. He shuddered and seemed to awake to her presence. “Madeline!” His eyes widened with alarm. She pulled back.
“Ravensmoore, you’re bleeding. Let me help you.”
“Madeline, you must leave. Now!”
Suddenly the stable door blew open, and Vale entered like a giant bird of prey, his cloak billowing around him, a lantern in his hand. He drew his pistol. “What a pretty little reunion,” he sneered. “Aren’t you dead yet, Ravensmoore?”
Ravensmoore struggled to sit up, pulling Madeline behind him. “You’ll never get away with killing us,” he said.
Vale laughed. “Oh, that will be easy enough. I’ll blame it all on Sullivan. You rescued Madeline from the asylum, discovered the fraudulent workings of Sullivan, and threatened to turn him in. He followed you here and killed Madeline before turning the gun on you. Unfortunately, he did not mortally wound you, so you were able to take the gun from him and kill him. But this is a deserted place, and you died of your gunshot wound before help could arrive. It’s a bit complicated, but I think I can lie well enough that the authorities will believe me.” He smiled and raised his gun.
Suddenly Donavan appeared from behind and tackled Vale. The gun went off, and for a few moments all Madeline could hear was the sickening sound of flesh against flesh as the large groom pummeled Vale into submission.
The pistol spun in their direction, and Ravensmoore reached to pick it up. “I’ve got the gun, Donavan.”
Donavan sent one more blow to Vale’s jaw for good measure before standing up and dusting himself off. Then he hauled Vale to his feet, where he stood glaring at them, blood dripping from his nose. Undaunted, he sneered, “Grace is still my wife. You cannot change that.”
Ravensmoore struggled to stand, and Madeline wound her arm around his waist to help. Lightning flashed, and they could see Vale’s exposed skin through a rip in his shirt. Madeline gasped. The markings on Vale’s chest and neck were unmistakable.
Ravensmoore pointed. “I don’t think you’ll be up to any husbandly duties for some time. You’ve got smallpox.”
“Liar!” Vale jerked back as though an invisible hand had reached out and slapped him. He pulled his shirt apart and stared at the pustules on his torso. “No! This isn’t possible!”
“You’re sick, Vale. You must return to the asylum and wait this out with the others. If you survive, you can go to the gallows.”
Vale fell to his knees. In a shocked whisper he said, “This cannot be.”
“Tie him up, Donavan.” He put an arm around Madeline. “Let’s go find your mother. And then let’s go home.”
“My home or yours?” Madeline asked.
He smiled wanly. “Whichever you choose.”
She pressed closer, fearful that he would fall without her support. “I choose Ravensmoore.”
CHAPTER 25
For by grace are ye saved through faith; and
that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.
—EPHESIANS 2:8
IN THE DAYS following, Devlin succeeded in persuading Madeline and her mother to stay with him at Ravensmoore until the situation with Vale could be fully resolved. He sent for his mother as well and carefully saw to the healing of both women, rejoicing as they slowly returned to full health. He too recovered from the ordeal—Langford’s expertise made certain of that, as well as days of rest and respite, where he was coddled by his sisters and comforted by the presence of Madeline and his mother.
Two weeks after the tumultuous events, word came of Vale’s death from smallpox, and just days later came a message from the constable in York. Alone in the library, Devlin scanned the letter quickly.
Dear Lord Ravensmoore,
The following information is most sensitive in nature. I thought it best that you should disclose this knowledge when and as you see fit. I hate to add to your burdens, as you have been through much of late, but I rest in the assurance that you will relay this troublesome bit of news to the countess at the appropriate time.
It appears that Vale was a very busy man. We have discovered that he was legally married to another woman, and that after staging her own “death,” she schemed with him to attain the countess’s fortune. Vale’s marriage to the countess is therefore null and void.
As you know, in addition to this abomination, Vale and Sullivan found another avenue for gaining riches through the unnecessary and undeserved incarceration of innocents to the madhouse at Ashcroft. This included the unfortunate imprisonment of your mother and many others. Typically, young girls and married women were victims of his schemes. We are currently engaged in investigating possible victims and securing their release. Simon Cox has agreed to help us in this investigation since he has firsthand knowledge of the schemes that Sullivan and Vale employed.
Sincerely,
Constable Barton
Devlin mulled over the letter, frowned, and asked Hummel to have Madeline brought to the library. Meanwhile he read another letter, smiling at the very different news he read there.
A moment later Madeline appeared, and he set that letter aside. His eyes roamed over her, and he marveled at the difference in her from the time he met her on the hunt field till now. Today she was dressed in a lilac silk gown that made her eyes sparkle. “You are beautiful, Lady Madeline.”
Madeline blushed. “Thank you, my lord.”
He led her to a chair. “It appears we must trouble your mother further. And though you intuited Vale’s character from the beginning, this will
be a shock.”
“What’s wrong?” Madeline furrowed her brow.
Devlin handed her the letter from Constable Barton. Watching the array of emotions that crossed Madeline’s face, he wished he could have spared her this latest insult. She had been through so much already, and he had held back these two weeks, watching her carefully to be sure she did not slip back into depression. Knowing that they all needed time to recover from the trauma of recent events, he had not yet declared his feelings but instead treated her with brotherly gentleness.
“The bigamous thief!” Madeline jumped up from the chair and paced the room with the letter in her hand. “How could he get away with such horrible crimes? To think how close my mother came to dying. And your mother. Look at all she’s lost. It is so very sad. Why does God allow these dreadful things to happen?”
Devlin shook his head. “There are many mysteries we will never be able to understand, yet God has a plan. All we can do is trust.”
“You’re right. I know you are, but still it is difficult.” She turned from him. “I must share this with my mother immediately.”
He followed as she led him down the hallway toward the drawing room.
“We have more news—about Vale, Mother,” Madeline said, as she and Devlin entered the room.
“What have you heard?” Grace rose from her place at the pianoforte.
“You both look so serious. Is something wrong?” Elethea asked from the sofa where she sat reading. She adjusted the veil that covered the smallpox scars upon her face. Miraculously, in spite of the years of suffering, her mind was less scarred than her face. Her stability of mind amazed them all and relieved Devlin of the fear he’d harbored of carrying the seed of madness.
Hally and Melton had joined them for the afternoon. Both brought joy and laughter into the house and were a comfort to them all. Hally caught Madeline’s hand, and Devlin heard her whisper, “Isn’t that the lilac silk gown your father bought for you? The one you promised to wear only for a special occasion?”