Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2)

by Pearl Darling

  The Killer Lord. James looked down at his feet. Was that why he and Edgar were so able to hurt and maim and feel little? Because it was all in the blood? He would never be able to escape from it.

  “I’m sorry you’ll never have the estate, Edgar,” James said, shaking his head. “You would have been welcome to it.”

  Harriet gasped. “James, but I thought that was all you wanted?”

  James looked directly into Harriet’s eyes. “It was, Harriet. But not anymore. I only wanted it in order to destroy the memory of my father. To take what was his and turn it into something else.” He could not hide the pain in his voice. “I was assuredly his son, and he accused me of murder.”

  “Why don’t you want it anymore?” Harriet said softly.

  “Because I need something else more. God, Harry, don’t you see? I love you. I don’t care about the estate anymore. The thought of it kept me going through two years of bloody war, but it won’t keep me going through another thirty years. You must believe.”

  “Yes, yes, very touching.” Edgar said sarcastically, laying his cane on James’ knee. “That’s enough. We don’t need to hear any more. After all, I’ll give you what you want, although your thirty years might have to be a little shortened.” He laughed. “Put the gag back on Eliza, my love. I’ll do James. I’ve had enough of their cooing voices. Any more and I think I would need to plant my cane in one of them.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Harriet jolted awake and blinked as the window of the carriage filled with the orange glow of the rising sun. The land sloped down from the high road to reveal rolling hills and glints of sea behind. She shivered; they were back in Devon already.

  Throughout the night she had tried not to fall asleep, pinching the backs of her wrists each time her eyelids drooped. Every time she had opened her eyes, James was looking at her, his head laid back against the padded walls of the carriage. The edge of his lips would quirk upwards, and she could close her eyes again.

  Was it that he had always rescued her before that gave her the feeling of security? Harriet blinked and looked into the shadows of the carriage. James was still awake. Kean had been right. Women were fools to fall for pretty words and dark looks. But it wasn’t Harriet that was the fool. It was Kean. For she had found a man whose actions had spoken louder than all of the words he had spoken.

  As soon as James had known that Harriet was Marie Mompesson he could have hounded her into marrying him, offered to split the estate in half, trapped her into marriage. He had done none of those. He had kept his distance, refused to see her.

  And of course she could understand his need to keep the estate. Hadn’t she after all obsessed on the thought of her romantic hero for two years—only to realize that in fact the reality was very much different to what she thought? That what she needed was more physical and real, than spiritual and romantic?

  Harriet shivered and shifted lightly in her seat. Edgar snored opposite her. Putting out her foot, she tried to tap James to get his attention. Edgar’s cane fell heavily with a crack on her knee. Flinging back her head in agony, Harriet screamed into her gag.

  “I thought you two might try something. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Making eyes at each other. Just give me an opportunity,” Edgar snarled, wide awake.

  “Don’t be too hasty, Edgar,” Mrs. Sumner said, reaching over to pat him on the knee. “Remember what we need to do first.”

  “That’s merely a formality.”

  “But necessary.”

  “After this I shall treat you to a warm holiday in Italy, darling Mrs. Standish.”

  “Mmmm Sssttanndnd?” Harriet shouted through her gag.

  James shook his head blearily. “O coursh,” he mumbled.

  Edgar sniggered. “Married her six months ago. She and I share an interest in gambling. She’s a fine player, the best I’ve ever seen. Why else do you think I’ve bled the estate dry?”

  “We’ve arrived,” Mrs. Sumner said in a subdued voice.

  Harriet looked out of the carriage window in shock. Whilst Edgar had been speaking, they had passed unnoticed through the outskirts of Brambridge, and pulled up at the door of the church itself.

  Edgar pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped the casement open. “Six thirty of the morning. Good timing for a wedding I would say.” Pushing out the carriage door, he motioned to Harriet to step out.

  Harriet jerked her head to look at him. Wedding? What wedding? She felt her heart slow. Edgar had told her at the house party. He had laid it out for her. James had to marry Marie Mompesson to get the estate. And then in the carriage… the estate was Edgar’s by right. That Harriet would get what she wanted but that it would be inevitably shortened.

  It was their wedding. James and Harriet’s. And after that, very probably their funeral.

  Harriet shook her head. She wasn’t going to get out of the carriage. Not if it sealed their death. Edgar narrowed his eyes and pulled his cane apart. The lethal looking dagger slid out of the frame.

  “You only have to be a little alive in order to marry. I can still make it hurt,” he said, polishing the blade on his leg. “I said that to the mining overseer when he refused to give me my money, but he didn’t take it like a man. I had to finish him off. He was making too much noise.”

  Harriet shivered. But Edgar wasn’t looking at her; he was watching James as he ran the shiny blade up and down his breeches.

  “You asked me why the mine was failing, James. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. I just supplied a few pieces of defective stone to Exeter cathedral and then offered to supply them with stone from another adjacent mine that didn’t exist.” Edgar paused in his honing of the sword stick. A sickly smile spread across his face. “And all those servants? How could the estate recover without them? I laid them off and pocketed the wages. All the money has gone into lining my pockets.”

  “And the gambling tables, my dear,” Mrs. Sumner said sweetly.

  “Be quiet, Eliza.”

  “Ain’t that why we’re doing this though, love? To get back the money we’ve lost? The share we would have received from the Friendly Society was too small…”

  Edgar sighed and stopped polishing the sword stick. He pointed the tip slowly at his new wife, who shrank back into the carriage. With deliberate movements, he swung the tip towards Harriet.

  Harriet swallowed and moved her tongue around in her mouth as the gag stuck to her lips. She glanced at James. He jerked his head at the door. With shaking legs, she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, and, bowing her head, carefully descended the steps.

  As soon as she reached the ground, Edgar took her elbow and pulled her towards the church door. Reluctantly she moved with her, her shoes dragging across the ground. She limped slightly where Edgar had hit her across the knee.

  She stopped just inside the old arched doorway of the church, blinking into the gloom. Mrs. Sumner had already overtaken them and stood at the front of the church with Mr. Madely and Mrs. Madely.

  Edgar whispered into her ear. “Mrs. Madely has been a very naughty lady. Wasn’t Mr. Madely surprised when he found that his wife had been buying expensive clothes from London on a credit line supplied by myself that recently became overdue? Poor Mr. Madely, the money that Mrs. Madely spent on clothes was more than twenty times the living that he has ever earned as the Brambridge vicar. Of course he was delighted when I said that I would close the account, provided of course he did me one small favor. After all. He does love his wife.”

  Harriet looked at the floor and slumped. She couldn’t look forward. Mr. Madely had been a kindly, quiet man, despite his wife’s harridan-like tendencies.

  “Ah, here comes the happy groom escorted by his two best men.” Edgar pulled Harriet upright. “Stand up straight, girl. I’ll take the place of your father.”

  Harriet glanced behind her. Samuel and his father were carrying James across the churchyard to the church. He had obviously not made it easy for them. Samuel sported an a
ngry bruise to one eye, whilst his father held a free arm to his stomach. Good. They deserved it.

  “And so it begins,” laughed Edgar.

  At the head of the aisle, Edgar and Harriet stopped. Pushing Harriet in front of the vicar, Edgar took a step back and folded his arms, tucking his cane under his coat. The Grangers deposited James in a heap on the floor by Harriet’s feet and stood quietly behind Edgar. Harriet looked down at James. She knew he would be in enormous pain, having dressed his shoulder only eight weeks before. And yet he didn’t show it. With a quirk of his lips, he smiled at Harriet through his gag and labored to a standing position. He turned to face the vicar, his elbow touching hers. Harriet took in a large breath and let it out again. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and let the words wash over her.

  “Dearly beloved…” Mr. Madely began. “We are gathered here…”

  It was strange; the wedding was almost as she had dreamed, to the man that she had always wanted, in the church where she had planned. As the vicar droned on, she could almost imagine the pews filled with her friends, Janey, Bill, Aunt Agatha, the flowers on the altar, her sparkling dress. Opening her eyes slowly, she looked downwards at the stained ball gown, crushed from the ride in the carriage, ripped by Samuel’s rough handling.

  “Do you Harriet Beauregard take Lord James Stanton to be your lawful wedded husband? To have and to…”

  Oh good grief. This was no dream.

  “Get on with it, vicar,” Edgar said, pulling his cane out from under his coat.

  Mr. Madely started and put a finger back into his psalm book. “I was giving you time to take their gags off so that they could answer,” he said plaintively.

  Edgar sighed and gestured to Samuel. “Go on then,” he said, shaking his cane.

  Samuel lumbered to Harriet and undid her gag first and then James’.

  James immediately turned to Harriet. “I don’t want the estate, Harriet,” he said quickly. “I just want you. We don’t need to get married. Please don’t say yes.” James gulped silently and fell to his knees.

  Edgar pulled his dagger out from James’ side and wiped it on his breeches. “There’s too much damn talking in this wedding,” he said, slipping the dagger back into his cane.

  Harriet stood frozen. How could James not have screamed? It didn’t really matter what either of them did or said. Harriet had already made up her mind what her answer would be.

  “I do,” she said through clenched teeth. Getting to her knees, she put her head close to where James had bowed his down to the carpet. “James, I was going to say yes anyway,” she whispered. “I know you don’t want me for the estate. I don’t want you for it, or your title either. But I do want you. And I want you to live.”

  James turned his face towards hers, closed his eyes and inhaled. “I love you, Harry. Always will,” he murmured. He rested his head against hers.

  Mr. Madely coughed. “Do you, Lord James Stanton…”

  “I do,” James said in a loud voice. It was as steady as Harriet had ever heard it.

  Mr. Madely closed his book with a snap. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  “Hooray,” Edgar said sarcastically. He stepped forward and put a piece of paper down in front of James. “Now sign this document.”

  James shook his head, his hair brushing against hers.

  “What is it, James?” she said.

  “It’s my last will and testament.” James said dully. “Leaving everything to Edgar Stanton, my closest relative should I die.”

  “This,” Edgar said, stabbing his finger at the paper, “you will sign. I couldn’t get bloody father to sign his new will before he went gaga and died so you will definitely do as I say. I knew I shouldn’t have given him so much cyanide in his laudanum. I learnt from that and reduced your dose accordingly.” He curled his hand into a fist. ”I should have made it stronger.”

  Harriet gasped. Edgar had already tried to kill James? She breathed out as James rocked back on his heels, a hand clenching at his side.

  “You killed… our father?” James took in a heavy breath. “You tried to kill me before?”

  “Of course I did. Who do you think forms a little part of the Friendly Society of Seaton? I thought you would never find Marie Mompesson until Granger suggested that we could have it all and cut out all those pesky doctors and dentists that would take their cut.” Edgar laughed. “I hadn’t realized that his grandfather helped dear old Grandpapa turf Viscount Summerbain out of the estate. I only found out once father started raving in his sleep.” Edgar stared at Granger. “I thought the apple might not fall far from the tree, and I was right.”

  “And you mean to kill us after I have signed the will,” James said flatly. Harriet clenched her fingers. Of course Edgar did. He was no stranger to killing. All those people… her parents too.

  James’ breath warmed her face as he inhaled. “Apple blossom,” he whispered. He took in another labored breath. “Harry do you remember the scene from Romeo and Juliet that I caught you rehearsing at the school?” Harriet nodded. James’ nose brushed against her cheek.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Edgar stepped closer, his cane tapping against the stone floor.

  “I was trying to tell my wife how much I loved her,” James said evenly, looking only at Harriet. “That I hoped that she would take me as I am, a killer, from a long line of murderers, but a man that has done so in the name of the crown only.” He drew in a gasping breath. Harriet laid her head gently on his shoulder.

  “Don’t touch him!” Edgar yelled. His cane tapped closer. “Leave him alone.” Harriet kept her head on his shoulder. James had yet to sign the will. Edgar couldn’t kill them both yet.

  “I wanted to tell her,” James said slowly, as if not having heard Edgar speak, gazing forward at the altar where two large dripping candles burned high on the table, “that my love for her burns hotter than any candle, and hurts more than any sword wound. If she were to look at me, she would but see it in my face.”

  Harriet sighed. In all of her dreams her hero had never spoken so poetically.

  Too bad her hero was being a little more practical. Perhaps saving her life was more romantic than all the words in heaven.

  “Uggh. This is worse than a penny dreadful.” Edgar shrugged his shoulders.

  “I happen to quite like it,” Mrs. Sumner said across the pews. “I wish you would serenade me in the same way, Edgar sweetie.”

  “You like me for my money, Eliza. Or rather the money we’ll have.”

  Mrs. Sumner pouted. “True.”

  James tensed beside Harriet.

  “I believe we need to sign the marriage register before James signs his will,” she said coolly. “Perhaps if you could untie my hands and lead me to the altar, I can sign the register and make everything official?”

  “And I will need to sign the register too. But,” James gasped, falling to the floor beside Harriet. “I… will need help… getting there.”

  “James!” Harriet shouted.

  “Oh good grief. Samuel, pick her up, untie her hands and get her to the altar.” Edgar turned to James. “I will deal with my brother.”

  Harriet winced as Samuel pulled her up from the floor by her hands tied behind her back.

  “No funny business,” he whispered in her ear as they stepped round James’ shivering form on the floor, and up the steps to the altar. As they stopped behind the altar table, Harriet peered at the registry book.

  “I can’t see it clearly. The boxes are too small and there is too little light. What if I sign the wrong page?”

  Samuel grunted and, reaching round her, shifted a candlestick near the book. Harriet held her breath whilst the candle flamed. She shook her head.

  “Still not enough light,” she muttered.

  Samuel sighed heavily and then, brushing against her breast, pulled the other candlestick closer. Harriet held herself still as he leered into her bodice.

  “My hands,” she said through cl
enched teeth.

  “What’s taking so long?” Edgar called, standing over James. He looked down at James. “Get up, brother,” he sneered.

  “I… can’t,” James said quietly. Harriet had to strain to hear him. “I’m dying. I cannot move without my hands…” Harriet watched silently as James’ head slammed against the floor. She put a hand to her mouth.

  “Sign the book,” Samuel said. Harriet glared at him and pushed an elbow out into his stomach. “I can’t move my arms if you stand too close to me, and if my signature wavers everyone will know that we were forced into this.”

  Samuel glared at her but moved a pace away. Harriet gave him a small smile. “Thank you,” she said, turning back to the book. Through the frame of the candles, she watched Edgar with one hand unknot James’ hands and pull him round into a sitting position.

  “Come, sir…” James voice was weak, but Harriet’s hands were moving before he had even finished.

  “Your passado,” she muttered, reaching her hands out at the candlesticks and whirling with them tilted at head height towards Samuel.

  Hot wax flew through the air, splattering in large pools across Samuel’s face. He screamed and put his hands to his eyes.

  “You know, my husband told me that two weapons were always better than one,” Harriet screamed. “This is for him.” Holding the still flaming candles aloft, Harriet drew them down in a swiping motion as if holding a pair of swords. An acrid smell filled the air as Samuel’s clothes began to burn with a brighter and brighter flame.

  “My son!” Mr. Granger cried, leaping up the steps to the altar.

  “Stand back,” Harriet said, brandishing the candlesticks. Hot wax fell around her in arcs.

  “Please, let me help my son,” the man pleaded, stepping back behind the altar.