The Stolen Bride

by Jo Beverley

  She opened the door and stood back. Sophie walked in and screamed.

  14

  A BALD-HEADED man was standing in his dressing room in formal evening dress, clothes stained rusty with blood.

  After a breathless second, Sophie stifled any sound behind her hand and waited for her heart rate to slow and gentle so that it wasn’t shaking her whole body. She just prayed she wouldn’t cry, for that sight had nearly broken her.

  The damn thing was a dummy.

  “Is it not true to life?” asked Lady Hever softly as she went over to gently rearrange the ruffle on the shirt. “I commissioned it from Madame Tussaud in London. It is all made from wax. I had planned to take off these dreadful clothes when he was avenged, but now I don’t know...” One finger rubbed pensively at a bloodstain.

  “I think you should take them off,” said Sophie vehemently, recognizing the poorly cut evening wear Hever had worn that last night. Thank God she had never seen him with a bullet wound in his head, for the memories stirred were already close to unbearable. Part of her was reliving the spittly abuse, Randal’s slow movements, and that deafening explosion...

  “Do you think so?” mused Lady Hever. “And yet they will remind me to persevere until the man who caused his death dies too.”

  Randal. Randal dead. Before her blurring eyes the figure became Randal splattered with blood. “How did you find out Randal shot him?” she cried.

  Edith Hever became as still and pale as the wax dummy. “What?”

  Back to earth with a jolt, Sophie realized she had made a dreadful mistake, “Randal was... was nearby when he sh—shot himself,” Sophie stammered.

  Edith stalked over and grasped her arm painfully. “That is not what you said, young lady.” She shook Sophie cruelly and then discarded her to fly back to the dummy. She clasped it in her arms. “Lord Randal Ashby shot you? Oh Edwin, darling, darling Edwin, you didn’t call him out over the foolish girl, did you?”

  She released the figure, wild-eyed. “And the rascal cheated, and killed you in cold blood, and all his powerful friends took this way to cover up the crime. They buried you in unhallowed ground!” she howled.

  Sophie backed up ready to flee and came up against the solid body of the guard. He seemed unaffected by the wild hysteria, almost bored in fact, but he wasn’t going to let her out of the door. Sophie turned back to the madwoman.

  “No, Lady Hever,” said Sophie, desperately trying to penetrate the fogs of unreality around the woman. “No. It was nothing like that. Edwin shot himself.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Edith Hever said, suddenly cold as the North Sea as she turned back to Sophie. “I know my son. He had too much respect for his immortal soul to sink to suicide. At last I have the truth. Now what I need to know is your part in all this.”

  Confronted with those malevolent eyes, Sophie backed up again to come up against that solid body. In the face of Edith Hever, the guard almost seemed to be protection.

  “How could you?” Lady Hever demanded, stalking toward her. “How could you stand by and allow them to label him a suicide, you spineless tottie?”

  Invention escaped Sophie. “He tried to kill me,” she said. “Randal saved my life.”

  Sophie expected denials but the notion of her son as murderer did not shock the woman. Edith Hever just narrowed her pale eyes. “And why did he try to kill you? What had you done?”

  “Nothing,” Sophie shouted. “He was as mad as you are!”

  The woman’s hand lashed out and cracked on Sophie’s face. Though gaunt she was strong. Sophie staggered back with a cry and put a hand to her stinging cheek. Big beefy hands grasped her shoulders.

  “Have I been mistaken in you?” the woman hissed. “Were you unfaithful to him?”

  Sophie just stood there. Though some form of compliance would be wiser, she simply couldn’t anymore. The hands on her shoulders tightened a little and Sophie braced herself for another blow, but the guard just drew her back out of the dreadful room.

  For a moment they were alone. Edith could be heard muttering to her son.

  “Did he really try to kill you?” asked the young man.

  Sophie turned and looked up. “Yes.”

  “I always thought he was a queer cove,” he said and left.

  A part of Sophie’s mind prompted that this might be a good time to escape, and yet she couldn’t. The horror of it all paralyzed her.

  Edith Hever walked out of the dressing room and shut the door. Her eyes were poisonous as she looked at Sophie. “And what am I to do with you?” she asked.

  Before she could come up with a notion, the young man burst back into the room.

  “There’s a group of riders coming. Da’s worried.”

  Was this rescue? With an icy chill Sophie remembered her careless revelation. Edith Hever would be hell-bent on Randal’s destruction now. She dashed to the window to give some kind of warning, but Lady Hever grasped her skirt. “Hold her, Caleb!”

  The man did so but demanded, “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Mind your manners,” spat Lady Hever. “We are going to lay poor Edwin’s spirit to rest at last. This little trollop preferred a debauched, diseased libertine to my son. She was the cause of his death. They both must die that the sin be wiped clean!”

  “Caleb,” said Sophie quickly, “she’s mad. She wants to kill the son of a duke. The whole of England will turn its hand against you!”

  “Your father has already attacked the son of a duke, Caleb,” said Edith with a chilly smile. “And he’ll hang for it unless you do what I say. Bring her.”

  Sophie was dragged downstairs and when she tried further argument with Caleb he tersely said, “Shut up,” in a tone she heeded. She had no desire to be knocked unconscious. He was worried, though, and Sophie kept that in mind.

  The three men had eventually caught up with Kelly and had to leave him behind, as his horse was spent. From then on the trail of the coach had been more difficult to follow, especially once it turned off onto the quiet back roads of Staffordshire. Twice they had been misdirected and lost time. Not far back, however, a grave digger had noted the passing coach.

  “Belongs to that crazy Lady Hever,” he said with an eloquent spit. “Her as took Glebe House.” His directions had been concise and accurate.

  Now they rode past the gates of Glebe House without pause and stopped a little way down the road behind a stand of trees to make plans.

  The need to race up to the house and wrench Sophie from danger was almost overpowering. Randal already had one of his two pistols out and ready but Verderan put a hand on his arm.

  “If there are any men with weapons, we’d best not just ride up there,” he said.

  “Then we’ll approach the house from the back on foot,” said Randal coolly. They had to act. Now.

  Verderan shook his head. “Despite my reputation as bloodthirsty,” he said, “it’s been my experience that it’s better to try to talk one’s way out of these things. Even if she has servants, it’s just one old woman we’re dealing with. I think I should go up to the house and see what’s going on.”

  “Why you?” asked Randal sharply.

  “Well, you can’t go. If our suspicions are correct, she knows at least a description of you and they’ll shoot on sight. You, Marius, are simply not ruthless enough.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Marius coldly.

  “One of the penalties of being a large man and honorable is that one learns to pull one’s punches. I really can’t see you laying a woman flat. I, however, have done so once or twice and won’t hesitate to do so again if necessary.”

  Marius frowned but gave him the point.

  “What do we do, then?” asked Randal bitterly. “Just sit here and twiddle our thumbs? God knows what’s going on—”

  “Fifteen minutes,” said Verderan firmly. “If I’m not back in that time, I suggest you find a back entrance and rescue me and Sophie both.” With a nonchalant wave of the hand he turned hi
s horse and cantered off to Glebe House.

  “One man riding up,” said Jago Haines from his position by the dining room window.

  “Is it him?” asked Lady Hever hungrily, but Jago shook his head.

  “Nah, it’s the dark one. Veryan, or something.”

  Sophie tensed. It was rescue then. But why was Verderan riding straight into a trap? She was seated in a plain chair and Caleb, as instructed, had his hand firmly in her hair.

  “The Dark Angel,” said Lady Hever with an unpleasant smile. “Get your wife to show him to the parlor but be prepared. He will be good bait for the other.”

  So the housekeeper was Jago Haines’s wife, Sophie thought. No help there but she hadn’t entirely given up on Caleb, who was clearly on edge.

  Jago and Lady Hever left, but the door remained slightly open and Sophie could hear what went on.

  There was a sharp rap on the door and Mrs. Haines crossed the hall, whining softly to her husband about the pickle they were in. Verderan’s crisp voice was heard.

  “Good afternoon. I’m looking for Lady Hever and I understand this is her home.”

  “Could I ask your name, sir?”

  “The name is Marshall. If you would ask your mistress for a few minutes of her time.”

  The door shut and Sophie had to assume Verderan was inside of it, unaware that his identity was already known. Could she call out? But Jago must be nearby with his pistol...

  Before she could decide, Caleb clasped a beefy hand over her mouth. Not a stupid young man, thought Sophie, and though she wished he washed his hands more frequently she was not totally displeased. It confirmed her opinion that Caleb was a quick thinker. She could work on intelligence better than stupidity, and she had to do something before Verderan was killed in cold blood.

  The housekeeper’s voice was heard. “Milady will see you, sir. Come this way.”

  Sophie tried to speak and after a moment Caleb took his hand away. “Sorry about that, miss, but you might have done something silly.”

  “Caleb,” said Sophie. “I am not ‘miss.’ I am Lady Sophie Kyle, sister of the Earl of Wraybourne. I am betrothed to Lord Randal Ashby, younger son of the Duke of Tyne. Your mistress is mad and has involved you in dangerous matters.”

  “So?”

  Sophie desperately wished he wasn’t standing behind her. She couldn’t judge his reactions from his slow, country speech.

  “So help me now and I will see you all go free,” she promised.

  “Did my Da really try to kill a marquess?” he asked after a while.

  Perhaps stupidity would have been easier. The attempted murder of a high-ranking aristocrat was not going to be overlooked. “Someone did,” said Sophie. “Lady Hever says it was your father but there’s no proof. If you and your family took off now, you could be free of all—”

  “Shut up.” He emphasized it by tightening his hand in her hair and clamping his other hand over her mouth again. Sophie heard footsteps in the hall.

  “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” said Verderan. There was the sound of a blow and a groan.

  “Very good, Jago,” said Lady Hever. “Bring him in here out of the way.”

  Jago appeared, dragging an unconscious Verderan. As Caleb removed his hand once more, Sophie worked on keeping her face expressionless.

  “It was quite amusing,” remarked Lady Hever, “to hear him spin such a farrago of nonsense.” She kicked idly at Verderan’s limp body. “But I would rather not have had such vileness in Edwin’s house. I have heard stories of him.” She turned on Sophie. “Your lover too, perhaps?”

  Sophie decided it would be much wiser to keep silent.

  Lady Hever spat in her face. “Trollop!”

  Sophie tried to spit back but fright had dried her mouth.

  Cheeks flaming with angry color, the woman paced the room. “But now he will come and I can see him killed. Then Edwin can rest in peace.”

  She walked over to the shrine and turned up the lamps slightly. “Soon, my darling. Soon,” she crooned.

  “Da,” whispered Caleb urgently. “We’d better to run now. We can get away—”

  “Silence!” cried Lady Hever. “You foolish boy. Your father’s already in too deep. If he flees now those men will hunt him down. If you handle things properly we can leave here more carefully and there will be money aplenty for all of you. There were only three riding along the lane. One is here,” she pointed to Verderan. “Soon the other two will come. When they are all dead we can leave at our leisure, and your father,” she said enticingly, “will have ten thousand pounds.”

  Caleb must have looked a question, for the older man gave an unpleasant smile and nodded. “Worth a bit of trouble, ain’t it, Caleb boy?” Jago looked down at Verderan, sprawled on the dusty carpet. “I might as well kill him now then,” he said. “No point in risking him reviving.”

  “Very well,” said Lady Hever indifferently.

  Sophie made a futile movement and cried out as Caleb’s hand in her hair held her back. She watched helpless as the man cocked his pistol. Then the door was flung open and Mrs. Haines rushed in, slamming into her husband. The pistol went off and smashed a large piece of plaster out of the opposite wall.

  “Daft woman,” shouted Jago.

  The housekeeper cringed but cried, “Someone just broke through the pantry window, Jago!”

  Jago cursed, threw down his useless pistol, and ran out.

  Edith shouted, “Go with him, Caleb. I’ll guard this silly tottie!”

  Caleb, after a hesitation, ran from the room.

  As soon as she was released, Sophie leapt to her feet. She did not run toward the door blocked by Edith Hever but back to the shrine. She grabbed a burning lamp, retreated a few steps, and with tremendous relish huffed it in Edwin Hever’s sour face.

  It smashed. Burning oil drenched the floating crape. Within seconds the portrait was framed by shooting flames.

  “No!” howled the woman and ran forward to save the picture. Sophie hesitated for a moment with a look at Verderan, but then fled toward the door—to be knocked flying when it was flung open by Caleb.

  He grabbed her. “Da wants you for a hostage,” he said.

  “No, Caleb!” Sophie screamed, resisting as best she could.

  “Caleb!” shrieked Lady Hever. “Look what she’s done!”

  Wild-eyed, the woman grabbed a candlestick from the table, lit it at the fiery shrine, and ran forward. “Burn with him, then!” she cried and Sophie screamed as the flame was thrust to her skirt.

  Verderan heard screams. He groaned as he opened his eyes but came to alertness at the sight of leaping flames. He staggered to his feet and saw a young man all over Sophie, and Lady Hever belaboring him with a candlestick.

  He threw the woman aside and dragged the attacker off Sophie, but she cried out, “Not him! Watch for Lady Hever!”

  He twisted in time to deflect the candlestick from his head. He grabbed it from the demented, gibbering woman and hurled it across the room. Lady Hever went for his eyes with her nails.

  “Your house is on fire, if you haven’t noticed,” he said and gave the woman a mighty shove so that she fell backward over a chair to the floor.

  He looked at Caleb, standing dazed in the middle of flames and mayhem, and knocked him out with a precise blow to the chin. Then he grabbed Sophie and ran out into the hall.

  A shot was heard from the back but he ignored it, heading for the front door.

  “Randal!” cried Sophie, fighting his hold. She would have run toward the back of the house, but Verderan’s grip was steely and he didn’t pause.

  “Can look after himself,” he said as he dragged her out into the fresh air. He didn’t head down the drive but into the concealment of the shrubbery. He stopped there, gasping, and put a hand to feel his head. He winced.

  “Are you all right?” asked Sophie then looked back through the rhododendrons toward the house. Smoke was beginning to billow from the dining room window and flames were
spreading through the room. She felt sorry for Caleb, who in the end had saved her by putting out the flames.

  “No,” groaned Verderan. “I am not all right. It is, however, irrelevant. I’m going to call off the attack. You stay here.”

  He raced off across the drive and down the other side of the house. After a moment, Sophie followed. She realized for the first time that her leg hurt and when she looked she saw it was burned—not badly but painfully. Moreover her skirt was in charred shreds all down one side. She trembled at the thought of what might have happened if Caleb hadn’t acted quickly to extinguish the flames.

  She looked again at the burning room, wondering if she could go back to her rescuer but abandoned the notion. The room was truly afire. If he hadn’t come to his senses and got himself out, he was as good as dead by now.

  When a breeze whipped her tattered skirts away from her legs, she gave a moment’s thought to modesty. Then she discarded it as being as irrelevant as Verderan’s aching head.

  As she made her way cautiously down the side of the house she heard Verderan shouting, “Randal, Marius. We’re out!” As she came up behind him he said, “Damnation,” and climbed through a broken window. Randal and Marius must have progressed into the main part of the house, either that or been captured. The latter seemed unlikely, though, with Caleb probably out of the fight and only Jago against them.

  Sophie couldn’t face climbing through the window and knew it might be wiser to wait safely outside. She simply couldn’t, though. She crept cautiously around to the back of the house and approached the kitchen door. She peeped in.

  Mrs. Haines and the maid were sitting in dumb terror at the table. Another shot cracked and Sophie thought she heard a scream. She made her decision and opened the door.

  “The house is on fire!” she cried. “Save yourselves!”

  The smoke could be smelled and the woman leapt up, wailing. “Oh mercy me! Oh heavens! Come on, Maisie. Save yourself!”

  Grabbing a few obviously treasured items, the woman fled past Sophie, the maid stumbling behind her.