by Faye Hall
“There is nothing you can do for that girl now, Devon,” Jack said firmly, directing his son through the door of the cottage. Stopping briefly, he turned back to look at his servant. “Get it cleaned up, Andrew. Take the body to the woods.”
“No!” Devon screamed as his father led him away from the cottage and to his own carriage.
Jack threw his son inside the carriage. “Get him out of here!” Jack screamed at the driver.
* * * *
Going to the limp body of the young woman, Andrew Hult bent down to lift Lotte up into his arms, but was stopped by George Fanti.
“Don’t you touch her!” he yelled at Andrew. “I’m going to get the authorities here and make those bastards pay for what they’ve done!”
Andrew watched as George ran from the old cottage toward the house. Reaching down to her still body again, Andrew checked for any signs of life.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Andrew begged, his hands affectionately stroking her forehead. “You’re too young to die.”
“A-Andrew.” Lotte’s voice was weak and fading.
“You’re alive!” Andrew cried, lifting the young woman up into his arms quickly and carrying her out the door toward the carriages. Placing her inside the nearest carriage, Andrew turned to the driver. “Get David Higgins. Tell him to meet me at the Pioneer Hotel. Tell him his daughter’s been shot.”
Waiting until the driver took off running toward the dancehall, Andrew jumped into the driver’s seat and sped the carriage off toward the Pioneer Hotel.
Pulling the carriage up at the rear of the hotel, Andrew lifted Lotte into his arms, carrying her to the only place he knew might save her life.
Barging into the back of the Pioneer Hotel, Andrew immediately began screaming for help.
“What is it, Andrew?” Abby, the madam of the hotel, yelled as she came running out the back to him, some of the women that worked for her hot on her heels. “What has happened?”
“She’s been shot!” Andrew yelled, following the women to the empty room ahead. “You have to save her!”
Abby turned to the young working girl beside her. “Go get Mary. Tell her we’ve got an injured girl.” She turned to Andrew. “Who is she?”
Andrew laid Lotte on the bed carefully. “Her name’s Lotte. She’s David Higgins’s daughter.”
“What?” Abby gasped, her shock obvious.
Before Andrew could explain, the commanding figure of David Higgins barged through the door.
“Where the hell is my daughter?” he roared.
Abby went to him. “Our girl is going to look at her, sir. Your daughter is in good hands.”
Just then, Mary, the native woman who worked at the tavern, walked into the room, immediately going to the still body of Lotte and began examining her wound.
“Mary?” David asked, his confusion obvious. “You’re the native who heals all these girls?”
Mary glanced up at him. “You shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, we both know it runs in my family.”
Appearing taken aback by the native woman’s tart reply, David Higgins turned to Andrew. “You need to go get the doctor. Tell him money’s no object.”
“No.” Andrew stood firm. “You want your daughter to live, you’ll let Mary do her job.”
Just then, a loud scream of pain was heard from Lotte.
“She’s killing her!” David Higgins roared, fighting against Andrew to get to his daughter. “Let me go, you bastard!”
Abby stopped in front of him, her expression firm. “If you want your daughter to die, sir, then you call that doctor. I guarantee you that whoever it was who shot your daughter will find her, and this time they will kill her.”
David tried to stare the madam down, but to no avail.
Mary approached them, intruding into their standoff.
“I got the bullet out, but your daughter has lost a lot of blood. I’ll make a poultice to help ward off infection, but she can’t be moved from here.”
David turned to the young aboriginal girl, grasping her hands in his. “You have to save her, Mary, please. Please do this for me,” he begged.
Mary nodded her head respectfully. “I’ll do everything I can for her, sir.”
* * * *
Hours passed. David Higgins paced around the room, watching while the young native woman, Mary, worked on his daughter’s gunshot wound.
Finally, Mary turned to face him. “I’ve done everything I can do for her, sir. She needs to rest now.”
“Will she live?” he asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know,” Mary replied honestly. “But I will stay with her until I know she’s out of danger. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to Lotte.”
David didn’t try to hide his confusion. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you hold guilt over my daughter’s death? After everything you know, the secrets you’ve learned, you owe me nothing.”
“I treated your daughter as you asked me to, sir. I am staying watch over her though, out of my loyalty for her,” Mary explained as she stopped beside him, her hand coming to rest affectionately on his forearm. “Lotte is my friend, no matter what truths I know happened between yourself and my mother.” Letting her hand drop from his arm, Mary walked past him, her direction the door. “I’ll give you a few moments with her, sir.”
Waiting for her to leave the room and shut the door behind her, David went and sat beside his daughter, holding her hand in his.
Just then, the door opened again.
“I came as soon as I heard,” Patrick said as he joined his father by Lotte’s bedside. “How is she?”
David shrugged. “I don’t know.” He turned, looking at his son. “Who would do this? Who could do such a thing?”
Hearing Lotte starting to stir on her bed, David turned his attention back to her.
“Lotte, honey, can you hear me?” he asked, stroking his daughter’s head.
When Lotte tried to move, Patrick went to her, holding her down on the bed. “Stay still, Lotte. You’re still very weak. Can you tell us who shot you?”
She seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, mumbling what seemed to be little more than nonsense.
The door opened again, and Mary walked back in. “Lotte needs to rest now.”
“Just wait,” Patrick said rudely. “She’s trying to tell us who shot her.”
“And I’m telling you your sister needs her rest,” Mary rebutted, going to Lotte’s side and placing a cooling cloth on her head.
“E-Elizabeth,” Lotte rasped out, tossing her head back and forth.
“W-what did you say?” David asked his daughter, his hand still holding hers. “Honey, you need to tell me who did this to you.”
David waited on tenterhooks, hoping his daughter could tell him something, anything.
“I-it, it was, was…” Lotte’s words drifted off.
“She’s exhausted, sir,” Mary tried again. “She needs rest now.”
Reluctantly, David let go of his daughter’s hand and began walking toward the door.
“I-it was E-Elizabeth,” Lotte finally rasped out just before unconsciousness consumed her.
“That bitch!” Patrick roared as he stormed from the room and ran from the hotel to his carriage.
“Patrick!” David yelled after his son, to no avail.
Chapter 10
“To what do I owe the pleasure of such a handsome man visiting me so late in the evening?” Elizabeth asked Patrick as she greeted him at the door of her father’s study. Her tone was sickly sweet; her finger traced along his strong jawline. “I’m afraid I had to leave your father’s estate early this evening, so I missed seeing you tonight.”
Patrick slapped away her hand. “I know what you’ve done, Elizabeth. I know it was you who shot my sister!”
Elizabeth turned away from him, walking over to the fire, poking at the coals with a poker.
“So sad about Lotte,” she said. “Such a pretty little thing she used to be
too.”
His hand on her shoulder, Patrick turned her, forcing her to look at him. “You won’t get away with this, you bitch!” he spat at her. “I’m going to the police. I’m going to tell them all about you and the people you have killed. And all about your father and that stagecoach he robbed in Victoria. It’s over for you, Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth smiled sweetly at him, her hand tightly gripping the poker she still held. “Such brave words, Patrick.”
Without warning, Elizabeth lifted the poker and, with great force, stabbed it straight into Patrick’s stomach. Pulling it from the injured man, Elizabeth raised it in the air and struck Patrick hard across the face with more force.
Watching him fall unconsciously to the floor, Elizabeth casually walked over to the bell to call her servants. When both men walked into the room, they froze at the bleeding man on the rug.
“Wrap it up in the rug and get rid of it, gentlemen,” she ordered the two obviously fearful men.
* * * *
Accompanied by the working girl who’d been sent to get her, Sarah, Lotte’s aboriginal friend, hurried through the scrub line of trees. She was on her way to the Pioneer Hotel to check on Lotte and see if her sister, Mary, needed any healing supplies brought to her. The two women had almost cleared the trees when they heard a painful groan coming from nearby.
Walking cautiously toward the sound, they searched for the source of the sound.
“Sarah,” the working girl pleaded with her. “It’s not safe out here. We need to get to the hotel.”
Knowing she was right, Sarah turned back to the direction of town.
“H-help. Help me,” the pained male voice called.
“Patrick?” Sarah called, leaving the working girl and rushing in the direction of the voice. “Patrick, where are you?”
“S-Sarah, help me,” he called to her again.
Rushing to him, Sarah knelt by his side, her hands desperately trying to stop the bleeding from his stomach, her eyes trying their best to study the burns covering his face in the dark.
“Help me lift him,” Sarah called to the working girl. “We need to get him to the hotel and to my sister.”
* * * *
Elizabeth and George Fanti walked into the study of David Higgins several mornings after the shooting in the cottage.
David stopped what he was doing, his gaze turning and resting on the two people. “What the hell are you two doing here?” he asked angrily.
Elizabeth stepped toward him, her arms outstretched, ready to offer her condolences. “We were so sorry to hear about Lotte, Uncle. Her death must have come as such a shock.”
“You’ve come here to console me about the death of my daughter?”
Elizabeth nodded, her hands reaching for and holding his. “We are family, Uncle, and in times like these we need to pull together and give each other strength.”
David didn’t move, almost like he was in shock by what he was hearing.
“You look surprised that we’re here, brother,” George added. “Did you perhaps think we wouldn’t come?”
David finally pulled away from Elizabeth. “You are not welcomed here, either of you. You have to leave, George, and take your daughter with you.”
Elizabeth went to the tray of alcohol near her uncle’s desk. Pouring some brandy into a glass, she skillfully poured in a small amount of white arsenic powder and swirled the contents around the glass. Walking over to her uncle, she handed him the glass.
“You’re still in grief, Uncle. You need a drink.”
David took the offered glass. “I don’t need a drink, you stupid girl. I need to find my son.”
“Patrick has gone missing?” George asked, confusion obvious in his tone. “When?”
David seemed unconvinced by his brother’s concern. “Shortly after my daughter was shot. You wouldn’t know where he is, would you, George? Did he perhaps see something in the old cottage that night that may pin my daughter’s death on you instead of Devon?”
“How could you say such a thing, David?” George asked. “Even I am not capable of killing my own family.”
David downed his drink. “You threatened to kill me more times than I care to remember. But then you never did claim me as your family, not unless there was something in it for you. So why should I think you feel any different about my children?”
Elizabeth stood watching the standoff between the two men. She had heard many stories about the long-standing hostility that lay between her father and his brother, but to see it playing out here and now before her was something else.
“Father, you must forgive your brother. After all, he has lost both of his children in a matter of days. Even the strongest of men would suffer and lash out at those around him.”
George’s eyes narrowed on his daughter. “You knew about Patrick?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course I did.”
David turned to look at her, his hand suddenly gripping at his abdomen as if in pain. “Tell me where he is, please.”
Elizabeth went to her uncle, her fingers affectionately caressing his cheek as he keeled over in pain and fell to the floor.
“You’ll never see Patrick again, Uncle.”
David cried out in pain, suddenly gripping at his chest. “G-George, help me. Please, brother,” he begged, his voice fading in and out with pain.
George knelt beside his brother. “I’ll send for a doctor, David, just hang in there.”
“I wouldn’t bother, Father,” Elizabeth said, going to the drinks tray and pouring herself a small brandy. “He’ll be dead in a few more minutes, just like his children.”
Staying beside his brother until he gasped his last breath, George suddenly stood, turning to his daughter.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Elizabeth?” he roared at her, horrified by what had just happened. “We agreed to kill the girl. Not Patrick, and certainly not my brother!”
Elizabeth downed the last of her drink. “Collateral damage, Father.”
George rushed to her, his hands going to her arms, shaking her angrily. “Are you mad?”
Elizabeth shook off her father. “Yes, I’m mad, Father. Mad that you let these men swindle you out of your gold all those years back. Mad that you allowed them to live off the riches of it.”
Elizabeth went to the door, and opening it, she turned to her father. “You best get my marriage to Devon Munroy cemented, Father, immediately, or you may be joining your brother.”
* * * *
Having already sent his daughter home, George Fanti stood in front of the Higgins estate house, his mind that of utter confusion. Elizabeth had always been a greedy child, always saying he shouldn’t have had to share the gold he’d gotten in Victoria, but never could he have imagined she would be capable of murder.
Remembering her threat to him, George knew that he was no longer safe around her. She would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.
Waiting for the familiar carriage to pull up on the dirt road near where he was standing, George watched as Jack Munroy stepped out.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack asked him.
George smiled. “I’ve just come to tie up some loose ends.”
“Loose ends?” Jack looked disgusted. “The man just lost his daughter. Surely you can give him a moment’s peace, George.”
As Jack went to walk past him, George reached out, his hand resting on the other man’s shoulder, stopping him. “The wedding is going ahead as planned, Jack. Our children will be wed by the end of the month.”
Jack pulled away from him. “You’re a cold-hearted bastard, George Fanti! A young girl has been killed and all you can think of is yourself and your money.”
George followed Jack as he stormed into the house, toward the study of David Higgins. When the door opened, Jack’s hand fell back to his side.
“What the hell have you done?” Jack cried.
George walked up behind him, his hand again going to the other man’s shoul
der. “The wedding will go ahead, Jack. With or without you.”
Letting him go, George stepped back, watching Jack’s small stature fall to the floor, a broken man.
“I’ve sent for the authorities already. You’d best leave, dear friend or else they may well think you’re responsible for all of this.”
George turned then and left the crumbled man to his own demise.
Chapter 11
Several weeks later
Devon sat in his fast traveling carriage, staring out into the night sky, trying in vain to fill his emptiness with the bottle of whiskey he held in his hand. He had stood before the priest only hours ago, repeating the words that legally wed him to Elizabeth Fanti. When Lotte was alive, he would have done anything to get as far away from the Fantis as humanly possible. Now, he was a broken man who cared not for what the future held for him.
Despite his growing sorrow, Devon wouldn’t allow himself to end his life. He couldn’t. He deserved to suffer for what he’d done to Lotte.
His carriage pulled up at the Pioneer Hotel and Devon stumbled out. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to go home,” he yelled at the driver.
Turning away from his transport, Devon staggered into the hotel and took a seat at the bar, placing his near empty bottle down.
“What are you doing here?” the bartender asked.
Devon cradled his head in his hands. “I can’t go home. I don’t want to go home.”
“You came here for a whore?” he asked, his tone slightly irritated.
Devon looked up at the man talking to him, his eyes immediately going to the scar covering the top section of his face. Once he might have been a perfectly handsome man, but now he appeared to carry as many scars as Devon. Still there was something about him that seemed so familiar.
“I-I don’t want a whore. I want her.”
“Your wife?” the bartender asked.
Devon shook his head as he poured the last of the liquor down his throat. “I want my Lotte back.”
“Lotte? I heard you married Elizabeth Fanti today.”