“We’ve lost Vi!” Rose said. “I was certain she’d be out here.”
“I was too,” Ephraim said. “I was sure of it.”
“Marguerite,” Nicholas said. “You know him best. Where do you think he could be?”
“At home,” Marguerite said as she wrung out the skirts of her gown, “he likes to lie out on the slab by the ocean. He says the water catalyzes his plans.”
Pamela kicked her heels into the feisty pinto and raced away from the group.
“The lake,” Ephraim said as an abyss opened up in his chest. “My God. Violet could be there with him.”
He grabbed the rifle the duchess was holding and took off after Pamela, who’d realized where both Idrest and Violet probably were seconds before he did.
If anything happened to her . . .
Damn this black storm, and damn me, Ephraim Croft said to himself as his bay gelding overtook Pamela Hyland’s pinto.
They rode past Jewel Allman, Calvert, and Hoffstead, the way momentarily lit by their torches.
Chapter 134
“I’m afraid you’ve misjudged me, sir,” Violet said to the thoroughly disgusting man whose grip on her tightened with every passing second.
When the rain started in earnest, she’d thought it would certainly deter him, but instead it seemed to have given him new energy on top of his already overcharged intensity.
She reached up to rip the mask off his face, thinking she’d be better able to jab her fingers into his eyes with the thing off. As it was, it was an effective shield, the ridges around the eye holes forming an almost protective barrier.
He grabbed her free arm and pinned it behind her back.
“Another hellcat,” he said, grinning. “And to think I was here for Marguerite.”
“I’m sure she’s waiting for you, sir,” Violet said. Was that the duchess’s real name?
“She’s always waiting for me,” the leering man said. Violet’s gown was now soaked through and she was sure it was nearly transparent, although there was almost no visibility because of the black storm.
Her attacker pulled her hand up under his part-open shirt and Violet thought she’d die of disgust as he moved her hand around, making it seem as though she were caressing him. She dug her nails into his chest, but he just laughed and stepped closer to her.
“Please,” Violet said. “My husband will be here soon. And he’s very”—she searched for the right word, the word that would make the yellow-eyed demon stop what he was doing, but she couldn’t think—“violent.”
“Good,” said her attacker as he started forcing her hand down into his pants.
Green-yellow lightning opened the sky, showing the closest moon as it made its transit during the start of the syzygy, and the man was just surprised enough that Violet was able to yank her hand out of his grasp. She slapped his face as hard as she could, thinking she wouldn’t waste her efforts trying to remove his mask again.
“If only she would be this way,” the man said, leering, grinning, salivating. “And to think I’ve found two of you in one night.” He easily grabbed her upper arm. Now both his hands were sunk into both her arms, and she couldn’t move either of them.
“Lady Katherine,” Violet said under her breath.
“I’m going to be a father,” the man said.
“Certainly,” Violet said. Maybe she could jolly him along. If only she could come up with a joke, she thought. Many years ago an acting teacher had taught her the trick of distraction using humor.
“Do you know Allene Dickens?” he said.
“No,” Violet said. He knows Allene? Had Allene been running away from this man? Is that why she was missing?
“She was my helper,” he said, and he licked Violet’s cheek, lapping up the rainwater. Violet thought she would puke on him, and wished she could.
“I see,” Violet said.
“Would you like to be my helper too?” he said. He kept licking her cheek, his mask scratching her face as he did it, and Violet couldn’t remember anything in her life that had been anywhere near as revolting, as sickening, as repulsive, as this.
“Let’s go find Allene,” Violet said, desperate now. And the dizziness, which had fled when he’d grabbed her, was now returning, bringing with it a profound chill.
“You’ll appreciate my marksmanship,” he said. He had moved and was licking her other cheek, purposefully pushing the rough edges of his ghastly mask into her face while he did it and gripping her upper arms ever tighter.
“I’m sure, sir,” Violet said. Everything inside her and outside her was rotating, colliding, swaying. She imagined she heard a waltz playing, but not only was the manor house too far away for her to be hearing the orchestra, but the heavy rainfall was drowning out the sound of everything but her attacker’s loathsome words.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want,” he said.
“Let me go, sir,” Violet said, trying to break his grasp, trying to move away from him, and slipping on the rain-slicked gravel and moss.
“You can’t possibly think I meant that,” he said with such malicious, sarcastic venom that Violet laughed, because her first thought had been not for her own safety, her own life, but to remember the subtleties of his tone, one she’d never before heard, since it would come in handy one day for a part.
“I’m going to be in Mirage,” Violet said, as though that would stop him.
“An actor?” he said.
He was still licking her cheek when the rain abruptly stopped. Both of them reflexively looked up, and Violet was able to step slightly back from him.
As she did she saw her own mirage through the break in the storm—across the lake were Ephraim Croft on horseback, and next to him, Pamela, astride a pinto, a rifle on her shoulder, aimed at Violet’s attacker.
Chapter 135
“Get away from her, Idrest!” Ephraim shouted as he lifted his own rifle and shouldered it.
“Idrest?” Violet said. This couldn’t be the famous financier Clive Idrest, could it?
Idrest pushed Violet away from him as he turned to face Ephraim and Pamela. Then he stepped forward to confront them and slipped on one of the precariously slick, moss-covered rocks that separated the path from the lake itself.
“Violet, run!” Ephraim called to her, but she couldn’t move as she watched Idrest try to regain his balance.
He slipped again, then again, and fell toward the lake, whose waters were at high tide, made higher by the syzygy and further swelled by the storm.
The lake waters gushed up onto the path. A wave washed over Idrest’s feet and ankles, making him further lose his balance and fall onto his hip, and he slid down toward the lake just as he was attempting to get up.
Now he was half in the lake itself, struggling to gain a foothold or handhold as the sky opened, briefly showing all three of 5730’s moons. A mass of intertwined lightning shot through the sky, and the deluge took up again, this time with more force than before.
Violet backed away from the lake and from Idrest.
“Give me your hand,” Idrest called to Violet. “I can do things for you.”
“I can’t swim,” Violet said, afraid he’d pull her into the lake along with him. Afraid of getting anywhere near him or near the rising water.
She saw Ephraim as he dismounted his horse and came toward her, a lantern in one hand, his rifle in the other. Pamela stayed on her mount, edging slowly toward where Violet was standing, her rifle aimed at the spot where Violet imagined Idrest must be, although it was getting harder to see.
“I can . . .” Idrest’s words were lost as he gasped and sputtered, flailing, gulping at the lake water. The sounds of his struggle quickly faded into the deluge.
“Trevelton,” Violet said, still not sure if he were real or if she’d imagined him.
“Hold this,” Ephraim said to Violet, handing her his lantern and taking off his sodden jacket, then untying his cravat. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she sai
d as he pulled off his boots.
“Aim it there,” Ephraim said, pointing to the spot where he thought he’d seen Idrest go down.
Violet held the lantern up. Pamela rode in slowly, closer now, her rifle still steady, still aimed at where Idrest had last been seen, although there was no longer any sign of him.
Ephraim dove into the lake. He’d be damned if he couldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing Clive Idrest brought to trial.
“Ephraim!” Violet called to him when he came up for air, but he ignored her.
The lake was blacker than the black night, but Ephraim was certain this was where he’d seen the arms dealer go down, so he went back under and dove deeper, feeling for anything that could possibly be Idrest.
Pamela was at Violet’s side now, and the two women were hugging each other, poor protection from the ever-increasing downpour.
“Clive Idrest?” Violet said to Pamela.
“Yes,” Pamela said. “The duchess’s husband.”
“Oh no,” Violet said.
“Violet,” Pamela said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Ephraim came up for air again and shook out his head. Then Wyatt dived in too, and the two men searched the murky lake for Idrest.
But it wasn’t until the next morning that Clive Idrest’s body was found by a team of professional searchers.
By then, something that inhabited the lake bottom had chewed away at the lower edge of both his mask and his right cheek, and when they pulled the body up onto the path, Dr. Hoffstead recoiled at the gruesome sight.
Chapter 136
“Vi, just stay put,” Rosie said as Violet tried yet again to get up from bed. But it wasn’t the bed she was used to. This bed was broader, higher, and there were drapes. The bed was so large that Rosie was sitting in it with her, next to her.
“I’m supposed to be on the transport, Rosie,” Violet said. She had to get up even though the room wouldn’t stop moving and it was hundreds of degrees hotter than usual. She threw off the covers and kicked at them, then started shivering.
“Not today, Vi,” Rosie said. Violet lay back down and Rosie put the covers on her.
Not today. That’s right. She was leaving tomorrow, not today. Today was the ball, and she’d finally get a chance to mingle with the players, to get dressed up and hear live music. If only Rafe would dance with her.
“They’ll play waltzes, won’t they?” Violet said as she drifted back to sleep.
Ephraim came back into his room, nodded at Rosie, and they changed places.
“Doc Hoffstead said it was a relapse,” Rosie said. “She’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
“Go have some breakfast,” Ephraim said.
“Yes, my lord,” Rosie said, then laughed as Ephraim started to contradict her while she scampered out of his room.
He’d carried Violet here himself after they were finished at the lake. Taken her back to the manor house on his horse, stripped and bathed her, dressed her in his softest linen shirt, and put her in his bed.
She’d hardly been coherent. Kept saying he was a mirage and that she’d killed the famous Clive Idrest. But she couldn’t swim. Would she have to go to prison?
“You’ll be getting a medal, I suspect,” Ephraim had said to her as he covered her shivering body with as many blankets and coverlets as he could find.
Chapter 137
Lord William Fitzmore, which was a name and certainly a title he much preferred to his own nearly completely ruined status, was exerting himself to the extreme.
Vernie Dalston had been a much more congenial bed partner, he thought, but her financial advice had been abysmal, and he had a lot he had to make up for in order to continue living the life he was damned if he was going to get unaccustomed to.
Really, it’d been easier to just inherit the stuff, as he’d done without any work at all, yet he’d managed to lose everything in just under a decade. That, after waiting longer than anyone had a right to wait just for his father to finally slough off into oblivion.
But a few hours earlier, when he’d seen Lady Katherine with Trevelton, he’d finally placed her. That was Vivienne York, one of the wealthiest people in the three galaxies.
She was looking more enticing by the moment even though there wasn’t one attractive thing about her. In fact, he’d always thought Lady Katherine was overbearing and almost awkward. Yet now she seemed more alluring than any woman had ever seemed to him.
Then Trevelton had done him the enormous favor of deserting Lady Katherine, and Fitzmore, never one to miss a good opportunity, despite the fact that many of those opportunities had turned out to be disastrous for him, quickly moved in.
Soon Lady Katherine and he were deep in conversation, although right at the moment he couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, since he was trying to please this difficult-to-please woman.
Finally, she moaned in what Fitz hoped was her version of passion, and he was spurred on to work even harder, pumping away at her and telling her things he’d gleaned from the romance fabulas he’d watched.
“My darling,” he said into her ear as he pushed farther into her and she lifted up her hips to give him more room, “you put the rest to shame.”
Although he’d much rather have been lying on his back having Vernie do that fun thing she did with him. And he missed having Trent to chat with during it all. The man was very amusing.
Never mind, he told himself. This is better in the long run.
“Fitz!” Lady Katherine squeaked out as he quickened his pace, and he knew he’d found his fortune.
Chapter 138
Lady Patience was late for breakfast, as usual, Calvert thought, although this morning she had a good excuse.
He’d come, also as usual, to check on the platters, to make sure all was cleared and in order, and, he admitted to himself for the first time, to see Lady Patience herself. He looked forward to seeing her every morning—the high point of his day.
She’d been utterly grand last night—the story had spread rapidly since Johnny’d witnessed it all, and Calvert himself had seen the magnificent sight of Lady Patience racing through the storm on the pinto. He wanted to tell her all this, but he hesitated before saying anything.
“Calvert,” she said as he checked under the silver lid for the pastries, all of which were gone. “Yes, my lady,” he said, turning around to look at her.
She was sitting in her usual seat, by herself, a lovely cream-colored morning dress gracing her beautiful form, her hair in a simple chignon. Lady Patience had a cup of tea in front of her, but no food.
The sun shone through the high windows in the dining room, brighter than Calvert had seen it his entire time on Outworld 5730. Lady Patience’s blond hair almost sparkled in the light.
He came around the table and sat in the chair next to hers.
“Eli Calvert,” he said, extending his hand.
“Pamela Hyland,” she said, and put her hand in his firm, warm grasp.
Chapter 139
Jewel Allman stood out on the lake path, surveying the devastation of the worst, and most likely the last, majestic she’d ever put on. There was Clive Idrest himself, his somewhat bloated corpse just far enough away that she didn’t really have to look at it, but even from here, she could see that part of his face was, well, gone. She shivered as she saw Doc Hoffstead himself turn away in disgust.
The agency’s team from Trylon, who’d gotten to 5730 faster than she’d thought possible—in mere hours—had already determined that the arrow that killed Allene Dickens had been shot by Idrest himself. There were traces of his genetic material all over the arrow and on the bow he’d used, which had been hanging in the equipment room at Brixton.
Jewel would have to have a talk with Thalia Rivers, who’d apparently let this horrible man use Brixton Hall as his headquarters. And, worse, Thalia hadn’t told Jewel that Idrest was here on 5730, even though Thalia of course knew that Marguerite Idrest was at Hollyhock.
A
nd to think of all the help she’d always given Thalia, bringing her up through the ranks, really, and helping her get her own venue.
Someone on horseback was approaching, and she turned and saw it was Johnny, who she guessed now thought it was his right to gallop about the property on a horse, since he’d done so last night and since he obviously knew what he was doing.
“Mrs. Allman,” Johnny said as he gracefully dismounted. “You’d better come back to the house.”
He shocked her then by lifting her up into the saddle, then hoisting himself up and around behind her.
“Hang on,” he said, one arm about her waist and the other hand holding the reins, as he urged the horse into a fast trot.
What now? Jewel thought as the wind undid her carefully pinned-up hair. She didn’t dare imagine what terrible disaster awaited her at the manor house, one that had caused Johnny to ride out to the lake and practically abduct her.
My God, what if something’s happened to Mr. Calvert? Or, worse, to Marguerite Idrest?
But once back in her office, where Johnny had practically pushed her to get to, she saw why he’d come to fetch her. Her desk was piled with hundreds of future players’ requests to come to Hollyhock, and Harriette, who’d gone to Jewel’s office that morning, had been stunned by the influx of communications and had sent Johnny to get her.
Jewel sat at her desk, Harriette across from her, and they worked through the stack, sorting out the players who they’d arrange to have come in the next few days for the short-term stays that Calvert had suggested, and those who’d be booked for future full-term majestics at Hollyhock.
“Look,” Harriette said at one point, “I think you can place him in there”—she pointed to a spot on the room map—“and, look here, Mrs. Allman. Barrie Wheaton herself is just begging to come. We should definitely have her at the next full majestic.”
“Barrie Wheaton? Are you sure?”
Now Playing on Outworld 5730 Page 38