Brant hastily held out some money for Abel, which the boy took and then ran off to fetch Dobson. He turned his attention back to his mother who was watching him with that same, unsettling little smile. It was as if she still knew something he did not and he had the feeling that he did not wish her to tell him, either. He managed to hold back the urge to ask for several minutes as he watched her slowly die with such quiet calm that he was uneasy about it. Yet, when he looked again, he had no doubt that the wound was fatal, that it was actually very surprising that she had hung on to life for as long as she had.
“You were going to shoot me in the back,” he said.
“Yes.” Her voice was soft but steady despite the pain he knew she had to be in. “I know where to aim so that the bullet would still have gone through your heart.”
“An admirable skill for a countess. I do not suppose you are going to ask for forgiveness before you die.”
“No, I think not. I have known for a very long time that I was headed to hell. You see, I lied when I said I have not killed anyone. I killed your father.”
“He died of heart failure. The doctor—”
“Was my lover and had an extensive knowledge of poisons, especially those that left no hint that poison was used.”
“That doctor died of heart failure a year later.”
“Yes, I learn my lessons well, always have, and it was such an easy poison to obtain.”
“Foxglove,” Olympia said and nodded when Brant glanced her way.
“No surprise that a witch would know.”
“Olympia is not a witch.”
“Of course she is but all I find distressing about her Wherlocke blood, the blood of witches and sorcerers and said to give them all such powerful gifts, is that she makes no real use of that power. Very disappointing. I would have welcomed such power. There is one last thing I do need to tell you.”
“And what is that?”
“Emery is not your father’s son.”
Brant frowned and thought of the nine-year-old Emery. The boy was tall for his age and held the promise of being a big man. He had brown hair so light it held blond streaks when he had been out in the sun. And his eyes were a hazel color with a great deal of brown in them. Then he realized where he had seen such coloring before.
“Your footman. The affair is quite old then.”
“He was a very obedient lover and a great resource for me. Of course, when he decided that he did not love me enough to leave London, his usefulness ended.”
A moment later she died. Brant sighed and reached out to close her eyes. “Bitter and vicious right up until the end.”
“Calm, too, for a body that feels sure she is going to hell and that the trip will start with the next breath.”
A moment later Dobson strode in. “You Wherlockes do tend to attract the bodies,” he said as he walked up and looked down at Lady Mallam. “Your mother?”
Brant nodded. “Yes, she was about to shoot me in the back when Pawl shot her. Was hoping you might know a way to help us keep that sort of thing from being known.”
“Well, there are all her crimes to think on but, this does save a hangman’s fee, so I will think of something.”
“Her lover’s body is in the garden. She shot him because he did not really wish to go into exile with her.”
“And there is your answer. Scandalous. A lovers quarrel between a countess and her footman. She shoots him but he lives long enough to shoot her and they both die. It will be scandal enough to whet the appetites of all the gossips so well they will look no further. Might have to wait awhile before we bring up the footman’s body though. Good idea, m’lord.”
“It was Olympia’s idea. She saw the body as she was climbing up the wall to try and help me.”
Dobson looked over at Olympia and then frowned. “Is that when you got shot, m’lady?”
“Shot?” Brant said and heard Pawl echo his cry as he spun around to look at Olympia.
He hurried to her side and then he saw it. Her gown was a dark green so he had not noticed the blood at the shoulder. Now, however, there was a lot more of it.
“Why did you not say something?” he demanded as he tore the sleeve of her gown to look at the wound.
“Your mother was dying and in the mood to tell you secrets.” She winced as he gently tugged her away from the wall so that he could make certain the bullet had passed all the way through, which it had. “I thought she might actually tell you something of importance but it seems she remained petty right up until the end.”
“I need to get you home and seen to by the doctor.”
“Can you walk?” asked Dobson.
“I can carry her,” said Brant.
“Would look better if she walked out.” He rubbed his beard-darkened jaw. “A little more difficult to come up with a good tale that would include her being shot as well.”
Seeing the sense of that, Brant still insisted on carrying her right to the front door. He then held her arm to steady her as she walked to the carriage. He told the driver to take them to the Warren as he settled her comfortably in the carriage and then climbed in to sit beside her.
“I cannot believe you climbed up to the window,” he said as the carriage began to move.
When she did not answer, he looked at her and his heart stopped for a moment. She was unconscious and her face was as pale as the snow. He leaned out the window and told the driver to hurry. Returning to her side, he held her close to ease the roughness of the journey even though he knew she was feeling no pain.
“Do not die on me, Baroness,” he whispered into her hair. “Do not dare. I will drag Penelope off her birthing bed to come and hunt your spirit down so I can scold you until your ears burn. Please, Olympia. Do. Not. Die.”
Chapter 18
Brant paced outside Olympia’s bedchamber. He had barely gotten her settled on the bed when Enid and Merry evicted him from the room. People soon began to arrive, some staying downstairs but several coming up and being allowed into the room. Stefan was in there as well as Doctor Pryne. He had also recognized Septimus Vaughn as that young man was hastily allowed into the room. Yet he was still banished.
“Come down and have a drink.”
He turned to look at the man who had spoken. There was no question he was a Wherlocke as well. He even had eyes similar to Olympia’s save that they were a darker blue. Suddenly, Brant knew who all the people were that he had heard arriving. He recalled from the time he had helped Ashton that the Wherlockes and Vaughns appeared to know when one of their own was hurt.
“They will not let me in there,” he said.
“Not yet. I am Orion, Olympia’s cousin.”
“Yes, I assumed you were related. There is a look you Wherlockes have.”
“A look? I hope it is a good thing.” Orion took him by the arm and tugged him along down the stairs. “Come have a drink. They will let you know when you can go in there. With Septimus, Stefan, and Doctor Pryne all in there, plus Enid and that little maid, it would be too crowded anyway.”
“She bled a lot,” he said, worry softening his voice as if he feared to even say the words.
“She will be fine.”
“Do you know that for certain?”
“Ah, no, just feel it to be true. I do not really have the sight. However, Chloe and Alethea, more cousins, have already sent word saying it will be fine. They do have the sight. They knew she would be hurt but the family is so scattered at the moment we could not get here in time to help with the trouble she was dealing with.”
“Ashton and Penelope sent her brothers. I thought that was because Olympia had called for some help.” He looked around at all the people gathered as Orion led him into the drawing room. “Although there were many who found out things we needed to know.”
Orion handed him a drink of brandy. “We are very good at that. It is why there are so many of us here. We were not so far away anymore. Unfortunately, not close enough to stop this or able to know it was coming.
Or that he would come,” Orion muttered and looked toward the door.
Brant felt all the hairs on his arms lift and idly scratched at one. He looked in the direction everyone else was just in time to see a tall, black-haired man step into the doorway. The look the man fixed on him made Brant have to fight the urge to step back.
“So you are the one who got my sister shot,” the man said as he strode over to stand in front of Brant.
Argus Wherlocke, who had recently married the daughter of a duke, Brant thought as he stared into the man’s dark blue eyes. The urge to confess all rose up in him and then Orion stepped in front of him and held a hand in front of his eyes. That urge to spill his innards to this man slowly faded and Brant frowned.
“There is no need to do that, Argus,” Orion said. “There have been no secrets here and you know it.”
“My sister is hurt, cousin. I have a right to know everything that happened.”
Suddenly recalling what Ashton had told him about his uncle-in-law, Brant sighed. “You could have just asked,” he said and took a sip of his brandy. “My mother shot her. Olympia saw that my mother was planning to shoot me, climbed up the wall of the house and was coming in through the window when her skirt tore. The noise was enough to draw my mother’s attention and she shot her. Unfortunately, your sister decided she could wait to have her wound seen to because my mother, who was shot by Pawl, was speaking and let free a few more nasty secrets before she died. None of which were worth your sister bleeding quietly in the corner. Something I mean to tell her if they ever allow me in to see her.”
Argus studied him for a moment, glanced to the door as if he thought to run up the stairs and see to matters himself, and then looked back at Brant. “It sounds like what she would do.” He looked at Orion. “Who is with her?”
“Septimus, Stefan, Enid, a young maid, and Doctor Pryne.”
“Good enough. Any of that brandy left?”
Brant tried to relax as he stood waiting for Orion to get Argus some brandy. It was not easy to relax around a man like Argus, even if he was not already a mass of conflicting emotions concerning Olympia. When he finally got the courage to look at Argus, the man smiled, and Brant knew it was not a friendly expression. A man did not feel chills run up and down his spine when a man gave him a friendly smile.
“Just why was my sister involved in your troubles, m’lord?” Argus asked as Orion handed him his drink. “I do not recall that the two of you were particularly well acquainted.”
“We were not.” Brant was not surprised to see Argus’s eyes narrow but he would not retract the implications of that were. “My sister came here to find Ashton but found Olympia instead.” He carefully told the whole tale, ignoring how the room had gone silent as everyone listened even though he suspected a lot of them already knew much of what he was saying. Olympia had been sending messages out to her relatives concerning the matter from the beginning.
Once he was done, he took another careful sip of his brandy and waited for Argus to weigh every word he had just said. Brant knew the man would recognize the truth, but suspected Argus was looking through the whole for any hint that his sister had been unwillingly dragged into danger. When Argus quietly swore, Brant nearly smiled. The man knew his sister well enough to know that no one could force her to do anything she did not want to, just as no one could convince her to sit back and stay safe if she did not want to, either.
“That fool sister of mine should have just handed the mess over to you,” muttered Argus.
“She made a promise.”
That soft, female voice startled Brant as much as it did Argus and Brant turned to look at his sister. Agatha was a little pale and, to his disgust and anger, he could see the hint of bruising on her throat, but she was standing calmly with her hands folded in front of her skirts. She was also meeting that dark, intimidating gaze of Argus’s with no sign of fear.
“To you,” said Argus.
“Yes, to me. And to my maid when her brother was taken and to many another one, I believe. I know she would have helped me no matter what, but as it became clear that children were in peril, she was even more determined to do something. Anything.” Agatha shrugged, but there was a hint of tears in her eyes. “My mother was an evil that needed to be ended.”
Brant put his arm around his sister’s shoulders. “She has been, Agatha. I am sorry. I should have come right to you and told you everything but . . .”
Agatha smiled. “I was not bleeding. I do understand, Brant. Pawl told me all that had happened for he felt the need to apologize for being the one who shot her. I think I have convinced him that I feel no animosity toward him for that and would never, ever try to make him pay for something that, I think, was long overdue.”
“True, I can sense that but something still troubles you, child,” said Orion.
It surprised Brant a little to see a flash of anger in his sister’s eyes when Orion called her a child, but then the trouble the man referred to darkened her eyes again. “Only what anyone would feel when she is made to face the fact that her mother was so evil. Worse, I am not sure she was actually insane, just thoroughly bad, without conscience. It is hard to be sensible and convince oneself that such bad blood is not running in your veins as well.”
“Do not worry about that,” said Argus. “Not all such illnesses carry on through the family. Trust us to know that.” He smiled when there was a ripple of laughter through the room. “Some people are just born with their conscience missing, m’lady. Some have it destroyed when they are a child or not even taught to use it. There are many reasons for a person to become what your mother was but I can say, without a doubt, that taint is not in you.” There was a murmur of agreement from the others.
“Thank you, that is a great comfort to me.” She looked at Brant. “How is Olympia?”
“I have not been allowed in to see her yet but no one here seems particularly worried so I shall find comfort in that,” Brant said and glanced at Argus, “as well as in what he said.”
“Huh.” Argus smiled that smile that made Brant uneasy. “Do not believe I said the same about you.” He grunted and whipped around to glare at the tall woman behind him. “Aunty Gone, what are you doing here?”
“Do not call me that foolish name,” she said without heat and then looked at Brant. “I came because of Ilar. He needs to know how his mother fares and he is not yet allowed into the city. To bring him into this turmoil as well would be even worse.”
Brant bowed to Olympia’s aunt Antigone. “All seem to believe she will be fine. She lost a lot of blood though.”
“Sepitmus and Stefan are up there,” said Argus.
She nodded. “Good. Fetch me some of that brandy, Argus.”
Much to Brant’s surprise, Argus obeyed without hesitation. He turned to Antigone only to find her staring at Olympia’s four waifs from the streets of London. Before he could tell her who they were, she marched over to them and stared hard at young Giles Green.
“Orion!” she snapped.
Unable to resist, Brant followed Orion over to Antigone’s side. He knew Agatha was right with him and briefly considered telling her to wait. Then he considered all she had gone through in her young life and said nothing. She might still need protection in many ways, but not from the scandalous or ugly parts of life.
“Yes, Aunt?” Orion looked at the boy she was pointing to. “Ah, one of the ones who makes a habit of stealing my carriages.”
“I am not surprised,” said Antigone. “He is of your blood.” Ignoring how pale Orion had gone, she looked at Giles and tilted her head. “Definitely of your blood. How old are you, lad?”
“Eight,” answered Giles. “Just turned it, we think. Not too sure when I was born for I was still no more than a babe in arms when my mam left me in the alley. I did have a note on a ribbon round my neck. Said my name was Giles Green.” He eyed Orion warily. “What do you mean I am of his blood?”
“Just what I said. He is your father.”
“I just do, lad. I can always scent a Wherlocke or Vaughn touch in the blood and, if I think on it real hard, I can tell which one of the rogues left that touch. With you, it was this rogue. Sir Orion Wherlocke who was obviously misbehaving as always about eight years and ten months ago.” She looked at Orion who had begun to regain his composure. “Do you even recall a lass with the name of Green?”
“I am certain I will figure out who his mother is before long,” said Orion.
Antigone nodded and then started toward the door. “I need to see how Olympia fares.”
Before she reached the door, however, Enid stepped into the room and announced, “My lady is fine. The wound has been tended to and the doctor says she will heal nicely if she takes it easy, rests as she should, and eats well. She is awake right now if any of you wish to say a word or two, but keep the visit short.”
Before Brant could move Argus strode out of the room with Antigone at his side. He sighed and looked for a seat in the crowded room. It would be awhile before he could go and see Olympia. Her family would take precedence over him, as they should when he was not officially attached to her in any way. He smiled at his sister when she squeezed in beside him on the settee that also held Orion and Giles, who were talking in low voices as they became acquainted with each other.
Brant looked at the other boys and felt a pang. They looked pleased for Giles but that happiness had a touch of sadness behind it. Abel looked the saddest and Brant realized it was because the older boy had been almost a father to Giles, raising him from that babe in arms left in an alley. He hoped Orion was the type of man to understand the bond the four boys had.
“I think Sir Wherlocke will see that he must aid all of the boys, Brant, and not just take the one away from them,” said Agatha in a voice soft enough to carry only to his ears.
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