Indiscretions

by Gail Ranstrom

  “And he says that I am Lord Barrett now.”

  “Yes, that is so,” she said, wondering what else Hunt had told him. She did not have to wait long to find out.

  “And that Papa is with God now?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, William. Does that make you sad?”

  William regarded her somberly, looking much too old for his eight years. “I think we will be better without him. He was not very nice to us.”

  She coughed to hide her laugh of relief.

  “And Hunt says we will not be going back to St. Claire?”

  She shook her head.

  “And he says that, if I go wash up, I can have tarts, but not as good as the ones you used to make.”

  She met Hunt’s amused gaze. “He told you a great many things, it would seem.”

  “Yes, but I am not supposed to tell.” William smiled at Hunt. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Shh.” Hunt placed a finger over his lips. “Later.” He turned and indicated Sarah with a sweep of his hand. “This is my sister, Sarah. If you will follow her, she will show you where to wash up and then take you to the kitchen. Are you hungry?”

  “Oh, yes! Very. I have not eaten since this morning. Where will you be, Mama?”

  “Right here, Will.” She watched as Sarah led him out the door and closed it quietly behind her.

  Then she turned and threw her arms around Hunt, releasing all the emotion she’d held in check. “Thank you, thank you,” she cried. “How will I ever repay you?”

  “I can think of dozens of ways, madam. Dozens. And they all start with this.” He kissed her very thoroughly and then held her at arm’s length. “Now sit, so I can think.”

  She sat in a dainty chair and folded her hands in her lap, thinking how completely she would thank him later.

  “You and William should go to Barrett’s funeral tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “He is not too young, and you are not too delicate. It is important that society sees you grieving. After talking with William, I believe he needs to know that it is over. He needs to say goodbye to his father in a very real manner.”

  Of course he did. Why had she not thought of that? “And do you really think it appropriate that I be there?”

  “Given that you are escorting your son, I think society will understand that, however distraught you may be, your duty to your son comes first. My brothers will all be there to support you, as will I.”

  “You do not have to do that, Hunt. I have faced censure before, you know.”

  “Unfairly, madam. And never again, if I have anything to say about it. But I must know if there is anything I can do, any detail I can manage for you in the next two days.”

  “Two days?” Oh! He was going to surrender himself to the authorities! She shook her head. “I… I was going to ask you to bring the miniature of William, but you have brought the real thing. I want for nothing.” Nothing but him.

  A furrow formed between his eyebrows. “Miniature? You mean the portrait you…”

  “Hit Barrett with? Yes. That is the one.”

  He gave her an odd look, was silent a long moment and then asked, “Where was it when you last saw it, Elise?”

  “I…dropped it on the floor. I was standing near the fireplace, I think. Did you see it?”

  “You did not leave it…with Barrett?”

  “After he fell, I dropped it and went to my dressing room. I was afraid he would wake before I could leave. He would have killed me, I think.”

  He let out a long breath and shook his head. “Bloody hell! This changes everything, Elise. I thought…never mind what I thought. Mr. Doyle owed Barrett money, did he not?”

  “Yes. I believe he had paid most of his debts, but a few might have been outstanding. I warned him not to gamble with Barrett. I have never known my husband to forgive a debt.”

  “If you please, Elise, could you stop referring to him as your husband?”

  “My late husband?”

  “Better.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Much better. I did not kill him, my dear.”

  A sick feeling followed relief. “Oh, then I—”

  “And neither did you.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and went to the door. “I have urgent business. I will see you tomorrow.”

  Elise could read William’s fidgeting and inattention quite well. He found his father’s funeral boring. He kept turning in his seat to look at Hunt and his brothers, several pews back. At one point, he had leaned toward her and whispered, “Hunt is going to take me fishing on his estate when spring comes.”

  “Shh,” she told him and squeezed his hand.

  Outside in the frost-laden air, William endured a few pats on the head and then excused himself to go into the graveyard to wait for the coffin. She hoped he would use the interim to run off some of his pent-up energy, then said a silent prayer of gratitude for the resilience of youth.

  And now, as she stood near the churchyard gate, men came forward one by one to offer their condolences. And such strange condolences! The usual, “He will be missed” was absent, as was, “Such a great loss.” Instead, they would take her hand and offer a weak, “I hope you are getting on well, madam.”

  Though Barrett had had a great many acquaintances, he’d had few, if any, real friends, it seemed. His habit of buying people and ruthlessly stripping his gambling victims of their possessions had garnered him no genuine affection.

  Still standing on the church steps, the Hunter brothers watched her closely lest Mr. Doyle accost her in public—an unnecessary precaution, she was certain. Hunt, more intent than the others, hovered nearby. She was certain that his less-than-subtle presence would be remarked upon tonight over dinner tables.

  Led by the minister, hired pallbearers carried the coffin down the stairs and toward the churchyard gate. A solemn hush fell. Elise followed the pallbearers, and was in turn followed by the others. As they drew close to the open grave, she looked around for William. He should be at her side for this last ritual, but she did not see him.

  A glance at Hunt told her that he was thinking the same thing. He separated himself from his brothers and disappeared as the minister began the readings. Within a few minutes, her anxiety was rising alarmingly, and when Hunt reappeared alone, she was near to panic.

  “Amen,” the minister intoned.

  “Amen,” those gathered behind her answered.

  She turned to see if William had come from that direction, but still did not spot him. The men tipped their hats and turned to go. Ignoring the minister who offered his hand in comfort, she hurried to Hunt.

  “Where is he?” she asked, hating the edge of hysteria in her voice.

  Hunt gripped her arms as his brothers surrounded them. “He will not hurt William, Elise. He would not dare.”

  “M-Mr. Doyle?” she guessed.

  He nodded and put a folded paper in her hand.

  My dear Lady Barrett,

  Please excuse my lack of protocol, but simplicity seems best. I want the packet Governor Bascombe gave you. You want your son. I suggest a trade. Meet me at Black Friars Bridge tonight at midnight. Come alone and do not think to cross me, or the lad goes over the bridge. Does he swim, madam? Do you?

  The note was not signed, but she could not mistake the sender. Mr. Doyle. She looked up at Hunt, her hand trembling so badly that the single page fluttered in the still air.

  “Hold fast, Elise. And have no doubt we will win out.”

  “We? But I am going alone.”

  “We shall see about that.”

  Elise could not see the middle of Black Friars Bridge as she started across, keeping to the footway. By midnight the temperature had dropped well below freezing. The fog rolling off the Thames mingled with smoke from coal fires, muffling sounds and obscuring her vision. The air was so thick that she could barely hear her own footsteps.

  The utter silence and isolation were unnerving. Late at night, in weather this foul, people did not vent
ure abroad, and Mr. Doyle would be able to do as he pleased without fear of discovery. Pray that he would let William go. She felt for the oilskin packet again, snugly stuffed in her bodice.

  Hunt had argued with her, warning her of the folly of meeting a murderer alone, but she had been adamant. She would not risk William’s life. He had scowled at her, dropped the packet on her lap and departed Sarah’s house without another word. She had never seen him so angry.

  There was a scuffling sound ahead of her. Her heart leaped into her throat and she stopped in fear. Had she reached the middle? “William?” she called.

  Another muffled sound, and then a laugh.

  “W-William?” she asked again.

  “Did you bring it, madam?” a disembodied voice asked.

  She shivered. “Did you bring William?”

  A dark form materialized in the fog and then grew larger, though not yet distinct. Fear, never very far from her since she’d set out tonight, grew and became a palpable thing.

  “He is here, madam,” the voice replied.

  She recognized the voice as Mr. Doyle’s now, but it carried a note of repressed fury that she’d never heard before. The tone made her painfully aware of how vulnerable she was and she realized that Hunt had been right. She should have let him come with her. Too late now.

  The single figure emerged from the fog and became two. Mr. Doyle was pushing William ahead of him on the footway as a shield. They were mere feet away by the time they became distinct. He had gagged William so he could not call out, and bound his hands in front of him. His eyes were terrified and every instinct told Elise to kill Mr. Doyle. Alas, she had nothing to use against him but the oilskin packet.

  “Let him go,” she demanded.

  “The letter?”

  She pulled her cloak open, withdrew the packet from her bodice and held it up for him to see. “I have it. Now let him go.”

  Mr. Doyle moved next to the stone balustrade. “Let us not play games, madam. Bring me the letter or say goodbye to the little viscount, eh?”

  He was mad. She could hear it in his voice.

  She held the packet out to him, trying to draw him away from the edge. “Here it is. Bring William to me.”

  He began to lift William toward the edge. “I warned you, madam. No games.”

  “No!” she screamed. “Put him down, Mr. Doyle. Here! Here it is.”

  Hunt heard Elise’s voice, muffled through the dense fog. She was pleading with someone, entreating him. Blast! Too late to intercept her. She’d already met Doyle.

  He proceeded cautiously, determined to give Doyle no reason to bolt. And, please God, no reason to throw William over the side. Of all his cases, of all the ugly things he’d seen and done, this was the only situation in which a child’s life had been at stake.

  Doyle was a conscienceless killer, and he’d begun to lose his grip on sanity. God alone knew what he was capable of. William, Elise, Hunt himself—all were mere inconveniences to him. He truly did not realize that, even without the letter, he had been found out. Perhaps the other evidence was circumstantial and could not prove his guilt in a court of law without Bascombe’s letter, but—

  He turned and held one hand out, palm first, to stop Auberville and Travis. “Stay back, out of sight,” he whispered. “If Doyle sees you, the game is over.”

  They nodded, their faces somber and anxious.

  He went forward again until Elise’s back appeared out of the fog. She was pleading with Doyle, a note of panic in her voice. He could not trust his instincts. Elise was too important to him. If he lost her as he’d lost Layton, he couldn’t live with it. Nor could he sacrifice William.

  He touched her shoulder and she whirled to him, then spun back to see what Doyle would do.

  And what he did shocked them both. He placed William on the edge of the balustrade. Bound and gagged, William had no possible way to keep his own balance. Only Doyle’s hand on his shoulder kept him safe. He would sink like a rock in the frigid water below.

  “Hold a moment, Doyle. Think, man. We already know everything—about what you’ve done. You cannot get away with any of this. It will only make you look like a villain if you let young William go over the side.”

  Doyle glanced at William, one hand still clamped over his shoulder. “You know nothing, Lockwood. But you’ve just condemned young William here.”

  “I do know,” Hunt said quickly, keeping Doyle’s attention. “I know that you are behind the piracy on St. Claire. I know that you had Bascombe killed so that you could return there and continue your operation. I know that Langford was your contact in the Foreign Office. He is in custody now, Doyle. It’s over.”

  Doyle’s eyes took on a mad look and William teetered on the edge as he pulled a pistol from his greatcoat pocket. “You don’t know the half of what I’ve done.”

  Hunt stepped in front of Elise and held his hand up in a conciliatory gesture as he took one guarded step forward. “I know that it was you who threw the rock at Elise when she appealed for a patent for Gilbert, because she interfered with your access to the courier’s pouch. How else were you to get the information you needed? Then you sent word to Rodrigo that Layton was a spy. They killed him first and were coming for me when I escaped.”

  Behind him, Elise gasped. He could not let her interfere now. Doyle had almost forgotten her. He pressed forward another step. A few more and he’d be within reach of William. “And ’twas you who tipped that pot onto Elise at Thackery’s to get her out of the way before she found Bascombe’s letter, and hired a thug to kill me when I got too close.”

  “You are too clever by half, Lockwood. Seems as if you do know almost everything. But I still have a few secrets. And if I cannot have the governorship, I shall at least escape with enough to make me comfortable on the continent.”

  Hunt ignored Doyle’s comment to keep his attention. “But the most ingenious thing you did was to kill Barrett after I was seen threatening him. Damn clever, that—have me arrested for murder, search Barrett’s house for Bascombe’s letter and reclaim your debts, all in one bold stroke. Should have worked. Too bad it did not.”

  “I got my vowels back, Lockwood, and the infamous Barrett jewels. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found that bastard lying on the floor. He was just coming around, but he never will again.” Doyle laughed and the crazed sound sent chills down Hunt’s back.

  He could see the desperation in the dilated eyes and knew instinctively what Doyle planned to do. But he was not close enough yet.

  “I even know that you killed your aunt for your inheritance.” That, more than anything else he’d said, disconcerted Doyle. Knowing it would be his last chance, he lunged for William.

  Too late. The little boy tumbled into the fog.

  A shot echoed in the night and Elise screamed. Fire ripped along Hunt’s left arm, tearing a hole through his greatcoat and jacket. He heard running and knew Travis and Auberville were close. He went down on one knee and withdrew his dagger from his boot as Doyle turned to run, supremely confident that Hunt and Elise would be distracted.

  Elise. My God! Had the ball hit her, too? A blind rage filled him and he lunged for Doyle. They tumbled together and Hunt twisted behind him, knowing his left arm would fail him soon. He’d get one chance, and then be at Doyle’s mercy. With the last of his strength, he drew the blade across Doyle’s neck.

  Panting, he looked up to see Elise climbing over the balustrade. “Elise! No!”

  Her pause was enough for him to get to her, seize her around the waist and drag her back. Sobbing, she struggled until he leaned over the edge and shouted.

  “Charlie? Drew?”

  “We’ve got him!” Charlie’s voice came to them. “Drew is wrapping him in blankets now. Meet us at the embankment.”

  “A boat?” She looked up at him in wonder. “You planned all this?”

  He grinned. “You did not think I would leave anything to chance, did you?”

  Then she saw the blood-soaked r
ip in his jacket. Her face paled. “Hunt…”

  “A scratch. I’ll have it seen to once we’re home.”

  Auberville stood from his examination of Doyle. “Dead,” he confirmed.

  Hunt nodded. Doyle would never kill again. And neither would he. He was finished. Tomorrow, he’d tender his resignation—this time, for good. “Get the coach, pick up Charlie, Andrew and William and come back for us,” he told them. “Then, if you wouldn’t mind, could one of you stay with the body until the night watch arrives?”

  When they were alone, Hunt slipped his good arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Thank God Doyle did not harm you. When I formed this plan, that was the one thing I couldn’t plan for.”

  She tightened her arms around his waist and came up on her toes to fit her lips against his. “But you are sure of my love? Because I love you to total distraction.”

  He sighed, relishing those amazing words and the heat of her body against his in the freezing night. He couldn’t let her go again. Not for a single minute. “What say you, Elise? Shall we throw caution and propriety to the winds and risk one last indiscretion? To hell with banns and mourning. Marry me. Tomorrow. And devil take the consequences.”

  Elise laughed, then gave him her answer and a promise for the future in the most delectable way.

  Epilogue

  April 3, 1821

  The baby’s cries echoed through the long corridors, piercing the silence with shrillness. Elise lifted the hem of her gown, ran up the third flight of stairs and turned toward the nursery. A baby’s cry always terrified her.

  A lump formed in her throat as she followed the sound, hoping, praying, that she could calm her niece before she disturbed the entire house. Sarah had warned her that Violette was a colicky baby, but nothing had prepared her for the reality.

  The sound suddenly stopped and the eerie silence returned. Elise halted and caught her breath, listening. What had happened to stop Violette’s cries? Oh! She had not stopped breathing, had she? This time she did not stop running until she burst through the nursery door.