A Love For All Time

by Chloe Douglas

  “I don’t understand, Freddy. Why in heaven’s name did you shoot at me?” Lettitia stared at her brother, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “I wasn’t trying to k-kill you. I only wanted t-to scare you be-because you shamed Lord Wortham. You will ruin all m-my plans if you d-do not marry Wortham.”

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  Earlier in the day, when Mick had questioned Freddy Merryweather in the butterfly room, he couldn’t understand why the younger man had been so upset over the fact that Emmaline had publicly broken her engagement to Wortham. At the time it didn’t make any sense to him. After all, Freddy and Wortham were involved in a long-term affair. Freddy should have been overjoyed at the breakup since it meant he’d have the earl all to himself. But as Freddy had just admitted, he had plans. And Mick was beginning to suspect that the plan was to hide the affair behind the sanctity of first Emmaline’s, and now Lettitia’s, marriage. In fact, after the wedding, Freddy could move into his brother-in-law’s household, secure in the knowledge that no one would suspect a thing.

  “Your sister Emmaline also ruined your plans, didn’t she?” Mick asked, certain that he’d finally hit upon the younger man’s motive.

  “Stupid b-bitch! She deserved to die.”

  While it was hardly a confession, Mick knew that was he getting close. Real close.

  “Sir, your line of questioning baffles me,” Lettitia said abruptly. “Why in heaven’s name are you questioning Freddy about Emmaline’s murder?”

  “Because I’m convinced that Freddy is the key to this whole murder case.”

  “Freddy? Why, that’s preposterous!” she exclaimed.

  It didn’t escape Mick’s notice that Lettitia seemed to be the only person in the room who was genuinely surprised by his accusation regarding Freddy.

  “That’s why Emmaline was blackmailing you, wasn’t it?” Mick turned his attention to Alfred, nailing the portly bastard with an incisive stare. “She knew that your namesake, the product of your loins, was having an affair with her fiancé. I’m guessing that she came to you and told you what she’d discovered. But rather than defend her honor like any decent father would, you refused to let her break off the engagement.”

  Tight-lipped, Alfred reached into his coat pocket and removed a silver case. Opening it, he removed a cigar, jamming it between his teeth. He then stormed over to the fireplace, lifted a glowing cinder with a pair of tongs, and lit his cigar.

  “Damn you, Giovanni,” the older man hissed, his bald pate encircled in a cloud of white smoke. “Do you know how hard I’ve had to work to achieve all of this?” He gestured to the room’s ornate décor. Like most of the rooms at Stag House, the drawing room was crammed from floor to ceiling with more shit than you could shake a stick at. Gilt-framed oil paintings. Chinese vases. Persian carpets. Marble busts. And, of course, Alfred’s beloved stuffed animals. “After everything that I gave to Emmaline, all that I asked in return was that the chit marry Wortham and give me a grandson who would one day become an earl.”

  “And that’s why Emmaline had no choice but to do something so outrageous, so shocking, it would ensure that she didn’t have to marry her brother’s lover,” Mick conjectured, the disparate pieces of the case starting to fall into place. He figured that Emmaline, desperate and with no one to turn to, had extricated herself from the engagement the only way that she could.

  “Truly! I don’t believe what… what I’ve been hearing,” Lettitia stammered, the color drained from her face. “Freddy, surely you know that it is illegal to engage in such behavior? Why, if word gets out, you could very well be tried and sent to prison.”

  On the verge of closing the case, Mick said, “I can’t think of a better motive for wanting to permanently silence someone. Can you?”

  “You little bugger,” Alfred crudely bellowed, pointing his cigar in his son’s direction. “I should have taken you out and shot you the day I learned that you were a sodomite!”

  “I say, Freddy. Did you really kill Emmaline? I am rather impressed. Frankly, I didn’t think that you had it in you.” Hearing Wortham’s damning praise, Freddy practically beamed as he made goo-goo eyes at his lover.

  The fact that anyone could be “impressed” with a brutal slaying turned Mick’s stomach. Lettitia’s, too, gauging from the horrified look on her face.

  “I w-would do anything for you, Percy. Surely you know that,” Freddy cooed adoringly. “But then, I like your d-dark games. Such dark, painful games we can play once you m-marry Lettitia.”

  “While I am admittedly tempted,” Wortham replied in a disgustingly urbane tone of voice, “I must pass on the offer. Such a naughty boy, killing your own sister. Tsk. Tsk.”

  “Yes, I was a very n-naughty boy, Percy. I n-need to be di-disciplined.”

  “The only person I shall be disciplining is my wayward fiancée.” Wortham turned his gaze toward Lettitia, eyeing her with cool disdain. “I hope that you were careful, my dear. I’m not about to give my name to another man’s get.”

  A vision of calm composure, Lettitia said, “That need not concern you, my lord. Given that I love another, I am delighted to inform you that I am breaking off our engagement.”

  “Love!” Wortham scoffed. “We have a contractual agreement. What does love have to do with anything?”

  Squaring her shoulders, Lettitia defiantly stood her ground. “Love has everything to do with my decision.”

  “And who is this paragon of manly virtue who has stolen your heart?”

  Smiling serenely, Lettitia sidled closer to Mick. “His name is Michelangelo Giovanni. And I intend to marry him. Posthaste,” she added.

  Hearing that declaration of intent, Mick was so proud of Lettitia, so full of love for her, it was all he could do not to haul her into his arms and kiss her soundly. Instead, he put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick thatta girl squeeze.

  And while Mick was fairly beaming, Lettitia’s unexpected announcement had a considerably different effect on Alfred Merryweather. The belligerent beer baron stormed over to where he and Lettitia stood side by side.

  “If you think I’m going to let you pull the same trick your sister pulled, think again. You will bear me a grandson who will one day be an earl.”

  Unfazed by Merryweather’s bluster, Lettitia said calmly, “As we both know full well, any child I bear will be no relation of yours. As for my engagement, I would rather consign myself to the devil than marry a wastrel like Lord Wortham.”

  “You b-bitch!”

  That heated exclamation was the only warning that Mick had before Freddy Merryweather raised his arm and aimed an old-fashioned dueling pistol at Lettitia.

  Shit. Mick immediately stepped in front of Lettitia, shielding her as best he could.

  “Are you daft, boy? Put that thing down.” Alfred railed, yanking his cigar out of his mouth.

  The bellowed command stopped Freddy from pulling the trigger, although it didn’t persuade him to lower the dueling pistol.

  Where Freddy had got the firearm, Mick had no idea. The room was so jam-packed with crap that he could have picked it up from anywhere. Hell, there was even a whole collection of ancient Roman spears hanging on one wall.

  “Whatever you do, stay behind me,” he hissed at Lettitia, berating himself for not having scoped out the joint for weapons. “Is that thing loaded?” he asked Alfred.

  “Of course it’s loaded. Why in bloody hell would I have an unloaded gun in the house?”

  Upon hearing that, Mick’s stomach muscles tightened another notch. The last thing he needed was an emotionally deranged perp with a loaded gun. In such close quarters, Freddy was bound to hit somebody.

  “Damn you, boy! Put that gun down,” Alfred roared. “That’s one of Napoleon’s dueling pistols. I paid a pretty penny for it, and I won’t have you mishandling it.”

  God Almighty, whatever happened to “put that gun down before you freakin’ kill somebody?” Not wanting to make a bad situation worse, Mick
kept his opinion about Alfred Merryweather’s parenting skills to himself.

  “Freddy, please put the pistol down before you hurt somebody,” Lettitia beseeched, poking her head around Mick’s shoulder.

  Freddy wordlessly shook his head, refusing to comply.

  “Really, Freddy. This charade is becoming most tiresome,” Lord Wortham remarked, the cavalier bastard throwing in his two pence.

  Tears rolled down Freddy’s flushed cheeks. “You’re j-just angry b-because Lettitia broke off the engagement.”

  “Given that my financial coffers are nearly depleted, I admit I’m not overjoyed,” Wortham replied. “However, with my title, I should have no trouble finding another heiress. I understand America is full of them. Last that I heard, that fellow Vanderbilt has one or two unmarried daughters.”

  Freddy began to shake uncontrollably, the pistol visibly jerking in his hand. “You d-don’t have to go to America,” he sputtered, wiping at his tears with his free hand. “We c-can live abroad. The Greeks are m-much more tolerant of our k-kind of love.”

  “Under no circumstance am I going to Greece with you. Or any other place, for that matter.” Rejection issued, Wortham reached into his breast pocket and removed his snuff box. “You’ve begun to bore me of late. And now with this business about killing your own sister. Really.”

  “B-but I l-love you m-more than l-life itself!” Freddy sobbed, his voice cracking under the strain. “I would have d-done anything f-for you.”

  “I doubt that,” Wortham remarked disdainfully as he sniffed a pinch of snuff.

  Hearing the two men’s love spat, Mick started to get a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling that instantly went from one-to multiple-alarm when Freddy suddenly raised the pistol.

  “No, Freddy!” Lettitia screamed, having intuited her brother’s intentions.

  Mick charged across the drawing room.

  “Don’t do it!” he hollered just as Freddy pointed the pistol at his own head and pulled the trigger.

  The gun discharged with a loud boom!

  In the next instant, Napoleon’s dueling pistol dropped from Freddy’s hand as he collapsed in an ungainly heap.

  Mick rushed over to where Freddy lay sprawled on the carpet. Going down on bent knee, he felt for a pulse, surprised not to see any blood.

  “Is he dead?” Alfred asked as he leaned over Mick’s shoulder.

  In a state of disbelief, Mick shook his head. “No, he, um… he missed. I think he passed out from the shock of the explosion.”

  Lettitia clutched a hand to her breast, her shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank heaven.”

  “He missed? The little bugger can’t do anything right, can he?” Alfred sneered.

  Just then, the drawing room door was flung wide open. Key in hand, the police commissioner, Sir Charles Warren, stormed into the room. He was accompanied by two male guests, one of whom had a billiard stick clutched in his hand while the other wielded a medieval lance.

  “We heard gunfire,” the police commissioner announced. “Some treachery is underfoot, I dare say.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Mick muttered as he rose to his feet. “It was a lover’s quarrel that got out of hand.”

  The police commissioner speculatively eyed Lettitia and Lord Wortham.

  “Wrong lovers,” Mick informed him.

  Clearly puzzled, Sir Charles peered around the room, his gaze finally settling on the still unconscious Freddy Merryweather. “Good God!” he exclaimed, his monocle falling out of his eye.

  “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Alfred angrily jabbed his cigar in Freddy’s direction. “Damned fop can’t do anything right. Do you have any idea how much his predilections have cost me? Too damned much. His kind doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “But he’s your own flesh and blood,” Lettitia insisted, clearly outraged by Alfred’s last remark.

  “Which is why I’m putting him in an asylum instead of taking him out and shooting him,” Merryweather retorted.

  “An excellent plan,” Sir Charles concurred with an approving nod of the head. “I know just the place to have him committed. The boy will never cause you another day’s worry.”

  Realizing that the Freemasons were closing ranks, Mick shook his head, disgusted with the lot of them. Although he had no evidentiary proof that Freddy Merryweather was Jack the Ripper, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence to make the claim. Because Freddy was a woman-hating psychopath, in all likelihood he’d wielded the blade that had killed five innocent women. And while he should have to stand trial for that heinous crime, Mick had some serious doubts as to Freddy Merryweather’s mental competence.

  As much as he hated to admit it, institutionalizing the little bastard was probably the best solution. If he were locked away in the loony bin, Freddy would be unable to act on his murderous impulses.

  Having done what he came to do, Mick reached for Lettitia’s hand. “Come on. We need to return to London.”

  Our work here is done.

  * * *

  “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “Knew what?” Mick pulled his gaze from the carriage window and gave Lettitia the full measure of his attention.

  “You knew that Freddy and Lord Wortham were—” Lettitia paused, uncertain how to delicately phrase her query—“er, that they were intimately acquainted with one another.”

  “Yeah, I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Leaning forward in his seat, Mick braced his forearms on his thighs. For several moments, he stared at his lightly clasped hands. “Your fiancé and your brother betrayed your trust,” he said at last. “If I’d told you about their affair, it would have hurt you deeply. Just as it hurt Emmaline. I kept mum because I wanted to protect you from that kind of pain.”

  “You also don’t seem the least bit shocked by the nature of their relationship.”

  “What? You mean the fact that they’re gay? Um, I mean that they’re of the same sex?” When she nodded, he shrugged and said, “Nah, that didn’t shock me. In and of itself, that kind of relationship is no big deal. My ex-sister-in-law is a lesbian, and my first cousin just got married to his long-time partner. In fact, it was a real nice ceremony.”

  Hearing that, Lettitia’s jaw went slack. “Two men marrying one another?”

  Mick chuckled. “We’re headed to a whole different world. One that’s a bit more tolerant of people’s differences.”

  “Indeed,” she murmured, admittedly intrigued. “I was also curious as to why you failed to inform Sir Charles that Freddy killed Emmaline.”

  “I had a good reason for not mentioning it. If it’s ever leaked to the press that Freddy killed his own sister, it’ll incite a pubic scandal. I can just see the headlines now—” Mick waved a hand through the air, revealing an imaginary caption—“Brewmeister’s Brouhaha. And while I don’t give a damn about Alfred, your mother and your Uncle Phidias would be greatly affected. And not in a good way. I figured they could both do without that kind of notoriety.”

  As usual, Mick had her best interests at heart. And while she wished he’d been more forthcoming about Freddy, she now finally understood why Emmaline had gone to such drastic lengths to disengage herself from Lord Wortham. The thought of housing her husband’s lover had been more than her sister could bear.

  If only Emmaline had come to me for help. If she had, perhaps this tragic chain of events could have been circumvented.

  Lost in her maudlin thoughts, Lettitia stared out the window at the shadowy landscape. The repetitive sound of horse hooves striking the lane lent an acoustic monotony at odds with her charged emotions.

  “Do you think that Freddy killed those other women?” she asked after a considerable pause, the question having bedeviled her since they’d left Stag House.

  “What you’re really asking is do I think Freddy is Jack the Ripper? The answer to that is yeah, more than likely he is the Ripper. He certainly fits the prof
ile, what with him being a woman-hating cross-dresser.” Hearing her startled exclamation, Mick winced. “Sorry. I forgot that you don’t know about that. Your brother Freddy likes to dress up in women’s clothing and call himself Fredericka. That’s one of the reasons why he fits the profile for the Ripper murders. From what I’ve read, the Ripper had a thing for removing the female sexual organs of his victims.”

  “Good heavens,” she gasped, placing a hand over her throat. “Why would he do such a ghastly thing?”

  “Because those women had what he wanted: namely, a womb and vagina.”

  Lettitia leaned her head against the velvet-covered seat, horrified. That her own brother would commit so gruesome a crime could only mean one thing—he was criminally deranged.

  “This is too appalling for words,” she said, shaking her head to clear the disturbing images from her mind’s eye. “Mercifully, his killing spree has come to an end.”

  “And, as fate would have it, the Ripper’s true identity will go to the grave with Freddy,” Mick remarked. “Which, I suppose, is as it should be. Otherwise the course of history would have been changed. One hundred and twenty-five years into the future, the Ripper’s identity still hasn’t been uncovered.”

  “Before we left Stag House, I apprised my mother that we were leaving for America,” she announced, giving vent to a much-needed change of topic. “She was quite overjoyed by the news.”

  One side of Mick’s mouth quirked upward. “I take it that you didn’t bother to mention in which century we would be living.”

  “I thought it best not to disclose that particular detail,” she said quietly. While the journey that she was about to undertake would unite her with the man that she loved above all others, it would also separate her from all that she knew and loved.

  Mick stared across the expanse of the carriage at her, a decidedly sober look on his face. “I know that all of this is—” he hesitated, a deep furrow having settled between his brows—“is gonna be hard on you at first, what with leaving your friends and family behind.”