A Sinner No More

by Kelly Boyce

  She made it sound as if Madalene carried the plague. “And why is that, exactly?” Not that she was necessarily interested in going beyond friendship with Major Gibbons. It was difficult to consider such a thing when the sensation of Lord Hawksmoor’s chaste kiss still resonated deep within her and his absence made her long for him all the more.

  “You are a servant, Miss Cosgrove, despite Lady Dalridge’s attempts to elevate your status based on a distant relation to a baronet.”

  “I would hardly consider my grandfather a distant relation,” Madalene countered, but Mrs. Chambers paid her comment no heed.

  “I have decided my brother will marry one of the Miss Caldwells.”

  Her claim baffled. “One of the Miss Caldwells? Did you have a particular one in mind, or will any of them do?” The woman spoke as if she was picking a squash from the market and one would do just as well as the other.

  Madalene received another glare for her impertinent inquiry.

  “Obviously, we cannot hope to reach beyond that, but certainly when a baron has nothing more than a houseful of daughters, he will be willing to part with one to an untitled gentleman who has proven himself in battle and now has the ear of the Prime Minister and the potential of a well-placed political career.”

  “And have any of the Caldwell ladies indicated an interest in marrying your brother?”

  “That is hardly here nor there. The eldest Miss Caldwell already has one broken engagement in her pocket, to the disreputable Lord Blackbourne at that, and the middle sister has embarrassed herself with her public displays and opinions. Either one will have a hard time finding a husband given such history. The youngest one is still salvageable, however. My brother’s interest in her will likely be looked upon favorably and with gratitude.”

  “And how does your brother feel about the notion of marrying one of the Caldwells?” Madalene glanced out onto the ice. The major had stopped briefly on the far side of the pond to chat with an acquaintance.

  Mrs. Chambers’ voice turned as hard as the ice Major Gibbons skated upon. “My brother will do as I advise him. It has always been so.”

  Her claim proved the most surprising thing she had said thus far. Major Gibbons appeared to Madalene as a man with his own mind and while he didn’t strike her as someone who would ignore his sister’s counsel outright, it seemed odd that he would allow her to make his decisions for him, especially about something as important as marriage.

  “Would you not prefer that your brother choose his own wife?”

  “Men cannot be counted upon to make a proper choice in that regard. They are too easily sidetracked by womanly wiles, as is proven here.”

  “I beg your—”

  “Please, Miss Cosgrove. Do not play coy with me. I am certain you are well aware of your powers to lure a man. You are a beautiful woman, of that there is no doubt, and men are simple creatures, effortlessly distracted by such. But that is all you are—just a pretty distraction. If you have any hopes beyond that with regard to my brother, you are to be sorely disappointed.”

  Madalene did not have a chance to respond as Major Gibbons had completed his round about the pond and came to stand in front of them once again. Not that she had a response. Mrs. Chambers’ accusations and insinuations against her character had left her completely and utterly speechless. And angry.

  “Are you ready, Miss Cosgrove?” Major Gibbons held out his hands to assist her onto the ice.

  She rose to her feet and stomped over the snow, determined to leave Mrs. Chambers and her rude comments behind on the cold bench.

  “Indeed I am, Major.” She slipped her hands into his, her legs wobbly as a newborn colt as she navigated the slippery surface. Her companion laughed heartily and pulled her arm through his, holding her firmly against his side. It was the most contact they’d had thus far and while it felt peculiar to have him so close, she allowed it for no other reason than the discomfort it would cause Mrs. Chambers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hawk found the larder with ease, instinctually knowing which stairwell to go down and which hallway led to it. He knew to step outside this door, turn that way, and walk back to another door that finally brought him to the kitchens and attached at the end of that, the larder. He remembered the larder had two entrances, this narrow one from the kitchen, and the one accessible from outside. But given the weather had yet to let up, he opted for the interior one.

  Even the names of a few of the surprised servants he passed on his way drifted back. Mary. Ethel. Bert. It was as if being in this house had opened the door to where his memories had stolen off to and coaxed them back to where they belonged. And they had come easily; unlike in the early days when pulling his teeth out would have been an easier venture than recalling even the simplest of memories.

  He passed through the kitchens, ignoring the gasps of the staff present, acknowledging their curtsies and m’lords with a brief nod, yet no break in stride. He wanted this done with. The sooner the better.

  He stopped at the door leading to the larder.

  “Lord Hawksmoor? Is there something I might help you with?”

  Hawk kept his gaze fixed on the door, his hand shaking where it rested on the cold, iron handle. Did the servants know what had happened in here despite his parents’ attempts to cover it up? Were they aware of Phillip’s madness? If so, they gave no indication. “Yes, Mrs. Tipley, you may. I would like the servants to vacate the kitchens, please.”

  “I beg your—”

  “I would like them to leave. Go elsewhere.”

  Mrs. Tipley’s hand fluttered at the base of her neck. “But, my lord, they have duties to attend to and Lady Ravenwood would not be pleased to discover they had left them undone.”

  “Mrs. Tipley,” Hawk said, sliding a glance toward her. “As you well know, my father is gravely ill and likely not long for this world. Upon his demise, who will become your new employer?”

  Mrs. Tipley was quiet a moment before answering, “You will, my lord.”

  “Exactly.” He said no more and after a moment, Mrs. Tipley gave a short curtsey and scurried away. Behind him, he heard her usher the servants out, hushing their questions and calming their fears over not being able to finish their duties.

  Silence descended around him once they had all gone, its sound deafening. Blood pounded in his head and rang in his ears. A cold sweat broke out all over, droplets of sweat finding their way down his spine. He swallowed. Every ounce of him wanted to turn and run, to leave the ugliness of that night in the past. But he could not. He needed to know the truth. All of it. Was Madalene still in danger? If he walked away now, he may never know. If anything happened to her because he had been too much of a coward to protect her, he would never be able to live with himself.

  He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He stepped inside, leading with the candle he had swiped from the table in the kitchen, much to the surprise of the servants who sat around it, scrambling to stand when he unexpectedly arrived. The small, unglazed windows high up on the wall of the larder were open slightly and a cold draft filled the room, causing the flame of his candle to dance. He sheltered it with his hand. Night had fallen hard and dark, its shadow sliding over joints of meat where they hung from hooks in the ceiling, reaching to the cold stone thrawl that lined the far side of the wall and served to chill the room. Shelves filled the empty spaces, housing bottles of preserves and what not.

  It took little time for the sound of Madalene’s voice to reach out from the past and call from the depths of his mind, pulling at him. That guttural cry, laced with a fear he had never encountered in his life before or since, cut through him now as it had then.

  “Thomas!”

  Years ago, her voice crying out for him in terror had propelled him forward even when a sense of self-preservation demanded he run the other way.

  He’d had no idea of what he would find when he reached the larder. What awaited him was nothing his imagination could have conjured up despite h
is brother’s threats.

  The threats! Yes. Hawk ran a hand through his hair, gripping a handful as the memory shot forth from the depths. His brother had let something slip before that night. He’d been well into his cups, a state that had become more and more common before his death. Was it due to guilt? Or just another aspect of his madness? It hardly mattered now.

  “Don’t be so naïve, brother dear.” Phillip always spoke to him in the most condescending manner, as if Hawk was an uninitiated buffoon who had no inkling how the world really worked. “They are but playthings. Nothing more. They are here for our amusement. Our pleasure, to take as we see fit. If they cry or squeal, it is all part of the gratification.”

  His words had sickened Hawk then and still did to this day. But the part that had frightened him most had been the way in which his brother said them. With a twisted gleam in his eye. It was in that moment that Hawk realized his brother was nothing short of a madman.

  “What have you done?” He whispered the words aloud and listened as they echoed in the quiet around him, bouncing off the stone walls before landing quietly at his feet, absorbed into the mud floor. He closed his eyes and crept back into the past, to that conversation with his brother.

  Phillip had laughed and waved a hand as if to dismiss the question. As if his actions bore no consequence. He had believed himself untouchable. In a sense, he had been right, as Hawk soon discovered with horrible clarity. “What does it matter? For the most part we stick to those who are of no consequence.”

  For the most part.

  We.

  His brother’s choice of words disturbed him even now and he sifted through his mind for the rest of the memory. Had he asked his brother what he meant by for the most part? He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and pushed past the aching in his head.

  Yes. Yes, he had.

  “Sometimes a lady is so fetching, the challenge so delectable, one cannot help themselves. I found one such lady and I simply had to have her. Though, in the end, her willingness became rather tedious, despite the thrill of putting one over on that pompous Lord Rothbury.”

  Lord Rothbury? Hawk’s heart pounded even harder. He remembered now and the name punched into him like a fist. Alexander St. John, Lord Rothbury. The Duke of Franklyn’s only son and heir.

  “You cuckolded the heir to a duchy? Lord Rothbury is not a man to be trifled with. Are you mad?” But yes, he was. Hawk understood this even as the question left his mouth.

  Phillip shrugged. “It is not as if he knew. Either way, his wife is dead now and the dead cannot confess their sins, can they?”

  Dead. The word reached from the past and reverberated in Hawk’s head. Dropped him to his knees. Filled the room and closed in around him. Dead.

  Lady Rothbury had been found on her husband’s estate, floating in the lake in mid-winter. Most of the details surrounding her death had been kept hushed, much as Phillip’s own would be a few scant weeks later. As much as the ton loved to delve into the dirty laundry of their peers, they preferred to keep their own neatly folded and tucked away where it could not be found. Regardless, something in the way Phillip had responded to Hawk’s question left him questioning what little he did know about the lady’s sudden demise.

  “Did you—?”

  Phillip shrugged. “When you play the game, you must abide by the rules. When a challenge is set down, you do not balk. To do so would be to lose to the other player. To choke on your pride and stand by impotently while they finish the challenge you failed at. And I refuse to fail or to lose. My pride is well intact and shall remain so.”

  The words came back to haunt Hawk. Phillip had not claimed responsibility for Lady Rothbury’s death outright, but he didn’t need to. Hawk knew. Somewhere deep down in his bones, he knew. The lady’s death had not been an accident any more than Phillip’s had been. She had been murdered and Phillip had been the one who had murdered her.

  “You could hang for this!”

  Phillip had laughed, a deprecating sound that echoed within Hawk still, all these years later. “Hardly. Clearly, everyone believes it to be an accident. My accomplice is quite adept at covering such things up when he has the correct incentive to do so.”

  “And what incentive is that?”

  Phillip smiled, a sick, twisted expression that made Hawk’s blood run cold. “The aforementioned hanging you so urgently mentioned. He’s quite fearful of having his precious neck stretched beyond its limits.”

  The candle dropped from Hawk’s hand and rolled a few feet away until the flame extinguished. It hardly mattered. He was not looking at what was in front of him, but instead had delved inside, resurrecting long buried memories.

  He had gone to his parents with the information; afraid of what else Phillip and his accomplice might be capable of. Fearful of who else may be in danger. He had begged them to send Phillip away, put him in a sanitarium if need be. Anything to prevent the same thing from happening to another innocent woman targeted by his brother and whoever he played this insidious game with him. But his pleas fell on the deaf ears of parents who refused to accept their firstborn, their heir, was anything but the perfect son. Instead, they accused Hawk of jealousy, of trying to hurt his brother’s reputation for his own gain.

  Their indifference, their refusal to believe the evidence he laid at their feet, left him stunned. But he was not willing to give up. Perhaps if he could find Phillip’s accomplice, root him out and force him to talk, it would convince them.

  But before he could, his parents turned on him. His mother informed Phillip of what Hawk had accused him of. Enraged, Phillip had burst into Hawk’s bedchamber and attacked him, startling him with the ferocity of his violence. The blows had come fast and furious, leaving him no time to mount a defense. Hawk had come away from the encounter bloodied, his brother’s threat ringing in his ears.

  “You will pay for this, little brother. My next conquest will be someone you hold most dear. I will make you regret this day for the rest of your life. Every day you will have to live with what your disloyalty to this family—to me!—has wrought.”

  But whom had Hawk cared about? He was courting no one and had shown no woman a particular interest. Save for one. But he had not thought of her. His brother had no way of knowing about his friendship with Madalene. He had been discreet, fearful his attentions would be misconstrued, or cause her difficulty with the other staff.

  Hawk shook his head. To this day, he did not know how Phillip had discovered their friendship. Not that it mattered. The result was the same. His brother had hunted her down and attacked her.

  What if Hawk hadn’t heard her scream? What if he had not been outside that night, fretting over what to do about his brother and heard her scream carried on the night air but a hundred feet away? But he had heard and he’d come running. He’d freed her from his brother’s clutches, tearing her away and turning the attack onto Phillip, his fists propelled by fear and rage. How dare he? How dare he touch her! She was innocence and sweetness. She was his friend, his confidante. And the only one in this godforsaken house that had ever treated him as if he mattered. When he was with her, he felt whole. Accepted. Loved even.

  And his brother had sought to destroy that, to take away her goodness, her innocence as retaliation against him. The more the truth of what his brother intended and why sank in, the more his rage and his guilt grew. He was vaguely conscious of Madalene behind him, screaming—for him to stop? He couldn’t remember. He was lost, lost in a world that allowed Phillip to continue his evil, to hurt more innocents who lacked the ability or resources to fight back. He couldn’t let it continue.

  Then his brother’s promise came, rasped between the breaths Hawk had not yet squeezed out of him. The name of his accomplice in this twisted game he played. Lord T. And the reminder—no—the guarantee, that if one player failed, the other took up the charge and completed the challenge. There would be no reprieve if Hawk killed Phillip. It would not save her, not so long as this Lord T was able to fin
ish what Phillip started.

  Beyond that, Hawk remembered nothing specific, just flashes. The color red blinding him. The pounding in his head. Desperation. The pressure as his hands pressed into flesh, harder and harder until nothing was left but silence. His brother’s empty eyes staring up at him. Phillip was dead. He cared little. He had saved her. But only from Phillip. Not from the other player in the game.

  Not from the elusive Lord T.

  Hawk spun on his heel and strode with purpose from the larder, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reached his bedchamber, the little maid had left, her duties completed. It had all been for naught. He had no intention of spending more than one night here. He knelt once more by the hearth, the warmth from the fire pressing against him as he wrestled the loose stone free to reveal a narrow cubby. Inside, he discovered a bundle swaddled in linen and covered with the dust from the stones and mortar. He pulled the package out and laid it on the floor, unwrapping the material to reveal three separate leather-bound journals.

  He carried them to the small table, flanked by two chairs near the fire and brought a lamp over to assist him. Then he sat down and began to read. The words flowed into sentences and the sentences created the story of his life over the two years that spanned the length of the journals. With each entry, his memory recovered the fine details the words left out. The sense of aloneness he had experienced living in his brother’s shadow, ignored by his parents, tormented by his brother. His observations of Madalene and how he thought her out of place amongst the servants. The way she gravitated to the library as if the books on the shelves called out a siren song to her.

  The entries changed after he decided to make it known to her that he had noticed. She was reticent at first, attempting to keep the distance between servant and employer. It had taken every last ounce of his charm to coax her into a friendship, but eventually, the barriers between them relaxed and a light entered his life.