by Connie Mason
Chapter Fourteen
Appalled, Moira stared at the transparent robe Matilda had given her. Nothing or no one could make her wear anything so blatantly sexual before a group of strange men with perverted tastes. Matilda had told her she was to wear nothing beneath the robe and that Plunket would come for her shortly after midnight. Panic filled her veins with a desperation she’d not known before. How could Jack allow this to happen to her? Damn his black heart! Seizing the robe in both hands, she ripped the fragile material to shreds and tossed them to the floor. Then she stomped on them in a futile act of defiance.
Moira started violently at the sound of the key turning in the lock. She stared at the door in trepidation. Was it time already? The door opened and Matilda stepped inside. She held a tray supporting a glass filled with a murky white liquid. She set the tray down carefully. Moira thought the woman wore a strange expression and was both puzzled and alarmed by it. Matilda’s eyes conveyed a warning, and her face showed the same kind of desperation Moira was feeling. Rooted to the spot, Moira waited with bated breath for her jailer to speak.
“Hurry, there’s no time to lose.” Fear and impatience made Matilda’s voice shrill.
“It’s going to take more than you to subdue me,” Moira declared with admirable courage. “I won’t go willingly to your vile master. Nor will I wear that disgusting robe.”
“Forget the robe,” Matilda hissed, glancing nervously toward the door. “When Plunket doesn’t bring you to the caves in a reasonable length of time, Dashwood will come looking for you.”
Hope soared in Moira’s breast, then quickly sank. Why would Dashwood’s lackey deliberately betray her employer? It didn’t make sense.
“Please, miss, we haven’t much time. You’ll need your cloak. It’s going to storm.”
“Where are we going?” Moira asked suspiciously.
“As far away as we can get.”
“We?” Moira hadn’t missed the plural.
“If I let you go, you can be certain Sir Dashwood will want revenge for my betrayal. You must promise to take me with you.”
“Why would you do this? You’ve been Sir Dashwood’s loyal employee for many years.”
“And hated every minute of it. When I think of all the helpless young women that passed through these portals, it makes me ill. At first I had no choice but to do Dashwood’s bidding. He took me in at my sister’s request when I was destitute, but my sister is dead and I have no reason to stay. I’m through with this whole sordid mess.”
“Sweet Virgin, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Aye. I have money saved. Enough for both of us to go wherever we choose. I can’t remain here where Sir Francis will find me. I know too much.”
“Ireland,” Moira said. “We can go to my brother’s farm near the small village of Kilkenny. Oh, Matilda, I don’t know what to say. You’ve saved my life.”
“Not yet,” Matilda said succinctly. “And not at all if you don’t hurry. I was instructed to prepare a drink containing a drug supposed to render you pliable. They will expect you soon.”
“What about Plunket?”
Matilda smiled, completely transforming her plain features. She was no beauty, but her smile made her face almost pretty. “I drugged his soup. Right now he’s snoring over the empty bowl. Enough talk, miss. We’ll have to steal horses from the stable. We can book passage to Ireland from London.”
“Thank you, Matilda. I’ll be forever in your debt,” Moira said as she took her cloak from the hook on the wall and flung it over her shoulders.
Matilda eased open the door, peered into the hallway, found it empty and motioned for Moira to follow. They negotiated the stairs without mishap. Matilda retrieved her wrap from the foyer where she had left it in preparation for her departure and opened the door. The well-oiled hinges gave without protest, and within minutes they were outside, dashing between flashes of lightning to the stables behind the house.
Jack kept his eyes trained on the single entrance to the chamber, waiting for Moira to appear. His nerves were stretched taut; the waiting was unbearable. His fingers hovered close to his belt, ready to fling aside his robe to reach his pistols if the need arose. He hoped to God it wouldn’t be necessary. Suddenly there was a commotion as a man staggered into the chamber. Jack recognized him immediately as the brute who had manhandled Moira inside Dashwood’s mansion. A hooded disciple whom Jack assumed was Dashwood strode forward to speak to the servant. After a heated exchange, the servant hurried off. Dashwood returned to the dais, where the altar gave mute testimony to the depravities practiced there. He raised his hands for silence.
The cacophony of raised voices dropped to a mere buzz of sound, then stopped altogether.
“Brothers united for pleasure,” Dashwood said, addressing the crowd. “There’s a small change in tonight’s agenda. The initiation ceremony will have to be rescheduled for another time. The ladybird has flown.” Groans of disappointment filled the chamber, and once again Dashwood signaled for quiet. “But we can’t let one woman spoil our pursuit of pleasure. There are women aplenty to satisfy our every whim.”
At Dashwood’s signal, a group of women entered the chamber. As if on cue, they dropped their cloaks, revealing their scantily clad—and in some cases totally nude—bodies. The sight was met with loud cheers and a general stampede to claim one of the whores.
“She’s gone,” Jack whispered to Spence. “Somehow Moira managed to escape. Let’s go. We have to find her.” As unobtrusively as possible, they sidled toward the entrance and ducked through.
Unfortunately, one man saw them leave, a man so upset by Moira’s escape he was literally shaking with rage. Roger Mayhew rounded on Dashwood. “How could this happen? This night had been planned a long time. I agreed to let you use Moira for the initiation against my better judgment; afterward she was to be exclusively mine.”
“Even you will agree that using the woman for our initiation rites was a good idea when I tell you who was to be initiated into our ranks tonight,” Dashwood said in an attempt to placate Mayhew. “Black Jack Graystoke finally agreed to join the brotherhood and was to be initiated at tonight’s rites. I hope the unfortunate delay won’t change his mind.”
“You stupid fool!” Mayhew all but shouted. “Graystoke is here tonight? Bloody hell, he’s Moira’s protector! If I’m not mistaken, he and his friend left the moment you announced that Moira had escaped. I’m going after them.”
“Let them go, Mayhew. There are plenty of women where Moira came from. I want no trouble over this. You should have told me about the woman’s relationship to Lord Graystoke. If you had, this would never have happened.”
Mayhew was in no mood to listen to reason. He was armed, and he wasn’t going to let anyone cheat him out of his due. He had waited too long for Moira. And he hadn’t forgotten that she had bashed him on the head. Moira couldn’t have gotten far. Of one thing he was certain. If he couldn’t have her, no one else would. Throwing off his hood, he raced from the chamber, Dashwood hard on his heels, pleading for restraint.
Moira and Matilda reached the stables without mishap. Because of the secret gathering tonight, both the stableboy and coachman had been given the night off. Matilda went directly to a stall and led out two horses.
“Can you ride?” Matilda asked as she dragged two saddles from the rack.
“I’ve ridden farm horses all my life, but I don’t know much about saddles. I’ve always ridden bareback.”
“I’ve never saddled a horse either, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Afraid to strike a light, they worked in darkness. Moira was sadly afraid she was botching the job, for the horse skittered and danced about nervously as she struggled with straps and buckles. They led the horses out of the stable just as the skies convulsed with thunder and rain poured down upon them in dense sheets. Lightning split the heavens, and the very foundations of the earth shook. Moira turned to help the older woman mount, then climbed clumsily aboard her
own horse, already drenched to the bone.
Matilda led the way, hunched against the stinging rain. Moira followed close behind, gladly enduring the discomfort as long as it meant freedom.
Jack and Spence sprinted from the cave, searching for Pettibone and their coach. They spied Pettibone a short distance away. He had climbed down from the driver’s box to calm the horses, who had been spooked by the brilliant display of lightning and rolling bursts of thunder. Pettibone saw them immediately and knew something was amiss.
“What is it, milord? Where is Miss Moira?”
Before Jack could answer, Roger Mayhew burst from the mouth of the cave, brandishing a pistol. Pettibone saw him, but Jack and Spence did not. “Behind you, milord!”
The warning came too late. Mayhew aimed the pistol and, aided by a flash of lightning that lit up the field, fired. The bullet found its mark in Jack’s back. Jack made a gurgling sound deep in his throat, staggered and fell.
“Are you mad, Mayhew?” Dashwood charged, wresting the gun from Mayhew’s hand. “We don’t need this kind of notoriety. Do you realize what a man like Ailesbury can do to us if he chooses? He’s a duke, for God’s sake! Get out of here and don’t come back. We’re going to have to disband for a while. If and when we reconvene, hotheads like you will not be welcome.”
“Give me the pistol,” Mayhew snarled, struggling with Dashwood for the weapon. “I’ll kill every one of those conniving bastards.”
Oblivious to the struggle between Dashwood and Mayhew, Spence stared at Jack in horror. “The bloody bastard shot Jack!” Thanks to the brilliant display of heavenly fireworks, Spence had easily identified Mayhew as the gunman.
Pettibone was the first to gain his wits. He had watched in dismay as Mayhew shot Jack in the back, and he feared the shot had been fatal. Kneeling beside Jack, he noted with relief that his master’s chest rose and fell in steady, albeit shallow, rhythm.
“We must get him to a doctor,” Pettibone told Spence. “Help me lift him into the coach, milord.”
Jack stirred and opened his eyes. “Have to…find Moira.” He fought to dispel the debilitating pain and thick blackness that threatened to claim him.
“We will,” Spence assured him, “but first things first. You won’t do Moira any good dead. You need a doctor.”
The situation was complicated when icy needles of drenching rain pounded them. “Hurry,” Pettibone urged, “before His Lordship catches pneumonia. I think we should take him directly to London. I don’t trust these country doctors. Pray that he survives the trip.”
“I agree,” Spence said as he helped Pettibone place Jack into the coach. The pain proved too much for Jack. He cried out once and went limp. Spence climbed in beside him while Pettibone leaped onto the box and set the whip to the horses’ rumps. The coach jerked forward as Spence struggled to shut the door. Meanwhile, Mayhew managed to wrest the pistol from Dashwood and squeeze off another shot. The bullet plowed harmlessly into the coach door just as Spence slammed it shut.
Moira had maintained her seat on the horse with great difficulty. Due to her lack of experience, the saddle slipped precariously from the horse’s back, and the muddy road made traveling slow and hazardous. Moira shivered beneath her wet cloak, praying that the disciples were disinclined to brave the elements and give chase. Her heart plummeted to her toes when she heard the sound of gunfire above the rumble of thunder. Matilda must have heard it too, for she glanced furtively over her shoulder, her face a mask of terror.
A few minutes later, a second report cut through the darkness, and Moira knew real panic. The sound of wheels plowing down the muddy road at breakneck speed nearly stopped her heart. Someone was coming! Had they discovered her escape so soon? Had all Matilda’s planning been for naught?
“They’re coming!” she screamed to Matilda.
Then the coach was upon them, beside them, their horses running neck and neck.
“Moira! Stop!”
Moira turned her head, stunned to see Spence, clad in a black robe, leaning out the window and gesturing to her frantically.
She was appalled and disappointed in Spence, assuming that he was a member of the Hellfire Club. “No! I won’t go back!”
“Miss Moira, no one here is going to hurt you!” This from Pettibone, who had slowed the coach in order to keep abreast of her horse.
Moira pulled back on the reins, stunned to see Pettibone driving the coach. Surely he wasn’t involved in the Hellfire Club, was he? “You too, Mr. Pettibone? You and Lord Spencer aught to be ashamed of yourselves.”
“It’s not what you think,” Spence called through the window. “Jack’s been shot. He might die.”
Jack shot? What kind of a trick was that to play on a person? Moira wondered. What if it wasn’t a trick? What if Jack really was in danger of dying? Frightened at the thought of Jack’s imminent death, she reined in sharply. Pettibone managed to bring the coach to a stop and hopped down from the box. Spence poked his head out of the window, his expression grave.
“Who shot Jack, and why?” Moira wanted to know.
“Come inside, out of the rain,” Spence said, holding open the door.
Moira raised her chin belligerently. “I’m not going back to the Hellfire Club.”
“Good God, no! We came to rescue you, not hurt you. Jack was shot while leaving the caves. We came away as soon as we learned you had somehow managed to escape. Unfortunately, Mayhew followed us.”
Moira bit her lip. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Look inside, miss,” Pettibone urged, “and see for yourself.”
Moira peered inside, seeing nothing but blackness. “I see nothing.” Just then a flash of lightning split the skies, revealing more than she was prepared for. Jack lay sprawled on the seat. His face was white, his eyes were closed. She saw the splotch of blood growing ever wider on the black robe he still wore and cried out in dismay.
“I speak the truth, Moira,” Spence said. “Please get inside. Jack needs a doctor. He could bleed to death if he isn’t treated soon.”
Moira dismounted, started to climb inside, then remembered Matilda. Searching the road, she saw the woman slouched over her horse a short distance away. Moira called to her. Matilda hesitated, then kneed her horse forward.
“Get inside the coach, Matilda. It’s all right. No harm will come to us.”
“Are you sure, miss?”
“Who’s the woman?” Spence asked warily.
“This is Matilda, Sir Dashwood’s housekeeper,” Moira explained. “She helped me escape. I won’t leave without her.”
“Very well,” Spence acquiesced, “get in. Hurry, there’s no time to lose.”
Pettibone moved with alacrity, helping Matilda dismount and handing her into the coach. Moira followed, and Spence closed the door behind them. With a jerk, the coach rattled off down the rutted road. Moira fell to her knees and placed a hand against Jack’s heart, relieved to find the beat steady.
“Is he going to be all right?” Anxiety rose like a specter to haunt her. She understood nothing of what had happened, or why Jack had been among the disciples tonight, except for what Spence told her. Had he really come to rescue her?
“Only a doctor can tell us that,” Spence said.
Suddenly the coach wheel hit a pothole, jostling the occupants. Jack groaned and would have toppled to the floor if Moira hadn’t moved to sit beside him, holding him in place. With one hand, she pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. Her fingers were cool on his forehead. Jack felt them and opened his eyes. He tried to smile, but it dissolved into a grimace of pain.
“Moira.”
“Don’t talk.”
“What happened?”
“You’ve been shot. We’re taking you to a doctor.” He started to rise, gritting his teeth against the pain. “No, don’t move.” She parted the robe and tried to hide her dismay when she saw the copious amount of blood staining his waistcoat. Turning him slightly, she tore off a piece of her pettic
oat, made a pad from the material and pressed it against the wound.
“Shot,” Jack repeated weakly. “Are you all right?”
Moira smiled through her tears. “I’m fine.”
Jack grasped her hand, his grip surprisingly strong after having lost so much blood. “I was so damn worried. Joining the Hellfire Club was the only way I could think of to find out what had happened to you. I went to Newgate looking for you after I returned from Cornwall and learned that Mayhew had taken you away. I even questioned Mayhew’s father. I learned nothing from him. The Dashwood estate was the only place I knew of where Mayhew might have taken you. Spence and I were planning to rescue you by force, if necessary. I don’t really belong to the Hellfire Club.”
“Don’t talk,” Moira urged. “Rest.” Her words were unnecessary. Jack lost his tenuous hold on reality as he drifted into a bottomless void.
“Where are we going, miss?” Matilda dared to ask. “Sir Dashwood must surely know by now that I was the one who let you escape. Plunket will make certain of it. That man never did like me.”
“We’re going to Graystoke Manor,” Spence supplied. “Pettibone and I agree that we should proceed directly to the city. Dr. Dudley is an excellent doctor and Jack trusts him.”
“I thought we were going to Ireland,” Matilda said, confused.
“We will, Matilda, but not until Lord Graystoke is out of danger. I…Lord Graystoke helped me once, and I can’t leave him like this. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe enough at Graystoke Manor.”
“Not if his lordship belongs to the Hellfire Club,” Matilda insisted grimly. “The whole lot of them are evil.”
“Now see here, my good woman,” Spence said huffily. “Both Jack and I abhor what the Hellfire Club stands for. Jack pretended to join for Moira’s sake. He brought me and Pettibone along to help with the rescue.”
Matilda didn’t look at all convinced, but at the moment no other option was available. “If you say so, milord.”