Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series)

by Heisinger, Sonja

“And my man shall be ready for him,” he replied.

  He turned once more, and began to walk away, when Brock called to him one last time.

  “I should thank you,” he said, “for interrupting the auction. I could have spent a fortune on your wife. But tomorrow, you’ll be dead, and I’ll have her for the price of a bullet. Funny, isn’t it? Enjoy your last night with her, mate.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Lucius kept walking. It was the little maid, Josephine, who stopped and turned to stare, facing the taller man with her burning eyes. His breath caught in his throat, as the look on her face was terribly fierce, and for a moment, he forgot she was a child. He took a step backwards, while those who watched closely could swear they saw a flash of fear in Brock Donnigan’s eyes.

  Satisfied with the effect she had had on him, Josephine turned and walked on.

  Only hours before, he would have never imagined things would come to this.

  Lucius Flynn was walking back to camp.

  Hours before, the thought of facing his friends was impossible. He would not do it. He would not take this walk of shame: head down, heart heavy, tail between his legs. He would rather drown at the bottom of the sea.

  Because hours before, he had only thought of himself.

  Poor Lucius. You lost your fortune. Poor Lucius. Brock Donnigan got the best of you. Poor Lucius. Your luck has run out.

  Poor Lucius, this had been the longest day of his life. How could he have known, when he woke up that morning, that things would come to this? Everything for which he had ever worked and loved hung in the balance. California was forfeit along with his fortune. There was no leaving Panama now, not until he secured work, a loan, or a sponsor. Even now, though his mind was elsewhere, he could feel the weight of this new burden bearing down upon him. His bones were weary. His eyelids sagged. His stomach churned, and his head pounded. When was the last time he had eaten? Or taken a draught of water?

  It did not matter. He no longer mattered. Because now, all he could think about was her, and the dead weight of her body in his arms. In the moonlight, he snatched fleeting glimpses of her face. It was turned towards him, nestled against his shoulder. The plume of feathers remained in her hair, and it bobbed up and down with every step, the breeze catching its airy tendrils as they shimmered in the muted light. Her skin glowed, and the smell of her perfume permeated the air around her. She was like an angel, poisoned by man, brought down from heaven for the earthly enjoyment of sinful mortals. Here, in Lucius’ grasp, she was safe, yet not unharmed. The malodorous scent of the Buck’n Burro still clung about her, mingling with her perfume, and betraying the offenses brought against her. Whatever had taken her to Mr. Dupont, Lucius did not know. But none of the explanations could be good. Either she knew of their financial ruin, or she had been deceived and lured, like prey into a lion’s den.

  Whatever had taken place, he had not misread the look of pain, apprehension, and sorrow upon her face the moment their eyes met that evening. She had cried out for him. She had sought deliverance.

  And it had come. But for how long?

  A duel to the death. Either Lucius or Brock must die, an arrangement to which Lucius had agreed.

  He was gambling with the last token he possessed: his life.

  And if he should fall, what then? His life would be ended, and his consciousness would know nothing of it. He would pass from this existence into whatever followed, but what of Evelyn? He would leave her with nothing. No money, no future. And Brock Donnigan would be waiting to take her for his own.

  No. If Lucius perished, he must make arrangements for Evelyn. She must not be left behind to such a bleak, hopeless existence. Hours before, when he had only thought of himself, her welfare was not his concern. He figured she would be too angry to want anything he might leave behind (which in reality was very little), and he knew the greatest thing he could give Evelyn and the world was his self-induced destruction.

  Such was the senseless reason of his despair.

  But suicide was not an option. It was an escape. It was jumping ship, leaving everyone else to brave the storm alone. But Lucius had made a promise, no matter how gravely he had failed recently or in the past.

  It was nothing new. He had taken the charge long before the jungles of Central America, long before their marriage, even long before Emmett Brennan’s death. Lucius was Evelyn’s guardian. Her protector. In life or death, in prosperity or poverty, Lucius Flynn would prove faithful. Dutiful. And worthy.

  He looked down into her face once more, and his heart cracked within his chest, bleeding out with tender, despondent thoughts. He loved her. He had loved her all his life, and should that life end at Brock Donnigan’s hand, he must leave her with the knowledge that he had done his best, and that he was sorry he could do no better.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Adele Whitfield and Samuel Davies knew nothing of Lucius’ financial ruin. All they knew was that he and Evelyn had been gone far too long, and Josephine had disappeared at some point along with them.

  It was sometime after midnight when the former missing members of the party returned to camp. They were received with relief and concern, and when those who had been left behind saw an unconscious Evelyn, they were desperate for information and consolation. What had happened? Was she going to be all right? What was to be done?

  Josephine and Adele saw Evelyn to bed, while Lucius conferred with Samuel. They spoke with low voices, so as not to bother the women.

  Lucius gave his confession. He had gotten blithering drunk and gambled away his and Evelyn’s money. Their tickets to California, too. Josephine had found him wandering the streets and had taken him to Evelyn, who was in danger of being prostituted. Evelyn was saved for the moment, but a duel was to take place between Lucius and the man who had won his fortune, and if Lucius should fall, Brock Donnigan would target Evelyn once more, and Lucius would not be alive to stop him.

  Samuel had proved a worthy friend, and if he would not consent to help Lucius, Lucius would understand. Samuel owed him nothing. But Evelyn’s life would not be forfeit if Samuel would promise to do these things:

  First, would he consent to be Lucius’ second in the duel?

  Of course.

  Also, Lucius would need a weapon. His gun had been confiscated hours ago and he had not got it back.

  Samuel would see to it that a firearm was procured.

  Lastly, if things went poorly and Lucius fell, would Samuel look after Evelyn? Would he see that she was cared for, and escorted safely away from Panama City?

  Certainly. Samuel knew what it was like to love a woman, and though he had lost his own, he would do everything within his power to see that Evelyn Brennan was safe. Lucius had nothing to fear.

  The weight upon Lucius grew. Unable to trust his voice, he nodded in gratitude, and was quickly on his way to settle other matters.

  Samuel watched after him, his own heart feeling the heaviness of the other man’s grief.

  Lucius went to the ladies’ tent and stood outside the entrance. Quietly, he spoke.

  “Adele.”

  There were whisperings within, and Adele emerged a moment later. In light of the moon, she was shocked to see the look upon Lucius’ face.

  “Yes, Mr. Flynn?” she inquired of him, her voice hesitant and laced with worry.

  He asked if she might have a word with him, and together, they walked to the palm tree which had so often been a haven for them all.

  “I have a great request to make of you, Mrs. Whitfield,” Lucius said presently, his eyes cast upon the distant sea, which sparkled silver in the lustrous illumination of night.

  Adele sensed Lucius’ mood, and knew it to be altogether different than any she had sensed about him before. Her motherly instincts inspired compassion, and she nearly reached out to take hold of his hand. Her propriety, however, restrained her.

  “Yes,” she replied. Lucius had never asked anything of her. On the contrary, from the moment her husband fell on the ban
ks of the Chagres, Lucius Flynn had seen to her every need. “Anything.”

  At this, Lucius closed his eyes, and for a moment, all was quiet.

  “Many things happened today,” he told her. “Many things which will bear repercussions for years to come, and it might be that I will not remain in this life long enough to assuage them.”

  A sudden fear gripped Adele’s heart.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked tremulously.

  Lucius told her. He repeated the speech he had given Samuel, recounting the day’s events and the consequences that followed. He told her of the impending duel between himself and Brock Donnigan, and the very real possibility that Lucius might not live beyond it.

  “These wretched things being what they are,” he continued, “I am afraid that Miss Brennan is left in quite a precarious situation.”

  Adele Whitfield was perhaps the last to know of the secret marriage that existed between Lucius Flynn and Evelyn Brennan, and it was time she was told the truth. Lucius relayed the tale, and Adele listened with wide eyes.

  She recalled the young couple’s behavior aboard the Steam Rose: their avoidance, their hostility, their childish quarreling, and suddenly, it all made sense.

  They had despised one another. But time and circumstance had inspired change, and Adele had born witness to the softening of their hearts. Lucius had warmed to Evelyn like the sun in spring, and Evelyn had often been in danger of responding like a rose beneath his affection. Yet she hid beneath the passing shadows of fear and doubt, holding on to the frost of winter in exchange for the vulnerability of blooming.

  As Adele was a woman, she understood these things.

  “I have been a most despicable steward,” Lucius continued. “I have lost Evelyn’s dowry. Her inheritance is finished. Her father’s house remains her own, but she would never sell it, and she cannot return. She would be forced to exist on debt, and I fear that would be a meager existence, if one at all. With the blight, the whole of Ireland is starving, and her mansion would do nothing to fill her belly. She would need money, Mrs. Whitfield, and that is something I can no longer provide for her.

  “I did not come to you to discuss what will happen should I defeat Mr. Donnigan in the duel. Should God have mercy on me, which I do not expect, we need not remember this conversation. But should I die, Evelyn will be left with nothing, and that is why I come to you.”

  Lucius stopped talking then, though his mouth continued to move, and Adele could see that he could no longer manage his voice. He would begin a sentence, then stammer, or drift off and begin to mutter incoherently.

  He was trying to be careful with choosing his words, for Lucius Flynn was not acquainted with asking for help, and he had certainly never asked for money.

  Evelyn needed financial security, and Lucius was trying to provide it.

  After some moments, the pity inside Adele grew, and she could bear it no longer. She reached out and clasped his hand.

  “I understand,” she told him.

  Adele knew what was in her husband’s will. His assets were in order. She and Bartholomew would be well off for the rest of their lives. Whatever secrets she had kept, Evelyn Brennan was Adele’s dearest friend, and she would do all within her power to see that Evelyn would never be in want.

  “Besides,” Adele continued, “I will have need of a competent, hard-working woman in California. Heaven knows that if I should start a business, I will not succeed on my own.”

  Again, Lucius could find little to say in return. His throat constricted, and the only three words he was able to squeeze out were, “God bless you.”

  Adele pressed his hand and gave him the most encouraging smile she could conjure. She wished there was something more she could do, but she had nothing else to offer. Should Lucius die, Evelyn would be left in the able hands of Samuel Davies and the financial care of Adele Whitfield. She would not be alone. She would have friends, and protection, and food. That was all Lucius could ask for.

  Adele had turned to walk away when Lucius regained his voice.

  “One last thing, Mrs. Whitfield,” he said, choking out the words.

  Adele spun slowly round, her shoulders square, her back straight, her gait held in the perfect pose of a woman bred to be a lady.

  “Yes, Mr. Flynn?”

  Lucius swallowed and took a step nearer.

  “I wanted you to know that I am dreadfully sorry for what happened to your husband. That might have been any one of us that day, and it pained me then and pains me still that it had to be him.”

  At this, Adele sighed and looked down at her feet.

  “I am not entirely certain that it had to be him, Mr. Flynn,” she spoke softly. “There is a battle waging between the good things and the bad things of this world, and sometimes, the bad things take casualties that do not rightfully belong to them. I do not believe that God wanted Stephen to die, and I do not believe that he was meant to die. But I do believe that God provided a remedy for the sickness of death, though in this world it is not fully realized; just as he will provide a remedy for the fortune you have lost. You are powerful, Lucius Flynn. You are not a victim of Fate, or Destiny, or whatever it is you believe in. I believe that faith has the authority to alter whatever might happen when you face Brock Donnigan for the last time, and if you have courage enough to believe in your victory, you may yet see it come to pass.”

  “And if I do not?”

  “Then I thank you for looking after my family, and for being the man that my husband would have wanted to be.”

  Adele stopped talking long enough to close the distance between herself and Lucius and bestow a light kiss upon his cheek.

  “He would have been grateful to you, Mr. Flynn. As I am grateful.”

  Lucius closed his eyes, as he could not bring his wretched self to look upon so noble a woman.

  “You offer me too much grace, Mrs. Whitfield.”

  “No such thing is possible, Mr. Flynn.”

  When Adele returned to camp, Lucius remained beneath the palm tree. The moment he was alone, a whirlwind of emotion swept upon him.

  Perhaps a little alcohol still lingered in his veins. His entire body felt limp and immovable. He felt heavy. So heavy. His head, heart, and bones ached. The side of his face that Brock had smashed into the table was splintered, bruised, and throbbing. His stomach felt nauseous, and his skin crawled with a thousand needle pricks. He was sore, terribly sore. Was he getting sick? He could swear he felt a fever coming.

  Perhaps it was better to die of some tropical illness than at the hand of Brock Donnigan. However Lucius met his end, he never imagined it would come so soon. Hell, when he saw the Steam Rose for the first time, he thought his life was just beginning. The road ahead was full of such potential. Adventure. Freedom. Prosperity. And Evelyn.

  Damn it. She chased his every thought. And his heart broke under the pursuit.

  Just before she had passed out in the Buck’n Burro, she had looked at him with tears in her eyes and said his name.

  Lucius.

  It could very well be the last time he heard her voice, and it was beneath the weight of this reality that Lucius Flynn shattered and wept.

  He heard voices, and he knew he could linger here no longer.

  Lucius wiped his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Brock’s man had come, as Brock had promised he would. With morbid curiosity, Lucius joined him and Samuel as the precedents of the duel were set.

  No apology was given. Nor was it expected.

  The chosen weapons were pistols with smooth-bore barrels, as these were less accurate in aim and ensured each opponent an equal chance of survival.

  The loser would consequently have his fate decided by the winner, who held the right to spare or slaughter him. In addition, the loser’s body was at the disposal of the winner, and could be treated in any manner, respectful or otherwise, that the victor deemed appropriate.

  Lastly, the duel would take place at dawn. As the bells
chimed sunrise, Brock Donnigan and Lucius Flynn were to meet in the field, backs turned to one another, until issued the following command.

  Turn, gentlemen. And shoot.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Lucius could not sleep, and as he sat awake by the fire, the canvas of the females’ tent was thrust aside and Josephine emerged, untouched by sleep. He had thought himself alone, but with the weight of the coming dawn resting heavily upon him, he had longed for the comfort of a friend.

  She must have sensed this, as she did not appear to have any other duty in mind than to approach him and sit softly at his feet.

  He closed his eyes, and in that moment he knew without a doubt that he believed in God.

  For some time, the pair of them said nothing. Josephine watched the fire as it danced before them, and Lucius closed his eyes. He did not trust himself to open them, lest the tears that had pooled within spill over his cheeks and wet the crown of Josephine’s head. He did not wish to appear weak before the young girl he had sworn to protect, though if he died in the morning, he supposed it would not matter much. Besides, he suspected Josephine was the least likely person in the world to judge a wretch like him. Even on the Steam Rose, when his character was utterly and observably unreformed, she had gazed upon him without the least trace of contempt. Indeed, it was during that time, when he had nothing to recommend him, that she had delivered him from the cholera.

  It was funny, really, that for all his promises and intentions, it was she who always came to his rescue. Where would he be this very moment if she had not gone looking for him only hours ago? Evelyn would have lost her innocence, and Lucius would have wandered into oblivion and never put anything to right. Josephine had found him and given him the chance to end well. And he was determined to end well, whether he lived or died.

  With her at his feet, Lucius knew this was yet another opportunity to settle things.

  “Josephine,” he began.

  He sensed her listening, though her face remained towards the fire.