The vicar nodded again, but his worried eyes followed Colin and the doctor as they moved into the hall.
The minute the door closed behind them Colin spoke. “Is he going to be all right, Howard—I want the truth?"
"I don't know, Chapin."
Colin swallowed dry. “That bad, is it?"
"He seems stable now. Beyond that I'm not certain of anything. Even he knows this one was serious."
Colin lowered his head. “Christ knows there's no love lost between you and I, Howard, but you're a damn good doctor and I respect that. Thank you."
The doctor frowned. “And I've a good measure of respect for what you did with that trap today—don't think that I haven't. You saved the man's life. But I can do naught but be certain that the whole damned thing would never had happened in the first place but for your...escapades."
Colin ignored him. “If there is anything that can be done—anything at all—do it. Whatever the cost, it's yours, man. You've got to keep him alive."
The doctor studied him. “Chapin, I'm doing all that can be done here now,” he said, “and I'm not the one you need to bargain with. If you want to make a tribute you'll have to rap upon God's door. That's about what it's come down to."
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Chapter Forty-two
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The others had already gathered in the dining hall for breakfast the following morning when Colin dragged himself downstairs. He didn't join them. Wanting to spare Jean the sight of his arm, and anxious to look in on Elliot while Ira had her occupied with the sitting, he left by way of the servants’ entrance, saddled Exchequer, and rode off over the footpath to the cross pacing the horse at an easy canter.
When he reached St. Michael's, Ted ushered him in through the vestry, and together they climbed the narrow staircase to Elliot's chamber.
"How is he this morning, lad?” Colin urged, moving gingerly on unsteady legs.
"He seems much improved sir,” said the boy wearily, for he hadn't slept.
"Ahhhh, good,” breathed Colin, relieved.
"How's your arm, sir?"
"Hurts like the devil, but I expect it'll mend."
"I'm so sorry, Uncle Colin."
"It's all right, Ted. So long as your father's coming along nothing else matters."
"Sir . . .” Ted began awkwardly, “I didn't want to bother you about it yesterday . . . you were in so much pain, but I wasn't aware of this heart thing of Father's. He's never told me, Uncle Colin. Oh, I knew he wasn't feeling well. He's seemed so tired for such a long time now, but, sir, I didn't know it was anything like this."
"I expect he didn't want you to worry, son."
"That isn't fair, sir. He's my father! I had no idea he's had other attacks. Dr. Howard says this is his fifth. Oh, he didn't say it to me, of course, he was talking to Rina. I was listening at the door.” He ground out a bitter laugh. “Nobody tells me anything. Everybody still considers me a child. I'm not, you know."
"I know, Ted,” murmured Colin, staring sadly toward him.
"Will you tell me the truth, sir?"
Colin hesitated. “Have I ever lied to you, son?” he said.
"No, sir."
"Well, I shan't commence now.” He gripped the boy's shoulder. “Let me see your father alone first, then we shall talk."
"Very well, sir."
Giving the boy's shoulder a firm squeeze, Colin moved past and entered the vicar's chamber.
Elliot was propped with pillows in the bed anxiously watching the door.
"How do you feel?” said Colin. But as he came closer his scalp drew taut as he looked in dismay toward Elliot's gaunt face—no more than a death mask, and the lackluster eyes, robbed of their brilliance, fixed upon his bloodied sling.
"I'm all right, Colin. How's that arm?” he worried, nodding toward it.
Colin dragged a Chippendale chair alongside the bed and sank down on it. “Well, I won't lie to you, it hurts like bloody hell,” he said, “but it'll be all right, Elliot."
"What happened, Colin? What did you do? How did you stop that trap?"
"Never mind the trap,” snapped Colin, “what brought on that seizure?"
The vicar sighed, sinking deeper into the pillows behind him. “I felt it coming on when I was talking with Malcolm in the study after you left us."
"I didn't leave you, Elliot. He was right about that. I was just outside the door. You didn't think for a moment that I'd leave you alone with the bastard did you? Christ, I didn't move on until I heard you turn that doorknob. Then I went outside. I wanted to wait out there to be sure you'd gotten off safely without being close enough to risk another go-round with you. It's a damn good thing I did."
"You heard that conversation, then?"
"I heard."
Elliot sighed again. “Colin, when he began talking about Harris . . . I've suspected all along that he . . . but . . . I . . . I could see it . . . the fork! Oh, God, you know what I thought of Harris . . . how fond I was of that man."
"Don't think about that, Elliot, we'll have it all over again here."
The vicar shook his head. “No, I've come to grips with it finally. I've thought of nothing else all night. Malcolm was deliberately trying to provoke a seizure. I know that now. He did a damn good job of it, didn't he? I'll be more careful in future."
"You're bloody well right, you will,” Colin assured him, “because you aren't going anywhere near him again. He meant to be rid of you yesterday, Elliot—one way or another. I'm certain of it.” He thought for a moment and hesitated before continuing. “Did you drive that trap anywhere that you could have gotten brambles caught under Ely's harness?"
The vicar gasped. “Brambles? Oh, Colin!"
"That's right,” he said nodding, “you're thinking what I am aren't you? He did that very same thing to Harris—spread brambles under Ely's girth when Harris was trying to gait that horse years ago."
"There were no brambles under Ely's harness when I left him in the drive. I hitched him to the trap myself. He was gentle as a lamb on the way over."
"Well, they didn't get there by themselves did they? And in just the right amount and position, mind, so that Ely would remain fairly calm until you put pressure on that tack."
"And you stopped that trap. How? How did you ever?"
Colin filled his lungs. “I honestly don't know, Elliot,” he said, “it all happened so quickly. I saw it coming at me—saw that you had come down inside it. Christ, I just ran. That horse can move when he's of a mind to! Finally it struck a rut and I just dove and grabbed fast."
"And your arm?"
"It hit another rut and I was thrown into the wheel."
"Ahhh, Colin, whatever possessed you to tackle that trap?"
"All I could think of was that it had to be stopped."
"But I could have been dead inside there."
"You weren't, though, were you, my friend?"
"How much damage have you done to that arm? I want the truth."
"It's all right, Elliot."
"Don't play me for a fool."
Colin breathed an exasperated sigh. “Howard claims I've nicked an artery. He's cauterized it and stitched it back together."
"But that's serious. You must have lost an awful lot of blood. I can tell by the look of you!"
"Howard knows what he's about; it'll be fine. That's the least of our worries. Forget it! Concentrate upon coming out of this. You've got to get well, Elliot. That's all that matters."
The vicar hesitated. “What are you going to do, Colin?” he said, searching his face with worried eyes.
"I don't know,” he regretted, “I honestly don't know."
"Blast!” spat the vicar. “I have to get out of this bed!"
"You have to stay right where you are and keep out of it."
"Now you listen here to me,” said the vicar angrily, “if you want to see me come down for good and all, you go right ahead and finish Malcolm, because I'm
going to tell you something—if anything happens to you over that bastard after I set him loose four years ago and brought all this down upon us here now, it will finish me. I couldn't stand it, Colin. I believe I could stand anything else, but if you go down, I'm going to follow right along after you, my friend... too much has gone before. Stay away from him! I've just had two seizures over Jonathan Harris. Do you really think I could stand to watch you hang? We'll figure some way to be rid of him, but you mustn't do what you're planning—now you promise me."
"I'm not planning anything,” growled Colin.
"That's ludicrous and you know it. I know better, and I know you. Promise me you won't do anything rash."
Colin popped a dry grunt. “It would be rash to make that promise."
"Stop hedging—promise me. Please!"
Colin sighed in defeat. “I won't do anything foolish,” he said. “I don't want to hang—not now, but something's got to be done, and done quickly; I've reasons. You stay out of it, Elliot. This is between the bastard and myself—nobody else."
"He isn't going to shock me into another seizure, Colin. Do you think I'd give him that satisfaction knowing his game?"
But Colin's anger was taking another direction and he scarcely heard. “Why have you never told Ted about your heart, Elliot?"
Annoyed at the waste of his breath, the vicar bristled. “Ahhhh, God, I didn't want to worry the boy."
"Well, he's worried now. That was wrong you know. That lad loves you."
"I know, Colin, and I love him, too—that's why. He enjoys going up to London a lot. He worships his grandfather; you know that. I thought if he knew he might feel obligated to spend more time with me. I didn't want that. The boy has his own life."
"And you're part of that life. You've done him a disservice, my friend. He's hurt, and I don't blame him. He's asked me to tell him the truth and I'm going to."
"Don't, Colin. As a favor to me, please, don't."
Colin shook his head. “No, not this time, Elliot,’ he said, “not this time. That's a damn good lad you've got there. I love him, you know. I couldn't love that boy more if he were my own son."
"I know that,” murmured the vicar sadly. “I've always known that."
Colin stared at his pale, drawn face. “Christ, look at you,” he snapped. “The fog out there has more color than you've got. When is Howard due back here?"
"Later this afternoon."
"I'm tiring you. I'm going to go, Elliot. You shouldn't be talking so much. You need your rest."
"It's you who should be abed as George told you,” the vicar scolded.
"I'm all right I tell you. Just a little weak now and again."
Unconvinced, Elliot watched Colin rake back his hair with a shaky hand. “Before you go, I want to ask you something."
Colin looked up waiting.
"I was thinking about it last night,” Elliot continued, “what's become of Harris’ pistol, Colin?"
"Christ, I don't know. It's still up in the loft I expect. I haven't seen it since I flung it there."
The vicar gasped. “Oh, Colin, go and get it,” he cried. “My God, are you mad? Get it at once!"
"Don't worry, Elliot, I doubt he'll shoot me outright, Malcolm's not about to seduce the hangman anymore than I am. He'll contrive some flawless scheme of entrapment, I've no doubt in my mind, but he isn't going to shoot me down. That would be too commonplace."
"Colin, you've got to get that iron. Get rid of Harris’ hunting rifles, too."
"All right, Elliot,” he growled, getting to his feet on stiff legs. He winced settling his arm in the sling. “You just rest easy and mind that sonofabitch, Howard. I'm going to have a word with Ted before I go. I'll be ‘round again in the morning. If you need me beforehand send the boy. I want to be here if you need me."
The vicar nodded. “Thank you, my friend,” he murmured. “That sounds so damned trite and inadequate I know, but...thank you."
Colin gripped his shoulder and stepped out into the hall closing the door with a trembling hand. Swaying, he leaned against the woodwork clutching his arm, for the pain was unbearable then. “Blast!” he spat, shaking his head to clear his vision, gone awry with fresh waves of vertigo suddenly. After a moment it passed, and he squared his posture and made his way downstairs in search of Ted.
Not finding the boy in the parlor or study, he went to the kitchen where Rina was preparing a tray for the vicar.
"Have you seen Ted about, Rina? I want a word with him before I go,” he said, turning her toward him with a lurch.
"Why, he's gone, sir,” she breathed.
"Gone? Gone where?” cried Colin with a start himself.
"Why, don't you know, sir? He took your horse. I thought you musta’ sent him on an errand."
"He took Exchequer? Oh, Christ! When—how long ago?” he thundered.
"'Twas just a few minutes ago he left, sir. Is somethin’ wrong, Mister Colin?"
"Oh, Jesus! Where was Ted while I was up with the vicar?"
"Wasn't he with you, sir?"
Colin paled. “I've got to go at once! I'm going to take Ely. Ted will return him. Don't tell the vicar."
Rina gasped. “Oh, pshaw—what is it now, sir? I don't think I can stand no more upsetment. Please don't be scarin’ me. Tell me what's happened."
"Nothing yet, and nothing will, if I can help it. Not one word to the vicar, Rina, do you understand? He's not to know that Ted's gone off, or that I've taken Ely."
Terror struck, she nodded.
"All right, then, stop that whining and carry on. Don't let the vicar see that face. I'll send Ted home directly,” he promised, bolting out into the wind.
Taking no time to saddle the gelding, he threw on the bit and reins, and tore over the footpath at a gallop while Rina watched mouth agape from the kitchen window.
Meanwhile having reached Cragmoor, Ted rode Exchequer into the stable and slid from his back. He scaled the loft ladder, lit the lantern, and searched what had been Harris’ quarters with frantic eyes. As he moved to the edge above the haymow, he caught sight of the pistol half buried in the straw. Lifting it free, he examined it carefully, looking down the long barrel and testing the weight of the handle. Rage moved his taut jaw muscles, and cold sweat soaked the linen blouse beneath his jacket. Tightening his grip on the pistol, he squared his posture and moved toward the ladder again.
Passing the small window set in the eaves, he glanced below toward the cliff where he spied Malcolm pacing along the edge. Overhead, fresh boiling clouds tumbled close driven by a flaying wind that would soon chase the fog in the valleys. The rain had stopped between squalls, but the heavens were swollen with more, and the heath stretched before him awash with strutting, preening waterfowl nestled snug in their hollows a safe distance from the cliff's rearing head.
"Bastard,” spat Ted, staring toward Malcolm's dark shape wrapped in a cloak that billowed wide about him. Working the pistol in his hand, he watched him move, taking long agile strides along the very edge, his polished black riding boots shining in the half light called early by the oncoming storm.
After a moment he scurried down the ladder, stalked out into the wind, and began picking his way over the hollow toward the cliff parting the sea of gulls and terns, spread like frosting over the heath. Absorbed in his perverse adoration of the angry sea, Malcolm didn't notice his approach, and it wasn't until Ted had nearly reached him there and called out, that he spun to face the barrel of the cocked and aimed pistol trembling in the boy's hand.
"Hold, bastard,” Ted snarled, the deep resonant voice so like his father's laced with contempt.
Malcolm stared.
"You tried to kill my father yesterday, and I'm going to kill you now."
"Aaahaaa!” breathed Malcolm, his half smile curling smug lips. “Ted Marshall! Well, well, what do you know? You've changed,” he observed, folding his arms across his chest. “I almost didn't recognize you."
"Indeed I have,” snapped Ted.
Malcolm laughed. “You look like a bloody fool. Put that gun down before you blow your arm off. It hasn't been cleaned in months."
"'Tis clean enough to finish the likes of you,” Ted decreed, holding the weapon higher.
"What is it I'm supposed to have done to deserve this...execution, eh, Ted?"
"I expect you've done enough to deserve it ten times over, bastard, but ‘tis come here now because you tried to kill my father. You caused his seizure, and you tampered with his trap. You aren't going to get another chance."
"He has had a seizure, then!” Malcolm triumphed.
"'Tisn't serious and he wasn't harmed."
"Thanks to your ‘Uncle Colin', I presume?"
Ted nodded.
"You can't shoot me, Ted, you haven't the courage,” drawled Malcolm, sauntering closer with his hand outstretched. “Give me that iron before you hurt yourself."
"Stand where you are,” the boy warned him, taking fresh aim.
Riding from the footpath at a deadly gallop astride Ely, Colin tore past the stable in time to see Malcolm lunge for the weapon. It discharged, blowing a gaping hole in the dark youth's widespread cloak. The impact knocked the pistol from Ted's hand and sent him sprawling on his back in the scrub. Seizing the advantage, Malcolm sprang, grappling with the boy on the wet heath as he tried to retrieve it.
Colin had almost reached them. Driving the horse relentlessly, he plowed through the birds, raising them in a blizzard of flapping gray chaos soaring overhead, and slid off the gelding's back, his right fist aimed toward Malcolm's set jaw. It connected, sending the dark youth down. But Ted had grabbed the pistol.
Kneeling on one knee, the boy took careful aim, and Colin dove at him, a savage cry on his lips. “No, Ted!” he roared, wrestling with him for the iron.
Deranged, Ted struggled for possession of the weapon. He was strong, and Colin needed to make use of both his hands. When he raised his injured arm to his aid, his face twisted in pain as the sutures tore and fresh blood leaked through the bandages.
Meanwhile, Malcolm scrambled to his feet and moved cautiously around them backing toward the stable. But from behind, like a great black warhorse charging into battle, Exchequer bolted out of the wind, his deadly forelegs flying. Snorting, he pranced close rearing above the dark youth backing away. Tossed on the wind, the animal's long, silky mane fanned out about his head. Ferocious teeth were bared, and his flared nostrils quivered, puffing out visible breath as he bore down upon his quarry.
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