by Tarah Scott
“What could possibly have made her suspect Harley?” he said.
“Ye think she suspects?”
“It is too much of a coincidence that I found her poking around Harley’s study, and the very next day she attends a party at Miss Morgan’s home.”
“Coincidence is a far more likely than the possibility she suspects Lord Harley of murder,” Benning replied. “Lord Calloway didn’t mention that Lady Julia knew Lady Annabelle.”
“It’s the men a father pays attention to in his daughter’s life,” James said, “not her myriad of female acquaintances.” James tensed as Lord Harley emerging from the servants’ entrance to the baron’s home.
“By God, he is with Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield,” Benning muttered.
Harley held Lady Annabelle hugged close to his side while Miss Summerfield walked alongside her. Harley’s right hand remained hidden inside his coat. James went cold. The earl held a gun pointed at Lady Annabelle. They reached a carriage and James grasped the door handle of his coach as they stepped out of view.
Benning grabbed his arm. “Dinna’ be a fool, Waterson. Charge the carriage now and you will get at least one of the women shot.”
He hesitated.
“With the driver up top, he cannot shoot them inside his carriage,” Benning said.
“He can damn well strangle them,” James ground out.
“The one will not sit quietly by and wait her turn while he strangles the other. We will follow and stop him when he reaches his destination.”
Benning was right, he realized with horror. As long as Harley stood close enough to jam a pistol into Lady Annabelle’s ribs, they wouldn’t be able to prevent him from shooting her.
You will not be able to stop him, his mind asserted.
His heart began to beat fast and he propelled back in time eight years to the day he’d last seen his tutor’s daughter alive. He’d been in India for six months on business and the weather, he would never forget the weather, it had been an unusually mild day. Kari brushed past him on her way out the door as he entered the house. Why hadn’t he delayed her departure with a question, with some pleasantry? A moment or two might have made all the difference. The memories flashed one after another. The messenger that arrived breathless late that afternoon with the news. Her father’s face. Her body—His heart raced faster.
“Waterson.”
All along it had been Lewis Malloch who—
“James.”
Benning’s sharp voice snapped him back to the present. He slumped back onto the cushion, allowing his hand to drop to his side.
Benning opened the door a crack and called in a low voice to the driver, “Follow that carriage, Michael. Keep a discreet distance, but do not lose them.” He closed the door as the vehicle jolted into motion and looked at James. “It has been some time since your last lapse.”
Benning was too proper a gentleman to call James’s ‘lapses’ what they really were: paralyzing fear.
James took a slow, deep breath. His heart still galloped, but if he controlled his breathing, his heart would slow. Benning was right. It had been nine months since his last episode. Even seeing the bodies of the women who had been mutilated by the Inverness Butcher hadn’t triggered an episode. In fact, he hadn’t suffered this badly since the first two years after Kari’s death. He’d hoped this weakness was behind him. He didn’t always know what trigged the response. This time, however, he understood all too well. If Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield were harmed, it would be his fault.
“If the Chief Magistrate does no’ arrest Harley, I will kill the earl myself.” That would eliminate this particular trigger.
“The fact Harley kidnapped the ladies is enough to throw him in prison,” Benning said. “Lord Montagu will no’ let his daughter and niece’s kidnapping go unpunished. Once Harley stops, we will intervene.”
James nodded. Come what may, he wouldn’t allow Harley to harm them. He didn’t want to think about Lady Montagu mourning her daughter and niece as did the families of the genteel ladies who Harley had murdered. All four families wondered whether their loved ones had taken their own lives. Lady Evans’ mother had yet to leave her home because of guilt, believing she’d overlooked her daughter’s despair. She kept her surviving daughter so close that the girl lived nearly the same reclusive life her mother now lived. If James could present proof that Harley was their murderer, then that would relieve some of the guilt that haunted the families. He understood what it was to live with guilt. He had his own guilt to live with, and he’d seen what guilt did to Kari’s father.
“Where can he possibly take the ladies?” James looked at Benning. “By God, can it be he’s taking them to his lair?”
“I am still unconvinced he has a lair,” Benning said.
“He has a lair. His need to kill is great. He must have a safe haven where he can execute and relive the murders and plan anew.”
“It sounds as if you have finally formed a hypothesis as to why he killed the four women,” Benning said.
“Not four,” James said. “Nine.”
“Nine?” Benning blurted.
James met his gaze squarely. “Lord Harley is the Inverness Butcher.”
Surprise flicked in Benning’s eyes and a moment of silence passed before he said, “It has been two months since the Butcher last struck. It is possible he has moved on or is dead.”
“He is not dead. He is in that carriage.”
“None of Harley’s victims were killed with the same violence as the Butcher’s victims,” Benning said.
“You do no’ call being thrown from a balcony violent?” James demanded. “What of being forced to drink laudanum and then being drowned? If that isn’t violent, what is?”
“The heat of the moment,” Benning replied. “The way those prostitutes were mutilated indicates a cooler head, planning. What makes you think Harley is the Butcher?”
James peered out the window as they slowed. Up ahead, Harley’s carriage waited for another vehicle to cross the intersection, then started forward again.
“For each murdered prostitute, the following month a lady of gentle breeding has been murdered,” he said. “The murders are within twenty-nine days of each other. Beth Rose, the first prostitute murdered, was killed in August of last year. Lady Phillips was murdered in September. Then the second prostitute, Lynn Williams, in October, and Miss Evans in November.”
“Jane MacPhee was murdered in December and Lady Julia in January,” Benning said.
“Thus far, Madeline Hunter is the most recent victim of the Butcher, murdered last month,” James said. “It is plain that there is a connection.”
His jaw clenched. Madeline Hunter had been killed with slow, precise slices that filleted her tender body—just as Kari had been mutilated. This time, he allowed the memory to return in a controlled wave. Dark hair and large brown eyes that drove mad the men to whom her pimp sold her. Her pimp, Lewis Malloch, a business associate James had introduced to her father.
Kari sacrificed her dream of a husband and children to feed her sisters and to ease the long hours her father slaved teaching mathematics and science for pennies. She earned more in a day on the streets than he did in a month. When her father was called upon to identify her body and learned she’d died selling her body, he denounced her. A hard right to the jaw administered by a close friend saved James from putting a bullet through his head.
James dedicated the next month to finding her killer. The trail ended at Lewis Malloch’s door. If James hadn’t killed Malloch, he would have thought Malloch had left India to terrorize the women of Inverness. But Malloch was dead. Another fiend stalked the streets of Inverness in both the best and worst parts of Town.
“The newspaper reports did no’ do the mutilations justice,” he said.
“You saw the bodies?” Benning demanded.
Harley’s carriage made a left turn at the corner up ahead.
“All but Beth Rose,” James replied.
>
“Who hired you to investigate their murders?”
James shook his head. “No one cares enough to give prostitutes a true burial. I simply took a personal interest.”
“I do not see that this is enough to implicate Harley in the murders of the prostitutes,” Benning said.
“It is an exact pattern,” James insisted. “The murders are so extremely different, as if someone went to great pains to ensure there was no connection. Did you know that Harley’s father sired a girl off a prostitute?”
“He is no’ the first nobleman to visit prostitutes.”
James glimpsed loch Ness to the right. “He’s turning east. Is it possible he is taking the women to his home?” He snapped his gaze onto Benning. “The dowager cottage is half a mile from the mansion.”
Understanding lit Benning’s eyes. “No wonder the cottage has remained empty all these months.”
James nodded. “What better place to commit murder?”
Chapter Six
Annabelle’s heart thundered against her ribs. She made eye contact with Lena, who sat across from her and Lord Harley. I am so sorry, Annabelle telepathed with her eyes.
Lena’s eyes softened, but the underlying determination remained.
What had possessed the earl to kidnap them at gunpoint? The box they found had to be the key. But to what? Her head pounded. Surely he didn’t think they intended to steal the jewelry? Even if that were the case, it wouldn’t be worth killing them. Tears pressed painfully against her eyes. How had simple curiosity gotten so out of hand?
“My lord—”
“Silence.” His grip on the pistol pointed at Lena visibly tightened.
“There is no need to point that pistol, sir,” Annabelle said. “We won’t speak to anyone of this misunderstanding.”
His brow furrowed. “You think I am a fool. “ He glanced at Lena. “You do. Both of you do. But I will not shoot you.”
The words should have given a small measure of comfort, but his mocking smile sent a shiver down her spine. The true horror of their situation sent a wave of nausea through her and she forced back a whimper. Annabelle hazarded a glance at his face. His eyes met hers, lifeless, without compassion. But the smile remained. No, he wasn’t going to shoot them. What he had in mind for them was far worse than a bullet through the head.
Lena glanced at the pistol and Lord Harley shifted the barrel toward Annabelle.
“My driver is loyal to me. He will obey if I tell him to say that highwaymen attacked us on the road.” He looked at Annabelle. “Highwaymen attacked your carriage only last night. No doubt your mother told the marquess of the attack. They would easily believe we were set upon again.”
Annabelle stared. “How did you know we were attacked last night?” But she knew. “It was you who set the highwaymen upon us. Why?”
“Do not act innocent. You admitted to helping Ruthven spy on me.”
An odd prickle crawled up her arms. She exchanged a glance with Lena and read in her eyes the same horror that churned her stomach. Annabelle swallowed in an effort to moisten her throat so that her voice would sound normal. “I admitted to agreeing to look in the box. That is hardly spying, my lord. I know nothing more.”
“What is so important about the contents of that box?” Lena demanded. “It is only jewelry.”
Annabelle shot her a warning look, but too late.
A cunning light appeared in his eyes and her fears were confirmed when he said, “You will learn soon enough.”
* * *
At the edge of town, Benning halted the carriage and left James two blocks from a stable before continuing on after Harley. James rented a horse and, armed with the spare pistol Benning always kept in his boot, he quickly left the city behind. James intended to reach Harley’s estate ahead of him and lie in wait at the dowager cottage.
Fifteen minutes later, he veered off the road into a field that ended a mile from the estate. By the time he reached the road again, the horse panted heavily. James slowed the animal to a trot until they reached the rolling hills where the road narrowed then urged his horse up into the trees. At the summit of a small hill, he halted the horse and turned him. The road below was visible through a break in the trees. Minutes later Harley’s coach came into view between the hills to the west.
Harley’s carriage neared a saddle of two small hills. Evening shadows crawled across the green hills. Benning, half a mile behind, would ensure Harley stayed on the road while James reached the cottage. At the bottom of the hill, he spurred his horse into a gallop.
Ten minutes later, James spotted the estate half a mile up ahead. The dowager cottage abutted the orchard a quarter mile to the east. He reached the orchard and rode within the trees until they ended where the cottage sat in the clearing. He dismounted and left the horse tethered to a tree.
James scanned the drive leading to the cottage and he started at seeing a horse’s rump that was visible on the opposite side of the house. Was someone living in the house? The animal could belong to a servant who decided the half-mile walk from the mansion was too much trouble. James hurried through the trees until the small rear garden came into view, but saw no one. No light shone through the kitchen window as he would have expected this time in the afternoon.
The sun’s rays fingered through thick clouds. Darkness would fall in an hour, but if Harley intended to bring the women here he would arrive long before then. James squinted in an effort to discern any movement through the window, then blew out a frustrated breath at the wasted effort. He pulled his pistol from his front waistband and shoved it into the back of his waistband where it would be hidden by his coat. He stepped from the trees and walked toward the front of cottage. He reached the front door and knocked. No answer. He went around to where the horse stood and found a mare saddled with an English saddle.
James cursed. A woman was somewhere on the grounds. That had to mean the earl wasn’t bringing the women here. Where in God’s name had he taken the women?
* * *
When the bustle outside the carriage faded Annabelle knew they’d left the city. Lord Harley had pulled the second pistol from his waistband and pointed it at Lena while still jamming the first gun into Annabelle’s side.
She bit her lip in an effort to stem the tide of tears. The blood drained from Lena’s face. Annabelle gave a tiny shake of her head and tensed when they rumbled over a bump. The wheel dropped into a pothole and she was sure one—or both—of the weapons would discharge. Quiet reigned in the small space, though the wild beating of Annabelle’s heart thundered in her head along with the roar of blood through her ears.
The carriage picked up speed and her fingers twitched with the urge to pull the curtain back and look out the window. Evening shadows began to dim the interior of the vehicle. How many hours did they have before the real nightmare began? The wheels squeaked with the jostling of the carriage as they bounced over another, smaller hole.
The driver shouted something to the horses and a thought struck Annabelle. Lord Harley said the driver would go along with any lie he told to account for her and Lena’s deaths. But that had to be a lie. When they’d approached the carriage Lord Harley had told his driver not to dismount. The earl hadn’t wanted the man to see the gun he had trained on them.
That meant he would dismiss the driver before beginning...whatever it was he had in mind for them. Lord Harley was counting on her and Lena’s terror in order to maintain control. When they stopped and he had to deal with the driver, that is when he would be most vulnerable. That is when she would force him to use both his shots on her.
Annabelle glimpsed Lena worrying her lower lip with her teeth. The fury she had expressed earlier seemed now to be replaced by red-rimmed eyes. Annabelle’s heart wrenched. Nothing frightened Lena.
Oh, why had she stuck her nose in Lord Harley’s business? Her curiosity had been just that, curiosity. What had Lord Harley buried in Baron Morgan’s arboretum? Jewelry, nothing more. It was strange, but not so st
range that he needed to kill them.
Her thoughts jumbled with the ridiculousness of the situation. Was this how Josephine felt when Baron Wylst extorted money on the threat that he would tell the world that the Marquess of Montagu wasn’t her true father? Annabelle had often wondered how her sister had endured that terrible month before their father discovered the truth and admitted that he knew all along Jo wasn’t his daughter. In the end, Lord Wylst had threatened Jo, and her fiancé had been forced to kill him.
Josephine must have felt the same desperation she felt now. But all hadn’t been lost. Nicholas had saved her. Annabelle repressed a sob. There was no one to save her.
Chapter Seven
The bleating of a sheep in the distance was the only sound save the soft clop of his horse’s hooves. James would have preferred to hear the squeak of carriage wheels on the road or even Lady Annabelle’s voice raised in anger. That, at least, would mean she was alive. The report of a pistol would travel far in this quiet countryside. The fact that all had remained quiet at least meant the ladies hadn’t been shot.
James peered through the trees at the road. There was no help for it. He’d followed the road inside the trees as far as possible. He had to venture into the open. It would be dark within forty minutes. If he didn’t discover where Harley had left the road before then, his chances of finding the women were slim. If Harley hadn’t continued on the main road past his estate that meant he’d deviated after James last saw him in the saddle he passed through three miles back. Three miles. An endless stretch when only forty minutes separated him from darkness.
James kicked his horse’s ribs and the animal broke from the trees into a gallop. They flew the half mile to the road, finally leaving Harley’s property. James stopped and surveyed the ground. He was no skilled tracker, but he discerned no fresh carriage tracks in the moist ground. Two other estates lay between Harley’s home and the spot James last saw him. Where on those two properties could the earl have taken the women?