Sam said, “This is an official Bow Street investigation. If you’re lying ter us—”
“He’s not lying,” Astrid interrupted, glaring at Sam. “Nor am I.” Her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Evert is in Valhalla. Where he can no longer be harmed.”
The man was wearing a leather mask stained red and carved with hideous furrows and gashes.
“You were not supposed to be here, Miss Donovan.”
Kendra caught the glitter of eyes in the shadowy holes of the mask as he regarded her. “Funny,” she said, “because I don’t remember hitting myself over the head and bringing myself here.”
“But you got into the hackney with him, didn’t you? I think the gods must have ordained that you were meant to bear witness to his confession.” The mask turned to look at Captain Mobray. “’Tis time for you to speak. To tell us of your betrayal.”
Captain Mobray swallowed hard enough for his Adam’s apple to make a clicking sound. “You’re a lunatic.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, then he pivoted abruptly, retreating to the workbench. Kendra saw the glint of the blade in the candlelight as he picked up the knife, and knew that Mobray had seen it as well when a strange mewling sound came from his throat.
“If you do not speak, there’s no reason for me not to cut out your tongue now, is there?” the killer murmured as he walked toward them. “And I shall not wait for your death to do so.”
“For God’s sake, it was war!” Mobray cried desperately. “They were starving us. Torturing us!”
“Lies. All lies! Tell us of your betrayal!” The man slowly pushed up his mask. “Tell us now.”
50
The apothecary shop’s windows were dark when they pulled up to the curb. Alec jumped from the carriage, driven by a sense of urgency that had him wanting to break down the shop’s door. Instead, he banged his fist loudly upon it.
Sam pressed his face against the windowpanes to peer inside. “I see a bit of light behind the counter. The laboratory is in the back of the shop, I think. There must be a rear entrance.”
Alec was already running for the alley between the apothecary shop and the haberdashery next door. Rats scurried out of sight at the sound of their pounding feet. Alec spotted the back door and rushed to it. He rattled the doorknob, and was shocked when it swung inward. He thrust open the door fully, his gaze on the man hurrying toward them.
“What’s this about?” Bertel Larson demanded, stopping to stare in shock at his unexpected visitors. “My God . . . Your Grace. What is happening?”
Alec pushed past him to the other door, his gaze sweeping laboratory workbenches filled with sacks of herbs, measuring equipment, beakers, and dishes. Empty. He spun around. “Where’s your son?” he snapped, and clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from laying hands on the apothecary. “Where is Evert?”
Sam’s golden eyes narrowed as he shot a cursory glance around the laboratory. “Where’s David? Ain’t he supposed ter be working with you tonight?”
Bertel was shaking his head. “What is the meaning of this?”
“My ward is missing,” said the Duke, stepping forward. “We know she went to speak to Captain Mobray. We think your son has Captain Mobray and Miss Donovan. You must tell us where he would have taken them!”
Bertel pressed shaking hands against his temples. “I cannot believe this!”
“Damn you! Now is not the time to express your incredulity,” Alec snapped. “Tell us where you son has gone!”
“I don’t know.” Bertel dropped his hands and looked at them helplessly. “I swear to you that I would tell you if I knew! I have no wish for this. He—he is not in his right mind. You must see that? You must see that his mind was shattered by what happened . . .”
Ice cold terror arrowed through him, and Alec looked at his uncle and Sam. “My God, where has Evert taken her?”
Bertel raked trembling fingers through his hair, his horror building to match Alec’s. “No, no, Evert is dead . . .”
“David.” Kendra breathed the name as she stared at the strikingly handsome face.
The blue eyes sparkled with tears of fury and vengeance. The finely sculpted lips peeled back in a snarl. “He killed my brother!”
Kendra’s head swam. And it wasn’t from the concussion. It felt like the earth had tilted on its axis, and she had to scramble to make sense of the new world order. “I thought Evert had survived . . . that he had returned to England a month ago. On the Magdalena.”
Tears spilled over and ran unheeded down David’s cheeks as he flicked her a glance. “Living isn’t surviving, Miss Donovan.”
She looked at him. “Is Evert alive?”
“No. But he didn’t die in Spain, either,” he whispered brokenly. For a long moment, he stood there, breathing harshly, staring at nothing in particular. “We couldn’t believe it when we received a note from the Magdalena,” he finally said. “We didn’t believe it, thought it must be somebody’s idea of a cruel jest, someone who wanted to hurt us.” He swallowed hard. “But I went to the ship that night.”
“And found Evert,” Kendra said softly.
“I found a monster . . . because of him.” Without warning, David lurched forward and kicked Mobray in the kidneys. The other man cried out in pain, falling to the side and curling up like a shrimp as David landed two more vicious kicks.
“Stop it!” Kendra screamed. “Stop it! Goddamn it, stop it!”
David shifted back, the sound of his ragged breathing and Mobray’s groans filling the room. “Evert had been in an explosion in Spain. That much of what he said was true. His face—it was gone. His fingers . . .” A sob rose in his throat, and his hand clenched the knife, knuckles whitening. “The pain that he endured was inhuman. Do you know how he survived? The French thought he was dead, his flesh burnt and rotting! They threw him in a cart with the other dead, hauled away by the villagers . . .”
Jesus. Kendra said nothing, horrified.
David continued, “A peasant saw that Evert was alive—barely. He brought him home, tended to him. God knows why. It would have been kinder to kill him then. But he lived.”
David fell silent again, his handsome face twisting.
“But he came home,” Kendra said after a moment.
“He had no intention of returning home. It had taken more than a year to mend, and when he was fit, he chose to stay in the village. Do you know what he did?” Kendra caught the wild glitter in David’s blue eyes as he let out a sudden laugh. “He became an apothecary! Tending to peasants’ mosquito bites and complaints!”
“He survived,” Kendra said.
David shot her a scathing look. “Survived. He died!”
She didn’t ask why Evert hadn’t returned home. She knew why. Evert Larson had been his family’s golden boy. In the 21st century, he would have been the star quarterback, the brilliant politician, the Wall Street whiz, the model or movie star. Everything she’d learned about him told her that he was the kind of guy who would’ve excelled in whatever his chosen profession. Talent, brains, and good looks were a powerful combination.
But what happened to someone’s psyche when you took away one part of that trifecta?
The first thing she’d noticed about David was how strikingly handsome he was. People hadn’t spoken of Evert’s gorgeous face when they’d remembered him, but based on the oil painting hanging in the Larsons’ home, he and David had been nearly identical. Like most blessed with beauty, Evert had probably taken his looks for granted. All youth did. Until time wrought changes on a person’s face and skin.
But there was a big difference between time’s slow encroachment on beauty, and having it ravaged by fire.
“What made Evert finally return?” she asked.
David’s lips twisted. “Because of him.” He glared at Mobray, who seemed to curl into a tighter position, awaiting the next kick. “With the war over, people began to travel again. Peddlers, tradesmen. A merchant from England passed through Ev
ert’s village, and left a London newspaper behind. There was an article in it that mentioned the good captain.” He sneered. “It speculated about his political aspirations. Evert knew he had to return, to tell the truth.”
“He sent Sir Giles a note as well as you.”
“Sir Giles—a man that he thought he could trust,” David spat, his eyes glittering with fury. “Sir Giles was more concerned with how Captain Mobray and Lord Cross’s treasonous actions might put England in a bad light! The bastard asked Evert to keep quiet while he investigated. Investigated. He was trying to figure out how to stop the truth from being known!”
“I don’t think so. I think he just needed time to figure it out.”
“Bullocks! He lied! And Evert knew he was lying!”
“Why didn’t you bring him home with you after you found him on the ship?”
He glared at her. “You think I didn’t try? I begged him to come home with me. But he refused. He . . . he was ashamed.” David had to blink back tears. “He came here,” he said, his voice hoarse, “and lived like a bloody animal. Because of him.”
Kendra’s gaze traveled to the pallet and blankets.
“I tried to make Evert understand that it didn’t matter,” David said, his breathing heavy. “I tried—and then it was too late.”
Kendra swallowed against the bile that had risen in her throat. Her lips felt stiff as she asked, “What happened?”
“He took a knife—this knife”—David’s breath caught on a sob as he lifted the blade he held—“and slit his wrists. I found him here. Christ, the blood . . . there was so much blood. That was scarcely three weeks ago. He’d been in England for three days.”
Kendra’s gaze slid from the pallet and blankets to the grimy floor, now recognizing a large stain near the pallet as blood. Her stomach knotted. “I’m sorry, David. It’s not your fault.”
His face twisted on a spasm of pain. “Do you think that I believe it’s my fault?” he shot back. “It’s his fault!” He surged forward, and kicked Mobray again, eliciting a moan.
“Tell her!” he screamed. “Tell her how you betrayed your own men! You and Cross! Cross recognized Evert when he came to the camp with the villagers. He told you, didn’t he, you bastard? And you realized you could trade that information for food, comfort, and freedom!”
Mobray slowly pushed himself upright, angling his body in such a way to protect himself from any more blows. “We didn’t want to harm anyone,” he muttered. “It was war, for Christ’s sakes!”
“You turned on your own men!” David shouted. “You made a deal with the French—my brother for your sodding freedom! Evert saw you when he escaped. He went to try to destroy the armory, and saw you pick up a rifle and shoot and bayonet your own men!”
“Lies!” Mobray hissed, but Kendra saw the truth in his eyes.
“Did they realize that you and Cross had been plotting with the French?” David’s bitter gaze was locked on Mobray. “You killed them all because you didn’t want witnesses to your perfidy!”
“No!” Mobray suddenly threw out his shackled arms. In that moment, Kendra realized that the captain had been playing possum when he’d lay curled on the ground. With his body as cover, he’d been clawing the broken stone floor, and now threw a handful of grit into David’s eyes. As David fell back a step, his hands automatically lifting, Mobray shoved himself to his feet, and charged.
51
Lifting her frothy organza skirts with one hand while pulling down the hood of her velvet cloak with the other to protect the elaborate coif that her maid had spent the last two hours arranging, Rebecca dashed up the path to Number 29. With her head bent and her hood obstructing her vision, she didn’t see the man at the door until she ran into him. She gasped, and would have fallen off the steps if hands hadn’t grabbed her, yanking her forward into a hard embrace. The scent of wet wool enveloped her as her face was smashed against the man’s chest.
“Ho, there, Princess.”
Muldoon. Irritated, Rebecca pulled back, shoving her hood back so she could glare up at him. “What are you doing lurking outside the Duke’s house?” she demanded.
“Well, now, here I was thinking that I was behaving in a civilized fashion by knocking at His Grace’s door,” the reporter said, grinning. “How was I to know that one of my betters would be rushing at me like one of the Furies.”
Her jaw tightened. “You persist in giving me mythological identities, Mr. Muldoon. First a guard dog to Hell, and now one of the goddesses seeking vengeance.”
“’Tis the writer in me.” His gaze roamed over her face. “You are looking particularly lovely this evening, Princess. Where are you off to, then?”
For just a moment, Rebecca’s breath caught, and her wits seemed to scramble. She’d never been called lovely before, not by someone outside the family. But then she reminded herself of the glibness of this particular journalist’s tongue. Stiffening, certain she’d heard mockery in his voice, she scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Miss Donovan asked me to look into something, and I thought to leave this note for her, requesting a meeting tomorrow.” He pulled out the damp missive when the door opened, and Harding stood regarding them.
“My lady.” Harding opened the door wider to allow them to enter, although he frowned at Muldoon. “Sir?”
Rebecca undid the frog closures at her throat and handed the butler her cloak. “Mr. Muldoon is with me,” she said, and saw the flash of surprise in the reporter’s eyes. “Trust me, Miss Donovan will not want to wait until tomorrow to find out whatever you’ve discovered,” she told the reporter, and began walking toward the stairs.
Harding cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Miss Donovan is not at home, my lady. His Grace is quite concerned.”
She now saw the worry behind the butler’s habitually somber expression, and her chest tightened. “What has happened? Where is she? Never mind.” She lifted the skirts of her evening gown and ran toward the staircase. “I trust the Duke is in the study?” she called out the question as she hurried up the steps.
Harding said, “Yes.”
“What’s going on?” Muldoon asked, easily keeping pace behind her.
Rebecca ignored the reporter as she jogged down the hallway. The door to the study was open, so she barreled through, coming to a skidding stop as her gaze scanned the occupants in the room. The Duke and Sam were standing at a table, their attention fixed on the map spread across the surface. Alec’s gaze was on the slate board. All their heads snapped around when she and Muldoon burst into the room.
“What is happening?” she demanded, the three words burning her throat. “Where is Kendra?”
“What’s he doing here?” Sam asked, his golden eyes narrowing on Muldoon.
“He has information for Kendra.” She waved that aside with a jerky gesture, her eyes focusing on the Duke. “Where is Kendra?” she asked again, her breath hitching a little.
The Duke shook his head, his blue eyes dark with concern. “I don’t know. Kendra learned something and went to warn Captain Mobray that he may be in danger. Now they have both disappeared.”
“Dear heaven.” Rebecca fought to draw air into her lungs. “How long has she been missing?”
“A few hours,” said the Duke.
Rebecca stared at him, her thoughts whirling with all the terrible things that could happen to a person in a few hours. “Who took her?”
Alec looked at Muldoon. “What information have you discovered? Could it help us find Kendra?”
The reporter took off his hat, raking his fingers through his bright hair, and shook his head. “I don’t see how. She asked me to look into the official reports regarding Captain Mobray and Lord Cross’s time in Spain.”
Alec said, “You already gave her those.”
“This was the official reports from the English camp that Captain Mobray and Lord Cross fled to after escaping. It was curious. Both gentlemen were in remarkably good condition for the ordeal
that they claimed to have endured. I located an officer who’d been at the English camp, and he confessed that there had been rumors among the men at the time that questioned the captain and Cross’s account. They thought Mobray had embellished his ordeal.”
“Goddamn it. This doesn’t help at all,” Alec muttered and began to pace.
“Who do you think took her?” Rebecca asked again.
The Duke said, “David Larson.”
“David Larson?” Muldoon repeated.
Alec circled back to the map. “Where the bloody hell did he take them?”
“The same place that he must have taken Sir Giles,” Sam said, his expression grim.
“David Larson?” Muldoon asked again.
Sam scowled at him. “You sound like a bloody parrot, Muldoon. Aye, David Larson—the brother of Evert.”
“But why—”
“Oh, dear heaven.” Rebecca’s legs turned to liquid. Suddenly, Muldoon’s arms were around her, and he half dragged, half carried her to the sofa.
“Someone get smelling salts!” Muldoon yelled. “She’s fainting.”
She clutched at his arms, staring at him. “Parrot. The old crone. My God.” She shoved the reporter aside as she got to her feet. “I think I know where he took her!”
The Duke gazed at her. “What are you talking about?”
“There was an old crone when we visited Trevelyan Square,” she said, her breath catching in her excitement. “She came out of one of the buildings and she said, ‘Go away,’ over and over. I told Kendra that she was harmless, and the madwoman began to repeat that as well. The woman repeated only what she heard. Trevelyan Square is abandoned. So who told her to go away?”
Sam glanced at the Duke and Alec. “It makes sense. The proximity might be the reason that he chose ter put Sir Giles’s body in the church.”
Alec was already moving toward the door.
Rebecca said, “I’m coming with you.”
Betrayal in Time Page 38