“Bitch!” Ned caught her arm and swung her around.
Before he could strike her, she jammed the heel of her hand into his throat, then twisted and kicked Sly, who was closing from the other side, blood streaming from his upper arm. Sly staggered as she smashed his knee, but he managed to stay on his feet and grab her other arm.
Pierce returned, drawn by the commotion. “Christ, can’t you do anything right?” he roared at his men. “C’mon, the fires are spreading fast and we have to get out while the stairs are still safe. Take care of that damned woman!”
A blow smashed into the back of Alex’s head. She had an instant to be glad that at least she would die fighting.
Katie. Gavin.
Darkness…
Gavin paced around the livery stable yard while the younger Seabourne groom watched uneasily. Gavin had refrained from yelling at him since the groom had no reason not to obey Alex’s orders, but a blind man would be aware of Gavin’s displeasure.
He pulled out his watch. Only fifteen minutes until it was time to pick up Alex. “Is the curricle ready to go?”
“I’ll check, my lord.” Glad of an excuse to leave, the groom vanished into the back of the stable.
Fourteen minutes. Thirteen. Was it time to go? Not yet—the warehouse was only five minutes away, and Alex would not be happy if he frightened off her informant.
He tried to dismiss his increasing uneasiness. Maybe he was tense because of the heavy clouds that were rolling in, threatening the city with storms. Or perhaps it was because, as Alex had pointed out, he liked having everything under control, and this present situation wasn’t.
Or maybe something really was wrong.
The boy who’d held Gavin’s horse earlier stuck his head in the arch that led from the stable yard to the street. “Was that your warehouse you visited, mister?”
Gavin stared at him, his blood going cold. “Yes. Is something wrong?”
“It’s on fire,” the boy said cheerfully.
Gavin’s forebodings blazed into a certainty of disaster. He swung into the saddle of his waiting horse, shouting, “Call the fire brigade!” to Fitzgerald, the stable’s owner.
Recklessly he galloped down the Ratcliff Highway, then into the cross street that led toward the river. In the open air a column of smoke was visible to his right. As soon as he turned into the road that fronted the warehouses, he saw that the smoke was pouring from Elliott House. Praying Alex had made it outside safely, he raced toward the fire, not reining in until he risked trampling the onlookers drawn by disaster.
Abandoning his mount, he forced his way through the growing crowd. “My wife was in the building!” he shouted. “Has anyone seen her?”
A wizened man shook his head. “No one’s gone in or out since you left.”
No. NO! He stared at the flames, paralyzed by the horror of fire he’d had since the shipboard disaster when he was a young sailor.
But Alex was inside. Forcing the horror down, he broke through the crowd that stayed a respectful distance from the fire, and sprinted toward the warehouse door. Since Alex had left it unlocked, he could be upstairs in seconds. Perhaps she was passed out on the floor. He could do this. He had to do this.
“Nay, lad.” A huge stevedore tackled him, almost knocking him from his feet. “If she be in there, she’s gone.”
“God damn it, let me go!” Saturated with fear, Gavin fought to free himself of the stevedore’s grip. “It’s my wife. I have to get her.”
The stevedore gave him a hard shake. “You’re too late!”
Gavin was about to use a pentjak move when a thunderous crash shook the street. He whirled to see the warehouse roof collapsing. Flames and billows of smoke exploded upward with a hideous roar as the windows blew out, showering the street with hot glass and almost knocking Gavin and the stevedore down.
Gavin began to shake, refusing to accept what he was seeing. Alex couldn’t be dead, she’d been perfectly healthy when he left her. She could easily have escaped in time. “She must have jumped out a window on the river side before the building collapsed.”
The stevedore eyed him pityingly. Not caring, Gavin worked his way through the crowd toward the end of this block of warehouses, where an alley led down to the river. His progress was blocked by the arrival of a fire engine. The London Fire Engine Establishment was funded by insurance companies, and its first priority was to prevent the flames from spreading to adjoining property.
The crew chief barked to his men as they pulled out the leather hose and connected to a fire plug. “This building and the one next door are gone, but there’s time to save the rest of the block.” Raising his voice, he shouted, “Free beer to anyone who helps with the pumping!”
A cheer went up, and within moments the pump handles were in place and volunteers were laboring to the rumbling chorus of “Beer-O! Beer-O!” The increased pressure blasted out a stream of water that created billows of hissing steam.
A second engine arrived as Gavin reached the alley that led to the river. Panting for breath, he cut down to the waterfront and looked along the river faces of the warehouses. Elliott House had partially collapsed, spilling fiery bricks over the loading dock and into the water. He gazed at the inferno his warehouse had become, bizarrely remembering that unclaimed tea wasn’t destroyed in the Customs incinerator because it burned so fiercely that the official chimney had been set ablaze.
But Alex still could have escaped the building on this side before the fire got out of control. Perhaps she was looking for him at the livery stable. He returned to the scene of the firefighting, searching the crowd, checking the stable, asking again and again if anyone had seen her.
Not a trace.
As he returned from the stable, the threatened storm broke with a deafening barrage of thunder. The skies opened and rain poured onto the fire, far more effective than the three fire engines now on the scene. The first wave of volunteers had tired and gone off to enjoy their beer, so he began to pump, working until his back ached and his hands blistered, brusquely refusing offers to relieve him.
The thunderstorm passed but a cold, steady rain continued, driving away most of the spectators. When the last flames hissed into extinction, a man touched Gavin’s arm. “It’s time to go home, my lord.”
Gavin glanced back and saw a vaguely familiar face. With effort, he remembered the constable who had helped the night before. Only the night before? “I can’t leave, Constable Mayne. My wife is inside. I…I…can’t leave her.”
“She’s not there anymore, sir” was the quiet answer.
Trembling in every muscle, Gavin stared at the blackened ruins, no longer able to deny what had happened. “She’s gone, and it’s my fault,” he said in a rasping whisper.
Because a person was presumed lost, members of the brigade began searching the ruins when the rain had cooled the rubble enough for safety. Gavin tried to volunteer, but the fire chief flatly refused. “You’re not dressed nor trained for this, my lord. It would be worth my job to let you help.”
So he waited through the rest of the endless night. Dawn was breaking in the east when the fire chief came to him. “We’ve found a body, sir.”
“Let me see her.” Gavin started toward the blackened shell of the building.
“No.” The chief was blocking his way, and so was Constable Mayne. “There’s…not much to see. Just enough to identify the remains as human. Your wife was a tall woman?”
The top of her head was level with his cheekbone. Alex, damn you, why didn’t you listen? He drew a shuddering breath. “Yes, she is…was…tall.”
Another member of the brigade approached with a blackened object. “We found this by the body. Was it your wife’s?” He handed over a blackened metal object.
Gavin recognized the filthy, twisted remains of Alex’s elegant pocket pistol. The heat had completely burned away the wooden grip, leaving only the warped double barrel. The last flicker of hope died. “Yes.” His hand convulsively gripped the met
al. “Yes, this was hers.” And may God have mercy on her indomitable soul.
Gavin was barely aware when the Seabourne groom urged him into the curricle and drove home, Gavin’s horse tethered behind. London was waking to sunny, rain-swept skies by the time they reached Berkeley Square. When Gavin stumbled wearily from the curricle, a maid scrubbing the steps looked up and gasped at the sight of him.
He found out why when he stepped inside and caught a glimpse of a gaunt-eyed stranger in the mirror. His clothes were still wet from the rain and bore charred spots from embers, he was smudged with soot, and he looked like…like a man who had just lost the woman he loved.
Bard approached soundlessly, looking less impeccable than usual. Apparently the bad news had reached the household. “What are your orders, Lord Seabourne?”
Gavin struggled to think of what must be done. “Send a footman to Ashburton House with word of her ladyship’s d…death so her parents and the Ashburtons can be notified.” Other people needed to know, but so many were out of London. He brushed that aside for later, too exhausted to think about it now.
The butler nodded gravely. “Shall I have a bath prepared for you?”
“I must talk to Miss Katie.”
The butler looked ill, but not as ill as Gavin felt as he climbed the steps to the nursery. Katie was breakfasting in the nursery with Miss Hailey when Gavin entered. Her swift smile faltered when she saw his condition. “Captain?” she said uneasily.
The sight of her small face, Alex in miniature with sunny blond hair, shattered his heart all over again. “Katie—” His voice broke and he stopped to compose himself. “There’s…very bad news. A fire at the Elliott House warehouse. Your mother was working there, and…and she didn’t escape in time.”
“No,” Katie cried as she slid from her chair, her aqua eyes huge. “No, Mama can’t be dead, too. She can’t!”
“I’m so sorry, Katie.” If only he could have died in Alex’s place, anything rather than have to tell her daughter what had happened.
Katie dissolved into wrenching sobs. He knelt and embraced her, fighting his own tears as he told her that she was safe and loved and would always have him, and that her mother had died heroically.
They stayed together until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see his aunt, Lady Jane Holland. “Mr. Suryo brought me the terrible news,” she said softly. “You must rest, Gavin. Miss Hailey and I will take care of Katie.”
Numbly he rose and let Katie go into Lady Jane’s sheltering, maternal arms. Downstairs he avoided Alex’s room with its excruciating memories of joy in favor of his own bland room. Heedless of his filthy clothes, he collapsed on the bed and slept with dreamless exhaustion.
When he awoke, it was evening again. He lay on his back staring blindly at the ceiling. After Helena’s death he’d thought he could never feel such anguish again, but he was wrong. Apparently the ability to suffer never diminished.
He tried to order his thoughts for practical matters. Making the insurance claim, finding new offices, ensuring that his employees were taken care of.
What about the funeral? No decisions could be made before her parents arrived from Wales, which would be at least three or four days. Quite possibly they would want to take Alex’s body home to rest among the peaceful Welsh hills.
He dreaded facing the Kenyons. He’d pledged to take care of Alex, and he’d failed. As he swung his feet to the floor, he realized her parents might insist on taking Katie. Much as he wanted to keep her, he wasn’t sure he had the legal right, and she might be happier with her grandparents and the young niece who was almost a sister.
He rubbed his forehead, smearing soot. A day earlier Alex had been alive. If he’d followed his instincts and refused to let her meet that stranger alone, she’d be alive still.
For the first time, he wondered what had happened. Neither the fire nor Alex’s death were accidental. Had her visitor hoped for an easy robbery and ended by killing her because she resisted, then set the warehouse on fire to cover up his crime? Had the man had accomplices?
It was time to talk to the woman who had arranged that fatal meeting. He rang for a bath and asked that Daisy come speak with him. While he washed and made himself presentable, the house was searched from top to bottom.
Daisy Adams was gone.
Gavin was trying to make himself eat a late supper when Bard entered the room. “There are two men here who say they must speak with you.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
The butler said awkwardly, “They’re from the Metropolitan Police, my lord.”
Wondering if the police had information about the cause of the fire, he abandoned his supper. Waiting in the drawing room were a poker-faced Constable Mayne and a man who looked like a higher ranking police officer. The latter said, “I’m Superintendent Blake of the Metropolitan Police. You are Gavin Elliott, seventh Earl of Seabourne?”
“I am. Have you learned something more about how the fire started? I believe it was no accident.”
He was about to tell about Alex’s meeting when Blake caught his gaze. “My lord, it is my duty to charge you with the murder of your wife, Alexandra Elliott, the Countess of Seabourne.”
Chapter 33
HEAD THROBBING with agony, Alex fell through nightmares of fire, pain, and nausea. Shimmering eastern seas faded into the cool northern skies of home, then dissolved into terror. She heard voices, but couldn’t concentrate enough to understand the words. Coarse, profane men. A woman’s soft but chilling tones. Blankets wrapped around her because she was shivering, clumsy attempts to spoon water or broth into her mouth, exclamations of disgust when she vomited bile.
Finally the world remained steady when she opened her eyes. She was lying on a cot with not quite enough blankets to cut the damp chill. A single candle revealed that she was in a stone vault. High above, strange masses of a gray, soft material like cotton wool hung from a shadowy brick ceiling. The silence was absolute, and the air thickly oppressive.
She rolled her head and saw that an archway separated her cell from a stone passage, but the exit was barred by a grid of shiny new iron bars that included a massive padlocked door. On the opposite side of the passage was an arch like the one into Alex’s cell, only without bars and with several huge casks stacked inside.
She closed her eyes, trying to remember where she was and what had happened. When she was knocked unconscious by pirates, she had experienced violent headaches and nausea, but surely that was long over? She and Katie had returned safely to England.
Gavin. Memories of him slowly formed, including his anger because…? Because she’d insisted on meeting a man about slave traders. She rubbed her head, trying to ease the ache. Four men had come, including Sir Barton Pierce, and she thought she had died, but apparently not, unless hell was a good deal colder than its reputation.
“Is our sleeping countess awake?” a dulcet voice cooed.
Alex turned her head on the cot and saw Frederica Pierce approaching with a lantern. She wore a blue velvet cloak that emphasized her angelic blond beauty, and was followed by a stolid man carrying a tray.
Alex sighed, hardly even surprised. Since Barton Pierce had been there when she was knocked out, it made sense for his wife to be here now. “Be careful, Frederica.” Alex stopped, shocked by the raspy weakness of her voice. She swallowed and tried again. “You’ll get that fine cloak filthy.”
“It’s worth it.” A straight wooden chair stood outside the cell. Frederica sat down and carefully arranged the folds of her cloak while her attendant knelt by the iron bars and slid the tray of food into the cell. A narrow opening had been left at the bottom of the bars for precisely that purpose so the door needn’t be opened to feed her.
At a disadvantage lying down, Alex managed to push herself to a sitting position. When her head stopped whirling, she swung her feet to the floor. The stones were cold and slightly sticky. “How long have I been here?”
“Four days.
At first I feared that knock on the head might kill you, but you have the toughness of an Irish peasant.” It was not a compliment.
Alex wrapped the blankets around her shivering body. “Why didn’t you kill me outright? It would have been simpler than bringing me to this place.” Unless they wanted to torture her. At the moment, she would believe anything.
“I have a much better plan than killing you, Alexandra.” Frederica fixed Alex with a bright-eyed glance. “Barton was the one who arranged the ambush to get rid of you and your husband, but Seabourne fought well. We lost two good men that night.”
Remembering that Gavin had believed Pierce had no motive for killing, Alex asked, “Why did your husband want us dead? He and Seabourne don’t like each other, but that’s a long way from murder.”
“You think so? We have no shortage of reasons. To begin with, Barton ‘lent’ a substantial sum to your husband’s cousin in order to get Seabourne sponsorship for a seat in Parliament. Since Philip Elliott lost the earldom, Barton may never recover all he gave to that worthless gamester.”
“That’s hardly my husband’s fault,” Alex pointed out. “Becoming an earl was a complete surprise to him.”
“So he claims.” Frederica’s delicate features turned hard. “Barton was angered at the loss of his investment, but he has secured another lord’s influence so he’ll have his seat after the next election. Seabourne’s unforgivable crime was telling Sultan Kasan not to use Barton as Maduri’s exclusive Western agent. Do you have any idea how much that cost us? Tens of thousands of pounds a year! The news of your husband’s viciousness reached Barton last week from his agent in Singapore. That was when Barton decided that Seabourne must be punished.”
The news jolted Alex. To a man like Pierce, being denied a contract that would generate great wealth was indeed a motive for vengeance. Strange to think that Gavin’s warning to a ruler half a world away could have such repercussions.
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