A Touch of Camelot (30 page)

He leaned over the desk toward her. "What you
want
isn't important. What you
need
is to keep you and your brother alive."

This seemed to stir a reaction. She frowned and turned to gaze up at the portrait of her mother.

Sidney too gazed at Emmaline's face, seeing clearly for the first time that she wasn't really there. Perhaps she never had been, the Emmaline he had grown over the years to cherish in his secret heart. Perhaps, in his own anguished mind, he had recreated her into something she had never been. Was it any wonder that no other woman had ever seemed to measure up?

"Before you go, there's something I think you should have." Sidney pulled open a drawer of his desk. There, lying next to his old revolver, was the daguerreotype of Emmaline, forever young and smiling, forever beautiful. He stared at the faded picture, fighting a wave of nostalgia for a time in his life that was long since passed. He picked up the picture.

"Perhaps this will help you remember your mother in a more favorable light," he said. "Back in those days, she was really something."

Gwin took the picture. She looked at it before raising her gaze to Sidney's face. "I'll just bet she was."

Sidney nodded, feeling suddenly more right with the world than he had in a very long time. "Enough of this. You'll have to leave quickly, through the service entrance, if—"

The door to the study swung open, and Gwin turned, still clutching her mother's picture.

Jasper filled the doorway from one side to the other. He grinned from around a plump Havana cigar. "I apologize for so rudely interrupting, Sidney, but I must beg to differ with you." He pulled out a revolver. "No one is going anywhere."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cole was unimpressed by the grandeur of Phineas Taylor's faux-castle mansion. He doubted he would ever earn a fortune in his lifetime, certainly not in his line of work, but if he ever did, he would never throw it away on such a gaudy showpiece as this.

A butler soon answered his knock. "Sir?"

"My name is Cole Shepherd. I'm here to see Mr. Taylor."

"Is Mr. Taylor expecting you, sir?"

"No, but I'm from the Pinkerton Detective Agency in Chicago. Mr. Taylor is our client."

"Do come in. I'll see if Mr. Taylor is available."

When Cole stepped over the threshold, he took in the opulent surroundings with one sweeping glance.

"Your hat, sir?"

Cole removed his derby and handed it to him.

"Very good." The butler hung it next to a silk top hat on a rack near the door. "I’ll be but a moment."

Cole watched as the butler continued past him to one of the doors off to the side of the wide entrance foyer. The butler rapped once, then, at a muffled response from within, vanished into the room.

*

Shortly after his unorthodox entry, Arthur had found himself in one of two adjoining dining rooms. As he passed by an elaborate mahogany sideboard, he was unable to resist running his fingers over a gleaming silver tea service and matching candlesticks. He thought his Uncle Sidney must be richer than Midas.

He passed stealthily into another room, which featured a billiard table, silver cuspidors, and towering bookshelves. From there, still without running into another soul, he had passed through a kitchen, a scullery, and a library.

It had been while browsing through some books in the library that he heard voices in the hallway, the first indications of other people in the house since he'd arrived. One of those voices was unmistakably familiar.

He moved to the door and opened it a crack to peer out. Sure enough, there was Cole, handing his hat to a starchy-looking fellow. The man started down the hallway toward the library.

Arthur jumped back from the door and flattened himself against the wall behind it, holding his breath. He heard a knock. A door across the hall opened and closed, and Arthur let out his breath. Now that Cole was here, he didn't have to worry about Gwinnie anymore. Now his biggest problem was getting out of here without getting caught.

*

Cole strolled past two suits of armor to examine an array of ancient weapons that hung on one wall. They looked authentic and deadly. He was already beginning to form a mental composite of Mr. Phineas Taylor: rich, charismatic, vain, and—judging by the art and artifacts that hung in his entrance hall—an avid collector.

Cole turned away from the weapon collection, and that's when he saw it. He tried to convince himself that his mind was playing tricks on him. He moved closer to better focus on the object lying so carelessly atop one of the end tables. It wasn't his imagination. It was Gwin's reticule, the one she had purchased in Virginia City.

Before this fact and its full ramifications could even formulate, Cole was reaching for the gun holstered at his hip. Instantaneously, he sensed a presence behind him, a distinctly human presence, and not one simulated by an empty suit of armor.

He turned, the Colt cocked and ready, to see a towering man standing near the bottom of the staircase. It was surprising, no, it was nearly inconceivable to Cole that such a large man had apparently been able to move down those stairs without making a sound.

The door through which the butler had disappeared only moments ago opened, and a chuckling voice assaulted his ears. "You should be proud of yourself, Mr. Shepherd. You've crossed the finish line. You've won the prize."

Without shifting his aim from the motionless figure on the staircase, Cole turned his head to behold a short, round, bearded man. His spirits sank when he saw Gwin standing before him. The man held a gun on her.

That grating voice fell on Cole's ears again. "What is it that our Mr. Shepherd has won, Mr. Ringo?"

The giant on the staircase finished descending the stairs. He seemed oblivious to the fact that Cole's revolver was still aimed dead-center at his chest.

The fat man continued his amused banter. "Put the gun down, Mr. Shepherd. I wouldn't want to have to hurt the young lady."

Cole looked down at the revolver in his hand, useless as a feather duster. The man held a gun on Gwin. He had the power to kill her at any moment and there wasn't a damn thing Cole could do about it.

 The man's playful tone took on a sharper edge. "Put it down, Mr. Shepherd."

Cole laid the gun down on the table next to Gwin's reticule. The little man spoke. "Frederick, please bring me the weapon."

"You're not quite what I expected, Mr. Taylor," Cole said as the butler took the revolver and gave it to his rotund commander.

The man puffed on his cigar and chuckled. "The name is Barnes. Mr. Taylor seems to be dallying." He glanced back at the door, which still hung ajar. "Sidney, are you there?"

A distinguished man with chestnut brown hair and pale blue eyes appeared in the archway. Cole knew then that his hunch was correct. Phineas Taylor and Sidney Pierce were the same man.

Pierce’s voice was dour. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shepherd, that it has come to this."

An earsplitting clatter caused Cole to turn. Mr. Ringo had been busy. Cole looked down to see that an ancient double-edged sword had been flung at his feet. Incredulous, he raised his eyes to meet Ringo's waiting gaze. In one powerful hand, Ringo wielded a long-handled partisan. Its wickedly sharp, curved edge put Cole in mind of an elaborate hatchet. Even though the big man had not said a word, the implication was clear. Cole was being challenged to some sort of duel.

"It seems Mr. Ringo has decided to give you a chance to fight for your life, Mr. Shepherd."

Cole glanced back at the little man. "That's ridiculous. I'm not going to—"

But he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the partisan completing a horizontal backswing. He ducked, hearing the sleek blade cut the air above him and feeling it actually lift the hairs on top of his head.

"
Damn!"
Cole scrambled to grab the sword. He thrust the weapon up two-handed just in time to deflect another blow. The shock of it shot down his left arm, jarring the healing bullet wound in that shoulder.

He heard Gwin call out behind him, but he dared not look back. The man named Ringo had not disengaged. He continued to apply ever-increasing pressure, the head of his weapon bearing down against the uplifted broadside of Cole's sword. One slip and the gleaming blade of that partisan would bury itself in Cole's skull.

The man was built like a grizzly and quite possibly as strong. It took every ounce of Cole's strength to stave him off. Finally, after several agonizing seconds of stalemate, Cole knew he couldn't hold out much longer. He lunged to the left, angling his sword blade down and to the right. With a scrape of metal on metal, the partisan blade turned harmlessly aside on the downswing.

Ringo merely smiled as he moved to his right, clearly intending to angle in for another deadly swipe. Cole sidestepped to his left, mirroring his adversary's movements. They circled warily, Cole sweating, struggling to gain a surer hold on his weapon.

The giant swung again, and Cole raised his sword to meet the descending blow with a loud clang. This time his adversary disengaged, drawing his blade back. They circled, Cole concentrating, watching for an opening. When he saw one, he surged forward, slicing the air neatly but missing his target as the big man sidestepped and retaliated, swinging in from the left.

Cole managed to block that blow, then another and another, each more brutal than the last. This contest was likely to boil down to the man with the most staying power, and if that proved true, Cole, with his injured shoulder and disadvantage in size and strength, would be the loser.

Forced to retreat, Cole backed up a few more steps. He was drawing nearer to the opposite wall, and that was bad. Once his back was to the wall, there would be no place else to go.

*

Gwin was horrified by the barbaric spectacle being played out before her. Ignoring the gun Barnes had trained on her, she moved forward, stopping short as Sidney grasped her arms from behind. "What's he doing? Stop this!" Gwin twisted around to plead with Sidney. "Tell him to stop!"

"He doesn't take his orders from me."

Gwin turned back to the lopsided confrontation and was relieved to see that Cole had at least gained a solid footing, enabling him to strike back at Mr. Ringo.

She struggled against Sidney's hold, not knowing or caring what she could actually do to help if she managed to break away. "What do you want? I'll do anything! Just make this stop!"

She heard Sidney address Barnes from behind her. "This has gone far enough, Jasper. Put an end to it."

"It's out of my hands, Sidney. I've seen Mr. Ringo like this before. He won't stop until he's finished."

Gwin looked at Barnes, full of rage. He could stop the big man if he wanted to, if he even cared to try, which it was evident he did not. He chomped on that infernal cigar, grinning, still holding the revolver trained on her even as he kept one avid eye on the brutal contest playing out in the foyer. He was enjoying himself.

Gwin looked around, trying to quell her panic and force herself to think. The butler appeared to be harmless. He was moving slowly back toward the door of the study, looking nervous. He might actually bolt at any moment. No, it was Barnes that was her problem; Barnes and that damn gun.

Her gaze slid over to the fireplace, where a set of polished brass tools gleamed: a brush, a dustpan, a sharp-ended poker, and a pair of andirons. The poker or the andirons would do if only Barnes' attention could be diverted. She had no option now but to wait for an opportunity.

*

At the first sound of weapons colliding, Arthur had not been able to resist cracking open the door to the library to peer out into the foyer. What he saw caused his stomach to clench into a knot of fear.

 It was the giant. It was the face of the man in his nightmares, the face of the man who had killed Silas and Clell and the others. The terror of that night—much of which his mind had mercifully repressed until now—came rushing back. For a moment, he couldn't hear anything but shotgun blasts and screams, see anything but that hard-angled, cruel face.

The metallic clash of weapons snapped him back to the present. His vision cleared. He looked down at his hands to see they were trembling.
Do something this time! Do something!

He swallowed his fear and, slowly, soundlessly, inched the library door open wider, just enough to slip through sideways and into the hallway. None of the others noticed as he dropped into a crouch and moved forward.

*

Cole's back was to the wall.

Desperate, he thrust with the sword, but Ringo parried easily. Cole's heart sank as his blade snapped in two against the cutting edge of the partisan.

Time stopped. The two combatants stared at each other. Then the big man smiled.

Cole dropped the useless haft of his sword and ducked sideways on the partisan's upswing. The blade whistled downward, slicing the air to bury its silver head in the wall paneling next to Cole's ear.

With a blaring curse, Ringo yanked it back and forth savagely to free it. Cole took advantage of this diversion to dash for the perpendicular staircase wall. Weaponless, he had no chance. A jeweled dagger hung just within reach.

*

Gwin gasped as Cole missed certain death by mere inches. She strained against Sidney's hold on her, but he only gripped her tighter. "Please!"

Sidney forced her around to face him, his voice sharp. "Gwin, get a hold of yourself.
Now
." And his final word—
now
—ground out between clenched teeth finally caught her attention.

She stopped struggling and stared at him. He was right. Becoming hysterical wouldn't help her or Cole out of this. She had to calm herself. Maybe then Sidney would release her and Barnes would stop watching her so closely. She could try to go for the poker. It was her only hope.