Against the Tide (29 page)

She didn’t want to go back to the house. If she did, she would fall asleep. She would be defenseless and unconscious, and Bane would never find her.

Lydia tried to pull back, fumbling for any excuse. “I don’t want the Professor to catch me napping in the middle of the day.”

“The Professor is gone,” Lars said. “I heard he won’t be coming back ever again, and I need to get you back to the main house right away.”

Anything but that. Someone wanted to kill her, but if she blathered about it to Lars, would he believe her? Or perhaps he would tell Mrs. Rokotov what she said, and then they would all know she was trying to get away. “Please, Lars,” she said as he pulled her back toward the house. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“Yeah, well, you and me both. I don’t have time to look after you today. Too much going on, so don’t argue with me.” She was no match for the strapping guard. He half tugged, half dragged her behind him on the walk up to the mansion. Never before had the granite building looked so ominous. If she stepped behind the massive front door once more, the odds were good she would never walk out again.

Lars took her to Mrs. Garfield. “Lydia is feeling sick,” he said. “I think she needs to be put to bed.”

Mrs. Garfield laid a hand on Lydia’s forehead. “Oh my, yes. Let’s get you another cup of tea and tuck you in.” Lydia sagged against Lars but could not drag her gaze away from Mrs. Garfield as she came toward her with the same mug from this morning.

“I’d rather not,” she said weakly.

But everything was going dark around the edges. She was floating, or was Lars carrying her? It became too difficult for her to keep her eyes open, and then someone pressed the mug to her lips, forcing tepid liquid down her throat. She tried to spit it out, but Lars’s immense, work-roughened palm covered her mouth and prevented it. Then she remembered no more.

32

B
ane peered through the barren branches to stare at the mansion, silent and gray in the moonlight. Lydia was more than two hours late.

He’d been a fool to send her inside while she was suffering from withdrawal. The moment he had her back in Boston he would find the world’s best doctors to treat her. And then he would make her his wife.

He couldn’t walk away from her. Not again. It was time to stop punishing himself for the crimes he had committed more than a decade ago. There were other ways he could atone for those failings, and Lydia would be a worthy ally in his crusade. Lydia brought a warmth and optimism to his world that he had not even known he was missing, and he wanted to give her the same. She already had a deep instinct toward faith that was propelling her toward the Lord, and Bane would walk beside her on every step of that journey until she could fully embrace that faith. Together they would be unstoppable.

Could she have fallen asleep inside the house? The house had
been lit up like a Christmas tree far into the midnight hours, and Bane had been able to see people moving about inside. No doubt the Professor was already on the run, but the house had gone dark more than a half hour ago, and still no Lydia. The memory of Lydia’s shaky frame and her pinpoint pupils made him certain she was in trouble.

Lydia was in danger and he was the one who had put her there. Now he would get her out.

Bane reached inside his saddlebags and pulled out his revolver. He would probably rouse the house by shooting the guard dogs, so he’d have to move quickly. He squeezed his knees into his horse, spurring the animal on toward the wrought-iron gates encircling the mansion. With less than one hundred yards to the gate, he heard the dogs coming. The two ferocious black dogs came pounding through the snow, growling and snapping, raising their forelegs up against the gate. Bane’s horse tried to shy away, but he drove it forward and peered closer at the dogs. A hint of relief trickled through him.

“Juno?” he whispered.

The dog responded. He let out a little yelp, and then the tension between the dog’s massive shoulders eased. It had been years since Bane had seen these dogs, but they remembered him.

He dismounted to greet the dogs. “Shh . . .” he whispered soothingly. Both dogs pushed their muzzles through the bars as far as possible, their blunt tails fiercely wagging. Bane approached them with caution, holding his hand out palm first, letting them smell him. “Easy there, Juno. What a good boy, Mars. You remember me, your old friend Bane.” Bane had known these dogs since they were puppies, when he had spoiled and coddled them, never knowing when their friendship might become useful. When the dogs let out little yelps, he held his hand close enough for them to lick his fingers.

He tied his horse to a tree, then moved into position to climb the fence. “Behave yourselves,” he whispered to the dogs, moving slowly as he wrapped his hands around the spear-point finials on the top of the bars. Despite how gently he lifted himself over the fence and dropped to the ground, the dogs still let out a round of happy grunts as they leapt around him.

“Shh,” he tried to soothe them. “Sit,” he commanded, hoping someone had trained them in the years since he had been gone.

Miraculously, both dogs sank into the snow, watching him with dark eyes.

No sooner had he set off toward the house than the door of the guardhouse opened. “What’s going on out there?”

The man’s pale hair glowed in the moonlight. Bane knew it must be Lars, the guard Lydia had told him about. The young man looked freshly woken from sleep, with his overcoat hanging open and a rifle in his hand. The guard went on high alert the moment he spotted Bane.

Bane simply smiled. “Hello there. Are you Lars?” he asked companionably.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Lydia’s husband. I’ve come to surprise her on our anniversary.” Bane strolled forward, his hand outstretched.

“Lydia is married?” Lars blurted out. He looked taken aback and a bit flustered.

“Three years as of today,” Bane said casually, maintaining eye contact with the guard but intently aware of the rifle hanging at his side. Lars was caught off guard, a bit confused and embarrassed, so Bane kept pushing the matter as he strolled closer. “I always do something to surprise her on our anniversary, and this year I’m hoping to persuade the cook to make her blueberry crepes for breakfast.” He was within an arm’s length of the man. Before Lars
even saw the blow coming, Bane had clobbered him on the side of the head with his pistol. The guard fell unconscious into the snow.

Bane darted inside the guardhouse, looking about for something to bind the guard’s wrists. Knowing his time was short, he snatched a bed sheet and tore it into strips. Two minutes later, he had Lars’s wrists bound tightly and his mouth stuffed and gagged.

It would hold Lars for a few minutes after he regained consciousness, but Bane needed to move
fast.

He sprinted up to the mansion, the ominous gray stone looming before him like a bad nightmare. He had never expected to set foot in this fortress again, but he did not break stride as he launched up the front steps, slid around to the side of the house, and identified the easiest window to break. Using the blunt end of his pistol, he tapped against a windowpane until the glass broke and clattered to the ground. He reached inside to unlock the window and lift it open.

He vaulted up the stairs in the north wing, where Lydia said her bedroom was located. It had been years since he had been in this house, but he still remembered which floorboards squeaked and which stairs made noise. He moved quickly down the darkened hallway, forcing his breathing to remain calm and silent. When he found the room, he leaned his forehead against the door, praying Lydia would be safe inside.
Please, please,
he sent up a silent entreaty.

He pushed the door open, silently gliding into the room and staring at the motionless figure on the bed. Holding his breath, he moved forward, the pounding of his heart the only sound he heard in the silence of the room.

It
was
Lydia. Her face was pale as chalk, and she had sunken circles of charcoal around her eyes. He knelt beside her. “Lydia.” His fierce whisper cut through the silence. He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently so as not to startle her. He pressed more firmly, but still she made no signs of rousing.

“Lydia, wake up.” Even after shaking her more forcefully, she lay in a slack stupor. Bane pressed his fingers to her throat. Her skin was hot and her pulse was thready. He lifted her eyelid and almost fainted at what he saw. This was more than just too much opium.

“What have they done to you?” He realized it would be hopeless to try rousing her. He picked her up, blankets and all, and carried her from the room. Her head rolled back against his arm, and her limp body showed no sign of stirring.

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, the flickering of lantern light down the east hallway was the first sign someone was awake and moving in the house. Bane froze in his tracks. Before he could set Lydia down and reach for his pistol, he recognized the matronly figure of Mrs. Garfield rounding the corner.

She reared back in fright and nearly dropped the lantern when she saw him. “Alexander Banebridge!” she gasped.

“Hello, Mrs. Garfield,” he said simply. The old cook had practically raised him, and Bane had always been able to manipulate her so easily during his years at the mansion, but there would be no cajoling her tonight. She was frightened out of her wits, and flattery wasn’t the way to handle her at a time like this.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with equal parts fear and outrage.

“I am taking Lydia somewhere she can be treated.” He took a step forward, and Mrs. Garfield held her lantern higher.

“Don’t come any closer,” she said. “The Professor will kill me if that woman escapes.” The lantern rattled in the old woman’s grasp as she tried to stand her ground against Bane.

“Is that what he told you when he ordered you to keep Dennis Webster here for three years?” He took a step forward, careful not to frighten the woman but determined not to let her gather
her wits and summon help. “How many children did you help the Professor hold as hostages, just because you were afraid of him?”

“That is not fair! I did everything I could to make things better for the children who stayed here. You
know
I did my best for those children.”

“By baking them pies?”

Mrs. Garfield blanched. “It was more than that!” she said. “I was a shoulder to cry on and someone they could always trust.”

“They needed their own mothers’ shoulders to cry on, not yours, Mrs. Garfield.”

Bane shifted Lydia higher into his arms, her head still slack as it rolled to the side. What had they drugged her with? He needed to get her out of here and into a doctor’s care before whatever poison was circulating through her veins could take further root.

He took a step forward, but Mrs. Garfield moved to block his path. “Take her back upstairs, Alex. That girl is not going to leave this house. I won’t permit it.”

“Think about this rationally,” Bane said calmly. “Wouldn’t it make sense to fear for your own soul more than the Professor’s anger?” If Mrs. Garfield continued to prove difficult, Lars might awaken and get free of his bonds. And then Lydia was as good as dead.

“If you don’t turn around and take Lydia upstairs this instant, I am calling for Boris. He will kill you both.”

He raised a brow. “And will that make you innocent of our murder? Because you stood to the side while Boris performed the deed? Mrs. Garfield, you stood aside while too many children fell victim to the Professor. Lydia risked her life to save two of those children. Now, I want you to tell me what drug has been given to her.”

Mrs. Garfield was becoming more agitated, the lantern wobbling in her hand as she wrestled with indecision. Bane stopped
moving forward. Before he escaped this madhouse he needed to know what was wrong with Lydia.

Mrs. Garfield stamped her foot in frustration. “I put a few drops of chloroform in her tea. Just enough to keep her out of trouble.”

Bane’s eyes widened in horror. A person could die from drinking chloroform. “I’m taking Lydia to a doctor, and I need you to look the other way while I go.”

Despite the chill of the night, Mrs. Garfield was sweating and her eyes darted around the room, glancing upstairs where Bane knew the guard named Boris was sleeping. “It is never too late for salvation,” Bane said. “You aren’t an evil woman; you have only lacked the strength to stand up to the Professor. Be strong enough now to step aside and let us go free.”

She moved to block his path. “I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

Bane shifted Lydia in his arms, knowing the next few moments would determine whether they both lived or died. “Mrs. Garfield, turn around and go back to your room. Your soul is more important than your fear of the Professor.” He risked a smile, one that was surprisingly genuine. “I have no doubt you will figure a way out of the Professor’s web if you choose to walk away. Do something for which you can feel pride rather than shame. I was able to get away from the Professor, and I can help you do so as well.”

Bane knew the instant he lost her. Mrs. Garfield closed her eyes and drew a deep lungful of air. “Boris!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Come quickly! Boris!”

Bane hoisted Lydia over one shoulder, then kicked the lantern from Mrs. Garfield’s hand. It smashed against the wall and the canister split, spewing kerosene that ignited the paneling into a wall of flame.

Bane turned and ran for the front door, Lydia a dead weight over his shoulder. Mrs. Garfield was shrieking behind him, pounding at
the flames, but she was no longer his concern. He needed to escape before the entire household awakened.

As he left the house, he shifted Lydia again so he could draw the pistol from his waistband. He walked down the steps to the gravel drive, turned, and took two well-aimed shots at the lanterns that flickered on either side of the front door. More kerosene trickled down the wall, which ignited and fed the trail of orange flame flickering in the night air.