Beatrice (29 page)

Her gasp
was loud when she drew the shutters back, and looked up straight
into the face of Archibald Harrington/Richard Browning, who was
mere inches away on the other side of the glass. Her eyes met and
held his for a moment. The cold-blooded intent in his dark, feral
gaze, matched the sneer on the man’s thin lips and her mind went
blank.

Panic
took hold. She began to shake. Behind Browning, she could see a
lump on the floor, and knew that it was Maud; she recognised the
colour of the dress. Whether she was alive or not was impossible to
know, but to even consider that something could have happened to
her housekeeper and companion brought about a wave of grief that
almost brought Beatrice to her knees.

Her
thoughts immediately turned to Ben, and she hoped he had made it
through the woods safely. Her hand lifted to slam the shutter
closed, but then she realised that she could feel a cold draft
around her ankles. Maud had left the kitchen door open.

She spun
on her heel, and took a moment to drop the papers on the desk and
put a couple of books on the top. By the time she reached the
hallway, the bang of the kitchen door being slammed open made her
scream, and she threw a horrified glance over her shoulder as she
raced toward the front door.

Her
trembling fingers fumbled with the bolt, but she managed to slide
it back and yank the door open. Unfortunately, her flight wasn’t
swift enough because cruel hands ensnared her in a tight hold which
dragged her relentlessly back into the darkness of the
house.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ben was
panting hard by the time he reached the end of his driveway. His
stride faltered at the sight of the house, which lay still and
silent in the early dawn. He jogged around to the front door, and
scowled when he found nobody there.

“What
the hell?” The small hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and
he knew immediately that he had been set up. He stalked around the
back of the house and scanned the garden, and surrounding
outbuildings as he went. He was so busy studying the low stable
block at the end of the driveway that he nearly didn’t see the man
suddenly step out from behind the large chestnut tree in the middle
of the garden and race toward him with his gun drawn.

Ben
barely had time to brace himself before the man reached him.
Somehow, he knew instinctively that this was Bernard
Murray.

“Give me
the plant,” the smaller man demanded.

“I don’t
have the damned thing,” Ben growled. He deliberately ignored the
wicked looking gun Murray pointed straight at his head, and
bitterly cursed his own stupidity. He hadn’t stopped to think about
the truth of the claims that his house had been on fire, and had
barely given Beatrice a second glance before he had simply
abandoned her; and left her vulnerable and alone.

Time was
against him. He knew that with each passing moment he was away from
Beatrice, the risk to her safety increased. It was difficult to
concentrate on how best to get rid of Murray while the woman who
mattered to him more than anyone else in the world was in such
peril. However, he knew that if he did something foolish and
reckless, and got hurt in the process, he was going to be
absolutely no use to her whatsoever. He had to stay calm. He had to
remain logical. He had to put all of his love for her to one side
and focus on staying alive.

“I know
you are lying,” Murray challenged as he waved the gun toward the
house. “I have had a good look inside, see? I know it is in there.
Get the door open. I want what is mine.”

“But it
isn’t yours,” Ben replied conversationally and deliberately made no
attempt to do as he was told. “I know you are lying because the
plant isn’t in that house. I brought it here, but I killed it. The
damned thing stinks to high heaven and I didn’t want it making my
whole house smell, so threw it into the fire.”

For a
moment he thought he saw fear in Murray’s eyes, and had to wonder
what Browning had over him to make him so fearful of losing the
damned foliage.

“I know
that Browning is your employer,” he knew from the slight widening
of Murray’s eyes that he had hit on the truth, and shook his head
in disgust. “Unless you want to be accomplice to murder, I suggest
that you get the hell out of here. Browning lied to you about me
having that plant. He set you up on a wild goose chase too. I have
no doubt that he is over at Miss Northolt’s house as we speak,
trying to kill her. Unfortunately for you, you are in the area too,
and have undoubtedly been seen by one of my neighbours. Browning is
trying to pin the murders he has committed onto you.”

“Browning? I don’t know a Browning.” The lie was written in
the depths of Murray’s eyes, and was betrayed further by the rather
panicked way his gaze flicked randomly around the
garden.

Ben
rather suspected that the amateur botanist was not used to a life
of crime because the gun in his hand either pointed at the sky, or
the ground, but was rarely pointed straight at Ben. Unfortunately
for Murray, Ben was determined that he was going to get back to
Beatrice as quickly as possible and had no qualms about doing what
was necessary to get Murray out of the way.

He
sidled further along the garden until he reached the low wall that
separated the lawn from the vegetable garden. Once there, he leaned
casually against it. Although his heart was racing, he glared
defiantly at Murray and didn’t move.

“I know
that Browning has something on you that is forcing you to do this
but, if you stop and think about it for a moment, are you really
prepared to spend your life behind bars for him? Browning set you
up, you see? The plant isn’t here. He has sent you on a wild goose
chase. You will, however, be implicated in the murder of Beatrice
Northolt, if you delay me from getting back there.” It was a random
guess at what was actually going on, but he was positive that he
was right.

“I am
not going to be implicated in anything,” Murray snapped
defiantly.

“You
must be the killer then,” Ben replied, and silently prayed that he
wasn’t.

Murray
started to look doubtful, but then straightened his shoulders and
glared back at Ben with such hatred in his eyes that Ben wondered
if Murray was indeed the killer.

Determined not to be delayed a moment longer, Ben suddenly
sidestepped and lifted a large rock off the top of the wall, which
he hurled at the man before him. The movement was so swift that
Murray barely had time to do anything other than pull the trigger.
The loud retort of the gun spooked a flock of birds which flew out
of the trees in a flurry of feathers and startled squawks, but Ben
didn’t care about anything other than getting Murray out of the way
so that he could get back to Beatrice.

The fist
he threw at Murray’s face landed with such force that the man’s
eyes rolled back in his head, and he immediately slumped onto the
floor without a murmur. Ben kicked the gun out of the way and
covered it over with a couple of rocks before he raced toward the
woods for the second time that morning.

Beatrice
fought against the hard hands that drew her backward. At first, she
clung on to the door jamb and refused to let go. Size for size she
was about the same as the man behind her. However, she was no match
for his maniacal strength. When he suddenly lunged backward, her
fingers clawed desperately at the wood, but she was eventually
forced to let go.

Her
scream was loud in the silence of the house but she knew that Maud
wasn’t able to hear her. Tears streamed down her face. She wondered
if this was it; this was the moment that she was going to die. She
wished she had at least one chance to tell Ben how she truly felt
about him.

“Let me
go!” She screamed, and took a breath to scream again only for a
large hand to slam cruelly over her mouth. It pressed so tightly
against her lips that she could barely breathe. She tasted blood
and began to claw desperately at the fingers. The painful jab of
something against her side made her cry out, but she couldn’t twist
her head, she couldn’t move enough to speak or breathe.

In a
desperate attempt to do something to gain some air, she kicked her
legs out wildly before her and began to squirm as she fought for
breath. Stars began to dance behind her eyes and her stomach
churned sickeningly. If she vomited now, she was certainly going to
choke and, although she swallowed, she couldn’t draw in the air she
was starved of.

With the
last of her energies, she kicked back against the man and threw
herself forward. Luckily, it was enough to dislodge the cruel hand
from her mouth and she drew in several lungs full of air as she
fell into a heap on the floor. The world swam alarmingly and she
couldn’t get her thoughts together to focus on what to
do.

“Where
is it?” The man growled next to her ear. She glared over her
shoulder into the once friendly eyes of the man she now knew was
Richard Browning. To her consternation, he was several years
younger than he had pretended to be, although must still be in his
late sixties.

“I don’t
have it. It was removed by the police,” she gasped. Right at that
moment she hated him so much that she could have clawed his eyes
out, but she was so scared that she could barely move. It was
ridiculous really because right now she was in the middle of a
fight for her life.

“I know
it is still here. It was seen in the study,” he growled in a voice
that was several notches deeper than it had been the other
day.

“Go and
see for yourself if you don’t believe me,” she spat defiantly and
dropped her head to be able to draw in several more deep
breaths.

Her
scream was loud when her head was suddenly yanked back by the hair.
She clutched at the ruthless fingers that drew her head backward in
a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain. There was no choice but
to scramble and crawl along as he dragged her by her hair toward
the study.

He
shoved her into the room before him and glanced around once they
were inside. His curse was loud and she knew that he was going to
reach out to her again, however this time she was determined that
he wouldn’t touch her. She scrambled over the piles of papers and
books, and threw a handful toward his head. They smacked him in the
face and fluttered around him.

“You
cannot get away from me, so I don’t know where you think you are
going,” Browning snarled.

Once she
was safely on the opposite side of the large desk, she turned to
face him. As long as she kept the desk between them she knew she
was safe. Unless he was going to clamber over the top of it, she
could hold him off until either Ben returned, or she figured out
what she was going to do. Hopefully, once he established that the
flower wasn’t in the house, he would leave because there was no
reason to be there. She could only hope that he didn’t intend to
make her his next victim.

“Staying
here is just going to put you behind bars,” Beatrice snapped. “They
know all about you.”

“You
know nothing,” Browning declared arrogantly. “You and your meddling
boyfriend just don’t know when to keep your noses out of things. I
know that the stupid fool Mottram brought you the damned flower. I
just want what’s mine to be returned to me; the rightful
owner.”

“You
don’t own that plant, Browning, and you and I both know it. You
have killed all of the men involved in growing it in the hopes that
you could declare ownership without risk of being challenged by
anyone. After all, if nobody is alive to tell the truth, there is
nobody to stop you from claiming the plant as your own and selling
it for a greedy profit. Everyone knows that you are in serious
financial difficulty, and need funds to keep the roof on that
miserable hole you call a house. Your spending and foreign travels
might have brought rare finds and some riches, but they aren’t
enough to cover your expenses. You are in debt, you are in trouble,
and you desperately need that rare plant so that you can consider
yourself better than all the rest. It doesn’t matter to you that
you have had to kill for it. You are a murderer, nothing more.” Her
voice dipped with cold fury. Her words were spat across the table
in a voice that was raw with fear, desperation, and such deep
anger, that she almost wished that he would lunge at her again so
she could start to throw things at him.

She eyed
the contents of the table briefly and felt a little better at the
sight of the floor to ceiling shelving behind her that was
literally crammed full of heavy books of all shapes and sizes.
Although they wouldn’t probably be enough to render him useless,
they could give him a few nasty surprises. One thing was for
certain, at the moment, they were at a stand-off. He wasn’t going
to leave, and she wasn’t going to give in.

“You
know nothing. Now, what did you do with that plant?”

Beatrice
snorted. “I have told you.”

“My man
has gone to your lover’s house, so don’t expect him to come and
rescue you. By now, your lover boy will be unable to rescue
himself, let alone anyone else.”

Beatrice’s heart lurched into her throat and she stared at
him while her heart bled with grief as she considered the
possibility that Ben might be the killer’s fourth victim. Just the
mere thought of it almost brought her to her knees. She couldn’t
even consider just how devastated she was going to be without him.
It seemed so cruel, and all because of one person’s
greed.