Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (38 page)

“Do you know what Colonel Maitland says? He says you’re singularly inept. That means stupid. Just think of it, Harry. You attacked Gracie and she got away, then you attacked me, not once but twice, and you failed there, too. You’re pathetic, that’s what Colonel Maitland says.”

She stopped when it occurred to her that she was going about this the wrong way. She should be trying to placate him. He was a murderer, an assassin. But it was that shifting in his eyes that made her rash. Her words seemed to have the force of blows.

“Was I pathetic tonight when I put a bullet in Gerrard’s brain right under the noses of Special Branch?”

She’d already worked out that he’d killed Gerrard. “Pathetic and stupid,” she responded, not really knowing what she was saying, only that the more she called him inept and stupid, the less formidable he seemed. “You see, Harry, we know all about you. Poor, poor Harry.”

With that, she charged. All her fear and rage fused into pure energy. She hit him so hard that she knocked him off his feet. The box went flying and broke in two when it hit the floor. Gwyn made a dash for her reticule, grabbed her pistol, turned, and fired.

Nothing happened.

Harry said, “I took the liberty of disarming your piece when you were next door. So who is stupid now, Mrs. Barrie?” And with a disarming grin, he rose slowly and began to dust himself off.

Gwyn didn’t wait to see what he would do next. She threw her useless pistol at him and took off.

Jason held the horses’ heads as his groom adjusted the harness to the curricle.

“Where did you learn to be a marksman, Knightly?” he asked the groom. “You never once mentioned it to me.”

Knightly was bent over, hitching the traces to the swingle-tree. He gave a dry laugh. “Me, a marksman? I don’t know what gave you that idea, Mr. Radley, sir, unless it was Mr. Jakes having a little joke at my expense. I can shoot a pistol and maybe hit something if it’s close to me, but that’s about it.”

Jakes, evidently, was the type who would tell anyone what he or she wanted to hear.

Jason said, “That will do in a pinch, but don’t let your pistol out of your sight.”

“My pistol?” Knightly straightened. “What pistol? Mr. Jakes said he would get me one, but that was hours ago. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”

Jason wasn’t alarmed, he was annoyed. Richard Maitland had told him that Jakes was a veteran of the Peninsular campaign, a former Rifleman who knew his business. He’d worked undercover for a time with the partisans, and that’s how Richard had come to know him. It didn’t sound to him as though Jakes knew his business at all.

He glanced back at the house, then looked at Knightly. “How would you describe Jakes?” he said.

“Well, he’s not very talkative, but friendly enough for all that. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a temper to go with that red hair. We’re almost done here.”

“What?” Jason was looking at the house.

“I said that we’re almost done here.”

Knightly spoke to air. Mr. Radley was sprinting toward the house. Shaking his head, the groom examined the harness and tightened it. Gentlemen were all the same. They were unpredictable. But he knew better than to question their odd ways. Mr. Radley had said they were leaving at once, so he’d best get the curricle down to the house.

Fear drove her down the stairs with such momentum that she slammed into the front door. At any moment, she expected to be felled by a bullet. Her one consolation would be that the sound of Harry’s gun going off would bring Jason and the men on patrol rushing to the house. Harry would never get away with it.

Some consolation!

The door was locked. Her fingers closed around the key, but she was too late. Harry was right behind her. Like an animal at bay, she swung to face him. She was still holding her reticule and used it like a sling. It caught him on the shoulder, making him grunt, but it did not check him. He had a knife in his hand, not a gun.

Clever, clever Harry. He would get away with it after all.

Not if she had anything to do with it!

She swung at him again. He caught her reticule with one hand, slashed the strings with his knife, then tossed the reticule aside. When he raised the knife, she thought her last moments had come. He was poised to strike, but before he could complete the
movement, the hall exploded with the report of a pistol shot.

Startled, Harry swung around just as Jason charged him. Jason grabbed the hand that held the knife, gave it a sickening twist and sent the knife clattering to the floor. Then he closed with Harry. Locked together, they fell against the hall table and went careening against the wall in a brutal struggle for mastery.

Desperate to help Jason, Gwyn waited for her moment, then dived for the knife. She chose the wrong moment. The men fell against her; Jason’s elbow connected with her jaw and the knife slithered through the door of the dining room and out of sight. When she cried out, Jason slackened his hold on Harry, and with a mighty heave, Harry was free and on his feet. Before Jason could react, Harry reached inside his vest and produced a small pistol from a holster strapped around his waist.

“Don’t move! Don’t anyone move!” Harry’s words were punctuated by the harsh sound of his breathing.

Jason disregarded the warning and got slowly to his feet. He was breathing hard as well. “It’s all over for you, Harry,” he said. “The gatekeepers will be here at any moment. Why do you think I fired that warning shot? Gwyn, are you all right?”

She managed a shaken “Yes,” but she was far from all right. She was miserably aware that it was her fault that Harry had the upperhand again.

Or did he? She couldn’t take his impression. He seemed to be two people. One moment he was larger than life, brimming with self-confidence, and the next moment, he seemed out of his depth.

She didn’t know where the idea came from, but it suddenly occurred to her that he saw her as his nemesis.

He’s either singularly inept
, Richard Maitland said,
or his luck has run out
.

But only with her!

He spoke to Gwyn. “You! Come here!”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Jason said.

“I think my ankle is broken.” She massaged the offending limb to make the lie sound convincing.

They could hear sounds coming from the back of the house, and someone calling faintly for Mr. Radley.

“I expect one of the gatekeepers has found the window I climbed through,” said Jason. “If I were you, Harry, I’d get going before it’s too late.” Jason hunched as though to spring. “If you use the gun, Harry,” he said, “I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Harry backed to the door, unlocked it, and dashed outside. Jason would have gone after him if Gwyn hadn’t grabbed for his ankle and held on tight.

“Let him go,” she cried out. “He’s got a gun.”

Jason swooped down and raised her to her feet. His face was a mask of determination. “He’s got to be stopped, Gwyn, or this will never end. Do you understand? He’s got to be stopped.”

When he charged out of the house, she went after him.

It was the last thing she expected to see. As if he’d conjured it out of thin air,
deus ex machina
, there was a chariot waiting for Harry, with two white horses stomping in their traces. He leaped into the cab, gathered the reins into his hands, and took off at a spanking pace. It was just like a fairy tale.

Gwyn stopped to watch, but Jason sprinted after the curricle, yelling at the top of his voice for the gatekeepers to shut the gates. She saw the curricle slow, but couldn’t see any obstacle to impede it. Then she saw shadows moving within shadows and realized that men on horseback had entered the grounds. She picked up her skirts and went after Jason.

The riders had fanned out, surrounding the
curricle, and the light from the lanterns on their poles gave the whole scene a ghostly appearance. Harry was standing in the curricle, the pistol in his hand, and he looked anything but afraid. He was larger than life again, like a mythical figure from a Greek legend.

Gwyn jumped when she heard Richard Maitland’s voice.

“Why?” he said.

Harry laughed, an eerie sound that made Gwyn cringe. Jason put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to the warmth of his body. In an undertone, he said, “Gwyn, I don’t think you want to see this. Why don’t you go back to the house?”

She stood her ground. “No,” she said. This man was a cold-blooded murderer. Just as he had felt no pity for his victims, she felt no pity for him. He would go to the gallows, and she would dance on his grave.

Harry said, “Maitland, you don’t understand anything at all. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid to die.” His voice became less heroic, more scornful. “Oh, and remember to tell my dear, dear father I died a hero’s death. That, at least, should please him. It’s what he always wanted.”

“What?” said Gwyn. She would have started forward, but Jason’s arm on her shoulders tightened, holding her still.

Maitland said coldly, “Lord Ivan Brooks, I arrest you in the name of His Majesty, King George.”

Gwyn looked at Jason. “Harry is Lord Ivan Brooks?”

“He must be.” His eyes never wavered from the figure in the curricle.

Lord Ivan leveled his pistol at Maitland, who made no move to defend himself.

Gwyn screamed, but her voice was drowned out as the air exploded with guns going off. Lord Ivan fell back against the squabs, and the terrified horses plunged and wheeled around, then bolted. They
didn’t get far and came to a quivering halt when the curricle overturned, spilling Lord Ivan onto the ground only a few yards from Jason and Gwyn.

“Stay back!” said Jason, but, of course, Gwyn paid no attention to this.

Lord Ivan’s eyes blinked open. His mouth was smeared with blood. There was a dark stain spreading across the breast of his coat. His face twisted grotesquely. “Help me,” he moaned.

Gwyn would have gone to him, but Harper got there before her. He knelt down beside Lord Ivan.

“Help me,” Lord Ivan repeated. “I want to die as myself.”

Harper seemed to understand. When Lord Ivan bared his teeth, Harper pried something from his mouth and tossed it aside. The grizzled hair was the next thing to go, though not without some difficulty. The wig was held in place with something. She didn’t know what. The last thing Harper did was to use his kerchief to wipe the blood and gray powder from Lord Ivan’s face.

It was Harry, and it wasn’t, thought Gwyn. This young man with the fairish blond hair, looked no more than a boy. A moment ago, she’d wanted to dance on his grave. Now, she felt empty of all emotion except horror.

Lord Ivan looked beyond her. “We take no prisoners, right, sir?” he said, and smiled faintly.

Gwyn turned. Richard Maitland was standing behind her. His face showed nothing; he said nothing.

She looked at Lord Ivan. His lifeless eyes were still staring at Maitland.

She felt her blood chill and she shivered.

“Come,” said Jason. “Let’s go back to the house.”

T
he tea was scalding hot, but Gwyn hardly noticed it. She was going over in her mind the horrible scene when Lord Ivan’s own colleagues, men whom he’d known and worked with, had cut him down without compunction.

We take no prisoners, right, sir?

She shivered and took a sip of tea, then she glanced at the men who were sitting at the dining-room table, conversing in subdued tones. There were only three left now, Jason, Maitland, and a man called Massie. They seemed so stony-faced and cold-hearted, as though Lord Ivan’s death hadn’t affected them at all. It was a problem they had to get around. At this very moment, Harper and the other Special Branch agents were removing Lord Ivan’s body to another location, where he would die a fictional death in the line of duty. His name would be unsullied, as would the reputation of Special Branch, and his father’s grief would be assuaged by the knowledge that his son had died a hero’s death.

And she and Jason must forget the name Lord Ivan and that this night had ever happened.

Knightly, the groom, had missed most of it. When he heard the report of Jason’s pistol going off, he’d
tried to enter the house. It was his voice they’d heard calling to them. By the time he came out of the house, it was all over, and Maitland’s men ushered him right back in again.