Part 32 (2/2)
”My husband is on trial for murder,” Elizabeth argued desperately.
”Yer husband is down at the port, seein' 'bout a s.h.i.+p to take ye off explorin' the world.”
”No, that is my brother.” ”He were yer husband this afternoon,” Mr. Hogan reminded her.
”He was never my husband, he was always my brother,” Elizabeth insisted. ”My husband-my real husband is on trial for murdering me.”
”Missus,” he said gently, ”you ain't dead.” ”Oh, my G.o.d!” Elizabeth said in a low, explosive voice as she raked her hair off her forehead, trying to think what to do, how to convince them to have Mr. Hogan take her down the coast. She turned to Mrs. Hogan, who was watching her intently while mending her little boy's s.h.i.+rt. ”Mrs. Hogan?” Crouching down, she took the woman's busy hands in her own, making her look at her, and in a voice that was almost calm and very imploring, Elizabeth began to plead her own case. ”Mrs. Hogan, I am not a madwoman, I am not demented, but I am in trouble, and I need to explain it to you. Have you not noticed that I haven't been happy here?”
”Yes, we have noticed, my dear.” ”Have you read the papers about Lady Thornton?” ”Every word, though I'm a slow reader and I don't understand any of that legal gobbledygook.”
”Mrs. Hogan, I am Lady Thornton. No-don't look at your husband, look at me. Look at my face. I am worried and frightened, but do I really look demented to you?”
”I-I don't know.” ”In all the time I've been here, have I ever done or said anything that would have made you think I was crazed? Or would you say I've merely seemed very unhappy and a little frightened?”
”I would not say you”-she hesitated, and in those moments there was an understanding, a communication that sometimes occurs when women reach out to one another for help-”I do not think you are crazed.”
”Thank you,” Elizabeth said feelingly, giving her hands a tight squeeze of grat.i.tude as she continued speaking, half to herself. ”Now that we've gotten this far, I need to find a way to prove to you who I am-who Robert and I are. In the paper,” Elizabeth began, groping her way through the mire of explanations, mentally searching for the quickest, the easiest proof, and then any proof. ”In the paper,” she began hesitantly, ”it said the Marquess of Kensington is believed to have killed his wife, Lady Elizabeth Thornton, and her brother, Robert Cameron, do you remember?”
Mrs. Hogan nodded. ”But the names are commonplace,” she protested. , ”No, don't start thinking yet,” Elizabeth said a little wildly. ”I'll think of more proof in a minute. Wait, I have it Come with me!” She nearly dragged the poor woman out of her chair and into the tiny bed chamber with the two narrow cots that she and Robert slept in. With Mr. Hogan standing in the doorway to watch, Elizabeth reached beneath her pillow and pulled out her reticule, jerking it open. ”Look how much money I have with me. It's a great deal more than ordinary people such as Robert and I-such as you think Robert and I are-would have, isn't it?”
”I don't rightly know.” ”No, of course you don't,” Elizabeth said, realizing she was losing Mrs. Hogan's confidence. ”Wait. I have it!” Elizabeth ran to the bed and pointed to the paper. ”Read what it says they believe I was wearing when I left.” ”I don't need to read it. They said it was green-green trimmed in black. Or they thought maybe it could be a brown skirt with a cream jacket-” ”Or,” Elizabeth finished triumphantly as she opened the two valises that held what few articles of clothing she'd taken. ”they thought it could be a gray traveling costume, didn't they?” Mrs. Hogan nodded, and Elizabeth dragged all the clothes out of the valises and dumped them on the bed in triumph. She knew from the woman's face that she believed Elizabeth. and that she would be able to make her husband believe her as well. Swinging around, Elizabeth began campaigning against a hara.s.sed Mr. Hogan. ”I need to get back to London at once, and it would be much faster by boat. ”
”There's a s.h.i.+p due in next week what goes ter-” ”Mr. Hogan, I cannot wait. The trial began three days ago. For all I know, they've convicted my husband of murdering me, and they're planning to hang him.”
”But,” he cried irritably, ”you ain't dead!” ”Exactly. Which is why I have to go there and prove it to them. And I can't wait for s.h.i.+ps to come into port. I will give you anything you ask if you'll take me to Tilbery in your boat. From there the roads are good, and I can hire a coach for the rest of the journey.”
”I don't know, missus. I'd like ter help, but the fis.h.i.+n' has been goodes' now, an' . . .” He saw her look of fierce alarm and glanced helplessly at his wife, lifting his hands in a shrug. Mrs. Hogan hesitated, then she nodded. ”You will take her, John.”
Wrapping the woman in a tight hug, Elizabeth said, ”Thank you-both of you. Mr. Hogan. how much would you earn for a week's excellent catch?”
He told her, and Elizabeth reached into her reticule, extracted some bills, counted them, and thrust them into his bands, squeezing his fingers closed over them. ”That is five times the amount you named,” she told him. It was the first time in all her life Elizabeth Cameron Thornton had ever paid more than she absolutely had to for anything. ”Can we leave tonight?'”
”I-I s'pose, but it ain't wise to be out there at night.” ”It has to be tonight. I can't spare a moment.” Elizabeth shook off the unspeakable notion that she might already be too late;.
”What's going on in here?” Robert's voice rose in surprise as he noticed Elizabeth's clothing tumbled onto the bed. Then his gaze riveted on the newspaper, and his eyes narrowed in anger. ”I told you-” he began, turning furiously on the Hogans.
”Robert, you and I need to talk.” Elizabeth interrupted. ”Alone.”
”John,” said Mrs. Hogan, ”I think we ought to go for a nice walk.”
It was at that moment that Elizabeth realized for the first time that Robert must have had the newspaper hidden from her because he already knew what was in it. The idea that he knew and hadn't told her was almost as unspeakable as discovering that Ian was being accused of their murder. ”Why?” she began in a sudden burst of anger.
”Why what?” he snapped. ”Why haven't you told me about the things in the paper?” ”I didn't want to upset you.”
”You what?” she cried, then she realized she didn't have time to debate the technicalities with him. ”We have to go back.”
”Go back,” he jeered. ”I'm not going back. He can hang for my murder. I hope he does, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”
”Well, he's not going to hang for mine,” she said, shoving her clothes into her valise.
”I'm afraid he is, Elizabeth.” It. was the sudden softness of his tone, his complete indifference, that made her heart freeze and an awful, unformed suspicion begin to tear through her. ”If I had left a note, as I wanted to do,” she began, ”none of this would have been necessary. Ian could have showed the note to . . .” She broke off as a realization hit her. According to the testimony of witnesses published in the paper, Robert had twice tried to kill Ian, not the other way around. If he'd lied about that, then he could have would have lied about the rest. The old, familiar pain of betrayal began to hammer in her mind, only this time it was Robert's betrayal, not Ian's. It had never been Ian's.
”It's all a dirty lie, isn't it?” she said with a calm that belied her rioting feelings.
”He destroyed my life,” Robert hissed, wrathfully looking at her as if she were the traitor. ”And it's not all a lie. He had me hauled aboard one of his s.h.i.+ps, but I escaped in San Delora.”
Elizabeth drew a shaky breath. ”And your back? How did that happen?
”I had no money, d.a.m.n you-nothing but the clothes on my back when I escaped. I sold myself as a bond servant to pay for pa.s.sage to America.” he flung at her, ”and that is how my master dealt with bond servants who sto-who didn't work fast enough.”
”You said 'stole'!” Elizabeth flung back at him in shaking fury. ”Don't lie to me-not again. What about the mines the mines you talked about-black pits 'in the ground?”
”I worked in a mine for a few months,” he gritted, walking toward her with menacing steps.
Elizabeth s.n.a.t.c.hed up her reticule and stepped back as he grabbed her shoulders in a vicious grip. ”I've seen unspeakable things, done unspeakable things-and all because I tried to defend your honor while you were playing the s.l.u.t for that son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
Elizabeth tried to twist free and couldn't, and fear began spiraling through her.
”When I finally made it back here, I picked up a paper and read all about how my little sister's been doing the elegant at all the ton parties while I was rotting in a jungle picking sugar cane.”
”Your little sister,” Elizabeth cried in a shaking voice, ”was selling everything we had to pay off your debts, d.a.m.n you! You'd have landed in debtors' gaol if you showed your face here before I stripped Havenhurst of everything.” Her voice broke, and she panicked. ”Robert, please,” she choked. her tear brightened eyes searching his hard face. ”Please. You're my brother. And part of what you say is true I am the reason for much of what's happened to you.
”Not Ian, me. He could have done much worse to you if he were truly cruel,” she argued. ”He could have turned you over to the authorities. That's what most men would have done, and you would have spent the rest of your life in a dungeon.”
His grip tightened, and his jaw was rigid; Elizabeth lost the battle against her tears, and even her battle to hate Robert for what he had planned to do to Ian. Drawing a suffocated breath, she laid her hand against his lean cheek while tears danced in her eyes. ”Robert,” she said achingly, ”I love you, and I think you love me. If you're going to stop me from going to London, I'm afraid you're going to have to kill me to do it.”
He shoved her backward, as if the touch of her skin suddenly burned his hands, and Elizabeth landed on the bed, still clutching her open reticule. Filled with sorrow for all he had been through, she watched him pace the room like a caged animal. Carefully she pulled all her money out and put it on the bed, then she separated some bills to hire the coach she would need. ”Bobby,” she said quietly. She saw his shoulders stiffen at the use of his boyhood nickname. ”Please come here.”
She could see the battle going on in his mind as he continued to pace, then abruptly turned and stalked over to the bed as she stood up. ”There's a small fortune here,” she continued in the same gentle, sad voice. ”It's yours. Use it to go anywhere you want.” She touched his sleeve with her left hand. ”Bobby?” she whispered, searching his face. ”It's over. There'll be no more vengeance. Take the money and leave on the first boat going anywhere.”
He opened his mouth, and she hastily shook her head. ”Don't tell me where, if that's what you were going to do. There'll be questions about you, and if I don't know the answers, you'll know you're safe from me and Ian and even English law.” She saw him swallow repeatedly, his forlorn gaze on the money lying on the bed. ”In six months,” she continued, as desperation lent an odd clarity to her thoughts, ”I'll deposit more money into any bank you tell me to use. Put an ad in the Times for Elizabeth-Duncan,” she fabricated hastily, ”and I'll deposit it in the name of whoever signs the ad.”
When he seemed unable to move, she clutched her reticule tighter. ”Bobby, you have to decide now. There's no time to lose.”
His throat worked as he struggled to ignore what she was saying. and after an endless minute he sighed harshly, and some of the tension drained from his face. ”You always had,” he said in a resigned voice as his eyes roved over her features, ”the softest heart.” Without another word he walked over to his valise, threw what few articles of clothing he possessed into it, then s.n.a.t.c.hed the money from the bed.
Elizabeth blinked back a flood of tears. ”Don't forget,” she whispered hoa.r.s.ely, ”Elizabeth Duncan.”
He paused with his hand on the door latch and looked back at her. ”This is enough,” For a long moment brother and sister looked at each other, knowing it would be the last time; then his lips quirked in an odd little smile of pain. ”Good-bye,” he said. ”Beth,” he added.
Not until she saw him striding swiftly past the window of their room, heading for the road that twisted down to the sea, did Elizabeth relax, and then she sagged onto the bed, boneless. She bowed her head, and tears slid down her cheeks, dropping onto the reticule that covered her hand; tears of sorrow mingled with tears of relief and fell from her lashes-but all the tears were for her brother, not for her.
Because inside the reticule was her pistol.
And from the moment she realized he might not agree to let her leave, she'd been pointing it at Robert.
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