Dear Impostor (55 page)

          What had happened to Percy? Gabriel looked
about them and found Percy cowering on the floor in the corner, as far away
from the gunfire and the ensuing struggle as he could get. His hands covered
his face, and he seemed almost insensible with fear.

          “Percy, get out of the house,” Psyche said
sternly. “It may be afire. And go back to London and put your affairs into
order, because when I return, I shall have you arrested for attempted murder.”

          That made him drop his hands; his face was
white. “Cousin, I never meant to harm you!”

          “You think it excuses you that you were only
going to assist in the murder of my fiancé?” Psyche demanded, her tone icy. “I
doubt that the judge will agree.”

          “But, Cousin, please, I beg you. Think of the
disgrace–”

          ”Think of the relief I will feel never to see
your wretched countenance again,” Psyche answered, unmoved by his pleas.

          “Actually,” Gabriel said, pulling the wretched
man to his feet. “I think you should give him another chance, Psyche.”

          “What?” Psyche turned to stare, her expression
perplexed. “You cannot be serious? After what he has done?”

          “You could show magnanimity,” Gabriel went on,
“as along as Percy’s father agrees that he will agree to your choice of
husband, any husband, and will release your inheritance immediately.”

          Silence. Percy gaped, and Psyche’s expression
changed dramatically. “Brilliant,” she whispered. “Yes, I think that is the
only way you will escape the gallows, Percy.”

          Gabriel held back his laughter; he was not at
all sure they had enough on Percy to put his head into a noose, but Percy
himself was convinced; that was obvious.

          “Cousin, I promise, I will speak to my father
at once, just allow me to leave–”

          ”You have twenty-four hours,” Psyche said, her
tone as icy as it had ever been. “Then I expect my solicitor to receive the
signed papers releasing my funds into my control.”

          “We will, Father will, I p-promise.” Percy
stammered, new hope apparently animating him.

          “Get the sound horse from your team outside
and ride to the next village; you can arrange transport there back to London,” Gabriel told him. “Now, we had all best get out of here before the rest of
Barrett’s men reappear. Psyche, take the rope and tie this rat’s hands.”

          She did, and then Gabriel motioned the ruffian
to the far corner of the room. “Sit down with your back to us,” he told him.

          “But, Gov,” the man whined. “What about the
fire? I’ll roast like a spit capon.”

          “Your problem,” Gabriel said, though he knew
there was nothing holding the man inside once they were gone. “Just don’t move
as long as I can see you. Now, face the wall!”

          Did he smell smoke? “Come along,” he told
Psyche.

          She nodded, but she seemed to waver. She must
be dizzy from loss of blood and the shock of her wound. Gabriel reached for her
and steadied her, putting his free arm around her. She clung to him, and they
moved slowly toward the door. Percy hurried along in front of them, not waiting
to see about Psyche, as usual thinking only of himself. He disappeared through
the doorway and out of sight.

          They had almost reached the hall, too, when a
faint scrape of sound from behind alerted Gabriel. But the warning came a
fraction of a second too late.

          “Gabriel! Look out!’ Psyche shrieked.

          But he was hampered by the weight of her, and
she could not shift away in time. Barrett had regained his wits, and he
launched himself at Gabriel. Gabriel staggered under the man’s assault, then
turned to meet his attack head on.

          Psyche tried to grab one of Barrett’s arms,
but he thrust her away with such force that she tripped and hit her head
against the floor; she lay still, seeming stunned.

          Barrett fought like a man who sees his own
death just a step away; hate glittered in his eyes, and he struggled with all
his strength for the gun. Gabriel tried to pull it away, but Barrett had hold
of the pistol and he would not let go.

          “Jake, get yourself here and aid me!” Barrett
shouted to his minion, who still crouched in the corner.

          The man looked over his shoulder, his
expression fearful. Seeing the two men grappling at close quarters, he
scrabbled to his feet, his hands still tied, and edged closer.

          Gabriel would have two to fight if he did not
finish this quickly. He tried to push Barrett back, but the man clung to him,
with a single-minded determination to retrieve his pistol.

          They fought blindly, and now Gabriel was sure
that he could smell smoke. A shower of rain shook the windowpanes and rattled
the frame, and somewhere, he heard a horse whinny. Had Percy run away to leave
them to Barrett’s mercy? The little rat was consistent to the last.

          Psyche had not moved. If she were seriously
injured–Gabriel struck Barrett in the face, but the man had the strength of a
madman; he hardly seemed to notice the blow. He twisted the pistol till the
barrel pressed into Gabriel’s stomach. If the man’s finger reached the
trigger–Gabriel struggled to turn the gun, but Barrett fought his every
movement. For a moment, he thought he had shifted the barrel, but Gabriel
wasn’t sure if–

          Then a blast of fire exploded against his
body. Gasping with pain, Gabriel felt his legs go weak, and he slumped to the
floor.

          He thought he lost consciousness for a moment;
then someone was calling his name. He blinked, seeing red streaks against the
black. Slowly, his sight returned; he still lay across the wooden boards, his
clothes stank of gun powder and blood, and–Psyche! Psyche knelt over him; she
was all right.

“Get out of the house,” he
whispered. “Leave me. I think I am shot; get away before Barrett can–”

          ”Barrett is dead,” Psyche told him, her cheeks
wet with tears. “He shot himself instead. You are not hurt badly, Gabriel,
though I feared for you at first. You caught some of the force of the igniting
gunpowder; your shirt is ruined and I think your skin is burnt. But the bullet
went into Barrett.”

          Gabriel forced himself up; he saw Barrett’s
body sprawled across the floor in a great pool of blood, the man’s features
twisted into one last snarl of surprise. “You–are you all right?”

          Psyche nodded. “Come, we must get out of the
house. I think Percy is long gone.”

          “What about Barrett’s man?” Gabriel looked
around, trying to assess any additional danger as he stood on shaky legs,
Psyche holding on to his arm.

          “He ran away, his hands still tied,” Psyche
said. “It was almost funny. And I have not seen the other ruffian.”

          “So he may still be about; let us go and see
if the carriage is still here.” The most important thing was to get out of this
building and away from any other members of the gang. Gabriel was still
alive–miracle of miracles–and Psyche was not seriously harmed. He gave silent
thanks as he limped, with Psyche’s help, toward the hallway.

          The sound of steps in the hall brought them to
an abrupt halt. Gabriel wanted to groan. In his current state, how could he
defeat another assailant? He had to try.

          “Get behind me,” he told Psyche.

“No,” she said, her voice calm. “We
will face any peril together.”

          So they stood side by side, exhausted but
resolute, and when the figure appeared in the doorway, both were silent with
shock.

          “Here you are, then,” David said, relief
lighting his face. “You look a sight! Are you hurt badly, old man?’

          “No,” Gabriel said when he could speak. “See
to Psyche. I thought you were hurt; we left you unconscious on the steps of the
Forsyth house. What are you doing here?”

          “Oh, just a knock on the head, got a terrible
goose egg, still, but that’s nothing. Circe told me to come,” David explained,
glancing apologetically at Psyche. “She had a notion you were in need of my
services.”

          “But how did you know where to find us?”
Gabriel persisted.

          “I went to your solicitor, wrinkled the
directions out of him, then rode hell bent to get here. I’ve already doused a
fire and tied up a couple of nasty-looking characters,”  he continued. “Thought
it best to come in through the back entrance, you see. But where is Barrett?”

          “David, you are a hero,” Psyche said, her
voice high with emotion. “Barrett is dead.”

          David looked past them to see the body on the
floor; he whistled. “Hell’s bells–oh, sorry. But never did a man deserve a bad
end more.”

          Psyche shivered and held fast to Gabriel’s
arm. It could all so easily have gone the other way. It could be Gabriel lying
there on the wood floorboards, a gaping hole in his chest, blood splattered
about the empty room.
Thank you
, she thought,
thank you for sparing
him this time. He has suffered enough
.

          They walked out together. The shower of rain
had stopped, only the occasional errant drop still fell. But their carriage was
gone; Percy seemed to have appropriated it, with no thought at all as to their
safety or convenience. David had his horse, which he offered to Gabriel. They
helped Psyche up behind him to cling to Gabriel’s waist, and David retrieved
the uninjured horse from Percy’s team.

          “I don’t know if he is broken to ride,” Psyche
worried as David prepared to ride bareback on the mount.

          “Not to worry, never met a horse I couldn’t
stick to,” David predicted, grinning. He vaunted up to the gelding’s bare back,
and although the steed tossed its head and threatened a kick or two, the horse
soon settled into a bone-numbing lope.

          Psyche looked back at the estate as they
trotted down the driveway; poor house, she was glad it had escaped a fiery
destruction. It could be so much more, now that the Barrett’s claim on it was
ended. Perhaps if Gabriel–no, one hour at a time; they were alive; she must
count her blessings.

          They rode slowly into the village and stopped
at the tiny inn; there was no carriage to be hired here, but the landlord owned
a small gig that could be used to start them on their journey, and he would
send a hostler to retrieve and treat the injured horse they had left behind.

          While Gabriel arranged for the gig and sent a
message to the local magistrate about Barrett’s criminal activities and
untimely death, Psyche sat on the front bench beneath the cloudy sky–there was
no private parlor and the common room was small and cramped and held several
curious farmers who stared at this unusual influx of gentry–as she sipped a
glass of wine.

          With David and Psyche to testify about
Barrett’s death, Gabriel should not be in any danger from the authorities, she
told herself. He would be free now, free to take over the estate and restore
it–slowly, if necessary–but without fearing an assassin popping up behind his
back every time he let down his guard. And there would be no more need for his
pose of the Marquis of Tarrington. Exposing the fake title would cause a buzz
among the Ton, Psyche thought wryly. But after all they had been through, she
really was not concerned about a little gossip–or a lot. She would have her
money, at last, she could hire the best teachers for Circe, allow her sister’s
talent to grow unfettered. And if Gabriel really left, she would be at liberty
to attract all the suitors she cared to.

          But the thought left her feeling empty inside.
He had still made no promises to her, and she tried not to let that thought
send her into despair. Wait till later, she told herself, later she would be
able to deal with this. Return to London, reassure Circe and her aunt, rest and
eat a decent meal, then they would all be able to make more rational decisions.
She took another sip of the wine.

          But when Gabriel came outside to find her,
something in his expression alerted her at once.

          “David will drive you back to London; you’ll make the first part of the journey in the landlord’s gig, a bit crowded, but
it will serve,” he told her. “You will be able to hire a chaise at the next
town, and perhaps the services of one of the inn’s maids to accompany you for
the rest of the trip, to make it all look more respectable.”

          As if she were worried about propriety at such
a time. Psyche felt her heart sink. “You are not going with us?”

          He did not meet her gaze. “I think that since
I am already closer to the Coast, I will hie the other way. I need to repair my
almost-empty pockets, and the gaming in Paris and Madrid should be heated this
time of year. I will be too well known in London for any decent games after
this episode becomes the latest
on-dit
.”

          “But your estate–” Psyche’s lips had gone dry;
it was hard to speak.