Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (43 page)

Blanche seemed to have trouble speaking, but eventually said tightly, "A cook. It's her day off."

Deveril studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Get on with it," he said to his men. "Then go upstairs and find Miss Greystone."

Beth wondered about Robin. If he hadn't come running up with Redcliff, surely he would have gone for help.

Deveril showed his brown and rotting teeth as he smiled at Beth. "I have come here for my bride-to-be, Lady Arden, with the full force of the law behind me. If I have to kill all of you, I will. I'm sure the ever-proud de Vaux family will pay richly to hide the fact that you met your untimely end in this house."

Beth feared he was only too correct, but she was mainly thinking about Robin. If he had the sense to run for help, where would he go? As Deveril said, he had the law on his side. The person needed was the marquess, but he was in Richmond. Beth wondered if the duke would help in such an unlawful situation.

Whatever was to happen, it would be wise to play for time. Beth sat down again and pulled Blanche down beside her. She saw that the actress was almost frozen with pure rage. Her hands had formed claws and her eyes were feral as she stared at Deveril. He seemed totally unaware of his danger.

"Very wise, Lady Arden," sneered Deveril. He looked Blanche over. "You refused my offer of protection once," he said. "I never forget an affront like that."

"Such an offer is a gross insult," hissed Blanche with a sneer to match his own.

Beth wished the fiery beauty would be more careful until the situation turned in their favor but suspected caution was not in the woman's nature. Beth wondered if she could make some move while it was two against one. She slowly reached out towards a china figurine on a table. Lord Deveril turned such a baleful look on her that she quickly gave up the notion.

She heard the men leave the kitchen and clatter up the stairs. In a moment they were back, pushing a pale and trembling Clarissa ahead of them. The girl let out a cry when she saw Lord Deveril.

"Fear not, my little chicken," he said, with a parody of fondness. "See, I have come to rescue you and return you to the bosom of your family."

Clarissa clutched the newel post but was dragged forward by the bearded man to face her husband-to-be. Lord Deveril put out a bony finger to stroke the girl's cheek. Clarissa flinched away.

Unable to bear this tormenting, Beth leapt to her feet. "Stop that, you vile man! How can you marry someone who hates you so?" Ignoring the pistol, she ran over and grabbed Clarissa, pulling her away.

Lord Deveril's eyes narrowed, but he did nothing to prevent the act. "But hate, Lady Arden, is the finest spice for the bedroom," he said, showing too many of his rotten teeth. "I myself am an enthusiast for it. I seek it out. If necessary, I create it."

"Hardly necessary at all, I assure you." Blanche rose stiffly to her feet. "You're loathed the length and breadth of London, you chancrous scab. Even if you manage to take that girl from this house, do you think we'll leave her in your hands?"

"I think I can persuade her to be a biddable wife." Beth felt shivers run down her back.

"If you live to wed her," said Blanche.

Holding the trembling Clarissa, Beth desperately wished to gag the White Dove. She was going to get them all killed.

Lord Deveril, however, seemed to find amusement in the situation. "As you have so clearly stated, Mistress Blanche, I have plenty of enemies and yet I survive. I am well protected. Even," he added dismissively, "from an angry dove."

Blanche's lips turned up in what could have been a smile if her eyes had not been filled with hate. "You have not yet had an enemy like me, my lord," she said. She seemed to relax slightly and even rearranged the folds of her white-on-white figured skirt. A shrug of her shoulder made the neckline slip a little.

Beth carefully eased Clarissa back to a seat on the sofa, willing Blanche to stop before she provoked the man. If only he would go, even if he took Clarissa, there were still many opportunities to do something. If Blanche drove him to violence, none of them would survive.

It was too late. In chilling silence Lord Deveril gave Pig-eyes his pistol and took the one he had fired. Without haste he took out his powder-box and loaded the second weapon. Beth watched in numb horror, wondering if this was the preparation for their deaths. Surely he wouldn't kill Clarissa, but she was convinced he could keep the girl so confined and terrorized that she would never tell what had occurred. But Lucien would know.

She spoke up quickly. "Arden brought Clarissa here. If anything happens to us, he will know the cause."

Lord Deveril looked at her with the flat malevolence of a snake. "Then I will have to kill him, too, won't I? Even a strong and healthy young man will fall before a pistol ball."

"You imagine you can call him out and win?"

"I am an excellent shot," remarked Lord Deveril, "but I don't think I would put myself to such inconvenience. A few guineas and any number of rogues would do the job from behind some bushes."

Beth felt as if her heart would stop. More than her own death, she could not endure the thought of Lucien's. Casually disposed of, dishonorably, from out of the shadows. She surprised in herself the sudden conviction that Lord Deveril
must
die. She, who had always despised violence, would shoot the man now, in cold blood, if she had the means.

Lord Deveril gave the newly loaded pistol to the other man.

"You are to guard those two," he said, indicating Beth and Clarissa. "If they cause any trouble, kill Lady Arden. Shoot my dear little Clarissa in the leg. Mistress Blanche, you will come with me."

"What are you going to do?" asked Beth.

"As the White Dove pointed out, I have never
had
an enemy like her. She is going to entertain me, with her hate to spice the pleasure. If she serves me well, you will all live. If she does not, you, Lady Arden, will die with her, and dear Clarissa will have yet more to bear to make up for my disappointment."

Clarissa gave a moan and Beth wrapped her arms around the girl. Blanche seemed little affected by all this, though Beth could no longer see her face. Lord Deveril jerked his thumb at the stairs and Blanche walked towards them. He spoke to his men. "I would let you watch if I didn't need you here. Never fear, I will find some suitable recompense." With that he followed Blanche up to the bedroom.

Beth couldn't believe there was nothing she could do. God only knew what was going to happen upstairs, though she suspected that Blanche understood. And even if Lord Deveril left with Clarissa, leaving the rest of them alive, he would shoot down Lucien in cold blood. No, he couldn't let Beth live, for she would warn Lucien or report all to the duke. She had only lived so far as a weapon against Blanche.

Did Blanche know it? Almost certainly. The maids too would die, leaving only poor Clarissa as witness to the whole. Once married she would not be able to testify, and her future life did not bear contemplation. Lord Deveril was surely mad, but it was a cunning madness backed by wealth, and Beth feared he would accomplish his plan.

Had Robin got away? Surely the bullies would have mentioned it if they had found an extra person in the house. Would he bring help? Even the officers of the law would be welcome now.

Beth looked at their two guards. They were bored but not un-alert. "I feel faint," she said. "May I pour a glass of brandy for myself and Miss Greystone?"

The two men looked at each other, then Pig-eyes shrugged. "If you want. But don't try any tricks. I don't mind shooting you."

It was said with convincing callousness.

Beth walked to the sideboard wondering what a pistol ball felt like as it tore into flesh. Did it kill immediately or slowly?

She splashed spirits into two glasses with a shaking hand. She didn't want to die, fast or slow. She looked for anything she could use to any purpose. Short of hurling the decanter at one of the men, which would hardly have good effect, she could think of nothing.

"Would you gentlemen like some?" she asked, wondering if she could get them drunk.

"We'll have our pleasure later," said the bearded man with a grin unpleasantly reminiscent of his master. Beth shuddered. Perhaps death was the least of the evils she faced.

As she walked back towards the sofa with the glasses, there was a sharp, high-pitched cry from upstairs. She froze, looking up as if she could see through the plaster. The sound was not repeated.

"Ah, I wish I could see this one," muttered Pig-eyes, and the other sniggered.

"So proud and white," sneered Black-beard, "She won't be so white after he's had his way with her. Black and blue and bloody, too." They both grinned at their wit.

Beth sat down abruptly and thrust one of the glasses into Clarissa's hand. "Drink it. It's vile-tasting, but it helps. Drink."

She herself took a deep swallow and grimaced as it burned down. She thought she caught a movement outside the window. By great force of will she did not look. After a few seconds, she turned to place her glass upon a table. Through the lace curtains she saw the edge of Robin's face and a thumbs-up sign. She hastily looked away.

Her heart speeded. She had to struggle not to show the upsurge of hope. Who had Robin found? She didn't care. Their situation could not possibly be worse.

Though the men never stopped watching them, their other senses were clearly directed to catching traces of the events in the bedroom. Another cry came, this time more guttural and despairing. It almost sounded like a cry of death. Surely the deranged man wouldn't kill Blanche for his pleasure. Why not? They were all to die anyway.

Oh hurry, whoever you are!

There was a crash from above and a heavy thud. Clarissa gasped and spilled her untouched brandy.

The pig-eyed guard licked his moist lips and nudged the other man. "If we're going to kill the fancy one anyway," he said, giving up any pretense otherwise, "do you think he'll let us have her first? I need a woman bad."

"There's a chance," agreed the bearded one. "There's the maids, too."

"That's right," said Pig-eyes with enthusiasm. "I forgot the maids. One of 'em's a bit scraggy, but the other'd do. Gor, I wish I could go now. I hurt something bad."

"You'll hurt worse if he finds you've left your post."

Beth concentrated on keeping her face blank as she sensed movement in the hall behind the men. She wasn't sure she was breathing, but her mind seemed clear. Someone was there, and whoever it was must be their hope of survival. She reached for her glass. As soon as she saw a figure, she knocked the crystal onto the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Both men jumped.

Black-beard took a step forward. "Watch it—" He stopped speaking.

"You have a pistol against the back of your head," said the marquess, "and your friend is similarly favored. We can't possibly miss. Give us your weapons."

Beth saw Black-beard consider shooting her anyway—Lord Deveril must be a fearsome employer—but then he gave up his weapon with a curse into Lucien's hand. It was Robin who took the other pistol, for the man holding the gun to Pig-eyes's head was the one-armed Mr. Beaumont.

"Robin," said the marquess, "go and find something to tie these two." The boy dashed off.

"Lucien," said Beth, leaping to her feet. "You must help Blanche. He has her upstairs."

The marquess looked at the two men and his one-armed friend, then beckoned Beth. When she had carefully moved next to him, he gave her the pistol. "Hold it so, pressed against the bone. If he twitches, just squeeze the trigger."

He gave her a quick kiss and then raced for the stairs. To stop.

Beth glanced up, then turned to look, forgetting the man at the end of her pistol. Blanche was descending the stairs with a long, wicked knife held loosely in her hand. Her gown was torn from her breasts and she was streaked with blood—a macabre study in red and white except for her eyes which were dilated black with horror.

"'The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures,'" the actress quoted dreamily. Beth recognized the words of Lady Macbeth "'Tis the eye of childhood that fears the painted devil. Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.'"

"Blanche," said Lucien, rooted at the base of the stairs.

Hal Beaumont shook him and gave him his pistol. "Look to the men. They are more likely to require two hands."

Beaumont then went quickly up the stairs. He removed the knife from Blanche's relaxed grip and dropped it. Then he took her firmly in his one arm, despite the blood. "Did you kill him?" he said in a calm voice. "Good for you."

Beth remembered Hal had been a professional soldier, no stranger to gore. His matter-of-fact tone was just what was needed. The White Dove burst into body-shaking sobs.

Beth tightened her grip on the pistol and quickly looked back at her target, but both the bullies stood frozen. "She can't have killed him," Pig-eyes said. "She can't have."

"Whether she has or not," Lucien said coldly, "your part is over."

Robin scampered up from the basement with a length of rope and the men were securely bound, hand and foot. When Robin explained he'd got the rope by untying one of the maids, who'd promptly had hysterics, he was sent back with instructions to untie the other but keep the two women down there until further notice.