Lisbon: Richard and Rose, Book 8 (25 page)

Panic rose in my throat. I swallowed, trying to hide the movement by shifting my feet as if the morning crispness were chilling. “Why don’t you just go? You must know you’ll be hunted down for this. Killing me will not be an anonymous slaughter, like the many you’ve committed before. The authorities won’t rest until they’ve caught you.”

“They won’t know.” He swung his pistol up, idly glancing at the hammer. He hadn’t cocked it, but it wouldn’t take much. It wasn’t the lethal but beautiful duelling pistols the like of which my husband and friends owned, but a serviceable weapon, gleaming dully. I couldn’t reach him before he’d cocked it and fired, but perhaps that would be my only recourse. The men were too far away, although if I ducked to the ground they could try charging him.

Had he already killed Richard? If so, I had to live, and do it for the children. If he hadn’t, I had to live, for Richard’s sake.

No escape this time.
Keep talking, make him show his vaunted superiority. Give him the upper hand, let him slip in his arrogance.

“You had three sons. A remarkable achievement, especially since they are all alive. Or they are until I get there.” His face still showed nothing but smooth urbanity, but his voice held menace.

I ignored the threat. But I’d left them in the charge of a man I had only just learned to trust, and with servants, not all of whom were under my control. John worked through minions. Jerry had just been one more. He could have set one on the children. Fear filled my mouth with bile, but I kept my expression calm, all the while giving thanks to the man who’d taught me how to hide what I was truly feeling.

“It nearly killed me giving birth.” That was common knowledge. I wouldn’t be telling him anything new.

“And no doubt you’d do it again, if they died.”

I decided to tell him the truth. It would make me less of a threat in his eyes. “I can’t. I had childbed fever. That tends to make the woman infertile.”

As I’d hoped, his smile grew. “You’re barren?”

I bit my lip. “Yes.” Let him think it hurt us instead of being a reason to rejoice.

“I saw you on the ship.” So it was him on the rigging that day. “You weren’t close then, were you? Have you outlived your usefulness?”

How could he think that, after knowing what Richard would do for me? But his vanity made him less sympathetic, less able to put himself in the shoes of others. He would discard a woman once she was of no use to him. He had done that with my sister Ruth, courting her to get close to us and then abandoning her without a backwards glance, only to try to renew the connection later. And she, poor fool, would have accepted him, had we not made that impossible.

I shifted, as if to get closer. He responded immediately.

“Stay there. Don’t move any farther.”

“What if I want to use the necessary?” I couldn’t resist the taunt.

“Piss where you stand.”

“I can manage, for now.” I widened my stance to ensure my balance. Behind me a horse shifted, and I heard the creak of the harness.

“I said
don’t move
.” An edge of steel entered his voice in a way I recognised because I’d heard Richard use that tone. Only my husband was more lethal and more ruthless than this young thug, but for vastly different reasons. John had to know that if he killed me and Richard lived, he’d signed his own death warrant. If he had killed my husband, Gervase would hunt him down like vermin. Was that what he wanted, or did he think he was clever enough to evade them?

I needed time to work out what to do or to give one of the men with us a chance to take him off-guard. He kept his weapon trained on me. I would die first, and that was what stopped the others from doing anything.

“Why are you doing all this? Why didn’t you just go and start again somewhere else?”

He shrugged. “Justice. He turned his back on Susan and me, pretended he didn’t know we existed. How does a man not know that?” He snorted in disgust.

“He didn’t know about you. His mother spirited your mother away before she could tell him. Besides, he wasn’t a man at the time, wasn’t in control of his own destiny.” I hated that others could hear this, but we had nothing to be ashamed of. And I needed to keep him talking.

“
I
was. From the age of fourteen, I was a man. I left my mother and sister and ensured I had what I needed to come after him.” His face was a rigid mask of pain. I looked into his set features and knew he was telling the truth as he saw it. That he was the one wronged, that he deserved to seek revenge. Nothing else mattered to him. Not to him, the boy who had a chip on his shoulder that weighed so heavily he couldn’t think properly anymore.

“What if I’m under Richard’s spell? What if I’m another of his victims?” If I tried to distort his world, it might put him off balance. God knew the man wanted to talk, so desperately that he’d use any chance he had.

“Then you’re better off dead.” He tilted the weapon, and my blood ran cold. I tensed, ready to throw my body to the side, or forwards. It would hurt, badly, since my arm throbbed from the wound I’d already sustained. Once he’d discharged that weapon, he’d have to reach for another. That would give us the second or two we needed to rush him. Unless he was a better shot than I remembered, in which case I was dead. But it was the only chance I could think of right now. I daren’t even look at my sister, in case he saw that as a weak moment.

He regarded me with an expression that looked like disbelief. “This is the last time before I turn respectable, so I’ll get on with this. Anything else you want to know?” He sneered the last words.

“How do you plan to get away this time?” Behind my back, I gestured to my men, pointing to the ground to my right. I would fall there, if I needed to.

“They’ll have too much to do after the explosion to worry about me.”

My heart missed a beat. The bomb at the house. After that, Kneller would escape, or he would die. I knew, from his reckless behaviour here, that he didn’t much care. But he’d had to vent his spleen one more time. John would hit someone with that first shot, and he had enough pistols stuffed into his wide leather belt to ensure he could shoot more. Not that I’d care by that point. I’d be dead.

He
tsk
ed. “You should know I’d have everything planned.” But his planning was sometimes careless, too engrossed by the overarching scheme to worry about details. I had to pray this would prove to be the case now.

He lifted his weapon and I tensed, ready to make my move.

The ground under me shifted. That was the best way I could describe it. The earth truly moved. What kind of explosion had he set? Did he mean to destroy half the city?

Lizzie screamed. “Earthquake! Get on the ground!”

I took my chance and fell, tumbling in an untidy heap, and I heard a shot, but no chill, no pain.

This was no man-made explosion. This was nature taking its part in our little drama.

“Dismount!” I cried. The horses would likely bolt. John stared at me, wide-eyed, his pistol smoking, and I knew he was as shocked as we were. He turned and ran towards his horse, staggering but making progress.

Lizzie obeyed, and our attendants. We stared at each other. Lizzie opened her mouth to say something. Then the earth moved again. Much harder, much more shocking. I fell forwards, flat on the ground, clutching at the vegetation under my hands, and my horse shrieked. I came away with a handful of grass. Around us, ominous rumblings attested to the power of nature.

I lay on terra decidedly unfirma and knew it was no support. Nothing was. I recalled stories of the earth opening up and swallowing people, and I wondered what I had done to deserve such terror, if this was God’s way of telling me I’d done something appallingly wrong. Perhaps John was in the right, after all.

I fought down my panic and waited, trying to assess what was happening, what it would mean, and how we could use this situation to overcome John. The trouble was, we were all in the same boat. The sky clouded over, and what had been a fine, sunny day became so overcast it was as if the greatest thunderstorm in the world was about to begin.

Someone touched me. It took me a moment to realise it was my sister. We clung to each other, our only safety in a world that seemed to be shifting on its axis. “They have earthquakes here, though nothing like this. Nothing like this!” Her voice shook, echoing the turf under us.

It stopped and I waited a moment, expecting it to start again, not trusting that it was over. I pressed my hand flat against the ground, which was once again solid. Then I made to get to my feet, looking around for the horses and footmen, and John.

Another rumble drove me back down once more, grabbing more handfuls of grass and earth. Lizzie gripped my skirt, her knuckles white against the crimson fabric.

I closed my eyes tight, unable to take any more, and I saw a moment from my past. That flash of bright red took me back to the sight of a man in a cobbled, broken courtyard, standing as if he were in the middle of St. James’ Palace, staring about like a sightseer. He lifted his quizzing glass, an elaborate confection of gold and crystal, and stared at me, then turned to his brother and murmured to him.

My first sight of Richard, wearing red, dressed for court rather than for the ruin of a once-great house and its crazy inhabitants. He always said he’d fallen in love with me in that first moment, recognised his fate in my eyes. To my shame, and his constant teasing, it had taken me a little longer. A day longer, perhaps. He had always loved me for longer than I had loved him, but if this day had consequences I hardly dared to contemplate, I would love him for much longer.

No. That couldn’t happen. Not after everything we’d been through. But I recognised that this earthquake was serious. Buildings would fall, and fissures would open in the earth.

I started to pray.

Chapter Fifteen

I opened my eyes. The sky was still overcast, more like dusk than morning, but at least the ground had stopped its infernal vibration, apart from one or two gentle rumbles, which were like an infant’s teasing next to the adult fury of the main quake. At its worst, I didn’t know if I should hold on to my sister or just lie flat. We were in the open air, with some trees and foliage at a distance. One tree sloped drunkenly to the side, but otherwise everything appeared much as it had before. I drew a deep breath, then another.

Our attendants stood a little distance away. I got to my feet and stamped, needing some kind of reassurance that the ground wasn’t about to move again. Not that we could be sure of that. Or anything else, for that matter.

John was gone, but that was the least of my concerns now.

Lisbon, where buildings crowded around the busy port, would suffer more damage. And the house too where the children were, could be in danger.

I made a decision. “You go back to the house, Lizzie, and secure the children. Make sure they’re safe and protected. I’m going on.” I had no way of knowing which road John had taken—to Lisbon, or on to the house. They would need to know at the
palacio
.

“You can’t!”

I could. It was the only thing I
could
do. I was torn between my children and my husband, but he would need a strong horse to get him to safety. We were closer to Lisbon than the house, and I was in a position to help. His horse would be stabled in the mews, and who knew what had happened there. I fought down the terror that rose like gorge in my throat. No time for that, no time.

I remounted without the help of the footmen, who were still standing around helplessly, and motioned to one of them. “You can come with me. White, isn’t it?”

The man nodded wordlessly, a sign of his extreme discomfiture. He should have bowed and verbally acknowledged my order. I was a little startled at his response, but in a moment he’d collected himself. He vaulted on to his horse and followed me. Time was of the essence now. I’d have to take my chances with John, but I kept a pistol ready at hand, just in case.

We set a brisk trot, the fastest pace we dared take. We had to have time to stop if we came across an obstacle in the road. This was the main road on this side of the city, and I expected to meet people, the ones who might have been in church services, or at home, celebrating the holiday quietly. We raced past a stricken tree a little faster, in case it should not be safe, but slowed again.

We got closer to Lisbon. Carriages lay with splintered chassis and wheels by the side of the road, bringing painful memories back to me of the time Richard had been in such an accident and nearly lost his life. As it was, the wound he’d sustained had drawn us closer together. Would we be so fortunate this time? We had to be. I couldn’t think of anything else. Wouldn’t think of it.

People milled around, crying, some clutching injuries, but I would not stop to help them now. One other person had all my attention.

We had to slow down, to preserve the horses and to avoid the obstacles on the road, and at that point another tremor shook the ground under us.

We pulled up the horses and dismounted, trusting them to stay by, and as before, flung ourselves down. We were about half an hour away from Lisbon now. I checked my watch. The tremor had lasted barely a minute, and when it was done, I fetched my horse and remounted, using a fallen tree to help me up, and motioned to White, who was, like his name, pale as a ghost. But he remounted and joined me.