Starlight (41 page)

“I’m here for my wife.” Alex’s voice was devoid of inflection.

Polly gasped. He didn’t know about Edmund. Not yet. Instead he was doing battle to save yet another woman. Chinese fireworks sparked in her blood. She had resented him when he behaved like a stubborn mill master, but that tenacity had forged him into an avenging warrior.

“You can’t have her.” Mr. Todd’s voice was just . . .
odd
. Up and down. Too loud, and then too quiet. Maybe that was how he always spoke, even in the face of imminent harm. Because Polly knew without a doubt that Alex was going to do him harm.

Her husband shifted the pipe in his palm. “Hand her over or endure what comes next.”

“I have no time for you now, Alex. Maybe later you can have your pretty whore of a bride. Maybe not.” He turned, grinning, toward where Agnes sat cradling Edmund, who started to cry. In Josiah Todd’s grin, Polly saw the soul of a living, breathing demon. “Either way, I’m keeping my grandson.”

J
osiah
Todd had the power to drop the world out from under Alex’s feet with just a few words. Always had. For years he’d threatened to send Mamie away to a Swiss boarding school, just to taunt Alex. He never had, of course, because that would mean he, too, would have to give her up. Just the threat, however, had stolen many nights of sleep.

Now the monster had Polly. And dear Christ, he had Edmund. The twist of sleepless nausea in Alex’s belly was long gone. In its place burned fourteen years of heartache and loss, and a man’s determination to save his family.

“Winchester, what did he promise you?”

The capitalist sneered. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because I’d like to see if it outweighs the lengthy sentence you’ll receive when all of this is over.”

“I won’t go to prison.”

“Oh, but you will. There was a witness, George. Your man Livingstone left Tommy Larnach alive.
He’s with the constables as we speak. And that boy sings like a canary.”

Winchester turned on Livingstone, his face darkened in rage. “You said you got rid of that nuisance!”

“Gutter slime like him can be tough to kill, sir.” He grinned. “They’re like rats.”

Alex made a point of ignoring him, despite the overwhelming urge to turn Livingstone’s face inside out. And where was Polly? Fatherly instincts demanded that he charge toward his son and hold him close. He could not afford to indulge any of those distractions. Instead he focused on Winchester. One less opponent to take by force.

“I doubt the other masters will be pleased that your greed meant running me through,” he said. “So you stooped to sabotage. And arson against your own factory? Where was the sense in that, man?”

“Mr. Todd has promised compensation. I was to—what was the phrase? Divert suspicion.”

“That won’t change what the masters will do to you. They’ll cast you out. ‘Strike’ is a dirty word, one that hasn’t been spoken here in many years. You’ve turned a ghost story into flesh-and-blood reality. No one will forgive you for breaking that peace. So tell me, what compensation did he promise?”

“One hundred thousand dollars,” Winchester said with a pinched voice. “And all of the inventory remaining when Christie Textiles is dismantled.”

Livingstone appeared ready to do murder. Not against Alex, but against Winchester and Todd. “Fuck that,” he growled. “One hundred thousand for this pig? I want the same.”

Todd only ignored him, as did Alex. He’d deal with the bully later.

“I hope it’s worth it, George. But if it isn’t, feel free to step right past me.” He hefted the pipe, gratified when Winchester’s eyes widened to the size of eggs. “You don’t need to suffer what these two have coming. Stay with them and it will destroy your reputation. You’re a fool to think you’ll be able to buy it back. Leave now and I’ll offer what protection I can.”

Winchester appeared ready to vomit and scream and faint at the same time.

“I said
now
!” Alex bellowed.

With slow but inexorable steps, Winchester backed away from Todd and Livingstone. “It’s all gone off the rails, you see.”

“You walk away,” Todd said tightly, “and I’ll have your head on a pike.”

“I’m sorry, gentlemen.”

Alex stepped aside as Winchester hurried past. He descended the gangplank with his head and shoulders bowed. His fate would be decided later.

Heath waited just out of sight on the dock. As soon as Winchester hurried down the street, the young man crept up the plank on his hands and knees. It was the best plan they could come up with on short notice, and with no idea who was aboard the schooner.

Now Alex faced two men instead of three, although Livingstone still had a gun.

He couldn’t help but glance toward his wailing son. There was Agnes, holding Edmund. The bow of
her body over Edmund helped alleviate Alex’s fears only a little. The woman was endearingly loyal but no match for these beasts. Although his heart seized at the sight, he fought to calm his frantic pulse.

Then . . . another movement. Though shrouded in black, her pale skin still glowed a soft white in the evening gloom. The figure silently padded toward where Agnes huddled against a stack of crates.

Polly. Good Christ.

Although he tightened his fingers against a flash of dread, he did not waver. She was unharmed. And he had two more opponents to take down.

“And you, Livingstone? What did he promise you?”

“Five thousand. And Polly to do with as I pleased.”

Alex swallowed bile. “Seems you already tried that with her, and she came out the victor.”

“That won’t happen again.” The man drew his pistol out of his waistcoat. “Maybe what I want to do tonight is put a bullet through her pretty little face. She hasn’t been worth all of this.”

He strode back toward the crates, as if he, too, had seen Polly’s movement. Heard her. Sensed her. Because he found her without difficulty. He placed the muzzle of the pistol against the side of her head.

“Better yet,” he said, “let’s talk about what we really want. There are three men on this ship. And three prizes: Polly, this mewling brat, and money. Both of you fine gentlemen have more than enough to spare. Did you really think you could offer Winchester so much without me getting wind?” He shook his head at Todd. “Too bad Christie laid all
your cards on the table. Had I learned later, I’d have shot you in your bed. Would’ve enjoyed that.”

“You’ll regret this.” Todd’s silver beard shook with pent-up fury.

“Like you made Winchester regret his decision to walk away? Hardly. You hired me for a reason, Mr. Todd. Because you’re too much of a coward to do the dirty work yourself. That’s not a scruple to dog me.” He cocked the pistol and waved it at the huddled trio. “Let’s see what you’ll pay to make sure I don’t pull this trigger.”

Todd stepped toward him. “Put that gun away, you cretin. Don’t you dare hurt my grandson! He’s
mine
!”

“Get back.” Livingston turned the pistol on Todd. “I don’t care who I have to shoot, but I’m not leaving this bloody boat without compensation.”

A glint of metal snaked up from where Polly knelt, as she stabbed Livingstone in the side. Even from the distance of a dozen yards, Alex heard the squish of flesh being ripped open. The man howled and dropped to the deck. The pistol discharged a plume of smoke and sound, but the bullet flew wide of any target. Edmund began to scream.

Alex bolted from his place on the gangplank. He swung the pipe low across the backs of Todd’s knees, then struck twice more at the base of his skull. The sick crunch gave him far too much satisfaction. The old man fell to the deck.

“Heath! Hurry!”

He didn’t stop to see if the lad obeyed. With his eyes fixed on his final opponent, he raced forward and kicked the gun away. Polly straddled Livingstone
where he sprawled face-first on the deck. She held what was perhaps a machete. Blood appeared black on the blade she pressed to the back of his neck. A nasty gash in his side was visible even in the dim light, bleeding profusely.

“Get Agnes and Edmund off the ship. I’ll hold him here.”

“Mrs. Christie, as you are wont to say, bollocks to that.” He yanked her off the man’s back and hauled her up, over his shoulder. Polly squealed. Paying no mind, he shoved the tip of his walking stick into the gash in Livingstone’s open gut. The bully gnashed out a pain-laced scream. “Mind you, I also have this steel pipe. Move and I’ll shove it up your arse.”

In the distance came the sound of police bells. Wallace had done his job.
Good lad.

“Livingstone, I hope you live long enough to tell the constables what you know about Todd. If you do, I’ll pay for your treatment, recovery, and a ticket out of Scotland. Agreed?”

Livingstone groaned and nodded.

“Alex,” Polly shrieked, “let me go!”

“I’m not letting you go again. Just watch what you do with that knife.” He jerked his chin at Agnes. “If you would, Mrs. Doward. We’re leaving.”

Agnes struggled to her feet. In her arms Edmund still writhed and screamed. It pounded Alex’s heart to see his son so distressed, but distressed was far preferable to harm. He’d make it up to the boy when they were safe. He’d make it up to Polly, too, even if she hammered his spine to pieces.

“Heath, how are we—?”

The blast of another gunshot ripped open the night.

Alex flinched. He watched as Heath cupped his arm and slumped against the side of the schooner. Todd was lying on his back, arm outstretched and holding a small caliber pistol that spewed smoke.

“Heath’s here, too?” Polly’s voice neared hysteria. “What happened?”

The good man who’d spent years repressing his inner beast gave over to a rage so great that Alex thought nothing of shrugging his wife off his shoulders. The way she cried out her brother’s name only added more fuel. He strode to where Livingstone’s Colt had skidded to a stop. He picked it up and aimed it at his father-in-law.

“You deserve no less than torture,” he growled. “I should take you apart a piece at a time with that machete. I should tie you to a bed and keep you a defenseless prisoner for the rest of your life. I should let some soulless animal climb on top of you, night after night. Strip your soul. Destroy your mind. Drive you mad with pain and betrayal. I
should
.” Alex cocked the pistol. “But I won’t.”

Todd coughed. The back of his head gleamed with a sickly wetness. “I hope your new bride fares even more poorly than my Mamie did under your care.”

“Burn in hell, you sick bastard.”

And he calmly put a bullet through Josiah Todd’s heart.

Polly
couldn’t stop shaking as the hackney sped them toward the hospital. Her hands, her legs, the
whole of her guts—everything quivered. His head braced against a carriage window, Heath had lost most of his color. He clutched his shoulder, where she pressed his wadded-up shirt against the bullet hole in his shoulder.

“Polly, quit fussing.” Although he likely meant nonchalance, he delivered it through clenched teeth.

The cab bounced down the streets at a pace that her logical mind knew was obscenely fast. But not fast enough.

“It’ll be all right,” she said, a little breathless. “I won’t let go. The blood loss isn’t too great. Just through the meat, you see. Nothing serious.”

“Sis?”

Her throat constricted. “Yes?”

“You’re babbling.”

“Oh, you hush, you cheeky bastard.” She blinked past the tears she’d fought since leaving Alex on the schooner. There hadn’t been time for a quick kiss or a desperate hug, let alone talking. They had parted within seconds—she for the hospital with Heath, while he stayed behind to sort matters with the police.

The carriage pulled to a jerking stop that nearly tossed her from the bench. A few moments later, she watched as a doctor and his assistants helped Heath down the steps. He walked of his own power into the hospital, with his eyes turned squarely toward the nurse who held his hand.

At least he seemed to fare well enough for that. The lad would be fine. Polly took a deep breath and let it out on a whoosh of relief.

But exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. The stress of the entire day crashed on her like stones tossed from a bell tower. Her eyes felt lined with crushed shells. Every blink grated. The heavy drag of her funereal skirts pulled her earthward.

Inside, a nurse led her to a private room to wash up, then to a tiny chapel where she could wait. Polly nodded and let the nearest pew take her weight.

Alex had wanted an annulment. She’d been the one to protest their marriage so staunchly, but she’d also declared her feelings. Her
unrequited
feelings, it had seemed. Maybe the unknowns that yet stretched before them had been too intimidating. So many missteps cluttered the path leading from their wedding day. Her pride had caused some of those stumbles, as had his defensive reserve. When exchanging heated words, she hadn’t been able to see the matching uncertainty woven through his sharp accusations.