“See that his restraints are secure,” Ambray ordered his minion roughly. “We mustn’t have him getting loose again. He nearly frightened the servants half to death the last time.”
The struggling man lay on a cot hardly large enough for a child, his arms and legs hanging off at the ends. Leather straps secured him at his wrists and ankles, each to a corner of the small bed. Michael rocked back and forth furiously, fighting against the two orderlies who struggled to push a rag into his mouth and tie it securely. Jerking his head to one side, the piece of twisted cloth came loose. The Earl shouted through the hands clutching at his face.
“You’ll not get any information out of me! Go ahead and kill me, you dirty bastards!”
“Now, now, your Lordship,” the orderly crooned. “Be a good lout, an’ let us fix your dress clothes.” Elias Mauler stated through clenched teeth. A behemoth of a man, the orderly stood well over six feet and clearly tipped the scale over two hundred and eighty pounds. Thickly built and visibly strong, he still had great difficulty holding onto his charge. It was his hands that frightened Michael the most. The large, club-like appendages held him fast, threatening to crush his skull with little effort.
Just when Michael thought he could stand no more, the other orderly stepped forward, holding a bottle of dark, green liquid and a small ceramic cup. Michael tensed. It was Digby Horn. A short, thin frame, Horn was as much a threat as his larger counterpart.
“Come, come, my lord. If we’re not careful, we’ll be wasting this fine medicine.”
As he continued to struggle against his caretakers, Michael heard the bedroom door open. On the edge of his awareness, he watched as his cousin and another, smaller figure entered the chamber.
“I don’t know, Ambray,” the woman’s tone was smooth and low, soft as silk and very seductive. “This scheme of yours is awfully risky.”
“Never mind my risk,” Ambray answered tersely. “Just worry about your own charge. Where did you leave her?”
“On the landing with the Earl of Langford’s nephew. He’s a randy lad of fifteen who’ll keep her busy. Fancies himself a ladies gent, you know. Takes after his uncle, I expect.”
“Good. I want her occupied tonight but not so much that she doesn’t take notice of the Earl.”
Michael drew in his breath at his cousin’s statement. With his thoughts swimming uncontrollably he could hardly sort out the images of people he’d known as they came and went. He could feel the run of sweat on his brow. Was it a fever? Was he imagining these strange goings on? What was real and what wasn’t? He’d not the slightest idea. Michael turned his head, focusing on the couple.
“Yes,” Ambray was saying, “when all is arranged we’ll take him to the country house and ply him with our special attentions. Before you know it, we’ll be in the money.”
The woman shook her head, red curls flouncing as she did so. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, watching the man struggling on the bed. “Perhaps you should let me marry him instead?”
“You?” Ambray laughed. “Who would believe this ripe, young scalawag would choose your obvious, if not well used charms over that of the young, plump pigeon who waits downstairs? Hmmm?”
She scoffed, “I could pull it off, Ambray. I’d have him singing like a little bird in no time at all.” She pouted.
He patted her on the cheek, “No doubt at all, sweetheart, which would be placing you in charge of the Winningham interests when he dies, Elsbeth. That is unacceptable. I’ve worked too hard with this family to have someone else take over at the very last of it. Besides,
there is more at stake here than just the old Earl’s money. There are his business interests to consider.”
Michael strained to listen. This was no illusion, he thought.
“Shhh! He’ll hear you!”
“So what if he does,” Ambray stated. “Half the time he is so full of laudanum he doesn’t remember his own name. During his more lucid moments he’s out of his head and back fighting some damn battle. It doesn’t matter. He won’t remember any of this. Even if he does, who’d believe him?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Elsbeth said, though her tone was not quite all convincing. “Besides, what’s wrong with me being an heiress?
“If I worry you, you’d only have to get what you want by marrying me.”
“Marry you? Haven’t you lured enough men down the aisle as it is? What is it, four, no five husbands? Besides, the minute you drew your first farthing, you’d forget my name.” He reached out and grabbed a handful of her auburn tresses, tilting her head back slightly. She looked up at him, her mouth half open, her eyes closed.
“Oh, Ambray…” she said, her voice between a whisper and a sigh.
Suddenly he pushed her back. “Don’t try to seduce me. I know all of your tricks. You forget, I taught them to you.”
In answer, Eslbeth chuckled. “What a good teacher you were.” Turning her attention to the table she leaned over slightly. Michael could feel the woman’s scathing gaze as it skimmed across him. Quickly, he closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to endure her sharp stare. He knew she was studying him, learning of his weaknesses and of his pain.
“Just look at him! How are you going to make him presentable enough to go to the ball? He smells like a barn. If you try to shave him, you’ll likely end up cutting his throat. While that might take care of a few of your problems, it would leave you bereft of his fortune.”
“We’ll clean him once the laudanum takes effect. Don’t worry. It was easy enough to dispose of the other obstacles that plagued us. How quickly he fell for pretty little Katerina,” he stated, smiling at his own humor.
“Fell is the word for it.” Elsbeth stated, preening herself in the mirror.
The larger of the two orderlies leaned over, “He won’t take his medicine, sir,” he whispered to Ambray. Michael had tightened his mouth shut, turning his head sharply away from them.
“Watch,” Ambray told her. “I know my cousin will be more cooperative. Isn’t that right, Michael?”
Michael spat at him. “Go to hell!”
“Going to be that way, is it? Michael, you need to learn a gentler attitude. What would your dear departed Katerina think of your behavior? She was such a delicate thing, you know. Her condition was so frail, so vulnerable. Such a pity about her accident…”
Michael stopped suddenly and stared up at Ambray, locking their eyes together. “You murdering bastard!”
“Am I the murderer? You forget cousin. It wasn’t I who caused her death.” His eyes narrowed, a leer edging onto his face.
Michael’s expression darkened. “You know I didn’t mean it! It was an accident!” Even as he spoke those words, he felt the sting of tears against his eyes. “Why don’t you just kill me and be done with it?”
“Don’t be dull, Michael. Be a good soldier and drink your laudanum.”
Michael’s strength was waning. He’d been fighting them for days and days. He was losing the battle. When Mauler handed Ambray the cup, he held it to Michael’s mouth. Without further argument, the earl drank the *******s of the cup, wincing slightly as the coarse liquid burned his throat.
“There’s a good boy, Michael. Now, let Mr. Mauler and Mr. Horn get you dressed. It is time to meet your next wife.”
Ambray then turned to the servants. “Make sure the lamps are all filled. We can’t have him convulsing in front of the guests.” Michael heard the command just as he slipped into a dull, thrumming numbness.
~ * ~
Mouse fidgeted as she sat on the large settee. Young men were all about her now, their attentions focused on the myriad of the ladies.
All plumed and puffed up, waiting for the choicest suitors to take their hands and lead them down the merry path of matrimony. Mouse scowled inwardly at the thought of marrying one of these bawdy gents. They spoke in quiet tones, laughing at intervals. All of them looked down their noses at the slightly plump, blushing Miranda Ellerton. She knew that she would most likely be the last to be chosen, if at all. In an odd way, it suited her fine. What did she need of fancy dress and fine airs anyway?
In order to take her mind off of her troubles, Mouse hastened a quick look around the room and took in the sight of the elderly matrons that lined the wall. In their motherly fashion, they watched their daughters and sons and chattering away. Of course, she noticed the absence of her stepmother. Mouse scowled, wondering what schemes her Elsbeth was brewing. Mouse opened her fan, waving it furiously. The action mustered up a breeze that made the footman’s hair, so carefully combed across his balding spot, flutter like a mid-summer storm was blowing over him.
Minutes later, Mouse spied a young man, barely out of his knickers, inching closer to her side. Within seconds the youth was leaning in a peculiar fashion, obviously attempting to steal a view down the front of her bodice. Snapping her fan smartly at the youth, Mouse was about to make her best set down to the cur when she heard a commotion at the top of the stairs.
For a single moment the gathering in the ballroom moved as one, eyes upward, looking toward the host of the early spring gathering. Two large orderlies held a sagging figure between them. Dressed in a black ensemble with white tie and tails, he should have been the very example of a wealthy, titled man of society. Instead, he was leaning heavily on the orderlies, but struggling nonetheless to be free of their support. Behind him was another, taller man, with blond hair and a square sort of face. The fair-haired man wore a dour expression smiling only briefly when he looked towards the woman at his side, Elsbeth.
The crowd might have gasped at the impropriety of the second Madame Ellerton, if it had not been for the sight of the figure in front of her. The strange man was most decidedly indisposed. If the
gentlemen holding him had let go, he would have tumbled down the winding stair. It clearly took two men to hold him upright.
But it was the stranger’s face that captured Mouse’s attention. A brilliant blue-green, his eyes appeared as if they were some exotic stones stolen from the bottom of the sea. Bright and sparkling, despite the obvious condition of the rest of him. Suddenly, she felt a shock run through her, for those chilly turquoise diamonds were fixed on someone in the room. She looked nervously about and realized that his gaze was trained on her.
“Who is he?” she asked, though not of anyone in particular.
Fanny Atherton was standing beside her, herself a veteran of several seasons and unfortunately not yet wed.
“Him? That’s the mad earl, poor thing.”
“Mad?” Mouse whirled about, training her glance on her friend. “Why do they call him that?”
“It is believed that he killed his late wife!”
“Killed her?” Mouse was instantly curious, suddenly pulled into the intrigue. “Are you sure?”
“That is the rumor,” Fanny snorted. Turning her short, blunt nose up, she walked away, likely planning to ply her wiles on the other side of the room.
“But it is a rumor, after all,” Mouse stated after her, a bit indignantly.
When she turned back around, she was nearly face to face with the mad earl. Her breath caught in her throat at the nearness of him. So enthralled at his dark countenance, she nearly missed the odd odor that hung about him. As a physician’s daughter, she was familiar with several medicines, but this was nothing like the spirits she’d become accustomed to during her father’s practice.
“And who is this lovely creature?” The earl addressed her in an odd tone, his words slurring as he spoke.
“This is Miranda Ellerton, your grace,” The blonde man behind him stated.
“Miss Ellerton, my esteemed cousin, Lord Winningham, the fifth Earl of Winningham.”
“My Lord,” she said, executing a perfect curtsey. When he put his hand out to take hers, for the briefest of seconds, Mouse saw the most disturbing sight of the evening. Around his wrist the skin was torn and bleeding. Clearly he’d been recently restrained.
Although she’d not meant to, her eyes flicked down to the opposite wrist, which was being held by his manservant. There were similar marks there as well.
The Earl leaned forward and held out his hand, palm up. Mouse slowly gave him her own and he wrapped it in his grasp. “A very fair hand,” he said, and ceremoniously kissed the air a few spare inches above it.
Before bending into her curtsey, Mouse whispered, “My Lord, your wrists!”
His head drooped slightly forward “I’m afraid I’ve misbehaved.”
Embarrassed, she tried to look away but he gently squeezed her hand, drawing her eyes back.
“My l-lord,” she stammered again. There was a hint of fear in her trembling voice.
He held her a moment longer, but then something else inched into his expression and she could not discern its meaning. Shame clouded those perfect blue green eyes, or perhaps embarrassment of some unknown incident? He quickly dropped her hand as though it was on fire and he’d just been burned.
“Let’s get through this,” the mad earl told his cousin, “I don’t feel well, Ambray.”
Dismissed, Mouse let out the breath she’d been holding during his attentions.
“What an odd man,” she muttered quietly to herself, flushing heavily when she realized that she’d been talking to herself again.
Raising her skirts, Mouse pushed through the throng that was staring after the earl to find Fanny once again.
“You must tell me more about him.” Mouse insisted.
Cornered by the ********************************************************ment table and seeing that she wasn’t to be left alone, Fanny sighed deeply and motioned her friend to come out on the balcony.
“He was an officer in the army before he received his Earldom,” Fanny informed her once they were safely out of earshot. “He led a regiment to fight in Spain. During the course of the battle it’s said that he panicked and deserted his men on the battlefield. Captured by the enemy after his desertion, he was imprisoned for nearly a month, until his cousin paid a large ransom. Since, he hasn’t been a sane man. He’d married before the war. A month after his return home, his wife fell to her death from the balcony of their home.”
“Really? The poor man!” Mouse said, fear and wonder warring in her heart.
“Poor man, indeed. Of course, the official story is that she leaned against some railing that was in ill repair. Rumor has it that he’d been having severe bouts of temper and drinking. Most of the ton believes he pushed her. Because he’s a peer, it was never investigated very thoroughly.” Fanny stated at last, turning her short, rather unattractive nose upward.
“Well,” Mouse stated, not really knowing what else to say. “Why is he having this party? I mean, if he’s so ill and all—”
“You really don’t get out much, do you, dear?” Fanny asked pointedly.
“What are you talking about?” Mouse’s temper was beginning to wear a bit thin.
“The mad earl is suiting for a wife, that’s why. He has no heirs to his title. There were his three uncles, but they were killed last year in a carriage accident. The thing turned over, crushing all three.”
“Really,” Mouse muttered. “So, who would consent to marrying a man who’s under suspicion of killing his first wife?”
“Who indeed?” Fanny remarked, making her escape back into the party.
~ * ~
With his duties dispatched, Michael was promptly returned to his room. He’d told Ambray that he needed no medicine to sleep, that he would not struggle again tonight. Ignoring Michael’s request, his cousin gave the orders and soon the two servants had forced more of the foul liquid down his throat. The taste of it still burned in his mouth. Mauler and Horn then refused him even a drink of water and
had left him alone, secured to his bed while they played cards in the next room.
Left to the effect of the drug coursing through his system, Michael’s eyes wandered around the ornate bedroom. Thick auburn drapes hung against one wall, fluttering slightly as a cool breeze trickled in. The azure glow reminded him of the battlefield at sunset. Michael shivered. It would do no good to tell them he was cold, even if he could shout loud enough to gain their attention. The candlelight flickered on the other side of the room, sputtering against the currents of air. Before long the flame went out completely, leaving the earl in total darkness.
Michael breathed heavily. An icy chill climbed up his spine. He wouldn’t dare tell his caretakers he was afraid of the dark. They would punish him by keeping him in darkness. He tried to focus his mind on something else. Something that didn’t invoke the scarred memories that haunted him or the painful existence his life had become. Then, it came to him.
He remembered the young girl at the party. The one with lovely gray eyes and light brown curls. She’d gazed at him with a wide-eyed mixture of curiosity and innocence, the likes of which he’d not seen since childhood. When she’d seen his wrists, her expression changed to one of concern. Her small mouth tightening into a perfect circle, she soothed his injuries with her gaze. Michael Kelton could not remember anyone in his life ever caring so much about him. When he’d explained his bad behavior was the cause, she didn’t step back in horror, but expressed sadness at his plight.
Miranda Ellerton. Michael imagined her to be an angel. Closing his eyes, he pretended that she sat with him now, holding his hand, warding off the terrible things intruding upon his life. Finally, Michael drifted off to a restful, protected sleep.
~ * ~
Ambray was not surprised when the knock came upon the parlor door at so late an hour. He’d just lit a cheroot and had poured himself a glass of brandy.
“Enter,” he called out. He tossed the stick into the fireplace and watched as it was consumed in the flames. As the door opened behind him, Ambray wondered just what it was with fire that so affected his cousin. As the flames died away, something within the flickering light triggered Michael’s illness. Something dark and foreboding.
“The General is here to see you, Mr. Kelton,” the servant stated.
Ambray turned to greet the older man. General Benton Marcus Wexley was formidable. Tall and robust, even aged at nearly seventy, he was an imposing figure. One that had moved entire armies, had been invaluable to Wellington in Spain, and now reported directly to the House of Lords. Ambray was impressed. He’d seen the General on several occasions, not formally, of course. He quickly noted that the man held the innate ability to fold into whatever crowd he attended. He could be the gallant soldier while impressing the ladies, or a doddering, bent old fool when it served him. But now, Wexley stood to his full six-foot height, ready to stand down the young whelp that’d summoned him.
“General Wexley, how good of you to join me. Please, make yourself comfortable. I have some interesting liqueurs, a smooth brandy, or, is a stout port more to your liking?” Ambray asked offering up his fine, blended tobacco.
The General put up a hand. “I don’t smoke and I rarely drink, sir. At my age, it isn’t good for the digestion. I tend to become peptic.”
“Yes, well, of course, sir, as you wish.” Ambray stepped back, his generosity drooping like a sail on a windless day. “At any rate,” he continued, taking the seat across from his guest, “I’d like to thank you for making time to meet with me.”
“Yes, of course,” the General answered gruffly. “Congeniality aside, what to you want, Kelton? And at this late hour, too. Is there something wrong with the earl? He looked damn sore at the ball tonight.”
“No, the earl’s condition has not changed.”
“Then why have you brought him to London? Has he confessed to anything?”
Ambray smiled then. “No, not particularly.” He leaned forward. “Let us be forth-coming, sir. I know that you were behind my cousin’s interrogation after his capture in Spain. I know also that our government thinks he played a part in his abduction, perhaps
divulging critical information to the enemy. That he could still prove valuable.”
The elder man’s blue eyes turned steel gray. “The government has long known that there was little information to be gotten from him. Besides, with his deteriorating mental condition, what use could he be to us now? What could he reveal?”
Ambray’s excitement grew to immense proportions, as though it were about to burst forth from his chest. “The name of his father’s associates, those who aided him in trading in guns and lies in order to help the French purpose. There was the rumor about the sunken ship off the northern coast. The one carrying that last shipment of arms to Spain. What if those weapons had been recovered and Michael knows their ************************************************************ ****?”
Wexley sat back, examining. “That’s nonsense. Michael Kelton was thoroughly examined. He has no knowledge of such things.”
“Perhaps not where it is evident, certainly not in his conscious mind. My cousin is a mystery, a coarse, convoluted puzzle which cannot be solved by ordinary methods.”
“You know of extraordinary methods?”
“I know my cousin.”
The General settled back, “And you are thinking that you might extract something from him that your betters have missed. How would you accomplish this?” His voice grew softer.
Ambray put up his hand. “I cannot tell you of my methods. Let’s just say that I’ve been a companion to Michael since we were boys. I know him better than any man. I can get the information you require, but I wish to do so only if I can prosper from it.”
“What do you want? If it’s only to name Winningham’s conspirators, I can tell you the Crown has its suspicions already. You’ll gain nothing but disdain at producing worthless results.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t plan to name anyone. In fact, I’m thinking that with the end of the war, those men are powerless. But, the circle of spies is what I’m interested in. I think the entire network, as well as the smuggling routes would be of more interest, don’t you?”
“Catch the whole bunch of them, eh? And you would sell this information to the government?”
“I doubt the Prince Regent could meet my price. No. If I may be so bold, sir. I’ve heard a few rumors floating about. Rumors about your own involvement.”
The General tensed before him, his eyes reflecting the firelight in a way that mimicked a growing storm about to burst forth onto an unsuspecting landscape.
“And, what have you heard?”
“That you were searching for the same thing as I, but not to report to the House. I’ve heard that you have a desire to join the trade business. I would like to become your partner.”
Wexley let out a slow breath, pursing his silver bearded mouth in concentration. Ambray knew that he controlled the situation now. The General had not stormed out, as he might have, or feigned ignorance. No. He was definitely thoughtful.
“Say all this were true, Kelton. What makes you think you can extract anything from your cousin, if you’ve not done so in the last eighteen months?”
It was all Ambray could to do keep from shouting with joy. He had Wexley now. With just the right amount of pressure, he’d bag the old man like a hound retrieving the precious dove.
“I am close, General, extremely close. I’ve but a few sessions left with Michael and I will force the information from him. Be sure of it.”
The General nodded. “Very well. I will be in touch with you in two weeks by courier to check on your progress. If what you say is true, then I can see where we would both benefit.”
Ambray stood and motioned to his guest. “You will not be disappointed, General.” They sealed their agreement with a handshake.
For an instant, the General hesitated during their grasp. “You know, Kelton. I’d heard things about you during the conflict. You were a mediocre soldier at best, a whining ninny with no cunning or scruples to your name. I’d say that your counterparts were a bit dull for not noticing the potential in you. Pity, that.”
~ * ~
The ride home in the carriage was the worst part of the whole experience, Mouse decided, as she was forced to share it with her stepmother. Only five years her senior, the woman her father had chosen to marry was a nonsensical, twittering idiot, in her opinion. It took all of Mouse’s willpower not to open the side door and chuck the woman onto the road below.
“Did you see Lady Pelham’s gown? It was the most remarkable creation, I must find out who her dressmaker is. She is such a daring thing.”
When Mouse made no comment, Elsbeth cleared her throat. “You know, it might be beneficial if you were to show off a bit more of your own ample bosom. The gentlemen prefer…”
Mouse’s eyes widened with rising anger. Before she could answer her stepmother’s suggestion, the other woman reached out to her.
“Miranda, I’m only thinking of your best interest. You’ll never catch a husband if you don’t display yourself better. You don’t want to live your whole life in solitude do you?” And thus the lecture began.
The best defense for Elsbeth’s insistent verbiage was simply to ignore her. Mouse turned her attention to the window and instead reviewed the events of her first ball. Although she’d dreaded it terribly, she had to admit that it had been quite different than she’d ever expected. In short, Michael Kelton fascinated Mouse. It seemed a shame to have such a handsome gentleman subject to the misfortune of insanity. He could have been so much more! She mused what he might look like, if he were a charming, well-mannered example of the aristocracy. Those eyes captured her from the beginning. She understood what the moth must feel like when it dances too near the flame. Even now, hours later, his gaze seemed to have burned a permanent impression onto her memory. Before long, the droning speech brought her back to reality.
“What do you think about the Earl? Such a handsome thing he is. I talked with his cousin quite a while. It is most unfortunate about his illness.”
“Yes,” Mouse spoke for the first time since they’d begun the journey home. “Such a terrible thing, mental illness.”
“I have it on good account that he’s receiving the best treatment in the realm. His cousin informed me that Lord Winningham is considering taking a wife soon. His health is declining and he must seek a mate to ensure the family name. Ambray, that is Mr. Kelton, says according to his father’s will, he must have an heir by his thirtieth birthday or his title will be forfeit. All the estates and holdings will go to the crown.”
“Really? Do they still do such a thing?” Mouse leaned forward.
“I’m afraid so.”
“If Mr. Kelton is first cousin, then why doesn’t he inherit?”
“Because of his family situation. Mr. Kelton is not a legal heir to his own father’s estate, being born of a union not blessed by the church or the late gentleman’s wife.”
“Oh. He isn’t recognized because he’s a bastard.”
“Quite,” Elsbeth answered, squirming a bit in her seat. “But he was raised by the old earl and is nearly like a brother to Lord Winningham. They even served in the army together. Mr. Kelton is a decorated war hero, I’m told.”
“You know a lot about Mr. Kelton. Do you have any designs in that direction, El?”
“Of course, not,” Elsbeth answered sharply. “I have finished marrying, I think. I prefer to spend my declining years as a widow and nothing else.”
“Finding marriage a bit too confining?” Mouse said, not reigning in her sarcasm.
Elsbeth was not to be insulted, “A bit,” she stated, looking Mouse squarely in the eye, “but then, I’d not expect you to have any knowledge in that area, yourself never having been married.”
The carriage stopped and the valet opened the door, ushering the two women out. Just as Mouse had freed her reticule, they heard the sound of horse’s hooves coming up the drive.
“Who can that be this late?” Mouse asked, straining her eyes to see in the darkness. The cloudy night sky prevented any illumination whatsoever.
“I’m not sure, wait here. I’ll summon Porter to see to it.”
~ * ~
When the two women entered the parlor, a tray of tea and cakes awaited them. Sitting down, Mouse quickly grabbed the pot and began to pour for them both. Sharing the warm ********************************************************ment with her stepmother was not generally her habit but having developed a bit of curiosity toward the Earl, she wanted to glean as much information from the woman as possible. She knew that if anyone was an expert on the men of society, it was Elsbeth.
Just then Mouse heard the excited squeal of her stepmother as she read the notice brought by the butler.
“Do you know who that was, Miranda?”
“I’ve not the faintest idea. I’d guess it to be someone male by your expression.”
Ignoring the dig, Elsbeth eagerly scanned the folded piece of parchment.
“What is it?” Mouse asked, her anxiety growing. It couldn’t have been good news to be delivered so late.
El stepped forward, holding the paper as though it were pure gold. “This, my darling stepdaughter, is a letter from the Mr. Kelton, at the insistence of Lord Winningham. According to Ambray, the Earl has put forth a request.”
“A request? Of what sort?”
“He is asking if we would be willing to make a trip to his estate in the north! Rosecliff, it’s called. Mr. Kelton states the Earl was very taken with you. He wishes for an extended visit so that he might come to know you better.”
Mouse felt a mixture of fear and excitement. She thought he’d barely noticed her at the party that evening. With so many other beautiful women about, how could he have not seen her plainness? “I don’t understand?”
“According to this letter from Mr. Kelton, the earl intends to offer for your hand.”
~ * ~
“Is everything ready?” Ambray asked the orderly.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Horn answered back, a crooked smile gracing his uneven face. “He’s all trussed up and got an extra dose of the laudanum, like you ordered.”
Ambray looked to where Michael sat erect, secured in the straight-backed chair. A sheet was wrapped around his chest and his wrists were tied to the armrests. His head hung limply to the side, his eyes covered with a thick, black cloth. Paled in the dim candlelight, Michael’s coloring was a sharp contrast to the deep hues of the parlor.
“Here, Kelton,” Winthorp commented, as he entered the room. “Do you think it’s wise to do this again so soon? It took him nearly a week to recover from the last session.”
“He managed well enough. Besides, we need him weak and not fighting for the trip back to Rosecliff.”
Winthorp shrugged. “As you wish.” He placed a hand against Michael’s forehead. “You’d best hurry, before he passes out completely, though.”
“Did you bleed him already?” Ambray asked.
“About an hour ago, though much more of that and we’ll be burying him, I can assure you.”
Ambray nodded. It was a fine line they traversed. They needed Michael alive, but not much more than that. He moved to stand beside the chair. Grasping his cousin by his hair, he tilted the earl’s head back.
“Wake up! It’s time for us to talk again.”
Michael groaned. “Please. Must sleep. Too tired tonight, Ambray.”
“Nonsense, Michael. You’re the picture of health. We’ve work to do. Now, wake up!”
Michael stirred, turning his covered eyes towards Ambray.
“Yes? What is it?”
“We must talk, Michael.”
“What about?” Michael slurred, his voice drifting out.
When he did not move again, Ambray drew back his hand and struck Michael on the jaw, jerking his head sideways.
“What?” Michael asked again, his voice stronger, the pain rousing him temporarily.
“I need to know your secrets, cousin.”
I have no secrets from you, Ambray. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“You’re lying. You do have information tucked deep in that faithless brain of yours. Tell me your father’s secrets, Michael!”
“No! I can’t!” Michael began to struggle against his restraints. Though it was a weak effort, he persisted, twisting his hands and arms in the soft bonds.
“Tell me.” Ambray commanded, grabbing Michael by the jaw with his free hand. Squeezing slightly, he applied pressure to the spot he’d just hit, taking pleasure when his cousin winced at the pain.
“I can’t. I won’t.” Michael tried to pull away from Ambray’s grasp.
“Tell me, Michael! What did your father tell you?”
“Can’t. Told me never to tell. Said it would bring disaster to us all.”
“Your father is dead, Michael. Tell me what I want to know or you will soon join him!”
Michael shook his head, clamping his mouth shut.
“I can hurt you, cousin. Hurt you badly. Is that what you want?”
A thin sheen of sweat covered Michael’s brow. In spite of Ambray’s threats, Michael remained silent.
Enraged, Ambray drew back his fist, but his arm was caught in mid-swing. He looked up into the calm face of Winthorp.
“Take care, Kelton. If you set him to howling at this hour, it will only serve to wake the servants. Don’t you think it would be best to wait until we got him back to the country?”
For a moment Ambray barely breathed, his anger slowly giving way to good sense. “Very well. Bring me the candle.” He turned to Horn. “Remove the blindfold.”
The servant scuttled forward, as Ambray took the candle, its low, flickering wick barely staying lit. He quickly looked to his cousin’s expression.
Michael Kelton sat, wide-eyed, tense and unmoving. Still as stone, the fear reflected in his drawn expression.
“No!” He cried.
“What’s the matter, Michael? Are we afraid of the little flame?” Ambray teased. Slowly he brought the candle closer until it was but inches from Michael’s face.
For a moment neither Ambray nor Winthorp breathed. Only seconds passed before Michael’s tremors began. Small and barely noticeable, the convulsion started with the repeated clenching of his jaw. The effect spread across his face, down his neck and shoulders, until the Earl’s limbs shook, and a loud howl erupted from him until his mouth clamped shut upon it. A violent shudder shook the earl, until muscle by muscle he relaxed, his eyes fluttering wildly. In seconds all his movement ceased and he remained with eyes closed, his body relaxed in a strange parody of the dead.
Ambray watched him until Michael’s chest began to rise and fall with the return of his normal breathing.
“Amazing,” Winthorp said behind him. “Absolutely amazing. In the morning, he’ll remember none of our questions?”
“Nary a thing,” Ambray responded quietly. Sitting back, he turned to the physician. The man’s face was a study of fascination. Ambray certainly didn’t envy his cousin’s plight at the hands of Winton Winthorp.
16-02-07, 02:37 PM
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