“Get the bloody devil out o’ here.”
“Open this door, or I’ll walk through it.”
In answer, it swung open and the barrel of a dueling pistol stared Felton in the face. The old man’s bleary eyes motioned inside. “Come in, but I can’t be promising you’ll walk back out.”
Felton pushed into the room and turned, just as the door slammed shut.
The old man leaned back against it, unsteady, aiming the gun toward Felton’s head. “Why’d you come here?” Slurred. Slow. “Why’d you come here looking for the likes o’ me?”
“Where is she?”
“You should have left her in that forest.”
“Tell me, or I’ll kill you.”
“You be in no position, Northwood, to kill anyone.” Endless lines and creases marred the man’s face. Grime stuck to his skin. His thin, greasy white hair and beard bore traces of yellow.
His eyes bore traces of guilt.
“Tell me, and I shall see that nothing happens to you. We can get this stopped. Whatever you’re afraid of can be—”
“I be afraid o’ no one. No one and nothing.” Spittle flew out with the words.
“Not even the murder of an innocent girl?”
“Murder don’t be bothering me. I told him to kill her. ’Twould be better than …” The gun wavered for a second, as if he realized he’d said too much.
Horror slammed Felton. “Better than what?”
“Whatever that devil has in his mind.” Swabian shook his head, blowing air into his cheeks. “He’s not like other bloody men. He don’t be thinking right. He’d do anything for—”
“For what?”
“Get out of here before I kill you.”
“Not until I know who has her.”
“I swear I’ll—”
“Bowles? Is it him?”
“So help me, I’ll shoot. I got nothing to lose, boy. Look behind you.”
Felton glanced behind him. A rope was tied to the rafters and dangled over top of the stained bed. The end was tied into a noose. “You do not have to do that.”
“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. It’s been hanging there for three bloody weeks now, and I go to bed with it like that, trying to figure out just how bad I want to die.” He stepped away from the door and pried it open with one shaking hand. “Besides, you don’t be needing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“All them answers you been looking for have been waiting for you—in your own house.”
The door opened and shut.
Eliza squeezed both hands together, tensions rippling through her, and nearly screeched when the blanket was jerked away from her.
Instead of the man, a thin woman with graying-blond wisps leaned over her. The eyes were bulging and nervous, and fading bruises hung beneath them. Her words shook as she held out her hand. “Take these,” she whispered.
Eliza shrunk away from the pills. “What is it?”
