“Cecilia?” he whispered, his eyes wide and vacant, as if he saw her standing there in the mist, her form shimmering above the black tide like a specter.
“What is it that ye see?” Isla asked.
“Cecilia, my love… Is that you?” He beckoned, his arms outstretched awkwardly.
Suddenly, a horse thundered around the corner of the lane, pulling up in a shower of sparks from its furious hooves as it approached the dock with a furious whinny.
Oh, it is Benedict!Me prayer has been answered!
He was breathless, his shirt damp with sweat, and his face contorted by pure rage.
“Lamfort!” Benedict roared, his voice cut through the mist like a knife as the man’s eyes reached him. “What in the devil are you doing?”
Lamfort whirled toward the sound, his face wild, the pistol shaking in his hand. “She’s here!” he screamed. “Don’t you see?”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
“Cecilia is here for him! She told me that she wants Oliver to be safe with me! I have been watching over your house,” he said in a grating tone.
“So, it was you looking up at the house, skulking in the shadows like some creature! You make no sense-”
“We are off into the river, Your Grace,” he said, in a trancelike state. “There is nothing you can do to stop fate. Cecelia has foreseen it, and I will see it through! The boy is mine!”
“There is no such thing as ghosts! There is no reason to get hurt,” Benedict yelled.
“She was never supposed to be yours! I will make this right with her son! Cecelia, do you see?” The man cried aloud, his arms outstretched, and the gun dangling precariously from his fingertips.
Benedict moved, ignoring the gun, walking slowly with purpose toward the edge of the wharf. “There’s nothing there, Lamfort.”
“You’re wrong!”
“Put the weapon down. This ends. Now.”
Lamfort’s eyes bulged, and he screamed a torrent of blame at the Duke. “You killed her! This is all your fault.”
“I did nothing of the sort…I…”
“You broke her with your cold ambition! Your house was a mess without her good name!”
“I will always be grateful for Cecelia, but she is gone, Lamfort. Listen to me!”
“She deserves justice, and I will give it to her!”
As Lamfort raised the pistol to fire at Isla. Benedict closed the distance between them in a desperate, final charge. Benedict slammed into Lamfort, not bothering to avoid the pistol, but striking him hard and low in the groin. The impact sent them both staggering, and with a metallic clatter, the weapon skittered across the wet cobblestones, landing just by the water’s edge.
Lamfort fell to his knees, not fighting the man who held him, but staring past him. His eyes locked on the misty river once more as he continued to call Cecilia’s name, utterly consumed by delusion.
“Cecilia!” He sobbed, tears pouring down his face. “Do not forsake me now!”
“Over here!” Constables shouted as they approached the scene, clearly alerted by the frantic Mrs. Darst as they reached them finally. “There he is! Get him!”
“The gun is over there,” Benedict pointed, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his brow.
“We will take him right in, Your Grace,” one constable said with a small salute. “You did well, Your Grace.”
“See justice is served for this, and he is cared for.”
“Of course, Your Grace! We will follow up later, once this mongrel has been locked away,” he said with one last bow.
