“What a jolly it would be to see you scrape a bow before the Prince Regent, claiming Hawthorn Abbey belongs to you. Don’t rook me on the money you owe. I did as asked, releasing the sheep and horses, placing a thorn in that saddle, and beating the viscount to a pulp. You’ll have nothing to worry about other than your light-o’-love.”
“She’ll hold true. She dares not see her father hurt.” Mr. Barron snarled. “After that, we shall see if I keep her or not.”
Their voices dipped too low for me to discern, but I caught snatches of it.Viscount trapped... Items taken from the abbey... Payment owed. My runaway horse.
“You’ll have no abbey to claim, my fine lord. I set fire to it as well.”
“What?” cried Mr. Baron. “You set fire to the abbey?”
“Just a wee one, mostly smoke and not much else. I needed the women gone before I put Hawthorn in the brewery. Never knew if they’d hear him hollerin’. You pay me tonight or I’ll tell the constable you’re Randall Hawthorn’s whelp and that you’ve had your sights on the estate. He’ll be interested to know of the accident with the horse and the vicar’s daughter. Murder charges may be waiting, aye? Arson, aye?” Mr. Cobb’s voice contained a razor’s edge of threat. “Oh, and I’ll share how you’ve crept around the abbey at night in search of proof of your parentage. You sworeyou could frighten the new viscount away. A fool’s errand, if I ever saw one.”
“Enough,” Mr. Barron’s voice came out eerily flat.
I froze on the uncomfortable stool, no longer straining to slide out of the ropes fraying the tender skin of my wrists. My muscles seemed to liquefy at what I had just overheard. Mr. Barron the half brother of Rafe? Payment owed to Mr. Cobb? For what? Killing Rafe? A jolt of fear surged through my body, strong enough to set my teeth chattering. Agony pierced me as I pictured him collapsed and bleeding in the courtyard or abbey, and poor Mrs. Whittle and her daughter, injured or worse. The palpitations in my heart increased and again I jerked on the ropes to no avail.
The two men spoke louder now, hassling over the cut of profit with Mr. Cobb demanding forty percent for keeping the mosaics within the crates. The conversation turned feral and their voices climbed in fury.
Someone yelled. A tussle against the side of the house and a body hitting the door with a violent shudder.
Grunts. Curses. A shout. And then a gunshot echoed, the sound piercing right through me.
I screamed. But Mr. Cobb’s cottage lay the farthest from the other tenants, hidden within the rolling hills of the valley and nearly a mile away from the closest tenant. If only someone had heard that gunshot.
An involuntary shiver worked through me as I strained to hear if anyone had survived. My wrists ached from the rope constricting my flesh until my fingers felt thick and useless. A sound rasped against the door, as if someone dragged something away. No one entered the cottage, but the steady beat of horse hooves soon brought a cry of relief. Had rescue come at last?
My relief turned to bitter disappointment when I heard a familiar voice, rich and cultured.
“You shot him! Barron, how uncivilized of you. Why must you seed so much chaos?”
“You may blame the chaos on Cobb. I only wanted vengeance. Why should you care about one less person to divide the spoils? We have no further use for Cobb, and he has done us more harm than good. What would you have me do with Miss Littleton? I found her wandering the site. And where, pray tell, is Ainsley during all of this? Don’t tell me it’s just the two of us getting our hands dirty?”
“He is waiting in the carriage, out of sight. A lord has a reputation to protect, after all. You should have let Miss Littleton go. You’ve complicated things, Barron, and I hate complications.” Mr. Beaumont’s presence brought a roil of nausea clambering up my throat. “We were to steal the mosaics, as you had promised, not kill the vicar’s daughter. I ought to punish you for putting me in this predicament.”
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I listened to the men casually discuss their heist and their plans for me.
“She’s in the cottage right now. It’s too late to let her go.” Mr. Barron sounded petulant. “I brought you the mosaics. I’ve ensured several distractions for the field hands. At this moment, Mr. Perry is playing cards at the Jolly Wench, gambling on what he owns. He will lose his farm, which puts you in the position of renting from me once I’m viscount. If you ask me, I deserve far more coin than you’ve offered so far.”
The delusion of Mr. Barron to assume the Crown would ever extend him the title! But then, I was not eavesdropping on a sane man.
Mr. Beaumont laughed, the sound hoarse. “Wretch. You cannot sell those mosaics without my help. May I remind you, you approached me, not the other way around. I never agreed to murder, nor did Lord Ainsley.”
“But you will get those lily-white hands dirty by the end of the night. How can you, the second son of an earl, jeopardize your family or your father’s political career? What will he say when he discovers the extent of your gambling? Or the extent of your deeds in Bramnor? No, my fine jackanapes, you will do as you are told.”
Mr. Beaumont cursed.
“I’ve killed Cobb. You take care of your end of the bargain and leave the rest to me. And when I become the next viscount, you will remember me and all I’ve done for you.”
A long pause. And then Mr. Beaumont’s low answer, “Put her with Hawthorn in the brewery. Let the fire Mr. Cobb started take care of the rest. You will leave the ring to me.”
Despair filled me, tasting of ash. Would they burn Rafe and me alive together?
Before I could brace myself, the door flew open, hitting the wall and dislodging a chunk of plaster. A man filled the narrow space of the doorway. And at his feet, the dead body of Mr. Cobb.
My gaze traveled up to see Mr. Beaumont’s ruthless smile.
38:Rafe
Fire tests gold and adversity tests the brave.
