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She could not leap into the Thames. The ice was new and would still be thin. She would either crash through the ice and be caught beneath it, or die from the cold of a frozen dress in the winter night. She found herself crouching at the end of the dock amidst a line of barrels teeth chattering. She contemplated whether the risk was worth it. She was going to die either way, better by her own hands.
A thought struck her. It just might work.
She heaved her full weight against one of the barrels. It barely budged. She heaved again. The voices were getting closer now. The barrel slid against the icy deck and tumbled over the edge and with a mighty crash sunk into the murky depths of the Thames.
“She leapt!” Matthew exclaimed with horror.
Caroline sank away from the edge of the dock and squeezed herself into the tiny space between two enormous crates. They would either believe the ruse or find her here to be shot.
“Did she come up?” the other man asked as they both looked into the dark icy water.
“No,” Matthew gaped. “Should we go down to be sure?”
“Have you gone mad?” the elder replied with what must have been a slap to the back of the head because Matthew yowled. “The ice is cracked now. We’d be more like to go in ourselves if we go down there. If she hasn’t come up yet she won’t come up now.” They stood watching the ice for several more minutes while Caroline held her breath. “No doubt her dress took her straight to the bottom,” Matthew mused.
“Weight her down and throw her in the Thames,” said the other bloke. “Just like the master said.”
“What are we going to tell the others?” There was terror in Matthew’s voice. Fear of punishments far worse than death hung over his head.
“We tell them we shot her and dumped her overboard. They’ll be pleased that there won’t be a body to bury. Come springtime there will be nothing left to find.”
Matthew gave a hesitant agreement before asking if they could return to the warmth of the warehouse.
“We’ll even tell them you took the shot,” the older man laughed, throwing an arm over the younger man’s shoulder. “Your pa will be proud of that.”
Caroline now understood why the young man had become swept up in such a devious crown. His father must have been one of the many thugs working for Lord Edward, perhaps even the one who killed the old duke.
Their voices retreated, but Caroline knew that she ought to wait awhile before picking her way toward the shore. She could not wait too long however because the others could return any moment and they may not be so willing to believe the tale without further investigation. Besides, it was freezing and her teeth were already chattering. She would not be safe until she had reached her father’s townhouse.
Her legs began to ache from the crouching, one more so than the other. She reached down to rub the offending muscles and nearly shrieked with pain. Thankfully, she had the foresight to bite down on her knuckles instead. The hand that had brushed her calf had come away wet. Even in the darkness she could see the inky color that had covered her palm. Blood.
Caroline took a steadying breath and pulled the hem of her skirt up to reveal a wound that had passed straight through the meat of her lower leg. She had been shot. How she had not noticed, or how she had kept on running, could only be considered a miracle. She supposed to she had been too cold and too afraid to think of anything else but now that she was aware of the wound the pain reared its ugly face. She was glad then that she had brought the rope with her. It lay a few yards away near the place where she had pushed the barrel into the river. She scrambled forward, clutched the length of it, and began to tie it off beneath her knee. She pulled as tightly as she could but knew she would require better care. She had seen enough injuries with her father’s tenants to know that limb wounds could bleed something terrible if they weren’t tied off, but she couldn’t leave it unattended. The wound would need to be stitched. She was not relishing the thought, but it was better than the alternative.
Slowly she began to make her way off the dock. Time was now even more of a luxury and she feared that a trail of blood might lead her enemies straight to her. For the first time she was grateful that it was snowing. She didn’t have a cloak but she would suffer the chill if it meant that the fresh flakes would cover her bloody footprints.
It was not until she came out on Fulham Road that she had her bearings. She took the curve of Brompton, staying in the shadows and out of rings of light provided by the lit lamps. Straight ahead she knew was Hyde Park. If she cut across the wedge to the east of the Serpentine and toward Park Lane, then it was only a matter of a few streets to get to her father’s townhome near Grosvenor and Davies. She willed herself to move faster as the snow accumulated around her frozen feet. Cutting through the park would save her precious time but it was also a deeper trudge. Still Caroline soldiered on. Her leg was nearly numb now. She needed to rest. Park Lane was just ahead. Then she could sit on a stoop for a few moments to rest.
Her mind was weary and her only thought had been to get to her father, when she realized that the view was familiar. She was looking out at the same trees and lampposts that she had viewed from the duke’s windows. One of these Park Lane homes was his.
Caroline changed her plan without hesitation. She needed to rest. She was frozen and her leg sorely needed tending. She may have caught her death. Those were not her only reasons, however. The duke did not know about his brother’s duplicitous nature. He did not know that his own brother had ordered the death of their father, had arranged for the duke to be poisoned. When Caroline had overheard Lady Lydia ask the gentleman to do something, Caroline had assumed that Lord Edward would speak with his brother about the matter, not eliminate him as a potential problem. She assumed that Lady Blackwell would be horrified to hear the depths her lover would have gone to procure her hand as well as his own esteemed title. With a groan Caroline realized that the duke did not know about Matthew either. Poor sweet Matthew, she had thought. No, poor terrible Matthew.
Caroline stood beneath one window after another until she found the one that she suspected was the duke’s study. There were no lights on in the house. Were there even any servants within to answer the door? Caroline would have walked around to the back entrance but her leg was doing a poor job of supporting her weight. Now that she had made the decision to stop here, she thought she probably could not have made it to her father’s house. She was so exhausted.
She nearly crawled up the steps, and she sat against the frame, heaving great breaths from the effort, as she tried the door. It was locked. She hammered her fist into the wood.
There was no answer.
She banged again. Nothing.
She closed her eyes and started to cry.
CHAPTER24
She would die here on this stoop, she thought. Just as she had been about to give up entirely, the latch on the door clicked and it opened no more than a crack.
Old Mr. Jenkins, the crippled coachman who was used for local driving, peered out into the might. He released a low string of curses that she had never heard uttered in her life.
“Miss Lizzy!” the man shouted without decorum. “Miss Lizzy come at once!”
