Authors: Heaven
Bobbi Smith (6 page)
Lawrence barely had time to undress and put on his nightshirt when the vicious, searing pain struck and his hands began to shake uncontrollably. He clasped them together, trying to still them, but there was no stopping the violent tremors. He stared down at his hands in amazement. He’d known his heart was bad, but he’d never thought a really serious attack would feel like this . . .
He lifted his gaze to the medicine bottle then, and suddenly his expression changed . . . hardened.
Philip . . . Robert . . . Would they have? Could they have?
The agony that suddenly screamed through every fiber of his being was his answer.
Poison
. . .
Philip . . . Robert . . . Would they have? Could they have?
The agony that suddenly screamed through every fiber of his being was his answer.
Poison
. . .
Lawrence could feel his throat constricting and suddenly he was struggling to breathe. He began to tremble uncontrollably and knew he needed help. Desperate to summon Henry, he frantically tried to reach the bellpull, but his legs would no longer support him and he fell to his knees. The silken cord was his lifeline, but even as his hand groped for it, a convulsion wracked his body and he collapsed on the floor. Lawrence tried to cry for help, but his pain was so great that it strangled him.
Darkness closed in on him. As Lawrence succumbed to the potent poison, his last thoughts were of the crown and how right he’d been about his sons. The only peace he knew as he surrendered to death’s dominion was that he was glad he’d changed his will. He’d seen to it that they would never get their hands on the Crown of Desire. All their plotting and murder had been for nothing . . .
Three
Henry knocked on Mr. Anthony’s bedroom door early the next morning. When there was no immediate response, he knocked a second time, then opened the door just enough so he could look in. He was prepared to find Mr. Anthony asleep, and then quietly leave him to rest a little longer, but instead, on looking in he found his beloved employer sprawled on the floor.
“Mr. Anthony!” His cry was hoarse with fear as he rushed to his aid. Henry grasped his hand, but it was cold to the touch, telling him all he needed to know.
Since the day Lawrence had instructed him about the disposition of the books, Henry, had suspected that his health was not good, but he’d had no idea that he was deathly ill. He rang for help, then drew a blanket over the lifeless form. Penny, one of the maids, was nearby and she was the first to respond to his call. He quickly ordered her to send for the doctor. Martin appeared only moments later.
“What is it?” the butler demanded, horrified. “What happened to Mr. Anthony?”
“He’s dead, Martin.” Henry’s gaze was filled with sorrow as he looked up at the other servant. “I’m not sure how it happened. I’ve already sent Penny for the doctor.”
“Dear Lord . . .” Martin was stricken.
“Is either Mr. Philip or Mr. Robert here?”
“I haven’t seen either of them this morning, and their beds were not slept in.”
Henry nodded. “Someone must go find them.”
“I’ll see to it, though there’s no telling where they might be. When the physician arrives, I’ll bring him right up.”
Henry remained by his employer’s side until the doctor came. After telling him everything he knew, the valet took one last look at the man he’d served for so long, then left the room. He made it a point to speak to no one as he hurried to the study and locked himself in. This was one time when he could not risk being interrupted.
With Philip and Robert still not back, Henry had time and opportunity to carry out Mr. Anthony’s last wish. Opening the drawer with the secret compartment, he removed the hidden back to find the books and an envelope addressed to him. He opened the envelope and was surprised to find that it contained a substantial amount of money and a letter.
My Dear Henry,
If you are reading this letter, then you know I am dead and you have the books in your possession. If at all possible, it is important that the books be delivered personally. Enclosed find enough money to pay for your passage to America. Any money you have left over is yours to keep. Beware of Philip and Robert. They are not to be trusted in any way. I wish you Godspeed on your journey, and I thank you for your years of dedicated service.
With greatest affection and appreciation,
Lawrence Anthony
Lawrence Anthony
Henry again sensed the urgency of the request and knew he had to act immediately. Taking the books, he replaced the false back to the drawer so that the compartment would remain a secret. Without telling anyone, Henry slipped from the house and rushed off to deliver the book marked for Father Edward Bradford.
Winn spoke quietly to Arthur, his butler. at the bedroom door, then returned to his vigil at his Uncle Edward’s bedside. He sat beside the bed, gazing at his uncle who slept now in fitful agony and wondering how his own life could have changed so completely in such a short time. Just after he’d returned from Merryfield a week ago, he’d received an urgent message that Edward had taken seriously ill. Winn had gone to the seminary and brought him to his London home where they would be closer to the best doctors, and he would be able to personally care for him. For all their differences, Winn adored him. It had been pure hell for him to learn from the physicians that his uncle’s illness had no cure; he was dying.
Edward Bradford had once been robust, healthy and tireless, and he’d gone about doing God’s work with great energy and joy. Now, Winn realized as he kept watch over him, he’d become a wasted shell of a man. The vicious disease had progressed rapidly during the last few days and had robbed him of all but his dignity and his faith.
Winn was not one for prayer, but he bowed his head now in supplication and fervently pleaded with God to spare his uncle’s life. He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken out loud until his uncle called to him.
“Winston . . .” Edward managed weakly, having come awake to hear the dear boy trying to convince God to let him live longer. Had he more strength, he would have chuckled at Winn’s daring. He’d tried the same tack himself early on, but he’d learned through the years that God did not make deals.
“Yes, Uncle Edward?” Winn leaned forward and took the older man’s hand. It felt cold and frail in his, and again the undeniable realization that his uncle truly was dying struck Winn’s heart a savage blow.
“You’re a good boy . . .” Edward’s voice was a whisper. He loved his brother’s son as if he were his own. They’d grown very close since Winn had been orphaned and forced, at eighteen, to confront the finality of death and assume the responsibilities of an adult. Edward knew it had been hard for him, and though he hadn’t approved of Winn’s reckless rebellion with his fast living during the last few years, he’d understood it.
“You think so?” He was surprised by his words.
“A little wild, but good.” Edward fought for a breath as he turned his still powerful gaze on his nephew. He searched Winn’s strong, handsome features for some sign of weakness, but found none, and that pleased him. Undisciplined though he might be, he knew Winn would be all right once he came to realize what was really important in life.
While Winn returned his regard with outward calm, inwardly he was unnerved. When he was younger and his uncle had looked at him this way, Winn had always believed he was looking into the very depths of his soul. Winn knew the darkness that lurked there, and he wondered what his uncle was seeing.
“I’m proud of you, Winston.” Edward’s words were strong and heartfelt.
Winn was caught off-guard by the praise, and his surprise sounded in his voice. “You are?”
“I am.” Edward nodded slightly. A sudden wracking fit of coughing tortured him, and he fought to catch his breath. When the agony finally passed, he was much weaker, but even so, he tightened his grip on Winn’s hand. “You know, I’ve counseled you many times in the past.” Edward smiled faintly, thinking of all the discussions they’d had over the last few years.
“Yes, sir.” In spite of his sorrow, Winn returned his smile. There was no forgetting how his uncle had often advised him to change his life and how he’d always managed to find some way to ignore him.
“Well, this time I want you to listen to me and remember every word. What I’m about to tell you is more important than anything I’ve ever said in the past.”
Winn saw the fervent glow in his eyes. “I will.”
“Good.” He paused to draw a strangled breath. “Winston, when you finally realize that all your worldly ways aren’t making you happy, then know there’s one thing left that will.”
“What?”
“Love, Winston. Love is the answer. Selfless, giving love. Reach for it. Embrace it with your heart and soul. Love will be your strength. It will sustain you when all else in the world fails you. If you remember nothing else, remember that . . .”
Edward went limp as he finished speaking, the power and urgency of his message having drained him of energy. He closed his eyes.
Winn stared down at him, seeing the grayness of his coloring and the pain-ravaged grimness of his features.
“I’ll remember. I promise,” he pledged.
Henry knocked on the door to the palatial home of Lord Winston Bradford. His trip to the address on the book for Father Bradford had been a wasted effort, for he’d discovered upon arriving that the priest had taken ill and had gone to stay with his nephew. He’d met Father Bradford many times at the Anthony home and hoped his condition wasn’t serious.
“Yes?” A uniformed servant opened the door.
“Is Father Bradford here?”
“Yes, he is.”
“May I speak with him, please?”
“I’m sorry, but he is indisposed at the moment. Is there something I can do for you?”
“This package is for him. Would you see that he gets it, please?” He held out the book to the servant.
“Of course. Would you care to leave any message?”
“Tell him Lawrence Anthony passed away this morning, and that the package is a gift from him.”
“I shall deliver the message, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Henry sighed in relief as he left the house. One safely delivered, and now only two to go. He took out the next book. This one was addressed to Professor Parker at his home in Boston, but Henry knew the professor was in London, for Mr. Anthony had dined with him the night before. He did not relish being the one to tell the professor that Mr. Anthony was dead, but he knew it was important to give him the book as soon as possible. He made his way across town to the hotel and went inside to the front desk.
“I need Professor Parker’s room number, please,” he told the hotel clerk.
The clerk gave him a startled look. “He’s in 304, but if you wait a minute, you’ll see him coming down.”
“Oh? Is there someone else here to see him?” Henry wanted to be as discreet as possible.
“So to speak. The authorities are here. I think they’ve come to arrest him.”
“The Professor?” Henry could only stare at the man. “For what?”
“The man he dined with in the hotel dining room last night was found dead this morning—poisoned! They were seen arguing and then the professor chased him from the dining room. Witnesses saw everything.”
Henry was taken aback by this news.
Mr. Anthony—poisoned?
He mumbled something to the clerk, then moved numbly away from the desk. It had been difficult enough dealing with his employer’s death when he’d thought he’d died from natural causes, but to hear that he’d been murdered sickened him.
Mr. Anthony—poisoned?
He mumbled something to the clerk, then moved numbly away from the desk. It had been difficult enough dealing with his employer’s death when he’d thought he’d died from natural causes, but to hear that he’d been murdered sickened him.
No matter the malicious words of the clerk, Henry was certain that the professor was innocent. The idea that they’d had a fight that turned deadly was ridiculous. They’d been friends. There were only two people who wanted Mr. Anthony dead, and he knew exactly who they were.
A commotion on the main stairway drew everyone’s attention. Henry saw the authorities appear with Enoch Parker in tow.
“But I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .” Enoch was saying as he was led away. “I just saw Lawrence last night and he was fine . . .”
Henry could see the horrified look on the professor’s face, and he clutched the two remaining books more tightly to him. There seemed to be some terrible, devious plot at work here, but he didn’t know how to thwart it. Right then, he knew the most important thing he could do was his duty to Mr. Anthony—to see the books delivered.
Henry waited until the excitement over the professor’s arrest had quieted down, then left the hotel. As he went outside, he glanced around at the crowd that had gathered to watch the professor being taken away. It was then that he saw Philip and Robert, standing across the street.
Henry’s blood ran cold at the sight of them, for their expressions were not those of two loving sons relieved that their father’s murderer had been caught. Their expressions were of smug triumph and victory.
Henry knew a moment of panic. He did not want them to see him, especially not while he had the books in his possession. He didn’t want to explain why he was at the hotel. He turned to retreat into the hotel just as the two brothers happened to look up and see him. Across the distance, their gazes met and locked. Henry looked away first and disappeared inside. Philip said something to Robert and went after him.
Henry rushed across the lobby and out another door. His thoughts were racing as he tried to distance himself from the pursuing Philip. He was beginning to understand now what Mr. Anthony had meant when he’d warned him that he might regret giving him his word that he would deliver the books.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Henry saw that Philip had followed him from the building, but had not yet seen him. Henry darted into an alleyway, and, undaunted by the stench of rotting garbage, he hid behind some crates and waited. Only then did he realize his hands were shaking and a cold sweat had broken out on his brow. After a moment, he saw Philip pass by. Not convinced that the other man was gone, he continued to hide, and a short time later he saw Philip retrace his steps in the direction of the hotel. Still not daring to reveal himself, Henry stayed where he was another minute, then quietly emerged to look around.
Relief washed over him as he found that he’d eluded Philip, but he didn’t relax his guard. His nerves stretched taut as he debated what to do and where to go. The most important thing was to get the books into the hands of the right people. He had to talk to the professor in jail and find out what had really happened, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get in to see him until the next day.
Frustrated, Henry started back to the Anthony home. According to what Mr. Anthony had told him, neither Philip nor Robert knew about the books. Still, Henry didn’t want to take any chances. He hoped they hadn’t returned home, so he would have time to hide the books before they did.
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