In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (30 page)

She
swallowed. “I believe I
am
feeling much better.”

He
lifted his head to meet her gaze. “You’re certain?”

Amanda
nodded then smiled. “May I ask a favor first?”

James
brought his palm to her jaw, his thumb gently stroking her bottom
lip. “Whatever you desire, sweetheart.”

“I
have been locked inside this great big house since the funeral, and
it’s beginning to make me feel batty. Can we walk in the garden
for a short while? I love to look at the stars.”

He
came immediately to his feet and finished removing his cravat.
“You’ve read my mind. Just so happens I was thinking that
I’d like a good walk in the garden.”

“I
just let my hair down. Should I put it back up?”

“No.
It’s just the way I like it,” James said gallantly. “It’s
cooled somewhat. You’ll need a shawl.

Amanda
nearly danced across the room to her wardrobe. She retrieved the
shawl—black, of course—and swung it across her shoulders
as she retraced her steps. James held out his arm and she placed her
hand through his crooked elbow. Together they left the room.

***

Autumn
was approaching. As James had said, the night air had a chill in it.
There was no breeze, however, only a quiet stillness broken by the
distant sounds of a busy city. The garden itself still retained some
of the lush smell of summer, a floral undercurrent that scented the
air. James walked arm in arm with his wife, content to take this
short amount of time to make her happy. He had a pleasant immediate
future to contemplate. He was in no hurry.

“Do
you remember our first walk together in this garden?” she
asked.

“How
could I forget that night?” he said in a husky whisper next to
her ear. “I was walking with the most stunning woman I had ever
met.”

Amanda’s
answer was to place her hand over his and squeeze. “Aren’t
the stars beautiful tonight?” Her lovely throat was exposed as
she gazed heavenward. “I wonder why they’re not as bright
in the city as in the country.”

James
looked at the sky, but his thoughts were on the beauty of his wife.
She hated the black clothing, and he didn’t much care for it,
either, but she wore it better than most. “I don’t know,
but now you mention it, I believe you’re right.”

“I
can’t wait to return to Lonsdale. I miss the twins. And Uncle
Huey.”

Not
in all his life had he ever heard Muriel utter such a statement. He
must never forget to appreciate his wife’s generosity. James
leaned over and kissed her cheek. “As do I, love, as do I.”

Amanda
stopped abruptly, pulling on his arm. “Did you hear that?”

He
stopped also, going very still. After a moment of absolute silence,
he asked, “What did you hear?”

“Shhh…”
Finger to her lips, her eyes glistened in the dark as she glanced
back and forth over their surroundings.

They
had wandered in ambling fashion along a winding path almost to the
back of the property. There was less light here, and James was at
once alert to their vulnerability.

“Perhaps
it would be best if we walked back toward the house,” he said
in an undertone. “I didn’t mention to the servants that
we were coming outside.”

Amanda
nodded, holding more tightly to his arm.

An
unexpected rustle of foliage brought a squeak of panic from his wife.
James was aware of a shadow rising up behind them, but it happened
too quickly for him to react. At that same moment, Amanda emitted a
cry that died before it was completed. She loosened her hold on him
and plummeted toward the ground.

“Amanda!”
James reached for her as she fell, but in the next instant he was
delivered a stunning blow to the side of his head.

He
hit the ground as well and lay there too dazed to speak. In an
abstract way—where reality takes a bit of a holiday—he
wondered why he was still conscious. Two male forms loomed over him,
one quite large, one smaller.

“Well,
well,” the small man said. “Here we was coming in to get
him, and he comes to us instead.”

“What
d’ya think? Is he out?” asked the larger of the two,
peering down into James’s face.

“His
eyes are open. I think he’s still awake. I need to do somethin’
about that.” The small man reared back and kicked James in the
ribs.

James
felt a scream rise in his throat, but it came out a tortured grunt
instead. If the man was trying to render him unconscious—those
abstract thoughts kept coming—why didn’t he simply bash
him on the head again. The man kicked at him once more and, in a
flash of clarity before the blow struck, James realized this was not
about rendering him unconscious. It was about making him suffer. The
fear he felt instantly turned to terror as he thought of Amanda.

James
tried to reach for his wife, but his vision had grown gray and
spotty, and he was uncertain of her exact location. The blows
continued one right after the other, accompanied by maniacal
laughter. Pain was no longer an issue as if his brain refused to
register it any longer. However, he continued to grunt with each
strike that made contact with exposed flesh and bone. Toward the end
James pulled his body into a fetal position in a desperate attempt to
protect vital organs. And then it didn’t matter anymore as
abruptly he ceased to think.

***

Amanda
woke into a world that felt topsy-turvy, utterly without reason. She
lay on a hard, rough surface, her cheek pressed against what felt
like dirt and small pebbles. The earthy smell drifting up her nose
suggested she was correct. Where was she? She was immobilized, her
body refusing to cooperate with her desire to move. Although she
managed to slit open her eyes, her vision was blurred and unfocused.

Something
was terribly wrong! Without understanding why, Amanda
knew
it
was vital that she discover what it was. There was movement to her
left, but she was unable to identify it. She heard voices but didn’t
recognize those, either. Although still struggling with her own
impaired reason, she managed to turn her head toward the speakers,
fright helping to erase the mental fog cloaking her ability to think
rationally. She unobtrusively wiggled her fingers and toes and was
gratified to feel the sense of paralysis ebbing.

The
first clear image she saw, from her prone vantage point, was her
husband lying on his side on the ground, knees pulled to his chest
.
James!
Now she remembered. They had been taking a walk in the
garden—at her suggestion…

Oh
no!
A silent moan of despair floated up her throat.

James
was viciously beaten and appeared lifeless. Blood covered his face.
Two men stood nearby—one large, the other almost half his
size—staring down at her husband. Their discussion was
chilling.

“Maybe
you better stop with the beatin’, Freddy,” the large man
said. “We didn’t get orders to kill ‘em.”

Kill?

“He
never said not to kill ‘em. You think he’s going to care
if these two end up dead?” Laughter. “I wager there’s
money in it for him if they both meet with a little accident.”

“I
don’t want to be no murderer.”

“Aw,
killin’ ain’t so bad. You might even decide you like it.”

Amanda
was gathering her strength to scream when the big man’s next
words stopped her.

“I
still got a mum, you know. I don’t want her to see me die at
the end of a hangman’s noose. You don’t kill a bleedin’
earl. I may be stupid, but I ain’t that stupid. We been here
long enough. I don’t want to get caught. I’m leaving.”

“Hey,
hey, wait a minute!” the smaller man said. “What about
her?”

Amanda
quickly closed her eyes, hoping they would think her still
unconscious.

“What
d’ya mean?”

“Damn
me, you’re a thick-headed fool. Look at her, a fancy piece like
that, all laid out like Sunday supper. Who’s to say we
shouldn’t have a taste?”

A
heavy silence ensued, one that filled Amanda with a dread quite
unlike any she had ever experienced before. All movement—all
breathing it seemed—stilled. She could almost hear the thoughts
of the two ruffians, the attention of each intently focused on her.
Her heart thumped so rapidly and with such force, she was certain
they could hear it. Her only relief at the moment was knowing they no
longer were arguing over whether or not to kill James and her.

“She’s
wearing black.”

That
was the big man talking and, to Amanda’s way of thinking, the
one with more functioning logic. The smaller man clearly operated on
impulse and, unfortunately, his impulses were deadly.

“You
goin’ to let a little crape get in the way of the best woman
you’ll ever have?”

Again,
a thick, fear-ridden quiet.

And
then, “Maybe…”

Amanda
began to struggle to her feet. Her body felt boneless, her efforts
feeble as she flopped ineffectually to and fro. Her ability to scream
was nothing more than a frantic croak. In her mind she was praying,
begging the Almighty to intercede.

“Lord
Lonsdale?” a male voice called from the terrace at the back of
the house. “Are you out here, sir?”

Winston!
Oh, dear Lord, thank you!
She huffed out a broken sob.

“Freddy”
and his accomplice turned in tandem toward the terrace. They glanced
at one another and both took off at the same moment, dashing toward
the wall at the back of the property. She heard them thundering
through the foliage, no longer concerned with subterfuge. Clearly,
escape was the primary goal of those two villainous wretches.

Only
then did Amanda find her voice. She shrieked, one high-pitched cry
that shocked even her with its intensity. She settled onto her hands
and knees, head down, nausea overtaking her. She retched repeatedly
as she lost the contents of her stomach.

Feet
pounded toward them on the path, coming from the direction of the
house. Winston, along with two footmen, arrived in a rush of panic
and consternation, bringing lantern light with them.

“My
lady! What’s happened here?” Winston’s voice was
sharp as he leaned over her, holding the lantern above his head to
illuminate the scene.

“See
to my husband!”

The
butler turned to the two footmen. “You, Amos, carry her
ladyship inside and call her maid and Lady Lindley.” He was
waving his free hand as he gave instructions.

“No,
no, take care of James first!” Amanda cried.

Winston
ignored her. “And, Lucas, I need you to return to the house and
send more servants out here. Wake anyone who is sleeping. Tell them
to bring something that will work as a stretcher. I’m going to
need some help moving his lordship. And go for the physician
immediately as soon as you alert the others. We also need to contact
the authorities. I’ll wait with Lord Lonsdale. He looks to be
in serious condition. Please hurry. We haven’t a moment to
lose.”

Lucas
nodded once and headed back down the path toward the house, running
furiously, arms pumping at his sides.

As
Amanda was scooped up off the ground by the other footman, she
pounded her fist once on the burley man’s shoulder. “Stop,
please stop!” she wailed. “Winston, I think they’ve
murdered James.” Her voice was frantic as she verged on
hysteria.

Winston
went very still, gaze slipping to his master. He set the lantern on
the ground next to James’s prone form. The butler drew in a
deep breath, seeming to steel himself, and lowered his ear to her
husband’s chest.

He
looked up at her, expression grave. “His heart is beating, my
lady. Let us be thankful for that much until we know more. Please let
Amos take you inside. Becoming hysterical will not help you or his
lordship right now.”

Tears
spilled from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks “He’s
not dead? You are certain?”

The
butler nodded.

Amanda,
too relieved to speak, gulped back another sob. After a moment she
punched the footman on the shoulder again, this time lightly. “All
right, Amos, I’ll go. And Winston,” she said as she and
the footman started down the path, “please, I beg you, keep me
informed.”

Winston
and she shared a fraught look as she moved away from him. “Yes,
my lady. When I know, you will know.” He turned his attention
back to James.

Amanda
continued to watch James and Winston over Amos’s shoulder as
she clung to the servant’s neck, until the two figures on the
ground were nothing but a lump highlighted by the glow from the
lantern. As they entered the house, she felt the nausea return, and
she said as much to the footman.

“Perhaps
you’d best put me down so I don’t soil your uniform.

Amos
looked at her kindly. “Not to worry, my lady. My uniform has
been soiled before, and it will be soiled again.”

That
kindness was her undoing. Amanda laid her face against the footman’s
chest and wept.

***

CHAPTER 20

Aunt
Henry was already in her bedchamber as were two maids—her
abigail Betty being one of them—when Amanda and Amos came
rushing in the door.

“She’s
queasy,” the footman said.

“Lay
her on the bed, please.” Was that Aunt Henry sounding
masterful? “Do you know her condition? Any broken bones?”

“She’s
awake—was when we found her—but nothing broken as far as
I’m aware.”

The
footman laid her gingerly on the coverlet, backing away after he did
so. “My prayers are with you, my lady,” he said solemnly
then left the room.

“Let’s
get her undressed.” Aunt Henry again. She loomed over Amanda.
“Do you need the basin, dear?”

“I
think the moment has passed.” Amanda was shocked by how weak
her voice sounded.

“If
we remove your clothing are we going to hurt you in any way?”