Jo Goodman (48 page)

Chapter 14

Murdered them... murdered them... mur—

Mercedes shook her head slowly, partly in disbelief and denial, partly to clear it. "You're mistaken," she said quietly. There was no real force behind her words. She was too shaken to make a defense. "Is that why you sought out the earl in the first place?"

"He sought me out," Colin said. He watched her closely. She looked as if a chill had swept her body. The fire's glow could not hide the pale, icy mask that held her features rigid. "I had no suspicions, no expectations, until I arrived here."

"And you spoke to me."

"And
you
spoke to
me,"
he reminded her. Colin took a sip of his wine. He had only told the story a few times in his life. The Cunningtons hadn't believed him when he was eight. That kept him silent until he was twelve, when he shared the story with Jack Quincy. Later he told Mrs. Remington. More recently he had disclosed it to Aubrey Jones.

It wasn't that the telling was particularly difficult that made him reluctant to repeat it. It was so long ago that when Colin thought about it now he could almost believe it had happened to someone else. The opposite was true, however. The events of that night were intensely personal. What kept him quiet was that with each telling it seemed less real. He was afraid of losing the connection to his past. The older he got, the more he understood why the Cunningtons hadn't believed him in the first place.

"I witnessed my parents' murders," he said without inflection. "I saw the driver fall from the box almost immediately after he stopped our carriage. There was no warning shout. No demand that he stand down. He was unarmed so I know he drew no weapon. He was murdered because it was the intent all along."

She was simply staring at him, her features without expression. Colin wasn't sure she was even listening. He went on anyway.

"My father was yanked out of the carriage. He offered the little money he was carrying. He told them they could have my mother's jewelry. His bargaining gave Mother enough time to hand me her earrings and push me back on the bench. She gestured that I should pretend I was sleeping, and I curled up beside Decker." If he let himself, Colin could still feel his younger brother's trembling body. He had absorbed Decker's shudders then, cowering in the corner with all the same fears but trying to let none of them show. Sometimes at night sleep would fail him and he'd wake with the metallic taste of terror in his mouth. He never remembered the dream but the taste was enough to raise the memory of that night.

"My father was still alive when my mother was pulled out of the carriage. The man took Greydon from her arms and thrust him into mine then he shut the door." Colin finished his wine though he took no pleasure in it. "I gave Grey to Decker. Grey was awake now and crying. I made Decker cover his mouth to keep him quiet. I thought they might kill him because he was making so much noise." Colin shrugged. "They had already murdered for reasons less obvious and provoking."

Mercedes's complexion had taken on a waxen cast. She remained unmoving.

"I went to the window. The shades had been pulled but I could see out a crack. The carriage lanterns had been extinguished. It was dark but not impossible to see. The sky was clear and there was a fingernail of moon to lend pale light. There were three men. Two of them had climbed off their horses. The third was still mounted. Clearly he was the one they looked to for direction, although he rarely said anything. They were all wearing hats that shaded their eyes and scarves that hid the lower portion of their faces.

"They took my father's purse. They stripped my mother of her rings and her necklace." He paused, looking away from Mercedes for a moment. "We weren't wealthy," he told her. "The earrings that I held were my mother's most valuable pieces. Our carriage bore no markings. I think we may have rented it. The driver was not in our employ. We were on our way to visit my father's father—a man I'd never met before. My father had only made the decision to go a few days before.

"We had stopped at an inn earlier. I remember that he began to reconsider the wisdom of the journey we were making. Not that he was thinking of any danger we might face. It was his own reluctance to reconcile with his father that made him question continuing. It was at my mother's urging that he decided we would go on." Colin's brief smile was at odds with the bleak expression in his eyes. "He couldn't refuse her anything. She told him it was time that his sons knew their grandfather."

Colin turned and walked to the fireplace. Mercedes was shivering, but she wouldn't move from her place by the bed. He poked at the logs, making them give up more heat and light. "There were a number of other patrons at the inn that evening, and I took little notice of them."

It was why he noticed everything now, Mercedes thought. Why he was watchful, vigilant. Why he studied people around him. That was the lesson a young boy learned and took to heart: never lower your guard. Nothing is insignificant.

"The thieves were there at the inn," she said.

Her voice startled him. It was hollow, remote. "Yes," he said. "That's what I think. They made us a target there."

"And followed you."

He nodded. "The location was remote. They made certain no one would come upon us quickly." Colin put the poker aside. No amount of rearranging the logs would add enough warmth for what was chilling Mercedes. "It didn't matter that my father gave them what he had. They had planned at the outset to kill him. They shot him in the back as if he were fleeing. What he had done was throw himself at my mother to protect her. It took both men to pry him loose. My mother came at them, clawing and kicking and screaming. I think she knew she was going to die, and she wanted death on her terms. Provoking them prevented her from being raped. The one who hadn't spent a shot on my father used it on her."

Colin remembered watching her fall, her arms outstretched to his father. She lay very near him, almost touching. Colin blinked, erasing the picture from his mind. "The men on foot offered a share of what they had taken to the man still on horseback. He didn't accept it. In fact, it seemed he was..." The description had always eluded him in the past. Now he found a word that suited. "He recoiled a bit. As though he was insulted by their offer. 'You have proven you can do it,' is what he told them. 'Keep your souvenirs.' He reached inside his jacket and brought out a bag of coins. They jingled as he tossed them to the highwaymen.

"The one who caught the money wanted to know what to do with the children. The man on horseback glanced at our carriage. For a moment I imagined he saw me at the window and knew what I had witnessed. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. I waited to discover what he would do. The rider merely shook his head and dismissed us as unimportant. He turned his horse, waited for the others to mount, and then they disappeared."

Once they were gone Colin found his courage. He ran after them until tears and rage blinded him and he could go no further. Winded, defeated, he returned to the carriage. Decker still clutched his baby brother. He took Grey away and helped Decker down. They kept vigil by the bodies of their parents until they were discovered by the next travelers to use the road.

Mercedes went to the window. She wanted to look past the room to the expanse of Weybourne Park. The darkness outside and the firelight within conspired to make only her own reflection visible. When she looked beyond her own ghostly apparition she could make out Colin standing behind her, watching her, his dark eyes gravely intent.

"There are similarities," she said after a moment. "I've always known there were other robberies. I don't know why you think they have anything to do with my uncle."

"I've talked to Mr. and Mrs. Hennepin and other people in the area who remember," Colin said. "Yes, there were other robberies, but only one other that ended in murder. Accounts of robberies before my parents' deaths reported only two thieves."

"And only two were held responsible for the murders of my parents," Mercedes said.

"I was a witness to three men," he told her. "And so were you."

Mercedes spun on him. Her gown whipped around her legs, falling back into place slowly. "I wasn't there."

He ignored her. "Two highwaymen on the post road," he said. "Rather successful at what they do. They come to the attention of a certain younger son, a jealous man who has been thinking his brother the earl has everything he himself has always wanted. The brother has an estate, a title, a place in government. He has a beautiful wife, a woman the younger man had actually believed would marry him. He has a daughter, but no son. Therefore the man still has hope that he can claim his brother's property, if not his brother's wife. Time is not in his favor. There may be more children, and the brother can make no claim if the next one is a boy."

Mercedes closed her eyes briefly, shutting him out. At her sides her fingers curled. "You don't know this," she said tightly. "There's no proof."

Again he ignored her. "This young man seeks out the services of the highwaymen. Not for robbery alone this time, but for murder. He has to be certain they have the mettle for it, so he arranges a test. They meet in a small inn where travelers frequently stop and where they will not be noticed among so many others. He selects a family." Colin shrugged. "Or perhaps they do. The presence of the children is important because the younger man knows his brother rarely travels without his wife and daughter. Now the highwaymen must convince this man that they are up to the task."

Colin took a step toward Mercedes. She remained where she was. "They showed him they were. He let them keep what they had taken, and he gave them more besides. Robbery was not what he cared about."

Now Colin took Mercedes's hands in his. Her skin was cool. When her fingers unfolded her palms were clammy. "Six months later," he told her quietly, "it happened again. People who had been lulled into thinking the first incident would be the last knew better now. The highwaymen may have had no clear idea who they were preying upon this time. It probably wouldn't have mattered except they would have been more cautious about celebrating their success within five miles of the scene of their crime. They must have thought themselves very safe."

Mercedes shook her head. "They would have said something before they hanged. They would have pointed to the third man."

"Not if they didn't know who he was. They didn't necessarily understand his motives. And perhaps they did say something and no one believed them or could find evidence of an accomplice. The robberies they committed prior to the murders worked against them. The only people who could have supported a fantastic story like that were children. Grey was an infant. Decker had already left the workhouse, and I was in Boston when they were arrested. You were a mute four-year-old. No one was going to question us."

Mercedes shook her head and tried to break away from his grasp. "I wasn't there," she said tautly.

"You were. Ask Mrs. Hennepin. I did. She can recount everything about that time. To her way of thinking it's God's blessing that you can't remember what happened that night."

She snapped at him. "Only you would be arrogant enough to interfere with God's blessing."

He let that pass. "For almost a year you were silent. Your Aunt Georgia didn't know what to do with you. She brought in physicians who could find nothing wrong or suggested you were dangerous and needed to be kept from Chloe and Sylvia. Mrs. Hennepin says you spent most of your time alone in the north tower so there was nothing to be done. Your uncle apparently had a different view of the matter. One day he followed you. No one knows what went on there, but when you came back down it was as if the last year had never happened."

Colin gave her hands a small shake, keeping her with him when she began to withdraw. "That frightened your Aunt Georgia, but Mrs. Hennepin wanted to believe it was all behind you. Except for your fear of horses—which she says you never had before—and the odd times you slip away and become so introspective that you're lost to everyone else, she likes to think that it is."

This time when Mercedes tried to pull away he let her go. "Then you should have let it rest. What purpose does it serve to tell me now? My uncle's dead. He can't defend himself."

"What does that matter?" Colin asked. "When he has you."

Mercedes slapped him. "Oh my God!" She covered her face with her hands, not because she expected him to retaliate, but because she knew he wouldn't. Ashamed, she couldn't look at him.