The Widow and the Rogue (8 page)

“So what changed you?” she asked, trying to picture this disciplined gentleman as an impish boy looking for a mischievous lark.

“School,” he said with a sigh. “The discipline of an all boys’ parochial school should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, dear,” she said with a nod of understanding. For it was well-known how rigid such institutions of conservative education could be.

“I suppose it is why I am overly indulgent with my sister,” he confessed, sheepishly. “I was like her when I was a lad.”

In that moment she could picture him as a father. He would laugh and play with his children, and when needed, discipline them. She imagined he would be a very fair-minded parent, having once been a little troublemaker himself. At that thought she unknowingly gave him a smile of approval, causing his heart to skip a beat.

She tried to copy Beau’s disciplinary manner, but to no avail. The pup had cast her in the role of adopted mother. She was there to pet, feed, and take him for his daily walks, not to discipline him.

Once, when she was angry at Tim for chasing one of the green’s geese, instead of coming when called, she used a harsh tone with him. The dog reluctantly came, giving her a brown-eyed look of reproach.

He seemed to silently say, “How can you yell at me for doing my duty of chasing off that nasty bird? Didn’t you hear it honk insults at me?” And for the remainder of the day, he sulked under his favorite chair.

Today, the puppy was behaving perfectly. He came obediently to her side when she called, his tail happily wagging.

They crossed Carlisle Bridge, the stone footpath traversing the River Liffey, which connected to a small lake. It was unusually empty. The pedestrians who routinely used the green had stayed indoors as a cool morning haze enveloped it.

A mallard squawked and took flight, off the water to their right. Its green wings fluttered as it changed position. Tim began to growl.

“I’ll have none of that,” she said to him firmly, gripping his leash more tightly. “We are not chasing birds today. After this walk you shall have a biscuit with a bit of gravy and I shall have a warming cup of tea.”

But the young dog did not appear to pay attention. He continued to give a throaty murmur of discontent.

They walked across the stone bridge. The occasional sound of quacking ducks and fluttering wings could be heard below.

Tim’s growl grew louder. It was not directed at her or the waterfowl below, but at a group of trees off in the near distance. He refused to move. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. His large paws dug stubbornly into the stone.

“It’s all right, Tim, there’s no one here. Just us, lad,” she said reassuringly, pulling on his leash.

But it did no good. He barked at the swaying branches ahead on the side of the path. It was then she saw the long end of a gun’s barrel aimed at her.

She started to turn away, but it was too late. She heard the loud crack of gunfire.

Losing her balance as Tim suddenly leaped forward, she fell roughly onto her hands and knees. She could feel the hard stones beneath. Her skin rubbed against the unforgiving surface.

Smoke emitted into the air from the fired shot. The bullet zipped past, flying wide towards the ducks. Frightened by the loud report, the birds took flight off in a circular pattern into the hazy sky.

The shooter fired again.

This time, the bullet hit the stone railing above her head. A spray of shattered fragments fell. Frantic, no longer obeying commands, Tim rushed towards the trees and the hidden gunman.

The leash slipped through her fingers.

Lying prone, afraid of moving lest the shooter try again, she heard a man yell, “Get off me . . . damn dog!”

Looking up, she watched a man appear from behind the screen of tree branches. He ran from the footpath. With the gray mist heavy in the air, she could not identify the man. He was a fog-blurred figure.

Hurriedly, she arose and chased after them. Frightened, she called frantically, “Tim . . . Tim . . . come here, boy!”

The layers of her skirts and petticoats caused her to trip and stumble as she rushed to get to Tim. Her heart pounded heavily—she worried for her pet’s safety, rightly reasoning the villain might have shot the puppy.

She heard a loud yelp and hastened forward.

Lying on the green was Tim. He’d been bludgeoned on the head by the end of the firing pistol. Blood trickled from his skull.

She knelt, touching the unconscious dog. Nothing appeared to be broken. Frightened, she looked about. The gunman was nowhere to be seen. He’d run off.

“Oh, Tim,” she whispered as she ran her hand over his black fur.

Kneeling by the brave dog, tears of regret welled in her eyes. If only she’d held on more tightly to his leash, this would never have happened. He’d been trying to protect her.

She took off her long gabardine cloak, realizing the animal was too heavy to carry, and covered him. She rose and ran back to the house to seek help.

Kathleen had no idea what state she was in when she rushed into the study where Beau was quietly reading. Her hair and clothes were in complete disarray, the walking gown torn and shredded. At the sight of splattered blood on her clothes and hands, his heart nearly stopped beating.

He hurried to her side, exclaiming, “What’s happened! Are you wounded?”

He took her into his arms, feeling her limbs, reassuring himself that she was not physically harmed. He could feel her heart thumping loudly against his chest as her body trembled from shock.

She tried to regain her composure to speak. She said shakily, “No-o . . . I’m fine. But Tim . . . he’s been badly hurt.” And she proceeded to explain what had occurred.

Upon learning of the terrible events that had taken place, Beau, with a look of deadly determination, opened a locked case. Inside, neatly aligned by size, were his shooting pistols.

Humphrey appeared by his side.

“May I be of service, sir?”

“Aye, load these for me,” he said, choosing two weapons.

He kept glancing over at her, as if he was reassuring himself that she was truly alive and unharmed.

Methodically, with the expertise of a man used to dealing with such crises, the valet chose ammunition and checked the weapons’ mechanisms. This was not the first time his master had called him into such service. Master Powers’s actions always matched his words. This was a man for whom his word was his bond. He was someone others could count upon in times of danger.

The guns were laid on the table. Beau picked them up and holstered them beneath his cloak. He turned to her.

“I want you to stay here. That madman may be still lurking about. He might try to harm you again.”

‘No,” she said, shaking her head. “I want to go with you. Tim is my dog and he was hurt trying to protect me. I want to be there for him, to help if I can.”

“Very well,” he agreed, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

She stood before him anxious for her pet, but she’d not gone into a fit of hysterics, or played the part of a frightened damsel in distress. She was eager, ready to brave the possibility of once again meeting the villain who tried to shoot her. She was truly a remarkable woman.

“But you are to stay behind me. You are too tempting a target for this madman to resist.”

She quickly agreed and they hastened back to the bridge.

Upon arriving at the spot where she’d left the dog, a constable on patrol was standing over the unconscious animal. He looked at them, noticing their winded conditions and anxious looks.

Nodding at the pup, he asked, “This lad yours?”

“Yes, Officer,” she answered, hurrying over to her pet.

She was pleased to see Tim half-open his eyes. Relief flooded her. He was alive.

Spying the large firing pistols hidden inside Beau’s overcoat, the constable’s face grew stern.

“For sure now, you’re not thinking of putting the animal down, are ye, sir? He’s a young lad and from the looks of him, he’s been badly treated. But he’s not in such a terrible condition that ye must be rid of him. Aye, all he needs is some rest.”

The constable drew himself up to his full height. He tapped his walking stick into his hand. “Also, I won’t let you fire off those weapons. This is a public place and you might accidentally shoot someone.”

Beau drew back.

The idea he would ever harm a family pet, let alone have the temerity to shoot off a weapon without due reason, was clearly an insulting suggestion.

“I am a gentleman, sir,” he said, in a clipped tone. “I do not run around killing brave dogs who’ve been bludgeoned by a cowardly villain. Nor do I carry firearms on my person for mere sport. That would be quite beneath me. Not to mention reprehensibly caddish behavior. Now, if you don’t mind, Constable, I should like to take the dog home.”

Without further ado, he picked up the unconscious pup and quickly walked towards the townhouse. His long legs strode across the green in record time. Kathleen and the startled constable followed at a half-trot behind.

Humphrey promptly opened the front door when they returned. He’d dutifully stood by the front window anticipating their arrival. While they were gone, the housekeeper had placed a pile of old blankets by the hearth fire.

One of the chambermaids cooed over the young animal as he was brought in. “Oh—you’re a wonderful brave dog, ye are, Tim.”

Hearing his name, the dog opened his eyes. He gave a soft whimper of pain. Everyone exclaimed, telling him what a brave creature he was, anxious that he be made comfortable by the hearth.

As if sensing he was once again in a safe place, the animal went limp in his master’s arms. His eyes closed as he became unconscious.

“To think such disturbing events should happen here,” said the constable in disbelief after being informed of what had taken place.

Glancing about the bachelor’s townhouse, the officer gave the young woman a shrewd look. “You certain you’ll be safe here, ma’am? Do ye have any relations in town with whom you might wish to stay?”

She thought briefly of her uncle. But the notion of contacting him would be as if she were inviting herself to relive a nightmare.

A huff of indignation was uttered beside her.

Lady Fitzpatrick, who’d recently returned from shopping for her niece, bristled. Her parasol’s stays quivered in her hand. She would have struck the man in front of her or anyone else who might have stood in her way, if provoked.

“Her ladyship has her guardian to look after her, Constable,” Lady Agnes said with all the stiff indignation she could muster. “And I have many a time stared down pirates and unruly mutineers. As for Lady Langtry’s relations, I shouldn’t put it past one of the worthless cur to have tried to end her life. She is a lady of substantial means and I am quite certain not one of them would mind if she should suddenly have an untimely demise. They may have possibly arranged this cowardly ambush! If I were you, Constable, I would check into their present whereabouts.”

“I think that would be a waste of valuable time, ma’am,” said the constable, doubtfully.

Rather than contemplating the notion of a greedy relative with a nefarious motive, it was evident the constable thought a pistol-shooting lunatic was running around the green. The cad was having a bit of sadistic fun frightening the young lady and her pet. That he had struck the young animal had been nothing less than unfortunate.

“I better gather up a few of my lads and make a thorough search of the green. The villain may still be lurking about. Good day, ladies,” he said.

Tipping his hat, he left without bothering to address the master of the house, recalling the way that haughty gentleman had looked coldly at him. It had sent shivers down his spine. For sure now, he had no doubt that if the gun-shooting lout was caught, either the tiny lady or the imposing dandy would see him neatly planted in the ground. He almost pitied the lunatic who’d dared to frighten the young woman and her pet.

After the constable left, Beau said, “I shall personally go to the chief of police and see that a further investigation is undertaken. I do not believe this was a random act of violence. The shots that were aimed at Kathleen were premeditated. I am certain of it. The villain intended on killing her.”

He did as he promised, but nothing became of it. All of Kathleen’s relatives had impeccable alibis as to the day in question. As for the villain who had shot at Kathleen, he escaped into the mist, which angered Beau. He became determined that Kathleen be well-protected.

“What did the police say?” she asked when he returned from the police station. It was now raining outside and droplets fell from his clothes.

She could tell by his grim face that the news was not good. Comfortingly, she bent down and petted Tim who lay near the fire recuperating.

Beau knew the only ones to gain from Kathleen’s death were her greedy in-laws and her cad of an uncle. At the reading of the will, he’d felt their palpable hatred of her, the one person who stood between them and a mountain of wealth

“They won’t listen to me,” he said, exasperated. “I’m almost certain a member of your family tried to have you shot and killed. That sneering countess and her overfed son, Henry . . . I wouldn’t put it past them to make a try. They had more reason than anyone to believe that with you dead, they would inherit Dovehill Hall and all its holdings.”

He frowned. “Indeed, that hungry cad of an uncle of yours could have been behind this. Any of them could’ve hired someone to have you killed and out of the way.” He angrily tossed a small twig into the fire. “But without any concrete evidence, the law refuses to do anything.”

“What do you intend to do?”

He crouched down and took her hand. His was cold from being outside, as it had rained, but hers warmed him clear to his heart.

He could see the worry in her wide blue eyes, but her back was straight and her shoulders set. She was a brave young woman and had already been through enough in her young life. It tore him a little to see her this way. She may have once been a married woman, but she was still young and unknowing of the world, living as she had, imprisoned in that gloomy place by her heartless husband.