What a Gentleman Desires (18 page)

Now her whisper was more of an order. “Keep your eyes closed.”

Valentine didn’t need his eyes, only his hands. But he decided discretion dictated he shouldn’t point that out
.

“Yes, that’s a brilliant idea. That way I’ll be spared seeing the brute sneaking up behind me with a heavy club.”

“Oh! I didn’t think of— There’s nobody else out here. All right, you may open your eyes now.”

Much of her remained all but bare beneath the filmy white silk, but now the damp toweling sheet was wrapped tightly around her middle, denying him sight of all the best parts, not that he’d say that to her. Her hair reached well past her shoulders, loose and wild with curls, and even in the near dark he could see that she’d been painted up to resemble a— No, he’d probably be wise not to mention that, either.

“Very fetching,” he soothed quietly, touching her hand, the one that wasn’t clutching a bunch of toweling in what seemed to be a death grip. He’d kiss her, but she’d tell him this was neither the time nor place, and she’d be right. They had to get out of here; explanations could come later. “They didn’t hurt you?”

“No. But if I ever get my hands on Lady Caroline or Davinia or that horrible woman, they shouldn’t count on me not to hurt
them.
Where are we?”

“Quietly, sweetheart, they’re not all that far away. To answer your question, we’re below the cliff. As you may have deduced by now, I was about to rescue you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his cheek commiseratingly. “I’m certain you would have done it exceedingly well, too.”

Valentine couldn’t be positive, but he thought he may have blushed. “Yes, thank you. Now, if you’re quite ready to get out of here? I’ve got you, I’ve got two more names thanks to your journal, I’ve got Charfield already on his way to being tucked up at Redgrave Manor. All in all, we’ve done remarkably well, with only a few unfortunately glaring missteps. However, the remainder of my army consists of an old man with a crimping iron and a near lad named Luther who doesn’t want me to get blood on the coat his mum sewed for him. Would you care to have it, by the way? The coat?”

“In a moment. I mean, we’ll leave in a moment, but no, let Luther keep his coat. I want to see what’s happening inside. Have you taken a look?”

“I was about to, but then something else came up, or should I say down.”

She rolled kohl-darkened eyes at him. “I
said
I was sorry. Come on.”

“I’m not complaining, mind you,” Valentine whispered as she dragged him along the front of the building, “but when did you get so brave?”

“I’m not brave, I’m terrified. Oddly enough, that seems to make me very, very angry.”

“And reckless?”

“Possibly.”

“I’ll be sure to inform Piffkin. He’ll have to watch over the both of us.”

Daisy looked back at him over her shoulder, pushing her wild curls out of the way. “You go first. I’m suddenly not so certain a vicar’s daughter should see this.”

“Nor a governess.” He squeezed her hand and, careful to keep low, moved toward the narrow window closest to him, then stood up, pressed his shoulder against the outside wall, and turned slightly, to peek through the glass.

“Sweet Jesus,” he hissed.

He could have been looking into a stable, and perhaps he was. The quarrymen could have used this building to house their mules a century before. It was one large room, a rude wood floor covered with a scattering of rugs and piles of pillows, and free-standing candelabras, a dozen or more couches and chairs, and not much else. A long red carpet ran down the center from front to back, the area behind some sort of raised altar nothing but the stone that made up the wall of the quarry. There were a few bits of wooden apparatus here and there, shackles hanging from one wall, a set of stocks, what looked to be a whipping stool. There was a flight of stairs off to his right. Not quite a cave, but not a pleasure palace, either.

Nothing like the gold, marble and other grandeur that couldn’t hide the implements of sexual perversion Simon told him had existed inside the recently discovered hellfire chamber their grandfather had constructed at Redgrave Manor.

Valentine didn’t know if that made it better or worse, that the ugliness was much easier to see here.

He counted the men in the room, which was easy enough to do, as they were all sitting around a low round table not more than fifteen feet away from the window, taking turns puffing on some sort of communal smoking device.
Opium pipe,
Valentine told himself.
Perhaps they think it gives them courage
.

Four of them wore black. Black silk clothing, capes and masks. The fifth, Charles Mailer, was bareheaded, still dressed in the evening clothes he’d worn earlier, in the drawing room. He appeared terrified. As Valentine watched, Mailer reached for the smoking pipe, only to have one of the others snatch it away from him. That man had a thick white bandage extending from his cuff.
Hammer.

Who were the others, and where was the woman? The table was round, giving Valentine no easy clue as to who was in charge.

He saw the women, counting six of them, gathered on the far side of the room. They were all dressed—or undressed—in the same fashion as Daisy, and they appeared to be waiting for something to happen. One appeared to be sleeping. Three were playing cards. Two of them held hands.

Valentine snuck back to where Daisy waited for him.

“Not a jolly bunch. There’s really nothing to see. I think I’ve interrupted their plan for this evening,” he whispered. “Be careful if you still want a look. The men are at a table near the window, and the women are gathered in the far corner to your left.”

Daisy nodded, biting her bottom lip, and made her way to the window on, he now realized, feet wrapped and padded in toweling sheet. She was practical even under fire, he’d give her that. Under fire, and underdressed.

Rather than peek in from the side, she crouched down, placed one hand on the windowsill and slowly raised her head.

He knew when she looked at the men, and when she turned her head slightly, he knew she was looking toward the women. And looking. And looking.

Valentine crept over to her. “Come on, that’s enough.”

She didn’t seem to have heard him.

“Daisy, we have to get out of here.”

He tried to take hold of her hand, but she was gripping the windowsill with white-knuckled fierceness.

“It’s her. I...I can’t be certain. My own sister, and I can’t be sure. But I think it’s her. It’s Rose.”

“
Shhh,
sweetheart,” he warned her, fearing she might stand up, call out her sister’s name or God only knew what. “Come on, we’re here too long. We’ll think of something we can do, and then we’ll— What in hell?”

The hooded members at the table had just stood up in unison, leaving Mailer seated, his chin quivering as he imploringly looked from one to the other and then the next. Then, as he watched, and Valentine watched, each hooded member held out his right hand, drawn into a fist, thumb out to the side. At some signal Valentine couldn’t hear, one after one, the fists were turned, the thumbs pointing down.

When Hammer’s was the last thumb turned down Valentine could hear Mailer’s scream through the glass as the men flanking him on either side grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet, tugging at his jacket as if to rip it off.
“No! No-o-o!”

Mailer struggled to remain where he was, but it was clear enough to Valentine. The others were dragging him toward the door even as they tore at his clothing. Someone barked out an order. The women left their corner and followed, lingering only long enough to retrieve lanterns and some of the oversize masks.

“Poor bastard. Let’s go,” Valentine said, grabbing up Daisy at the waist and running with her as if she was a sack of meal thrown over his shoulder, running as fast as he could until he’d turned the corner of the building and made his way back to the path. “Piffkin, Luther. Into the trees. Go!”

But Piffkin was already on his feet, and in the midst of removing his jacket. “Miss Daisy,” he said, offering it to her.

“Take it,” Valentine ordered, and she reached out to grab it even as she was carried away from the path. When he thought they’d gone far enough, he turned away from Piffkin and Luther and put her down, shielding her as she buttoned herself into the wide black jacket that reached to her knees. “Again, very fetching,” he said, kissing her nose. “Now, down, and not a word from anyone. Not a sound.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

D
AISY
TUGGED
ON
Valentine’s sleeve. “It’s her. I know it’s her. I think I’m sure now. It’s Rose.”

“Quietly. We can’t help her if we’re captured.”

She felt hot tears running down her cheeks, and wiped at them with a sleeve of Piffkin’s jacket, for the cuff was a good six inches longer than her arm. She had an odd, completely inappropriate thought: as her nose had also insisted on running, she’d probably ruined the valet’s jacket. She very nearly giggled. What could be more
inappropriate
than being out-of-doors, all but naked, and in the company of three men?

None of that mattered.

Rose is alive. Rose is alive!

“I know.
Shhh.
” Valentine’s arm was around her shoulders, holding her close against his body.

Had she spoken aloud again? She hadn’t meant to do that. Or perhaps he’d noticed how badly she was shaking. She nearly apologized, but as he’d probably only
shush
her again, she attempted to keep her mind on the fact they were all hunkered down in the bushes for some reason. Among them, she couldn’t help noticing—painfully—at least a few covered in thorns.

“Listen. Here they come.”

Daisy did as Valentine said, and listened.
Then
they’d go get Rose.

Was it Rose? Or had she seen blond curls and her imagination had done the rest? With all that paint on their faces, except for hair color, the women all looked disturbingly, anonymously alike. Rather like china-headed dolls, not human at all. Maybe it wasn’t Rose, but only wishful thinking.

Daisy felt physically ill. If only whatever Valentine was hiding them from would happen, and she could go back, take another look.

At first, all she heard was some sort of mumbling, possibly a chant. The sound was low, and definitely intimidating. The sound grew louder. Someone was coming, the Society was coming. They were going to pass right by them as they hid in the trees.

Would Rose be with them?

Please let them have left her behind. Just let these monsters go on their way and leave Rose behind.

The chanting grew closer, louder, and now Daisy could make out the words.

“Hear us, Satan, hear your servants. We bring you one unworthy. Hear us, Satan, rejoice in your servants. We offer you one unworthy. Hear us, Satan, hear—”

Daisy clapped her hands over her ears, attempting to block out the macabre words. But nothing could block the sound of the screams, the pleas, the hysterical sobbing.

“Mailer,” Valentine whispered next to her ear. “I believe he’s to be punished for his failure.”

“They’re going to kill him?
Sacrifice
him? But...but we can’t let them do that.” She looked at Valentine through the darkness. “We can’t let them do that, can we?”

“I find I don’t have a problem with it. He had to know this could happen. As Trixie once warned us, you choose your bed and then you must lie on it. Or, in this case, I suppose, your altar, as I’m fairly certain that’s where they’re heading. Now look, but don’t cry out. The women are leading the procession. They appear to be somewhat drugged, don’t you think? Almost in a trance. Take your time, Daisy, as you look at them.”

Their diaphanous draperies all but glowing in the moonlight, the women made their way along the path in pairs, each holding up a small lantern. The light and shadow caused by the lanterns made them into broken dolls, and nearly as frighteningly macabre as the men once again wearing their hideous oversize masks.

“Cor,”
the young man Valentine had called Luther breathed, and Piffkin clapped a hand over his eyes.

Daisy’s heart was pounding; she could barely catch her breath.

And then: “There. The last pair. She has blond hair. See her? Oh, God...
Rose.
It’s truly her. Has she been here all this time?”

“Steady,” Valentine warned her. “They aren’t going to hurt her, not tonight. They’ve got other business.”

That
other business
could still be heard above the repetitive chanting as the men came into view. Naked as the day he was born, his arms strapped to his sides, his ankles bound, Mailer was being carried along the path by four Society members. “Stop, stop! Please stop! Put me down! Hammer, you know me. You know I’m as good as my word. Fernwood—it’s yours. You can have it all! All my money, every penny. Anything, just name it. One vote! For the love of God, man, I only need one vote!”

“Hear us Satan, hear your servants. We bring you one unworthy. Hear us Satan, rejoice in your servants...”

“
No!
Axbridge, damn you, I brought you into the Society. You’d be nothing if not for me. Anybody, anybody! What do you want? What do you want! The children? Take them, they’re yours. One of you must want them, damn it! You can have them. They’re young, trainable.
Take them!
Just give me one vote. Please, oh, God, please, somebody, just one vote!”

“Hear us Satan, rejoice in your servants. We offer you one unworthy...” The chanting began to fade and soon all that was left to hear were Mailer’s sobs and curses.

“Risk yourself in an attempt to rescue that heinous lump of offal from his fate, Master Valentine, and I will personally leap on you and hold you to the ground until the inclination passes.”

“He’s not the one we’re going to save, Piffkin. Did you notice the blonde woman with the others?”

“I can’t say as I had my eyes open, sir.”

Daisy leaned across Valentine to lay a hand on the valet’s arm. “She’s my—”

“Good friend,” Valentine broke in as Daisy hesitated. “Miss Daisy’s very good friend. That’s why she came to Fernwood, believing her friend to be here. Isn’t that right, Daisy?”

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding furiously. She couldn’t be sure Piffkin didn’t know the truth, if Valentine had told him the contents of the journal, but for Rose’s sake, at least, they would all pretend in front of one of the Redgrave servants. “My very good friend. I’m so very happy to have found her.”

Now it was Piffkin’s turn to nod. “I understand. Clearly it is our duty to rescue her from her unfortunate dilemma. Sir? I believe damsels in distress are within your bailiwick?”

Everyone looked to Valentine.

But he was looking elsewhere, as if his eyes could follow some sound the others had missed. “Quiet. Horses.”

Daisy turned her eyes to the path, and was soon rewarded by the sight of two horses, one ridden, the other being held by its leads, picking their way up the path. Both had traveling bags strapped behind the saddles.

“Ah, the woman. I wondered where she was,” Valentine said. “And riding astride. Sadly, also cloaked and masked, as we’ll probably have to let her go. I wonder who she’s taking with her. Luther, come with me.”

Daisy watched as Valentine tucked his pistols more firmly into his waistband and headed uphill, Luther behind him, preferring to cut through the underbrush rather than follow the path’s switchback route. Then she looked at Piffkin, and in her best governess voice commanded, “On your count if you please, Mr. Piffkin, as he didn’t expressly order us to wait here.”

He smiled at her, and then held up one hand, raising first thumb, then index finger, middle finger, etc. “Now should be sufficient, Miss Daisy. Modesty suggests I precede you.”

Daisy looked down at herself; the mercifully lengthy jacket, the all but transparent white draperies below. “Yes, thank you.”

“I meant mine, Miss Daisy.”

Cheeks most certainly flaming, she let him take the lead.

They stayed to the path, for which she was grateful, as she was certain her bare legs were already bleeding from being scraped against the undergrowth, her unbound hair tangled with burrs. “We’re observing, Mr. Piffkin,” she told him. “Valentine wouldn’t want us to distract him.”

She felt fully confident in Valentine, certain he wouldn’t fail her, convinced he could do most anything he set his mind to doing. He might not do it the way she would approach the same problem, but she never doubted his success.

She should probably remember to say that before he could scold her for disobeying him. Again.

They progressed along the path, following faint shafts of moonlight that filtered through the leafy branches, and then halted completely when they heard the sound of voices up ahead.

Loud, angry voices, all but tumbling over each other. It was impossible to know one from the other, save for the woman.

“You’re taking Scarlet? You’re leaving? Why?”

“You question me? Don’t any of you listen? The woman escaped. We’re
all
leaving.”

“Not Post! He’s the cause of everything. We voted! The rules demand the Forfeit of Manhood.”

“Eager, aren’t you, Hammer,” the woman said archly. “So ready to step into his place in the Inner Circle.”

“Hammer’s right. We must finish unless there’s a reprieve, that’s the rule. Post told us, when he told us about Bird.”

“Bird cheated us, he cheated Satan’s justice.”

“Post endangered us. It’s our right!”

“That’s true, we’re entitled to the ceremony. The women are already here.”

“Fools!” the woman shouted in fury. “There’s no time for your opium-riddled pleasures. Post, stop that bleating, you demean yourself and your former station in the Circle. Your fellows have tried and judged. Your cock is forfeit. Gentlemen, hold him down.”

“No! Let go of me! Don’t do that. Keep your hands off me! Don’t touch me! Stop! You can’t do this!”

“Now would you look at that. He’s about standing up on his own.”

“
Silence!
Have your fun if you must, but then be on your way.”

Mailer was sobbing. “Wait! You have a vote. You can stop this. I’m loyal! I’ve always been loyal! Exalted One, just one vote!”

“He does only need one vote.”

Daisy sucked in a breath. That was the voice, that last one. The voice she’d heard in the library.
Scarlet.

The woman answered. “He’s known, and therefore useless. No reprieve!”

The man named Scarlet laughed before answering. “You want to be the one who does it, don’t you? The road can wait another minute. Here, use my knife.”

“You know me so well,” the woman nearly purred.

“But...but what of the women?” Daisy knew it was Hammer who’d asked the question.

“Must I think for all of you? This sanctuary is lost to us. Dispose of them, they’re no longer necessary. Hammer, step aside.”

Daisy began to run. Barely able to make out the path, she pushed past Piffkin and ran, and stumbled to her knees, and got up and ran again.

She heard a scream, a terrible scream suddenly cut off, and clapped her hands to her mouth as she froze in place for one horrified second. And then she ran on.

“Daisy! Daisy! Stop. I’ve got her. Look, look, I’ve got her. See? Here she is. No one was paying the women any attention, so we pulled them one by one into the trees. I’ve got to go back and help Luther, as I don’t think he knows what to do with them. You’ll hear our pistols, but don’t worry, we’re only hastening the panicked bastards on their way.”

“Rose?” As Valentine set down his slight burden, Daisy put out her arms to her sister, gathered her unresisting body close, kissing her face, her hair, drawing her into a fierce embrace. She released her only to look at her again in the dim light, still only half believing the miracle she’d prayed for had actually occurred, and then unbuttoned the jacket, enfolding Rose inside along with her. “Rose, it’s me. It’s Daisy. Rose? It’s all right. You’re all right. You’re safe now.”

“Here, Miss Daisy. It will be better if you each have a garment.”

Blinking to clear the tears from her eyes, she looked at the offered shirt, and then to its owner. Piffkin had smallclothes still covering him, a sort of sleeveless vest that buttoned at the neck and all the way down his ample stomach. He looked, at the least, uncomfortable, and also seemed to be blinking rather furiously. “Are you quite sure?”

“I am that, yes, Miss Daisy.”

“Mr. Piffkin? Are you by any chance crying?”

“Not at all, Miss Daisy, most certainly not. I’m, in fact, feeling extraordinarily jolly, considering my charge is up at the top of that cliff, possibly shooting people.”

Rose had yet to say a word, but just allowed herself to be held. But now she spoke. “She...she...and then they all stabbed their knives into him. He’s really dead, isn’t he? You’ll check for me, please? You’ll make certain? He needs to be very dead...”

Daisy did her best to soothe her sister, stroking her hair, rocking side to side as if comforting an infant. “He is, sweetheart, I’m certain he is. You’re all right, everything’s all right now. I’m going to take you away from here, just the two of us again, and it will be as if none of this ever happened. I promise, Rose, I promise. It’s me. It’s Daisy. Rose?”

But Rose said nothing.

Piffkin rather noisily blew his nose into a linen square he’d produced from somewhere on his person. “It’s that drug, miss. They gave it to Master Valentine. I’m certain she’ll soon know who you are. In the meantime, may I suggest we retrace our steps to await Master Valentine at the bottom of this infernal hill I refuse to climb again? I’ll then search about inside the building, in hopes of locating...
ahem...
locating something more suitable for you ladies to wear.”

* * *

L
ORD
C
HARLES
M
AILER
and his lady wife were laid to rest in the small fenced area that was the graveyard at Fernwood. Davinia, no last name apparently known, was buried without ceremony on the other side of that fence. No marker was planned for her grave.

Mailer and Lady Caroline should have by rights been buried beside Davinia, and not in hallowed ground, as theirs had been a murder carried out by a spurned wife, followed by her suicide (the story Valentine had thought safest).

Lord Mailer’s brother didn’t seem to care to ask the truth surrounding Davinia’s death, and although the tragedy of a murder and suicide might be a difficult pill to swallow, Valentine had decided it beat the truth all to flinders. There were the children (and the family reputation) to protect, so as far as the rest of the world was concerned, the couple had succumbed to the same short, violent illness.