Chapter Twenty Six #2
Grace had been right. You could always tell from the eyes. And Aunt Alicia’s were wide and frightened, but determined. Honest. Loyal. And above all, kind.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered, flinching once more as Uncle Nigel kicked at the door, and the sound crashed through the house. “I’ll do it.” She flexed her fingers to still their trembling and reached for the housebreaker’s keys she’d laid upon the strongbox.
A roar of rage resounded without the study, and Henry growled at the door, “You’ll wake the whole damned household!
Someone will go for a constable—is that what you want?
” Impossible to say, at this juncture, whose cause such a thing would help.
Uncle Nigel would find it hard to explain why he’d invaded his nephew’s home in the middle of the night.
Henry would find it perhaps more difficult to explain the contents of the strongbox.
Unless they could get it open first.
Alicia bent over it, squinting in the low light of the lamp, attempting to manipulate the lock with the help of the housebreaker’s keys. Her breath came in quick, panicked little catches, but her fingers were steady.
Uncle Nigel battered the door like a man possessed.
Probably he hadn’t the luxury of subtlety any longer, nor the capability to restrain himself.
The whole of his future hinged upon recovering his strongbox, and he would not surrender it without a fight.
“I’ll kill you, you worthless whelp,” he roared.
“And you, you faithless, scheming shrew—”
“Don’t listen to him,” Henry implored as he cast about for a weapon. Something, anything, which might provide some measure of protection.
A malicious laugh, low and satisfied, slid in from beneath the door. It was followed by the shrill squeal of metal, hinge pins being yanked ruthlessly from their moorings. Uncle Nigel had figured it out at last—he was going to pry the door straight off of its hinges.
A sob caught in Aunt Alicia’s throat as she redoubled her efforts, housebreaker’s keys jangling sharply.
Henry grabbed for a heavy marble statuette placed upon a bookshelf just as Uncle Nigel began to pry the solid wood of the door away from the frame.
The wood creaked beneath the pressure, and with a solid crack, the lock gave at last, tearing itself free of the frame.
The whole of the door tipped, wobbled, and fell with a deafening slam out into the hallway.
Henry hefted the statuette in one hand, placing himself between the void of the doorway and Aunt Alicia just as Uncle Nigel stepped inside.
In his hand, Uncle Nigel held a flintlock pistol. “I wouldn’t,” he advised, with an uncanny calm as he levered the pistol straight at Henry. His chest still heaved with his exertions, but his hand was steady, his aim impeccable.
One shot only, but at this range he couldn’t possibly miss. He couldn’t have risked it through the door; there had been no way for him to be certain he’d hit. But now—now there was nothing in his way.
Aunt Alicia gave a wild little cry of distress.
“Get beneath the desk,” Henry urged, and Aunt Alicia scrambled to obey. “He’s got only one shot.”
“I only need one shot,” Uncle Nigel said with a sneer. “I couldn’t have gotten away with shooting you in cold blood only to advance my inheritance. But a man has got a certain legal rights over his wife. You stood in my way. No one could fault me for it.”
“No one will believe it,” Henry said, his fingers clenching upon the statuette in his hand. “Aunt Alicia will—”
“She’ll hold her tongue or find herself sent off to Bedlam,” Uncle Henry said, almost serenely. “I have got the right to do with her as I see fit. It will take only a few whispers in the right ears to have her judged mad as a hatter.”
Aunt Alicia gave a whimper of distress, and Henry firmed his shoulders. “The staff—”
“Know better than to cross an earl. And that is what I will be.” Uncle Nigel made a scathing sound deep in his throat as he cocked the pistol.
“For whatever it might be worth, I didn’t want to have to kill you.
I would have preferred—” He paused to sniffle and swipe at his nose.
“I would have preferred to—” Another pause as he cleared his throat and rubbed at one watering eye. “I wanted—”
He sneezed once. And again. And again, his shoulders shaking as he fought to breathe through the strange attack. Five sneezes in quick succession, each one more jarring than the last.
From beneath the desk, Aunt Alicia let out a hysterical laugh. “Henry, have you gotten a cat?”
A cat? Tansy. Henry glanced past Uncle Nigel to see Tansy sitting atop the downed door in the hall, her fluffy tail wrapped elegantly about her front feet, looking utterly indifferent to the scene playing out before her.
She stared straight at Henry, the narrowing of her eyes and the irritated flick of one ear suggesting she thought he’d delayed his return too long and she’d tired of waiting upon him.
A swishing sound sheared through the air, and there was a solid thunk as something heavy connected with Uncle Nigel’s head.
He uttered a low groan, his eyes rolling back as he crumpled to the floor in an undignified heap, the pistol falling harmlessly from the loosening clasp of his fingers as he surrendered to unconsciousness.
Grace poked her head through the door. “I’m so very sorry,” she said to Henry, as she lowered the fireplace poker she’d used to whack Uncle Nigel over the head.
“I would have been quicker, but I thought it best to alert my family and to warn your mother to keep everyone in their rooms. He did have a gun.”
Yes, he had, and she had waded once more straight into danger, and Henry couldn’t even find it within himself to be angry at her for it.
She had saved them all. He let the statuette fall from his hand, stepped right over Uncle Nigel’s prone body, and swept Grace into his arms. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple and enjoying the way she softened against him at once, leaning against his chest. “How did you know?”
“My room faces the street,” she said on a sigh, tucking her head beneath his chin.
“I saw him the moment he arrived, and he left the front door wide open.” She let the poker fall to the floor and began tugging at the belt of her wrapper.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the length of it into his hand.
“He won’t be unconscious for long; I didn’t hit him that hard.
Bind his arms behind him, if you please. ”
Henry felt a laugh rattle in his chest as he released her and crouched beside Uncle Nigel to do as she’d bid. “I am not going to ask how it is that you know exactly how hard to hit a man to render him unconscious,” he said. “I’m certain I don’t want to know.”
“Probably wise,” she said lightly as she wandered into the study. “Alicia, are you well?”
“Yes,” Aunt Alicia said breathlessly as she crawled out from beneath the desk. “Henry—Henry protected me.”
No more than she had protected him, he thought, as he cinched the belt of Grace’s wrapper around Uncle Nigel’s wrists, tightening the binding securely.
Within moments the bound man was stirring again, groaning with pain. Another vicious sneeze wracked him, and his voice was thick and congested as he managed to shrill, “You worthless son of a bitch!”
“Christ almighty,” a low voice drawled from down the hall.
Mr. Moore trudged into view, his evening attire somewhat worse for the wear.
He yanked at his wrinkled cravat and braced himself with his cane as he bent toward the man bound on the floor, his unruffled composure suggesting he found nothing particularly unusual or suspicious about the situation.
With one hand, he forced the wad he’d made of his cravat deep into Uncle Nigel’s mouth.
“There,” he said, as he rose once more to his feet.
“It’s too damned late for that sort o’ caterwauling. Gracie, what’re we doin’ wiv ‘im?”
“Uncertain just yet,” Grace called back from within the study. “Have you got it, Alicia? Just—there.”
A metallic click. “Oh. Oh!” Aunt Alicia let out a small shriek of glee. “I’ve done it!”
Uncle Nigel kicked out with his feet, making muffled noises of rage behind the cloth which had been stuffed in his mouth. He twisted his head toward the study, his reddened eyes watering as he glared into the room in a futile attempt to frighten Aunt Alicia into compliance.
She ignored him as she pulled the heavy tome from within the strongbox, set it out upon the desk, and began to thumb through the pages.
Grace sidled back out into the hall, pausing to bend and stroke Tansy’s furry forehead. “You good girl,” she said sweetly as Tansy nudged her head into her fingers. “You were such a help to us.”
“She can have all the catmint she pleases,” Henry said on a fierce sigh. “Anytime she likes.”
“Here it is!” There was a ripping sound from within the study, and Aunt Alicia held aloft a single page torn from the passenger manifest, yellowed with age.
The page. The one which might have ruined him. The only evidence that existed which could see him removed from his place, disinherited. A curious quiet descended, thick and heavy.
Behind the cloth tucked within his mouth, Uncle Nigel growled. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was not.
Aunt Alicia took a steadying breath, firming her shoulders. “You would have been a terrible earl, Nigel,” she said. And she touched the corner of the page to the flame of the lamp upon the desk.
And it was done. Over. The only proof burnt away to a thimbleful of ash in mere seconds.