Chapter Eleven #4
As expected, Lionel ignored Mrs. Sable’s posturing. “Axe sent me to escort you home,” he said, never once looking at the others in the room.
“Permit me to fetch my belongings,” Annalise responded, also ignoring Moreau’s servants. Her heart beat faster in anticipation.
“We’ve not much time. Me lord does not want you here when the Runners arrive,” Lionel explained.
“No more than five minutes,” Annalise assured. “I’ve already placed what is most important aside.”
Lionel frowned with her delay. “Should I assist you?”
“No,” she assured. “Find us a hack.”
Lionel nodded his agreement. “Hurry, my lady.” As quickly as he arrived, he was gone.
Annalise turned to fetch her things, but Mrs. Sable was deceptively quick and stepped before her. “If you mean to go, you shall do so with only the clothes on your back!”
Annalise had had enough of Mrs. Sable and the rest of Moreau’s staff.
She edged Mrs. Sable backwards with a shoulder butt.
“I am Lady Annalise Dutton, daughter of the 11th Earl Marksman.” She took pleasure in watching the housekeeper flush first in anger and then in worry.
“Hopefully, you are not so weak of mind as to ignore the orders of an earl. Did you not notice the earl’s livery on the back of his servant? ”
“It cannot be,” Mrs. Sable protested. “You cannot be related to Lord Marksman! I know of his lordship. All of his family died years prior!”
“You have erred again and again. Lord Marksman’s father and mother have passed, but I live, as do my mother’s brother and a grandmother on both sides of the family.
If you have looked upon both his lordship and me, you should have noted our resemblance.
I assure you, Lord Honfleur knows of the connection.
Such is why he had hidden me away for these long weeks.
I am his insurance. He meant to sell me and make his escape, but my brother claimed me before all that could happen.
” Annalise said threateningly. “By midnight tonight your employer will be under arrest. If I were you, I would hurry to my home and burn the livery you wear. If any believe you to be involved in treason, you will join ‘Jacob’ or ‘Jacobi’ or ‘Lord Moreau,’ or whatever he wishes to call himself, on the gallows.”
“It cannot be,” Mrs. Sable said a second time.
“Believe as you choose,” Annalise announced. “Meanwhile, move from my way before I move you.”
Mrs. Sable thought to disobey until Clara said, “Miss Aud—I mean, Lady Annalise be handy with a weapon, and I told you all before, Moreau ain’t no marquis.”
When Mrs. Sable turned to rebuke Clara, Annalise darted around the woman.
The group could stay or leave. She had no concern for them; she held no allegiance to any of them.
Their cruel behavior over the last few weeks had severed all ties she had held to any who had occupied this household.
More importantly, if Lionel had come to fetch her, Alexander was likely in some sort of danger, and she meant to search for him.
She hiked her skirt and quickly climbed the servant stairs to the fourth story.
Behind her, she could hear the women talking over each other, but before she reached the family wing, only one voice remained.
Someone shouted, but Annalise could not make out the words.
Nor did she care to know the result. The three women below could blame each other or chew each other’s heads off or make their accusations, as long as she was away from Amgen House, she would know satisfaction.
Therefore, Annalise ran towards the stairs at the end of the hall to climb to the drying room.
Out of breath, she burst through the door with joy and excitement and a bit of regret.
“My last day,” she whispered to the room.
With a sad huff of acceptance, she was in action again, burrowing behind a stack of large rugs and several chests to reach the two bags she had hidden behind the discarded furniture.
She had claimed one of the cloth bags and was reaching for the other when she heard a noise behind her. “I am hurrying,” she said with a grunt and a hard tug. “Is there a hack waiting, Lionel?”
A very feminine voice she recognized immediately said, “I am not Lionel.”
Annalise stood slowly and turned with equal care.
“I did not expect your return, Caroline.” She sidestepped over several small bags on the floor.
Caroline held one of the swords they customarily used in their training.
The tip had been removed, and it would be necessary for Annalise to reach her own weapon if she were to survive this encounter.
“I do not imagine you did, Cousin,” Caroline hissed. “It was you, was it not? You who told Lord Marksman what my father planned.”
“As I did not know what your father planned, how could I speak to Marksman on the matter?” Annalise edged closer to the weapon, which rested on a nearby trunk.
“Yet, you suspected,” Caroline accused. She, too, edged forward in order to intercept Annalise’s path.
“Even if I suspected Moreau meant to declare himself King of England, when might I have spoken to Marksman? I have not been permitted to leave this house since our arrival in England.” She was close to the sword, but not close enough to save herself, for Caroline was closer.
“You mean to say, you did not leave Amgen House while Father and I were in France?” Caroline slid closer to Annalise’s sword.
Annalise was excessively glad to say honestly, “I did not. I thought I was a beloved member of this family, and Moreau forbade my doing so.”
“And you obeyed him?”
“Why should I not?” Annalise questioned. “It was only after his return that both you and he turned against me.”
“Then Lord Marksman means nothing to you?” Caroline questioned, right before she lunged for the sword, but Annalise was quicker. She caught the sword and took up a defensive stance, bringing Caroline up short.
“I cannot present you with the satisfaction of a confirmation,” she said.
Caroline swished her sword through the air before her. With a taunting grin, she declared, “Even if you will not admit your interest in his lordship, you will know great remorse, nonetheless, for I shot Lord Marksman but a bit over a half hour earlier.”
Annalise thought for a second the floor beneath her feet had opened up, and she was falling helplessly, but then anger arrived in its full fury. “Is he dead?” she demanded in a harsh whisper, which betrayed all she felt at the moment.
“You of all people know I am an excellent shot,” Caroline said with a sneer.
Revenge claimed Annalise’s heart. She would not allow her brother’s death to go unpunished.
“I suppose you already know my real identity,” she announced, “but in case your father did not inform you of it, I am Lady Annalise Dutton, and Lord Marksman is my brother.” She took up an offensive position.
“You have killed my brother. Prepare to die.”