Epilogue
“This way!” someone hissed, and Jeremiah Stark turned his head slowly to look around him.
At length, his eyes landed on a familiar figure who motioned with a nod of his head towards the tree line.
Stark knew the man who had been assigned to oversee their detainment was easily distracted, but Stark was not confident he could reach the tree line without notice.
Then it happened. A small explosion in the opposite direction sent several of the local officials scrambling away, including their guard until someone ordered him back.
They had yet to place chains about his ankles, as they had done with many of the others, those suspected of being Luddite sympathizers, though they had put chains around his arms. All they appeared to know of him was he was in the barn where he did not belong.
If he stayed, he could probably talk himself out of the charges, but he could not take the chance another of Lord Duncan’s men would recognize him.
Lord Marksman had foolishly turned him over with the other prisoners and rushed away to assist Lord Duncan.
Therefore, without a thought for his fellow prisoners, he broke away at a run for the dense woodlands.
A few gunshots rang out, but they were not directed towards him or his destination.
Finally reaching the cover of the woods, Stark stopped to look back at the chaos still going on along the road leading to York Castle.
Some of the locals must have noted his run for freedom, for the sheriff and his men were shouting orders and pointing guns, but none in his direction.
He had told Caroline that they should wait for a better time for revenge on Lord Duncan and his sons, but she remained adamant on how they would wreak their own havoc.
She was still very angry about Moran’s fate, and Caroline meant to see that Audrey, or rather Lady Annalise Beaufort, would know harm after what Audrey had done when they were all arrested.
“Caroline thought perhaps that Audrey would be among those gathered at the Luddite trial,” he murmured.
Furtively, Stark peered around one of the large trees at the scene. The local authorities, and who he assumed were a couple of Lord Duncan’s men, were driving a number of chained prisoners out of the wooded area on the other side of the main road.
“She was,” the same familiar voice said. “The one you called Audrey has shot your darling, Caroline.”
“Caroline is dead?” Stark asked as he reached a hand to the tree to support himself. “My daughter is dead?”
“You know she was Moran’s daughter,” his friend stated.
“She is not Moran’s daughter! Nor was she ever his!
” Stark growled in both anger and remorse.
“I placed her with Mrs. Moran because the lady so wanted a child of her own, and I couldn’t tend Caroline by myself.
My wife was dead. Mrs. Moran begged Jacob to take in my child and present me a position where I could be close and watch her grow.
The lady lost her life during one of Moran’s schemes, along with the son she later bore Moran. ”
“I thought they were randomly attacked and killed.”
“No,” Stark explained. “That was simply the tale Moran told to evoke the sympathy of those with whom he dealt. Such is what he told Mrs. Sable to coax her into his bed,” he hinted, but there was no reaction, and so Stark swallowed his observation.
He had thought the man standing before him had intimately known Mrs. Sable himself, not that any of that was Stark’s business.
He had not known the woman in the Biblical sense, and he had not seen her since that incident outside the Lyon’s Den back in September.
“We should move away from the scene before someone comes looking for you. If we hurry, we can have your chains removed and claim a seat on the mail coach in the next village over.”
Stark nodded his agreement before taking another quick look at the chaos being brought under control. He should have asked that the man release his hands from the straps still holding them in place, but they could do that up ahead when they were well away from York.
Using nature’s thick forest as their cover, they set out through the woods.
They made their way south for some twenty minutes before they dared to step onto the road.
Stark found himself sucking in short breaths, the run having taken more out of him than he had expected.
He was bent over, attempting to reclaim his stamina when he heard the click of a gun.
His associate said, “I wanted them all dead, but you and Moran swore that they could not prevail and they would suffer not only great financial losses, but their reputations would be destroyed and their chances at happiness would be nonexistent. You and Moran said you had grander plans. Duncan still lives and three of his so-called sons have found satisfaction in marriage. Soon there will be grandchildren. Even his daughter is married and settled to none other than your ‘Miss Audrey’s’ brother.
The legacy that Lady Elsbeth Duncan laid out for her husband is greater than ever.
“Moran only worried for his fortune. Witless! All of you! I wanted Lady Elsbeth’s memory obliterated, and you promised to do just that!”
Stark had been in tight places previously, and so he rose slowly to look upon the man he had met through Moran. He easily recalled warning Moran to practice care, and now he wished he had executed the same.
“We all agreed that shooting Duncan would destroy the family,” Stark reasoned.
“Did you not see Duncan and his sons as part of those rounding up protestors? They are all going on with their lives. Marriages. Reclaiming a sister. Soon there will be children, and Lord Duncan’s legend—or rather the legend of Lady Elsbeth Duncan’s goodness, will continue to spread.
They are happier and more productive than ever. ”
“I would be satisfied to eliminate any of them you say. Just name the order of their demise,” Stark bargained.
The man he had thought was a friend raised the held weapons and aimed one at Stark’s head and the other at his heart. “You may join Moran again, but this time in hell.” Two shots rang out in quick succession, and it was over.
The mysterious man dropped both guns and then pulled a small flask from an inside pocket of his coat, took a sip, recapped the flask, and turned to walk away.
He did not examine the body for any form of life remaining in its bones, for few could survive either shot, and years on the American frontier had taught him how to shoot straight and accurately.
“Five miles to the next posting inn and a return to London. Caroline Moran, if she survives, will know a hangman’s noose for a variety of crimes, and I will require a new plan and new allies to bring down Lord Macdonald Duncan for all his slights to my person. ”
~ Finis ~