Chapter Seventeen #2
“What do you mean?” Caroline wanted to know. Perhaps if she kept the woman talking and the pair of them distracted, they would all have a chance.
In some distress, Betsy paced in the area between where Lady Withington labored and the windows. “For years, my husband and I hoped for a child; we would be the perfect parents, but the months went by, and a pregnancy never happened.”
“And that led to desperation,” Caroline prompted to cover the fact that she had loosened her bonds enough that she could slip her wrists free.
“We want a child and will prove loving parents.”
Felix snorted as he held Lady Withington when another contraction gripped her and a scream ripped from her throat. “Loving parents who have already started off that life by killing one man, and hideously wounding one of the maids.”
“What? A maid was hurt?” She threw a glance around the room.
When her gaze landed on the body of a maid curled on her side lying on Felix’s greatcoat, hot anger slammed through her.
“They’ve also stabbed a footman in the thigh belowstairs.
I don’t know if he’ll survive the injuries, for he was unconscious when I came up. ”
“Damn.” The major shook his head. “Even if you had been pregnant, the odds the two of you face aren’t good.”
“Not true!” Betsy whipped around. She darted at Felix, sliced with the knife. The tip of the weapon slipped over his right cheek leaving behind a thin welling of blood. He hissed with pain. “We intend to rent a cottage in Surrey, live an honest life, and raise the child.”
“But you killed Lord Withington,” Caroline insisted as the last of the cravat fell away.
“My husband did. He is quite skilled with both a blade and a pistol. The stupid peer was in our way. He didn’t want the baby, and he probably would have killed the infant in a drunken fit.” She leveled a glare on Felix. “What wouldn’t you do for your child, to protect it?”
“Except that baby is not yours!” Caroline insisted as she met Felix’s gaze. In that one heart-stopping moment, they were in perfect alignment. She would create a diversion, and he would take down the maid. “It belongs to Lady Withington.”
“Not if she’s dead,” the maid said in a deadly calm voice. Madness glittered in her eyes as another scream escaped the widow’s throat. “It doesn’t matter because we will give that child the best possible life.”
Felix snorted. “Except you are a maid and your husband is a groom. If you leave your posts, you’ll have no place to live. How is that the best life over what the child will have with its mother?”
Another cry split the air and Lady Withington clutched at Felix’s hands.
Caroline frowned. He apparently had no issue in supporting a woman he barely knew as she labored to bring a new life into the world, yet he’d been somewhat less than enthusiastic when they had discussed having a family.
Did he not wish to be a father, then?
Mrs. Dirkwood rocked to her knees. “Not long now. She’s not yet crowning, but I can see the top of the head.” To the widow, she said, “Stay strong, my lady. We’re almost there.”
Those worries knocked the thoughts from Caroline’s mind.
While Betsy was distracted by coming around to stand by the housekeeper, no doubt watching the birth, and Mr. Brown’s head was turned toward the drama unfolding, Caroline stood smoothly to her feet.
She had no idea what she would do to bring this to a close, but she sprang into action, nevertheless.
Screwing her courage to the sticking place, she sprang at the groom as Felix drew his cane toward himself.
She reached him at the same time that he turned fully toward her, but by then, she’d thrown herself bodily at him.
The force of her drive tumbled them both onto a low sofa with her landing hard on top of him.
Bang!
Her cry blended with another from Lady Withington, for heated pain made itself known at the left side of her neck where the ball grazed her, but she ignored that for the moment as her gloved hands went to the groom’s throat.
Would she truly be able to strangle this man?
There were no answers except for the fact that if she didn’t stop him, someone else would die.
When Betsy moved toward the sofa, Caroline was able to see Felix shove his cane between her calves and the maid fall before her entire concentration was on the man beneath her. What she hadn’t accounted for was the strength of him and his anger at being confined.
With a roar of protest, Mr. Brown used the butt of his pistol to hit her on the side of her head. For a few seconds, darkness wavered at the edges of her vision, but the pause was enough for him to buck her off his form and shove her off him to the floor.
However, when he stood in order to go to his wife, Caroline hooked a hand around his booted ankle. She hung on with all her strength, which meant he tripped and fell to the floor not far from her location.
“Bitch! Let me go!”
“Not until that baby is born and you two are in custody.” Adding her second hand to his ankle, Caroline kept her grip as if it were her only task in the world. The more he struggled, the more she held onto his boot, and she hoped desperately that Felix had managed to subdue the maid. “Felix?”
“The maid has been neutralized,” he said seconds later.
Another scream left Lady Withington’s throat, followed by the soft encouraging words from the housekeeper.
“Robert, they’re ruining everything! Save our baby!” Betsy yelled, but her cries were muffled. No doubt Felix had her face pressed into the Aubusson carpet.
“No!” Mr. Brown, apparently frantic now, slipped out of his boot, leaving Caroline holding onto the suddenly empty footwear. “That baby is ours; we’ve fought for it.”
As Caroline gained her feet, the groom came around the grouping of furniture.
He went directly for Felix, who sat on the maid’s legs as she lay on her belly.
Somehow, he’d managed to secure Betsy’s wrists behind her back by using the housekeeper’s shawl to bind them.
“Look out, Felix!” Then she hurled Mr. Brown’s boot at his head.
The errant footwear caught him on one shoulder. It didn’t knock him out, of course, but it slowed him down enough for Felix to give him a hard whack with the head of his cane, and without the boot to protect him, that solid silver ornament no doubt hurt like the devil.
A howl of pain added to the general din in the room.
The groom tumbled to the floor near his wife’s location, and before Felix could move, Caroline jumped on top of him once more.
It helped that he’d landed on his stomach, and she made certain she landed hard onto his rump while straddling his legs.
“Let me go. We only want the child,” he pleaded as he looked at Betsy lying beside him.
“Not a chance,” Caroline said around a pant.
She looped one of the strings of her reticule around one of his wrists.
When he tried to stretch out his other hand to reach the knife his wife had dropped, she removed her bonnet and then used it to beat him about the head and shoulders until his body went slack.
Dropping the now ruined headgear, she huffed then continued her quest to bind his wrists behind his back with the strings of her reticule.
The bag itself knocked against his arse while he attempted to wriggle free.
“Withington might have been the worst man in London, but it wasn’t your right to kill him.
He would have been judged regardless,” she said in some breathlessness.
Finally, Felix flashed her a grin. Blood dripped down his cheek from the cut, but he was easily the most handsome man she’d seen. “Nicely done, Miss Ives. You’ll make an excellent investigator yet.”
“Thank you.” Her chest warmed from the praise. “You look a dog’s breakfast, Major.” With a frown, she finally noticed the Christmastide decorations about the room. It seemed odd, in this moment, but somehow right. Two infants, who both had turned worlds upside down, both cherished by their mothers.
He snorted as Betsy squirmed beneath him. “Pot meet kettle. You’re a bloody wreck yourself.” Then his expression turned to concern. “Are you unharmed other than that?”
“I’m well enough.” She nodded. “But I’ll feel better once we are finished here.”
The longcase clock in the corridor outside the room struck the eighth hour of the evening, and at the same time, the lusty cry of an infant broke upon the air.
Caroline glanced over to where Lady Withington lay with her back propped against a decorative pillow Felix must have given her when he’d subdued the maid. Tears streamed down the lady’s cheeks as the baby continued to cry.
Mrs. Dirkwood used the major’s jacket to bundle the tiny infant into. “It’s a girl, my lady. You have a daughter. Petite and small, but she’s got good lungs.”
“No!” The heartbroken cry from Betsy tugged at Caroline’s heart. No matter what she and her husband had done or how much desperation had motivated their actions, at the base was a woman who’d only wanted a child of her own. “I wanted to be a mother.”
Caroline blew out a breath. “You could have selected a child from any of the orphanages in London. There are no shortage of unwanted children needing homes.” So any excuse the maid came up with would sound lame.
“But that child should be mine. I watched it develop; I took care of Lady Withington… I prepared a nursery…” The sound of crying followed the statement.
With a look at Felix, Caroline removed herself from the groom. She crawled over to where the housekeeper held the wriggling infant, who was still covered with blood and other birthing fluids. Faint blonde curls lay matted to the baby’s head as she fussed.
“Truly, she is a pretty little thing,” she said to Lady Withington, who continued to softly cry into her hands. “I imagine and you and she will have a lovely life together.”
Soon after, Felix joined her. “One of us should run down to the kitchen for the supplies our brave housekeeper needs to finish the task so that the new mother can hold her child.” Exhaustion echoed in his voice.
“We also need to send someone to Principal Officer Mason at Bow Street so they can come and collect the murderers.”
“It’s going to be a long night,” she said with a nod, but she pushed to her feet, for this was part of the job.
“Indeed, it will be.”
Caroline offered him a hand. When he grasped it, she helped him to his feet. “Stay here and make sure our criminal pair doesn’t try to escape. I’ll go downstairs. The butler can help but we’ll need a doctor immediately for the footman and the maid. I hope they’ll survive.”
“As do I, else the charges against this pair will prove even more grim.” Then he slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her close enough that he could rest his forehead against hers. “I wouldn’t have been able to solve the case without you.”
“You would have figured things out eventually.” But hearing the praise sent tingles down her spine.
He grunted. “Regardless, I’m thankful you were here.” He glanced upward. “You know, we are under mistletoe.” Briefly, he brushed his lips over hers. “Go. Time is of the essence for everyone involved.”
And that was a good rule to live by. Time was short. Why would anyone wish to fill their existence with horrible things by making excuses for their bad decisions?