Chapter Nineteen #2
A man’s voice rang out in anger, the words unintelligible, but followed by a crash and shouts of rage.
Listening intently, he could detect no feminine voice.
She could be gagged, of course, but he felt that was unlikely.
Even men of their type would not handle a helpless female roughly.
They were obviously a quarrelsome lot, however, and would probably become more so if they indulged in ale or gin after their evening meal.
He still had several hours to spare, and logically he should wait. Morris might bring help. If Tummet had been able to tell the others where to come, they might already be on their way. But to leave Naomi captive for one second longer than necessary was abhorrent to him.
He scanned the old building carefully, his eyes lingering on the chimney.
If he was to climb up there somehow, and block the opening, the smoke would likely drive them out and he might be able to surprise them.
It might imperil Naomi, however, especially if she was gagged.
Besides, the only conceivable way to reach the chimney was to climb up the crumbling old waterwheel, which reached almost to the roof.
He shuddered, and then was staggered by a mighty gust. A splintering sound, and he leapt for his life as a big branch crashed down, missing him by scant inches. He eyed it thoughtfully.
Minutes later, he again risked being seen as he dragged the branch to the west side of the building, struggled and strained to stand it on end, then gave a strong push, and raced around to the rear.
The branch fell against the window with a crash that was followed by startled shouts from inside. Screened by the branches of a vine Gideon heard the door open, then saw two hefty louts slouch around the corner.
“This damned wind,” snarled one, a north countryman to judge by his accent. “That perishin’ glass went all over me puddin’!” He started to drag the branch clear. “Coom an’ lend a hand, Paddy, it’s gorn and stuck itself in here!”
The second man joined him, grumbling that he’d be “bloody glad” when this night was done. Together they tugged at the branch.
Like a flash, Gideon was around the corner.
His pistol butt crashed hard against Paddy’s head, and the man went down without a sound.
His companion whipped around, one hand darting for the knife in his belt, but Gideon’s left fist was already whizzing into an uppercut that levelled him before he could raise the alarm.
From inside came a protesting voice. “Wotcher fiddlin’ at, Jem? There’s dust blowin’ inter everythink!”
Bending low under the window, Gideon made a mad dash to the front, positioned himself to the east of the door and cupping his hands about his mouth, turned away, and shouted, “Hey! Bill! Come an’…,” he mumbled indistinctly. “We can’t…”
A mumble of cursing and heavy footsteps.
The door swung wide and a tall man stamped out, still cursing.
Gideon was after him in a lithe spring, his pistol flailing.
Bill went down, but Gideon heard a movement behind him.
Jerking around, he was in time to see someone jump back inside the mill.
He hurled himself at the closing door, smashing it open, sending the retreating man sprawling.
A pistol barked deafeningly and pain burned across Gideon’s head as he launched himself over the fallen kidnapper, to crash into the young giant who had fired.
A howl, and they were down in a threshing struggle.
A mighty fist whizzed past Gideon’s jaw.
With all his strength he rammed home a right that connected squarely beside the ear, and the kidnapper became limp.
From the doorway a cultured voice demanded angrily, “What in Hades is going on here? I told you—”
Springing to his feet, Gideon whirled to meet this new threat, and then stood very still.
“Be damned…!” whispered the Earl of Collington.
Momentarily deprived of breath, Gideon recovered himself. “Very likely,” he said contemptuously.
Rough hands seized him, and his arms were wrenched back. A deep voice rumbled, “Sorry, melor. We was—”
“You were too busy guzzling gin to keep your wits about you,” snapped the earl. “Let him go, but keep a pistol trained on him.”
“What a consummate achievement,” drawled Gideon, straightening his ruffles. “To hold your own daughter to ransom.”
The earl spread his handkerchief on a deal table, then leaned against it, all graceful elegance. “You are not astonished, I perceive. Was I too lavish with my grief, perchance?”
“A little. But I was far from sure that you were involved.”
“Still, you suspected. Why? My lost—ah, chess piece?”
“Partly. But one of the ruffians who invaded Promontory Point had lost a finger. Naomi’s groom, Camber, has a hand mutilated by an accident. He wore gloves each time I saw him, but he fitted my man’s description, and later was seen going into the Derrydene house.”
“Yes.” Collington shook his head and said regretfully, “Poor Derrydene will pay for that bungle, I fancy. Still, I don’t see how that led you to connect me with this particular business. And be dashed if I can think how you guessed we had Naomi here.”
“Tummet told me, although he had to resort to rhyming slang. At the time I was not sure whom he feared, but now I recall that you held a pistol, and that Camber stood by me, also with a pistol in his hand.”
The earl nodded. “Astute. I’ll own I judged your man delirious. He babbled something about … his daughter’s medicine, as I recall.”
“He said ‘daughter—pill.’ Which rhymes with ‘water mill.’ Information he has by now undoubtedly relayed to others.”
One of the ruffians yelped, “Hi! Do that mean as there’ll be Bow Street Runners comin’? If it do, I’m slopin’!”
“You will leave when I tell you and not before,” said the earl in a voice of ice.
The big fellow they called Bill came in, holding his head painfully. His small eyes alighted on Gideon and narrowed. He sprang forward, whipping back his fist.
The earl snapped, “No! We’ll have none of that. This is a matter between gentlemen.”
Bill hesitated, glaring in frustrated fury. “I ain’t no gent, and I gotta right! Knocked me dahn, ’e did!”
“I do not pay you to be knocked down.”
“You don’t pay me ’tall. We’re paid by the—”
The earl fixed him with a deadly glare and interposed in a low, rasping voice, “Do not dare take that tone to me, animal, else you’ll not live long enough to be paid by anyone!”
Bill’s eyes dropped. He muttered an apology and snatched at the gin bottle.
The man Gideon had knocked down when first he entered had climbed to his feet and also decided to fortify himself with the gin.
There was a small tussle, the bottle was sent spinning, and fell, the pale liquor splashing onto the dusty boards to the accompaniment of outraged howls.
“That could as easily have been the lamp,” Gideon pointed out. “A fine set of rogues to entrust with your daughter’s life!”
The earl smiled mirthlessly. “As a father, I fear I leave much to be desired. However, although Naomi is a tiresome chit, I do admire her spirit, and I assure you nothing will happen to her. I’d not have resorted to this nonsense save that she was my best hope of inducing you to return the icons.”
“If, for some peculiar reason, your main objective was to destroy my father, I fail to—”
“For some peculiar reason?” The earl’s handsome face twisted into a mask of hatred. “You are your father’s heir, Rossiter, and as such have no conception of what ’tis like to be a younger son! That was my miserable fate!”
“I really fail to see what your frustration has to do with my—”
“It has to do with your father because he caused it!”
Gideon stared at him, baffled. “My father caused you to be born a younger son?”
“No, fool! He was my friend, all through our school years. Such a good friend! We both were fourteen and my elder brother was escorting us home for the Christmas holidays when our coach was hit by flood waters. Ah, I see you are unaware of the incident. Allow me to enlighten you. My arm was broke and I was barely able to crawl to safety. Vincent was trapped in the coach. And who dived into the flood repeatedly, to save my so dear brother? Who kept his head above water ’til help came?
My friend! My damnably courageous, interfering busybody of a friend!
Mark knew my hopes! He knew what Vincent was.
It would have been so easy for him to stop searching.
But—no! Mark Rossiter had to show everyone how brave he was!
And so he saved the snivelling cur. And condemned me to a life of purgatory!
Living on the niggardly allowance Vincent made me, while he gambled away thousands at the tables.
Scraping and scrimping to make ends meet for my family.
Fighting to keep the estate from going to rack and ruin, while Vincent gave not a button for the old place.
When I was sufficiently desperate and appealed to your noble father for help, he was all generosity.
So gentle, so patronizing! Damn him! God, how I hated him! ”
Appalled, Gideon said softly, “You’ve an odd sense of values, sir. I can scarce believe that because you held so twisted a grudge you would wipe out the hopes and fortunes of countless innocent—”
“They deserved it, stupid fools.” Collington shrugged. “But there is more to it, of course. Much more.” He smiled a craftily secretive smile. “My particular business happened to fit in nicely. And I must say it went off surprisingly well.”
Gideon thought of his father’s haggard, worn face, and had to fight the need to wipe the leer from the earl’s lips. He drawled, “But there were more than just your brains behind it, I think. The—Squire’s, for instance.”