Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Winston did not like Harston Hall, even from afar. It carried something sour in its bones, a stillness that wasn’t peace so much as held breath. Approaching it now, with Pike and Oswald riding at his side and the sky low with bruised clouds, he felt the place’s dread more keenly than ever.
The gravel of the front drive had turned to sludge. The fountain stood cracked, the water inside a stagnant slick of leaves. No lamps burned. No smoke curled from the chimneys. The whole house seemed to crouch in the hollow of the trees like something waiting to strike.
Pike, for his part, seemed untroubled. He removed his gloves with clinical precision as he dismounted, surveying the house with the detached air of a man accustomed to entering dark rooms with darker motives behind them.
“We’ll take this carefully,” Pike said. “Your Grace is sure the girl came here?”
“She’d want proof.” Winston’s ribs throbbed from riding, but he ignored it. “This is where the proof lives or dies.”
Pike gave a curt nod. “Then after you.”
Winston pushed the door. It swung inward with a long, low moan of creaky hinges. The hall beyond was cold and bare; their footsteps echoed against the stone like small explosions. A shape flinched from the shadows, a woman, apron askew, hands white-knuckled around each other.
Winston stopped. “Where is she?”
The servant’s voice shook. “My lord…sir…I tried to make her leave…oh, God forgive me, she wouldn’t…she’s upstairs…he’s got her…”
Winston did not hear the rest. He took the stairs two at a time.
Pike and Oswald followed close behind. Every step drove a hot lance into his ribs.
He thought his knee would give way on the next step, but Winston refused to let it.
He did not slow. The corridor at the landing stretched ahead, dark except for the weak spill of light from an open door. Voices. Sharp. Strained. He ran.
At the end of the corridor, in the doorway to a room that reeked of dust and old violence, Lord Harston stood with a pistol levelled at his daughter.
Another servant stood behind Adeline, thin, old, and terrified.
Adeline had her arms spread wide, shielding the older woman and glaring at her father.
Winston’s breath left him in a single, scorching rush.
Harston looked up, and a smile broke across his face. Pleasant, false, grotesque.
“Your Grace,” he said. “And Mr. Pike, I see. Excellent. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have official men present at last.”
Winston felt Pike still beside him. Harston continued smoothly, as if hosting a tea rather than holding his daughter at gunpoint.
“We can settle this ugliness now. Adeline has been…troubled for some time. You may not know, but she struck her mother. Over the head with that very bust on the mantel. Marcus Aurelius.” He pressed a hand to his chest as if the memory pained him.
“Killed her. I could not bear to testify at the time. I fled. I confess it. But guilt has a long echo, gentlemen. I have gathered myself now. I must speak the truth.”
Adeline didn’t look at Winston. She didn’t dare move. “He’s lying,” she said, voice tight but clear. “He killed her. Ask Mrs. Grogan…”
Harston snapped, “Silence.”
Mrs. Grogan’s breath rattled in her chest. Harston shifted the pistol toward her. “Speak again, Adeline, and I’ll shoot her instead. I am tired of disobedient women.”
“You will not touch her,” Adeline argued. “You’ll have to shoot me.”
“Gladly.”
Winston’s heart slammed against his ribs. Pike took a soft step forward, hands lifted. “My Lord, Bow Street will require statements from all parties.”
“Confession first,” Harston said. “Adeline, tell them what you did. Spare us all this theatre. I will shoot that useless housekeeper if you do not speak the truth.”
Winston took a step forward. “Put the pistol down.”
Harston’s eyes flashed. “Another step and I shoot her.”
Winston stopped, pulse hammering in his throat. Pain roared in his knee from the jolt of motion. It didn’t matter.
Harston’s attention flicked to Pike. “You, sir. You of all men should understand. Dangerous women must be contained. My daughter is unwell. I advise Your Grace not to trust her.”
Adeline’s breath caught, sharp with disbelief. Winston’s fury went cold and clear.
“Tell them,” Harston barked. “Confess.”
“No,” she whispered.
Mrs. Grogan let out a thin sound of defiance. “I saw you,” she said. “I saw you strike her ladyship with the paperweight. I saw the blood. I saw…”
Harston swung toward her and cocked the hammer.
Adeline ran towards her father, and at that, Winston moved.
He didn’t think about his ribs or his speed or the distance.
He lunged for Harston’s arm just as the shot exploded.
The recoil was a brutal crack in the air.
Something hot and blinding tore through Winston’s left shoulder, spinning him back against the bureau. Pain burned, white and merciless.
“Winston!” Adeline’s scream ripped the air.
Before Winston could blink, she snatched a marble bust from the mantel and swung it with a desperate, untrained strength.
The crack of stone striking bone echoed like a pistol shot.
Harston staggered back. He collapsed to the floor, dazed, blood welling at his temple.
Adeline dropped the bust and fell to her knees beside Winston.
“Oh God…oh God…where, let me see…” She pulled at his coat, her hands trembling, breath breaking. “You’re bleeding…you’re bleeding so much—”
“It’s not fatal,” he managed through clenched teeth. “Shoulder. Clean shot. I can feel the exit wound.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, voice shaking as she tore a strip from her skirt and pressed it to the wound. Her fingers were slick with his blood. “You don’t…Winston, look at me.”
He did. Her eyes were wild with fear, with fury, with love she hadn’t yet named aloud when he was awake. Behind them, Pike had regained his composure. He drew a pistol of his own and now stood over Harston, who moaned in a fevered stupor.
“Lord Harston,” Pike said sharply, “can you hear me?”
Harston’s head lolled. “She…she…I…” He swallowed, eyes rolling. “I poisoned her. The old woman. The Dowager. Tainted her cordial. Blame the girl. Blame her…”
Pike’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you, now?”
Harston muttered something unintelligible, then, clearer: “She deserved it. All of them. Ungrateful…traitors…”
Pike exchanged a glance with Mrs. Grogan, who clutched the doorframe as if it were the only thing holding her upright.
“That will do,” Pike said. “Your Grace, I believe Bow Street’s requirements are met.”
“You’re arresting him?” Adeline asked, her hands still pressed to Winston’s bleeding shoulder.
“With pleasure,” Pike said curtly. “Two witnesses to the murder of Lady Harston. A confession, however muddled, to poisoning the Dowager Duchess. The attempted murder of a Duke. Quite the list.”
Harston groaned, barely conscious. Pike knelt and bound his wrists with a strip of curtain cord. “In the name of the King, Lord Harston, you are under arrest.”
Adeline sagged with relief, and fear. She turned her attention back to Winston, who had gone pale but had not fainted.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, trying for steadiness and managing only halfway. “You hit him hard.”
“He deserved worse,” she said fiercely. Her hands trembled as she pressed the blood-soaked cloth tighter. “Let me fetch water. Let me…”
“Adeline.” His good hand lifted weakly, brushing her cheek. “Listen to me.”
She leaned close, tears spilling unchecked. “I’m here.”
He swallowed, wincing. “I should have said it sooner.”
“Said what?”
“That I love you.”
Her breath caught. She froze.
He went on, words sanded by pain but undeniable. “I love you. I’ve loved you longer than I had any right to. And if you don’t marry me, I’ll…” He gritted his teeth as the pain knifed through his shoulder. “I’ll get myself shot again.”
A sob of laughter burst through her tears. “That’s not funny.”
“No,” he said. “But it’s true.”
She pressed her forehead to his, trembling. “Winston. You can’t ask me now. You’re bleeding. You can barely breathe.”
“I know what I’m saying,” he whispered. “Marry me. Let’s put an end to running. To lies. To all of it. Stay at Greystone. Stay with me.”
Her tears fell onto his cheek.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you. I love you. I love you so much I…I can’t breathe without it hurting.”
He let out a shaking breath, relief softening the line of his mouth. “Good.”
Lord Duskwood entered the room then and cleared his throat loudly. “Winston, if you faint on me, I’ll have to carry you, and I’d rather avoid that.”
Winston exhaled a weak laugh.
Adeline clutched him closer. “We need to get you home.”
He nodded. “Help me stand.”
Oswald went to his side immediately.
Together, they lifted Winston carefully to his feet. His left arm hung uselessly. Pain ravaged his expression, but his eyes never left Adeline.
“I’ll be fine,” he murmured to her. “We’ve weathered worse storms.”
Adeline slipped her arm around his waist. “Not like this.”
He leaned into her, just enough to steady himself. “We’re going home.”
Behind them, Pike hauled Harston to his feet.
“Well done,” Winston said. “He’ll face what he’s earned.”
Adeline met Winston’s gaze. For the first time since childhood, she felt the walls of Harston Hall shrink behind her, small and powerless.
They walked out together, Winston leaning on her, wind tearing at their clothes, Pike dragging Harston behind them.
The sky opened into rain, but Adeline didn’t feel the cold.
She felt only Winston’s hand clasping hers, tight and certain.
They were leaving the darkness. And they were leaving it together.