"I can see that I have your attention," she jeered. "I have one more round, and it's primed and ready. If you don't do as I've commanded—at once!—I shall use it to kill you. Now give me those papers!"
Trembling with terror, Margaret hustled over and scooped up the documents, stuffing them willy-nilly into the satchel. She held it out. "Here! Take it."
"Have you a pen and ink?"
"Yes." Margaret hastened to a rickety table in the corner.
"Draft a letter that says you don't want the money, that you're transferring it all to me."
"Who would believe something so idiotic?"
"Just do it!" Lavinia shouted, sounding more deranged by the second.
Margaret sat down and picked up a quill. With shaky fingers, she dipped it in the ink, then paused. "To whom should I address it?"
"I don't know! I don't know. Just write the blasted letter!"
"I will. Calm down."
Margaret was moving slow as molasses, and Lavinia paced in frustration. She couldn't tolerate any delay, and as a better notion dawned, she smiled grimly.
"I've changed my mind," she explained. "Fine."
Margaret's pen was poised over the empty page, and Lavinia instructed, "Write this across the top: Last Will and Testament of Margaret Gray."
"I most certainly will not."
"You will, and you'll name me as your sole heir."
"You're being absurd."
"Trust me: I've never been more lucid."
"But you can't inherit from me unless I die."
"Precisely." Lavinia nodded. "This should have occurred to me ages ago."
Margaret stared, but composed no words, and Lavinia threatened, "Would you rather I kill you and forge the document myself?"
"I'm not about to be the author of my own demise."
"Then allow me to orchestrate your finale for you."
Margaret rose and sidled away from the table. "I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
Suddenly, Margaret whipped out, and too late, Lavinia realized that she was clasping the bottle of ink. She hurled it, and though Lavinia tried to duck, the black contents splattered her face and hair, dripping off her chin and down her chest.
She glanced down, horrified by the spreading stain. "You've ruined my dress! My only one!"
"I'm so sorry!" Margaret taunted.
Lavinia was momentarily blinded, the dark liquid dribbling into her eyes and stinging them, and as she swiped at the mess, Margaret lunged. Lavinia raised the pistol, her finger on the-trigger, and Margaret was so close that it wasn't necessary to aim.
The jarring blast rang out, just as someone burst in the door and pounced on her. More smoke clouded the air, choking her with its pungent smell, as she was tackled, powerful arms smacking her down to the floor with a painful thump.
She'd discharged both her weapons, and in the hazy confusion she couldn't see if Margaret was dead or not. Had Lavinia wasted her opportunity? Wouldn't it be just her luck to fire at point-blank range and miss?
She had to learn the answer, and she fought with all her might, trying to stand and finish the job. Wanting justice, wanting vengeance against the entire world, she was in an uncontrollable frenzy. She seemed to have the strength of ten men, but whoever held her was even stronger, and she couldn't wiggle free.
"Desist!" a male voice ordered.
"No! I'm going to kill her!" Lavinia insisted. "I'm going to kill everyone! Everyone, I tell you!"
"You are out of your bloody mind!"
She lashed out wildly, the heel of her hand clouting the man's nose, and he growled with rage.
"I was taught never to strike a female," he said, "but in your case, I think I'll make an exception."
He punched her so hard that she was stunned, and she slumped to the floor in a rubbery heap. She'd ended up in the exact same humiliating position the morning Penelope had assaulted her in front of Lord Kettering.
Was this to be how the rest of her despicable life was to play out? Was she to spend it scrapping and brawling and being knocked unconscious?
A renewed torrent of fury surged through her, and she roared and bucked with her hips, but the man simply punched her again, and she whimpered and gave up.
Her arms were yanked behind her back, a cord securing her wrists. A gag was stuffed in her mouth.
The man left her side, saying, "Margaret! Margaret! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Shaken, but fine."
"Were you hit?" he frantically inquired, as Lavinia recognized that it was Romsey, that he'd returned unexpectedly to foil her scheme.
"No," Margaret said. "You pushed her away. The ball went into the plaster."
"Oh, my God! I thought you were dead. Sit down! Sit down—before you fall down!"
Another voice sounded, a belligerent woman in the hall. "What is happening in here? Sir!" she barked at Romsey. "Male guests are not permitted in the rooms!"
"Get out!" Romsey snarled.
"Aah!" the woman shrieked. "There's a hole in my wall! Who will pay to have it repaired?"
"I will," Margaret grumbled. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry? You have visitors who are scuffling and shooting guns and you tell me not to worry?"
"The excitement is over," Margaret declared. "They were just leaving."
"I'm afraid you'll have to go with them," the woman carped. "I can't have such outrageous behavior in my establishment."
"I'm delighted to oblige you," Margaret calmly said. "I was about to come down and notify you that I'm off to London."
"To London? Well.. ." The news temporarily silenced the annoying woman; then she complained, "What should I do about losing your rent money? Am I to pull another tenant out of my hat? You can't tot off without notice and without—"
The smoke was beginning to dissipate, and Lavinia could see Romsey walk over, physically pick up the woman, and set her out in the corridor.
"Go downstairs and wait for me," he commanded.
"I most certainly will not! I—"
"Go!" he hissed with such vehemence that she skittered off.
He slammed the door, then proceeded to where Margaret was huddled in a chair. Ninny that she was, she started to weep.
"Oh, my darling," Romsey soothed, "it's over now. Don't cry. I can't bear it when you're sad."
He reached out to hug her, but to his amazement, Margaret eased him away.
"Please," Margaret wailed. "I can't take any more."
"I know it's been dreadful for you."
"Just get her out of here. Lock her away somewhere so I can be sure she won't ever come back."
Romsey was stricken by her rejection, and he dawdled, then reached out again. Margaret glanced away, overtly declining the solace he was desperate to offer.
"Please," she murmured again.
He stared at her, the moment growing awkward; then he sighed and mumbled, "As you wish."
He spun and grabbed Lavinia, hauling her to her feet with a sturdy yank. At his rough handling she yowled with anguish, but her mouth was muffled, so neither of them could hear how passionately she cursed.
"I had decided," he seethed as he dragged her into the hall, "to ignore your contemptible presence on the face of the earth, but after this stunt, I'll see you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."
Bastard! she hurled with her eyes.
He had no trouble deciphering her message, and he replied, "I hope you hang."
Gripping her by the waist, he lugged her down the stairs, through the foyer, and outside to his horse. As if she were a sack of flour, he tossed her across the saddle on her stomach, so that her head flopped down, her legs dangling in the other direction.
"Let's go find the nearest gaol," he said.
He leapt up behind her and kicked the animal into a trot.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Get me out of here!" Lavinia demanded. "Let me live with you." "With me?" Penelope laughed. "You must be
joking."
Disdainful and smug, Penelope glanced around and wrinkled her nose at the dreadful odors. For some reason, Lavinia had been lodged in a solitary cell, rather than in the main section of the prison with the common prisoners, but despite the privacy, the place was disgusting, the atmosphere bleak.
She'd invited Penelope to sit, but Penelope had refused, saying she didn't want to soil her dress. At being confronted by her daughter's contempt, Lavinia could barely keep from leaping off the cot and strangling her.
"I'm your mother! You must help me!"
"Is that a rule that's been posted somewhere?"
"Any dutiful child would comprehend that it's expected."
"I've never been dutiful, and at this late date, why would I start behaving any differently?"
"You wretched girl!" Lavinia seethed. "Everything I did, I did for you. So you could flourish in Society. Yet you repay me with scorn and ridicule."
"I am thriving, and I did it all on my own, without any of your tepid assistance."
"You dastardly ingrate!"
"Oh ... I'm so ashamed of how you tormented my dear cousin, Margaret." Penelope pressed a dramatic wrist to her forehead. "The poor woman! All those years! How she suffered under your roof! How was I to know that my mother was naught but a petty thief?"
"You spent every penny I stole! You were complicit in every act!"
"Was I? I can't remember."
Penelope grinned, relishing Lavinia's downfall, and Lavinia was close to committing murder. How could Penelope have landed on her feet while Lavinia rotted in a hellhole? How could Fate be so cruel?
Penelope was attired in a fashionable gown and a stylish hat that had a jaunty feather trailing behind. Her cunning eyes were merry, her cheeks rosy. She looked affluent and beautiful and chubby with good health. In comparison, Lavinia was unkempt, unclean, and hungry most of the time.
"I thought Romsey might intercede on my behalf," Lavinia complained, "but he's washed his hands of me."
"The members of the aristocracy can be so fickle."
"He claims I'm to be transported."
"Yes, so sorry to hear it."
"Sorry?" Lavinia shrieked with outrage. "Is that all you have to say?"
"I'll be so sad to see you go. You'll write, won't you?" She paused, then chuckled. "I take that back.
Don't bother corresponding. I really don't care to be contacted by you ever again."
Lavinia rippled with malice, but tamped it down. Throughout her lengthy imprisonment, Romsey had been her sole caller, but his visits had ceased after she was convicted.
Penelope was her only hope, so Lavinia didn't dare antagonize her. A very despicable bribe had been required to get a message to her, and this—this!—was how Penelope responded. There was no justice in the world!
"You must speak with Lord Kettering," Lavinia implored, growing frantic. "He'd help me; I'm certain he would. He's an earl. They'll listen to him."
"Kettering? You think he'd come to your aid?"
"I know it for a fact. I was one of his favorites."
"His favorite what?"
"Lover!"
"You presumed you were a ... a ... favorite?" "I was!"
"That's rich, Lavinia. Absolutely rich." Penelope made a tsking sound. "He's a rutting dog. He'll fuck anything. Don't you realize that he was using you merely to win me?"
"You're lying. He was smitten by me! Smitten, I tell you!"
"No, Mother, he wanted me. I was the prize. Not you."
She went to the door and knocked for the jailer, and Lavinia panicked.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm off to Bath to take the waters."
"To Bath? But Romsey maintains that Kettering is destitute."
"He is."
"Then how can you afford such an extravagance?"
"I'm a countess. You can't imagine how many people want to be my friend. I don't have to pay for anything."
She rapped again, and Lavinia whined, "You can't mean to leave me here."
"Actually, I do. I have no sympathy for you. We were on a sinking boat—you always said so, and that it was every woman for herself. I swam away, while you ..." She smirked. "Well, we can see what you did. Goodbye."
The jailer arrived, and Penelope stepped into the hall as Lavinia desperately clutched at her arm.
"Send Kettering to me," Lavinia begged. "Please!"
Penelope pushed Lavinia away, and she flashed an expressive, guileless smile at the jailer.
"My poor mother," she sighed. "She's quite mad."
"So I've been told, milady."
"What's a daughter to do, hmm?" She slipped him a coin. "Would you have her properly tended—as she waits for the ship that will spirit her away from me?"
"I will, Countess."