Authors: Veronica Sattler
"My father," said Garrett quietly.
"Yes." Philip smiled unctuously. "Your father, my Randall—prime fool! Now, don't misunderstand me, Randall, I would be the last to dismiss a matter of honor lightly. I had survived enough engagements on the New Orleans field of honor alone to attest to that. But your father was being a fanatic over it. He had signed no papers as yet. He had given the man nothing but a brief oral statement and perhaps a handshake. Yet there was nothing I could do to make the price attractive enough to convince him to swing to me—nothing!"
Garrett's voice broke in quietly, but he thought to himself it sounded terribly brittle and dry in the silence of Philip's pause. "Jeremy Randall never operated on less than a promise and a handshake. They were his word and in them he placed the soul of his honor."
"His honor!" spat Philip. "A very costly notion,
indeed! For by refusing me, he virtually sealed the gates against my being able to fulfill my commitment, forcing
me
thereby to lose not only
my
honor, but
my
very sustenance as well."
Philip's voice had risen slightly in the narration, but now he lowered it again to its former calm. "Fortunately, I had been clever enough to conceal my own identity from Rutledge and the others at that end, operating through a pair of ne'er-do-well, second-rate agents, name of Cutwell and Blakely. This left my name partially intact. But the humiliation of going deeply into debt was something I was not spared, and if it hadn't been for my wife's ability to talk her brother into lending us huge sums to see us through that horrible period—" Philip shuddered visibly. "And the honorable Charles Trevellyan was very discreet about it. Perhaps I owe him something for it beyond the repayment—and I did repay him, to the last cent; every coin, as I was able, over the years.
"On the matter of your father, I encountered my only problem. Not only had he cost me my greatest chance to make my mark in the world, but, aside from Blakely and Cutwell, he now existed as the only person who knew my identity in that scandalous affair. He was the only one who could link my name to the gossip about a certain unknown factor's inability to meet his commitment. Oh, and the word was all over the southeast coast that such a one existed! Wagging tongues hungered for the proper identity. I slunk silently about, from tavern to drawing room, waiting for the ax to fall. Then one day it came to me, quite clearly. Eliminate Jeremy Randall, and I would eliminate the threat to my name. Cutwell and Blakely were only too eager to
assist. Although their reputations were already in shreds, they owed me plenty; thousands in gambling debts. I had seen to that. It bound them to me, and then, with a little added incentive of a bag of gold— Trevellyan gold it was then—one for each, and the promise of a new start abroad somewhere, it became only too easy to get them to ride with me to your father's plantation."
Again Philip paused, a look of satisfaction on his face as he seemed, mentally, to review his handiwork.
"And so," said Garrett, "the three of you murdered fifteen innocent people and nearly ruined the lives of dozens more—those close to them—in order to save the day for your so-called honor, an 'honor' you would have seen spared in the first place, at the expense of my father's honor which you condemn."
Philip remained silent at this, looking much as if he hadn't heard the twisted reasoning it lay bare before him, and Garrett continued.
"So after you achieved the massacre at Riverlea, you quickly dispatched Cutwell and Blakely."
"Yes, of course!" exclaimed Philip. "I had to! They knew too much and were given to drunken gambling sprees and loose tongues! I knew, for it was on just such a spree I located them in the first place. It took some doing to catch up with Blakely, though. He made it all the way to England and I was hard-pressed to invent some excuse to my wife and my new employers at the bank to take the time to follow him. . . . Did you know I'm as good with a knife as I am with a gun? A boy learns a great deal growing up in the bayous around New Orleans, you see."
Eager to have news of how Christie, Lula, and Adam fared, Garrett sought to urge the tale further.
"So once the Randall episode was behind you, and those two hirelings out of the way, you felt yourself safe until the day my wife inadvertently stumbled across the bracelet you had taken as a—symbol of your
'victory!"
Garrett had promised himself he would remain calm, but he felt a small loss of control . as he underscored the final word with a bitter note of sarcasm.
Philip's eyes flashed a brief warning as he noted the tone, but his demeanor remained easy, at least on the surface, as he continued.
"Yes, another little weakness of mine, you might say, creeping in to spoil things, even after so many years had passed and I thought myself safe. Oh, I had word, from time to time, from well-paid informants, of a young man by the name of Randall who was bent on some greatly secretive mission and would pay well for certain information regarding the events of the autumn of 1770. But I paid it little heed. I had covered my tracks too well. But then my dear little niece had to go and marry you and bring you uncomfortably close to my life. Even that would have passed safely for me if it hadn't been for that bracelet. I really should have left it in the rubble of that smoking bedchamber! But I
had
to have something, don't you see? Bad enough, I could tell no one of my—victory, did you call it? Yes, I like that. A great victory—and what better token of a triumph on such a grand scale than such a magnificent and fabulous piece of jewelry?"
Suddenly Philip's tone became hard. "It's more than a pity Christie had to stumble on it as she did. I had no quarrel with you! And hardly with Christie! Why, she's been a favorite with me all these years.
Made of far better stuff than those sniveling bitches my wife bore me! But now you all know too much, and even dear little Christie will have to suffer for her meddling—ah, easy, Garrett, take care! I wouldn't want you to precipitate any unnecessary action on my part. As I said, I have always been inordinately fond of my niece. She has a certain inner beauty— well, at any rate, you may be relieved to know my plans for her do not include the taking of her life, or your son's—just yours and your brother's, that is,
if
you agree to cooperate!"
"Go on," said Garrett in a low voice.
"Your wife, your son, and the woman, Lula, are at this very moment in the room beyond this." He gestured with his free hand toward the door just behind his left shoulder. "They have been able to hear our every word, though, of course, there are restraints which have prevented them from calling out to you. In a few moments that door will open so that you may see they have not been harmed, but not before l have explained to you how I know that also, in a few moments, you will surrender that pistol to me and come willingly along to the spot arranged for your—accidental demise. Oh, nothing very ghastly, I promise you. A simple carriage accident in which the horses were frightened and the conveyance overturned, causing you a fatal blow to the head. As for your brother, a convenient hunting accident sometime in the near future—easy enough to arrange, now that I have my spectacles.
"My niece will be allowed to live, as will the infant, although it will hardly be in the life style she has been accustomed to on a great plantation. This is where dear Lucille fits into the plan. You know the lovely
madame, do you not? A pity you don't seem to have been aware of the enmity she bears you or your wife since you married. And did you know that Lucille owes me a great deal of money? It seems she required an enormous amount to help outa sister of hers who desired to establish a—similar place of business to this, in the city of New Orleans. Whorehouses don't usually require that much capital to set up, but expensive ones—and Lucille wanted only the best for her little sister—well, they take a bit of doing. And so, when madame came to my bank and was politely refused, I undertook to offer her the cash she required as a personal loan. One never knows when one might need favors. Well, tonight Lucille will return my favor, eagerly. Your wife will make a decidedly delectable gentleman's companion under Lucille's sister's roof, don't you think?"
Philip paused to await Garrett's reaction, but if he expected anything volatile or even mildly discernible, he was to be disappointed. The face of his adversary moved not a muscle, and the eyes, already hard and dangerously cold, could accuse him no further than they already did. But he missed the slight tightening of the skin around the grimly set mouth, and the barest trace of twitching of the jaw muscles underneath the ears as Garrett silently waited to hear more.
"She should bring handsome prices, in no time affording Lucille's sister the wherewithal to repay me. Of course, she could prove intractable at first, but there are certain drugs and potions which can aid the ladies in controlling her—not to mention the hostage value of her son, who will be ever near to remind her of her vulnerability. Lula, we'll throw
into the bargain also. There's always a call for attractive blacks in those New Orleans houses."
Finally Garrett forced himself to speak. Mustering
all the control in his reserve, he said stonily, "You'll
n
ever succeed, Stanhope. Even if I and my brother
di
e, do you think, for one minute, Charles Trevellyan
ill rest until he finds his only child and grandchild?
An
d too many people know she was last seen at your
hou
se. He will begin his search with you."
"Perhaps," replied Philip. "But you forget that
l
ittle Christie's penchant for running away is also
w
idely known, and not the least of those who are
aw
are of this is Charles Trevellyan. When your
ov
erturned carriage is located, with a heavily drugged
alcohol-sodden whore in it beside you, the word
w
ill go out that your wife left you because of your
un
faithful ways—a return to your whoring of former
days,
people will say. People will be found to swear
to
seeing you leave the ball abruptly tonight. I will be
called upon to tell what I know, and my story—
re
luctantly dragged forth, of course—will be that I
over
heard the two of you quarreling over your
excursions to this house and others like it. There will
have
been tears on her part and threats to leave
you
. . . . You see? I've thought of everything."
Suddenly Philip raised his voice. "Lucille! Open the door!"
As
if waiting for his command, the door swung
open, and the chilling sight which greeted Garrett's
eyes
made him go rigid with rage and disgust.
Directly
ahead of him, near the far wall, stood
Lucille smiling
triumphantly as she held a dagger at
Christie's thr
oat. But it was on Christie that his eyes fell in agony.
She stood, hands that were pulled together high above her head and tied to the tall post of a tester bed. She no longer wore the lovely green ballgown he had last seen her in. Instead, she was provocatively attired in the garb of a brothel whore. The gown—if it could be called that—was a brilliant reddish orange, carefully cut to reveal the necessary portions of the female body. The long skirt, separated in front and without benefit of underskirts, revealed most of his wife's long, shapely legs. The decolletage of the bodice—severely corseted underneath—was so low as to reveal her nipples, and, yes, he saw these had been conspicuously rouged. Flaming orange and red feathers were arranged in her heavily powdered hair, and her face was a mask of rice powder and rouge. She had been gagged, and now great silent tears traced a course down her cheeks, causing strangely stained trails through the paint which coated them. Only her eyes were her own, and they looked at him now with so much pain, he felt his heart must surely break apart and stop at the sight.
Nearby, on the bed itself, Lula was stretched, in spread-eagle fashion, one leg tied to each lower post, a wrist to each post at the head of the bed. All she wore was a brief loincloth fashioned from some spotted animal skin. She, too, was gagged.
Finally, his eyes caught sight of the familiar basket on the floor near Lucille's feet where his infant son lay quietly sleeping.
"Bravo, Lucille!" chortled Philip. "You've done better than I'd hoped for!" Then he addressed Garrett. "You'll pardon the tastelessness of all this, Garrett. It's largely Lucille's idea and not at all in my style of doing things, but we needed something
blatant to drive our point home."
Philip took a pocket watch out of his embroidered satin vest and set it on the arm of his chair.
"You have exactly two minutes to surrender that pistol and yourself before I take my chances with this gun while Lucille slits your wife's pretty throat. If you do, you have my promise the three of them will live."
Garrett's mind spun kaleidoscopically as he -searched desperately for something to do—anything; even if it only gained more time.
"Stanhope, wait!" His voice at last betrayed the
anguish he felt. "First, I must have it from my wife's
own lips that she has not endured any invisible
physical harm. Can you at least grant me that? Will
you ungag her?"
Philip glanced at his watch, then back at Garrett. "Very well," he said flatly. "You seem to find me in an accommodating mood. Lucille, ungag both women!"
Lucille shot Garrett a blood-chilling smile. "Of course, Philip. Perhaps the little bitch will say something to him to force me to use my weapon. My sister doesn't need her more badly than I need some satisfaction!"
Keeping the dagger carefully near Christie's jugular, she removed the orange scarf used as her gag and then reached across to untie Lula's as well.
Christie immediately sought to plead with Garrett not to give in, but her first words came out as no more than a voiceless croak, for the gag had left her mouth dry and raw. Finally, she succeeded in making sounds.