A wave of fear rushed over her. William. She closed her eyes, as strength drained from her limbs like water running through her fingers. She wanted to collapse. To scream. But William’s life was also in danger. She had to find a way to warn him.
She glanced at Garrick. He seemed frozen, his shoulders rigid, but his dark eyes blazed fury.
Unlike Le Clere, who looked calm, a relaxed, well-dressed gentleman taking afternoon tea, if it weren’t for the evil hanging about him like a cloak. She repressed a shiver. She would not let him see how afraid he made her feel.
He leaned back in his chair, his face smug. ‘I paid one of the bailiffs to search the house. He found nothing. Not even a safe.’
The room behind the panelling. Built in Tudor times as a priest hole. It would take a clever thief to find it.
‘Ah,’ Le Clere said, his gaze narrowed on her face, ‘I see you know where it is.’
‘Ellie,’ Garrick said. ‘Tell him nothing.’
Perhaps he’d let her guide him to it. Once at Castlefield, she’d be in familiar territory. It might give her an advantage. ‘I’ve never seen this document, but my father did have a safe.’
Le Clere nodded. ‘I would have found it given time, but I made a mistake.’ He looked at Garrick. ‘I took advantage of Garrick’s weakness for a certain young lady. I thought it would keep him at Beauworth.’ He looked sorrowfully at the Marquess. ‘We can solve all this right now, Garrick. Marry Lady Eleanor, get an heir and leave me as guardian. I’d be more than happy for you to go off and get yourself killed.’
The kind way he spoke the words made Eleanor’s stomach heave. ‘You are disgusting.’
‘Despicable,’ Garrick said. ‘And the game is up.’
‘Is it?’ Le Clere rose to his feet. ‘By now, Matthews should be outside with the carriage. All we have to do is meet your brother at the assigned place and everything will be all right.’
‘I think not,’ Ellie said with dawning fear. ‘I know what he did.’ She pointed at Garrick. He winced. A wry smile curved his lips and it wrenched at her heart that he did not deny it. How could she feel such a pang of sympathy when so much evil had been done in his name?
Le Clere pursed his lips, his head cocked on one side. ‘You think anyone will pay any attention to the words of a jilted lover? Just do as you are told and you can return home safe and sound.’
He lied. Something in his face told her he would not leave any of them alive. Including William and Sissy. A cold wind seemed to brush across her shoulders and penetrate her bones. Fear. Deep and terrifying. She fought its numbing weight. ‘You planned it all. The ship I invested in. The debt.’
Le Clere had the gall to laugh. ‘Dear lady, your man of business works for me.’
‘Jarvis?’
‘The same.’ The more this man said, the more she felt like a fly spinning around in one of those horrible sticky webs, and no matter how she struggled she would never get free.
Garrick must have sensed something similar because he leaned forwards, glaring at his uncle. ‘I’ll expose you. I’ll go to the authorities the moment your back is turned.’ He looked ready to spring at his uncle, his shoulders tense, his face a mask of fury.
Eleanor braced herself, ready to follow his lead.
‘And Lady Eleanor will die,’ Le Clere said softly. ‘Now, or later. And it will be your fault.’
A hiss of breath left Garrick’s lips. He sagged back against the cushions. ‘Damn you.’
Mrs Brown stuck her head in the door. ‘The carriage is here, my lord.’
Le Clere reached across the table and grabbed Eleanor by the arm. The pistol jammed against her ribs. ‘I know you won’t mind helping an old man out to his carriage, Lady Eleanor.’
If she resisted and Le Clere killed her, she would have no chance to warn William. She inhaled a shaky breath and rose to her feet.
Le Clere drew her close. ‘Garrick, do go ahead. One misstep and Lady Eleanor will find a nasty hole in her stomach.’
Fury rolled off Garrick in dark waves. Lines bracketed his white-edged lips. The sinews in his neck stood out against his collar, his hands opening and closing as if he was ready to strangle his uncle. His eyes bored into Le Clere’s for a long minute, as if he debated what to do, then his shoulders slumped and he walked ahead of them into the hallway.
Le Clere put an arm about her shoulders, let her feel the press of the weapon into her side, then urged her forwards. The front door stood open. In the farmyard beside the carriage, Matthews, a livid bruise on his temple and a bandage around the knuckles of his right hand, looked as if he would very much like to shoot someone.
Two horses were tied to the rear of the carriage and Caleb, his face a bloody ruin, glared at them from the box. She certainly didn’t have any friends she could turn to for help among this lot. Not even Garrick, it seemed.
Of the helpful John Brown, there was no sign. Besides, what could a farmer do against his landlord? A movement in the barn, a flash of yellow. A slight figure peering out. Dan, no doubt. The poor lad could be of no help, either. No one could. The realisation sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Garrick climbed into the coach. Matthews followed him in. Then Le Clere shoved Ellie inside and climbed up behind. He pointed his pistol at her head. ‘Tie their wrists at their backs, Matthews. We don’t want any more problems.’
Blood pounding in his ears, vision hazed, Garrick stared at Le Clere. His father’s cousin. A man he’d known all his life. His flesh and blood. Why had he never seen this side of Le Clere?
He had. Years ago. A faint memory of loud voices, his mother weeping. And later, when Garrick refused to admit pushing his mother down the stairs, the man had lost his temper and taken a cane to Garrick’s back. Le Clere had changed after that, Garrick realised. Become his friend. His mentor. His kindly conscience, always reminding him what he’d done without coming out and saying it in words. In the close confines of the carriage, Le Clere’s lust for power pervaded the air, rank and toxic.
The thought that Le Clere had done it on his behalf horrified him. Worse yet, Garrick wanted to kill him for what he’d done to Ellie.
The rope around his wrists bit into his flesh as he strained against them. He glared at the pair of them, Matthews and Le Clere, and smelled their blood in his nostrils. He wanted that blood on his hands. He pulled on the ropes binding him. But Matthews knew his work. The rage inside Garrick grew until he could see little more than their faces through a red mist.
Beside him, Eleanor sat rigid, watchful and coolly remote, when she should have been having a fit of the vapours after all she’d heard. Courage shone in her eyes, but how she must hate him now she knew what lay beneath his skin.
Control. He needed control or he’d be lost. He took slow, deep breaths. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see,’ Le Clere said.
He would. And when he did, he’d be ready to act. Surely he could outwit a man who had clearly lost his reason?
The carriage pulled to a halt. Garrick peered out. They were only a few yards into the lane beyond the farm. Matthews leaned over and tested first his ropes and then Ellie’s. ‘They won’t be getting free in a hurry.’
‘Good,’ Le Clere said, and leaned forwards to open the door. Garrick’s heart picked up speed.
His uncle laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Garrick. I’ll be a few feet behind you all the way.’ He stepped out, followed by Matthews. The two