Читать книгу Betraying Mercy - Amber Lin - Страница 8

Chapter Two

The cemetery gates were propped open, so he rode through. He slid off his horse and then draped the reins over the head of a Madonna. Spongy grass sucked at his boots. The entrance to the crypt yawned into the night air, and William forced himself inside.

As he crossed the threshold, the hush wrapped around him like a vice. The air was stale and the storm muzzled—even Mother Nature did not dare intrude here. He hated dark places. Closed, tight, suffocating places. They had always reminded him of graves, and this time, they were. Turning the corner, he entered the main chamber.

One body-sized pedestal stood in the center to display the deceased. Empty. Wiped clean. He found the marker for his father, intact. And beside it, cracked open, gaping, the place where his mother should be resting in peace. He knelt and reached gingerly for the granite pieces, feeling like he was disturbing the dead. Not him, though. Someone else had done this. Someone real.

Not a ghost.

“At least this place would have been locked, correct?” he asked Beck when he and the vicar arrived.

Beck nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Broken. Though not everyone is stopped by locks.”

Despite his unease, William gave a wry twist of his lips. “But the casket. And the body. Those would be stopped by a lock.”

A shrug was his answer.

William turned to examine the remaining engraving. His father had been a pious man, if not a strong-willed or cunning one. Through a lifetime listening to his mother’s wailing, he had never raised a hand to her. He had whipped William on occasion, but William had deserved it. Besides, his father had practically begged forgiveness each time after. It was a cycle William had ended by leaving permanently—and his family’s death had only reinforced his decision to live elsewhere. Anywhere else.

He would have been horrified to know his countess’s rest had been disturbed. He would have been horrified to hear how she died.

“It is that place,” came the throaty whisper of the vicar. “It called to the evil in their hearts.”

“The abbey,” Beck explained, as if it were reasonable.

William turned away to hide his expression. He wasn’t even sure what it would say. Annoyance, that the damned village insisted on this tale. Fear, too. Not of ghosts, but that old fear that the stories had led his mother to her grave. She’d always heard voices. What had they told her to do?

After a moment, Beck’s sure hand landed on his shoulder. “Someone will be here on the morrow to clean this up and fix the locks.”

Yes, of course. Wipe it away, like the pedestal in the center of the room. Clean and dusty until the next person in the family died.

Him.

He was the last of the line. As far as he knew, there wasn’t even a distant cousin to inherit his place. Sometimes he couldn’t figure out why he worked so damn hard. Just let the land, and the debts, be sucked back into the crown. The king could have the damned land.

But would he care for the people here, too? William couldn’t be sure. Not that he had been an excellent caretaker, but at least his tenants ate and worked and survived here. Even that could be taken away if the less scrupulous businessmen were given free rein. He’d heard about evictions happening farther north. No. He would stay. He would manage.

“It’s for the best,” the vicar muttered. “She didn’t belong here.”

William stepped forward, keeping his voice low. “And I don’t suppose you had anything to do with this?”

“This is holy ground and your mother—”

“Be very careful what you say next,” William said quietly. He didn’t believe the vicar would disturb sacred ground this way. His rigid moral compass would hold him in check even if respect for his master did not. Still, he wouldn’t allow her to be slandered.

Even if it might be true.

“She…” Vicar Charles’s throat worked but produced only unintelligible sounds. His eyes flitted to Beck and then back.

“My mother suffered an unfortunate accident with her sleeping draft.”

“An accident?” the vicar mumbled. “I do not think—”

“Precisely. Do not think. Just listen. I declared her death an accident ten years ago. If I find out that you had anything to do with this, you will regret it.”

The vicar understood the threat perfectly. His beady eyes glittered. “I’m a man of God.”

“I don’t particularly like him, either. You do not want to cross me, Vicar.” He turned to Beck. “Take him.”

Muttering fiercely, the vicar left. No doubt Beck would get an earful on the return ride to the parish. When the rustle from the brougham faded away, William knelt beside his father’s casket and prayed.

* * *

William had no desire to return to the house and deal with the mysterious bloodstain. The word duty rolled sour in his gut. He’d spent his entire life under the weight of his destitute title, and this felt like the pebble to break his back. He was half-tempted to ride back to London. He needn’t even get on the damn ship. Let the chips—and muddy, barely profitable lands—fall where they may.

Beck found him on a bench inside the crypt.

William stood. “We ride to the abbey.”

Without a word, Beck led him out. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, worn out and ignorant of its sins. Beck unhitched the mare from the brougham and mounted bareback. William followed on his bay. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go there.

A legacy of riches. Beware the ghosts and witches.

They rode to the patch of trees past the abbey, where a pool of water rippled innocently. William circled the ditch, finding nothing but damp earth. He did not know what he was looking for, only that he could not rest until he found it.

He wandered nearer the abbey. From here he could see the entire cemetery, and to the side, the top spires of the manor. In the old days, children had sometimes played in the old crumbling structure. He had, too, games of gallant knights and evil sorcerers, if he’d managed to sneak outside after his lessons. Bravery. Honor. The domain of children, not men.

The building had been condemned ten years ago, deemed unsafe and barred to entry. The rotting wood slats were easily kicked in. Inside, moonlight barely penetrated the darkness. Following the broken wall, he trailed his fingers along the soft moss. A light glinted from the gatehouse, like a wink of moonlight off glass.

Quickening his pace, he stepped inside the hollow tower. Bottles were piled in a corner, ale tankards and stronger liquor. He knelt and nudged a damp coat that stank of piss. A drunkard had been here. There was only one in the village, at least one dedicated enough to his craft to imbibe all these bottles. A man known for his rampages and, occasionally, violence.

William met Beck at the horses. “Jasper was here.”

Beck’s eyes widened as he passed him his reins. “Are you sure?”

“Let’s ask him and find out.”

They rode in silence, with only the storm to distract them. A curious rage stirred within him, that his mother had been disturbed, his home violated. The anger poured through his veins, burning and flaming until all he could see was red.

He hadn’t known this violence lived within him. He had been an obedient child. Had to be, for sometimes that was the only peace to be found. Rarely disrespectful, never rebellious.

Now anger threatened to consume him, and he was glad of it. Staid, responsible William could only mourn and lament and make the fucking arrangements for repair. This William could fight back.

The small hut came into view, and they both dismounted. William rapped on the knotted door. It opened to reveal a girl with long dark hair that shone streaks of silver in the moonlight. Jasper’s daughter, he recalled. The memory jarred him. He’d forgotten her.

He preferred to forget.

Her doe eyes widened. “My lord. How may I serve you?”

“Your father,” William said.

She glanced back then licked her lips. “I think he’s in the barn, but—”

William strode to the slanted building. Beck followed, a silent observer. He hoped the girl didn’t follow. The barn smelled of manure and moldy hay. He kicked open a stall, empty, and then pushed open the next. A snoring heap of man huddled on the straw.

He hauled Jasper up by his grimy shirtfront.

After a few startled snorts, Jasper peered at him from under sagging eyelids. “What be the meaning of this?”

William’s hands tightened before he pushed Jasper to his feet. He wasn’t sure how he knew Jasper was connected, but he did. Or maybe he just needed Jasper to be connected, because he had nothing else to look for, no one else to blame.

“Were you at the abbey?”

“No,” he said with belligerence. “When?”

“Last night. The one before. Were you there?”

Jasper frowned, seeming confused now. “Mayhap I was. What’s it to you? A man’s got to have some peace.”

“What about the manor? Were you there, as well? Did you pour pig’s blood on our bed?”

Soft gasps of shock came from behind him, punctuated by a long wail. Apparently the girl had brought her mother and younger sister, as well. Mercy, that was the girl’s name. It came to him with a flash of warmth. The women shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t protect them from this. He couldn’t protect anyone.

Jasper’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Finally, he said, “I didn’t do nothing, sir. I swear it.”

“My lord,” Beck corrected mildly.

Jasper seemed to rouse from his stupor of sleep and alcohol. “No, no, sir. I didn’t touch the crypt, sir. I wouldn’t have—”

“I said nothing about the crypt.”

“I didn’t… I don’t…” The man’s words slurred. One of his eyes slid to the right, while the other remained centered, like a painting melting in the sun.

How would Jasper know about the crypt unless he’d seen something? From the ridge of the abbey, he would have had the perfect view. Or he might have done it. For the jewelry? Then he would have been disappointed. A few pearls and a handsomely embroidered dress had been all that remained for her at the end. Still a bounty for a commoner like Jasper, but hardly what he would have expected from a noble. It wouldn’t have taken a great deal of cunning, just brute strength to hammer through the granite. And most damning of all, the hint of guilt in Jasper’s slack expression.

“Tell me what you did with her.”

“I’m no grave robber! And it ain’t as if she’s alive to feel it.”

William’s stomach lurched. Jasper didn’t even seem to realize how he betrayed himself. He yanked himself out of reach with more agility than William could credit.

Eyes bulging, Jasper grasped the neck of a broken bottle from the heap. “Stay away! You won’t be pinning this on me!”

Worry streaked through him for the women, his own thoughts ringing in his head: can’t protect them, can’t save them. He stepped forward to disarm him but was dragged back. Jasper’s wife clung to his back, momentarily anchoring him in place. By the time he shook her off and drew his pistol, Jasper had the youngest child in his grip, the spike of glass held to her face.

William froze, unable to fire without risking the girl.

“Tell them,” Jasper spat into her face. “Tell them I couldn’t have done it. I was here, with you.”

The girl whimpered, a little-girl sound of fear and shock.

“I never meant to hurt no one. She couldn’t feel the fire.”

For a moment William thought he was referring to the little girl he held—that she couldn’t feel the pain from his makeshift weapon. But then he realized who he meant. And it ain’t as if she’s alive to feel it. Jasper had burned the body. Burned. She could never rest in peace, not ever.

A low sound vibrated from William’s chest, something between grief and rage. “You bastard.”

Jasper tightened his grip and hauled the girl closer, holding the shard at her neck. Mercy screamed. Fury and fear clawed at William; he raised his arm, found his aim, and took the shot. Jasper recoiled with a look of shock. Thick hands released their grip on the child, and she scampered away to her mother.

He stared in shock at the smoking pistol he held. He’d had his share of fights in the gambling houses of London, but he’d never shot a man. The report still echoed in his head, followed by the thud of a limp body. A dead one.

He’d truly become a monster now, and yet he felt strangely detached. The women cried behind him, the child and the mother. Not Mercy, though. She stared at him with something akin to shock. Naturally, she would be horrified. He would be horrified, too, if he didn’t feel so damn hollow. So cheated. This man had taken buckets of blood, bodies of it, and barely paid him back at all. His vision was blurry and his morality in tatters.

William turned to the group, and a huddled mass of white nightdresses shrank back. Regret churned his stomach. He would never hurt them; didn’t they know that? But neither could he protect them.

A small, pale hand touched his arm and lowered it. He hadn’t even realized he’d still been pointing it toward a blank space.

“It’s over,” she said, and he heard relief in her voice. If she had any fear, she refused to show it. Her innocent eyes, her graceful neck, her tattered gown, they were all a facade. A feint, to confuse her opponent. She was not weak. She was stronger than he.

He stared at her, bemused. Even though her calmness was directed against him, he drew strength from it, as if she might hold the key. As if she could save him from himself. The idea was lunacy but only fitting, considering he was mad. Definitely mad, when he felt a stirring attraction to the slim body in a too-large nightgown. The breasts and hips, clear beneath the thin, damp cloth, formed the body of a young woman. Of course she was. If they had played together, she couldn’t be much younger than he. The town hadn’t stopped growing, stopped changing, just because he’d left.

“You aren’t going to cry, then? Or scream at me?” Like her mother was doing. He could barely hear her. All his senses were attuned to Mercy.

“No,” she said simply.

“Why not? Don’t you grieve him?”

“You were just trying to protect my sister,” she said, and he knew it wasn’t an answer to his question. He could see that from her eyes. She didn’t grieve her father, and considering the man’s treatment of the child, he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He wished he could have felt nothing when his parents died. He wished he could feel nothing now.

“What will you do?” he asked curiously.

“The same thing we have always done. He brought in some money, but he spent more of it on drink.”

Yes, William understood that. His family had once prospered, under his grandfather’s reign. He remembered a kind, wrinkled face. He remembered shouting behind closed doors with his father. And he remembered a startling change in lifestyle when his grandfather died. Where had the money gone? What had his father done with it? By the time William had inherited, the accounts hovered just above zero. And after the so-called solicitors had run through them, he’d found nothing but debts.

Strange to think they weren’t so different, the lord of the realm and the daughter of the town drunk. Although they hadn’t been so different as children. She’d played the princess at the highest point in the abbey while he had fought through dragons to rescue her.

A legacy of riches. Beware the ghosts and witches.

He could rescue her now, the way he’d imagined on the old turrets of the abbey. A life of penury awaited her, or worse. He could change that, though his motives were the opposite of pure. The violence of this night should have quelled any desire, but instead he felt it raging back, the lust he’d felt for her as an adolescent youth. And now? He wanted her body, yes, but also her courage, her strength. He wanted her softness, too, and comfort and family and all the things he no longer deserved. An honorable man would leave her here, but hadn’t he given that up when he killed a man?

“Come with me.” It should have been a plea, but it came out a command. He wasn’t strong enough to retract it, not when he wanted her acquiescence. This wasn’t a test for her, but him, to find out exactly how low he would sink in his fall from grace. If his body had any say in the matter, he thought grimly, it would be very far indeed.

Beck followed as wails came from the barn. “My lord.”

William stopped beside his horse, staring into the gray hills.

“Back there,” Beck said. “My lord, it was murder.”

His heart squeezed tight. Murder. “He was going to hurt her. You saw it.”

“He was drunk and unarmed but for a piece of glass. You came to the house with a pistol. It will look like revenge. There are limits to what the law will accept, even for a peer.”

William paused, swallowed. “No. There aren’t.”

A part of him wished Beck was right, that someone would punish William for what he had done, that someone would protect this young woman from his misuse. But that part of him was very small and William spoke the truth. That was the problem with being an earl, even a poor one—there was no one to stop him.

The young woman crossed the marshy grass in her thin nightgown—already halfway to translucence in the rain. She faced him with a blankness he recognized in himself. Shock at what had happened. Acceptance of what was to come.

Sweet little Mercy Lyndhurst, and here he was to defile her.

The last time he’d seen her she’d been a waif of a girl. Now she was all woman. And why shouldn’t he take her? He could have her and help her at the same time.

A poor excuse.

He examined her, struggling for detachment. Already the rain was clearing some of the fog from his mind, allowing rays of sanity to peek through. The thought of going home alone to the empty cavern of a house chilled him. He might as well be a stranger in his own lands for all that he knew anyone here.

He was selfish to take her this way, but concern whispered, too.

What would she do here? Jasper may have been a poor excuse for a caretaker, but a young woman with no means could starve in the next cruel winter. She deserved better than him for a rescuer, but he was all she had.

Another excuse. The simple truth was, he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave her here, in a place that reeked of death.

“Did you send the note?” he asked suddenly. He didn’t know where the idea had come from, but he knew the answer even before she nodded.

She’d sent the note, because she knew there was trouble. She’d used code from their childhood, so that he would understand. And that was as good a reason to take her as any—there were very few people he could trust.

Just her, perhaps.

As he knelt, she placed her slim foot in his hands. She weighed almost nothing as he lifted her up. He mounted behind her and they set off. A soft, slim girl in white backed by a bedraggled man. Traced from the pages of a picture book, a lady and her savior. Except the woman was a sacrifice and the man had just killed her father, casting William into the role of the dragon.

They rode through the mist with Beck following behind. William didn’t give a damn about Beck’s disapproval, but the girl’s fear gave him pause. She was beautiful and brave and everything he wasn’t. He wanted her with an intensity that stole his breath. He wanted to join with her, to sink into her softness and never come out.

He swiped the rainwater from his eyes. “Go.”

“My lord?” she asked.

Damn her, didn’t she understand how close he was to breaking?

“Leave!” He turned to Beck, who rode up beside them. “Take her home.”

Lacking the willpower to watch them go, William stalked up the slick hill. The house was as forbidding as he remembered it, but relief warmed him. Thank God she was safe. From him.

He’d always been so damn careful to leave her alone when they were young. Not to even look at her, when she was sixteen and shy and so lovely it hurt to breathe. It had been a relief when he could finally move to London and never see her. Never be tempted. Mercy. She wasn’t his class. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t be with her. The only thing he could do was ruin her. The temptation had always been there, through the years. And in that dark moment, in the barn, he had given in to it.

But now that would not happen.

He went to his room upstairs, where a fire heated the hearth and water sat on his dresser. No servants appeared, though apparently they still did their duty.

William peeled the wet clothes from his body and kicked them into a pile in the corner. He would burn them once they dried. Despite the fire, the night air pebbled his skin. He used the lukewarm water to bathe all over. Over and over he washed and rinsed, until the water had turned murky. His skin still felt gritty, soiled.

He looked to the bed, draped by a coverlet, so white, so innocent. A red spray of blood. He blinked and the vision changed again, to thin wet cloth draped over slim curves.

Hell.

He flung back the counterpane and climbed beneath the cool sheets. His mind was as blank as the ceiling. Maybe it would be like this for the rest of his life, going through the motions. A mechanical body and an empty mind. Maybe he’d died along with his parents, in every way that mattered.

A solitary thought pierced the veil of regret—the girl. Even now, he wanted to use her in the most abominable way. She would be somewhere far, far away from him by now.

God. So beautiful, so sweet. Sacrificing herself on the altar of her family, when he hadn’t even been able to save his own.