“He was correct,” Morgan said dryly. “But, then, I require that in a man-of-affairs.”
“How did you learn that Mr. Dill had confided in Mrs. Heskett?” Charlotte asked.
Morgan arched one black brow. “I make it a habit to periodically place those who are closest to me into a trance. I question them regarding their loyalty. They recall nothing of the interrogation afterward, of course.”
“When you discovered that Mr. Dill intended to betray you and had said something of his plans to Mrs. Heskett, you decided to murder both of them,” Baxter said from the windows.
“It was the only logical course of action,” Morgan explained. “Getting rid of Dill was a simple matter. I added more potent incense to the brazier after I had finished questioning him. He never came out of the trance. When his body was discovered two days later, it was assumed he’d had a heart seizure.”
“Then you set out to murder Mrs. Heskett,” Charlotte said. “You made two attempts on her life and when those failed, you went to her house and shot her in cold blood.”
“It’s not always convenient to use the incense and the mesmerism,” Morgan said. “And I do feel it’s prudent to change one’s methods from time to time. Predictability is not a virtue.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “I doubt that you need to worry overmuch about being burdened with too many virtues.”
“I do so enjoy that sharp tongue.” Morgan looked at Baxter. “What did you discover in Mrs. Heskett’s sketchbook?”
“Why should he answer?” Charlotte shifted position on the bed, curious to see if she could draw Morgan’s attention with movement. “You will murder us as soon as you have learned what you wish to know.”
“I shall indeed have to kill St. Ives,” Morgan agreed. “He is aware that I cannot possibly allow him to live. Now that he knows I am alive and on the brink of fulfilling my destiny, he would not rest until he had destroyed my plans. St. Ives is nothing if not tenacious.”
“You can hardly expect him to tell you what you want to know, then,” Charlotte said in a loud voice.
Morgan did not look at her. His attention remained focused on Baxter. “He will tell me because I am willing to bargain with him for your life, my dear.”
Charlotte went cold. “Do not expect me to believe that. I am as much of a threat to your schemes as Baxter is. I know the same things he does. And I, too, will not rest until you have been brought down.”
Morgan spared her a dismissive glance. “You are merely a woman and not a particularly charming one at that. But you do have a few marketable qualities with which to attract a man in my position. Your bloodlines are quite respectable. Not excellent, mind you, but good enough for my purposes.”
“My bloodlines.” Charlotte was stunned.
“Even more important, you have demonstrated superior intellect for a woman and a degree of boldness and courage that I wish to breed into my own offspring.”
“Good God, sir, are you mad?” Charlotte whispered.
“As my wife, you will be in no position to testify against me.” Morgan gave her a thin, cruel smile. “And every position to supply me with an heir.”
“Your wife. Impossible.” She got to her knees on the bed and regarded Morgan with scathing fury. “There is nothing on this earth that could induce me to marry you, sir.”
“Ah, but there is.” Morgan’s cold eyes met hers for a brief, terrifying moment. “Mesmerism.”
“Your techniques would never work with me.”
“Do not be so certain of that. I perfect them daily. The right dose of incense together with the proper application of my scientific method of inducing a trance will turn you into the perfect wife, my sweet.”
Charlotte’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “I do not believe that any amount of incense or mesmerism can overcome my hatred of you. But even if it’s true, the effects would only be temporary. Sooner or later I will come out of the trance and when I do, I shall find a way to kill you.”
“That prospect should lend a certain fillip to our married life, eh?” Morgan gave a short croak of laughter. “Perhaps it will stave off the inevitable boredom that comes with a too-willing woman.”
“Even if it were possible, and I assure you it is not, why would you wish to marry a woman who despises you so completely?”
Morgan’s smile should have been a thing of beauty, but it turned Charlotte’s blood to ice.
But it was Baxter who answered. His voice was soft, utterly devoid of emotion. The voice of the detached scientist making an observation. “Because you have belonged to me, of course.”
Charlotte could scarcely breathe. She stared at Baxter’s broad shoulders and could not find a single word to say.
“Precisely,” Morgan said with husky satisfaction. “Every time I spread your thighs, Charlotte, I shall revel in my victory over the only man who ever came close to being my equal.”
“You truly are quite mad,” she whispered.
Anger flashed in Morgan’s eyes. He looked at Charlotte with contempt. “Come now, my love, you owe me a great deal. You are an honest woman. I should think you would want to repay me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was I who arranged for your stepfather to end up floating in the Thames the morning after you and I met. I altered your destiny that night. What would you have done if I had not got rid of Winterbourne for you?”
“You certainly did not murder him for my sake,” she flung back. “You must have done it because he could not pay the gaming debt he owed to you.”
Morgan raised one shoulder in another graceful shrug. “I admit you have me there. You’re right, I did not do it for your sake.”
Baxter turned casually away from the window and walked toward the brandy table. “Tell me, how did you manage to escape the castle that night in Italy?”
Morgan’s head snapped around very quickly. “That is far enough, St. Ives. Not another step.”
Baxter halted. “Very well. But be so good as to satisfy my curiosity.”
“There was a hidden tunnel that led out of the laboratory.” Morgan’s mouth twisted. “I managed to get into it in time to escape the flames but I could not outrun the gases that were formed when the chemicals caught fire. I nearly choked to death on those foul vapors.”
“Your voice was ruined by those gases, was it not?”
Fury, a dark shadow cast by a thunderous cloud, passed over Morgan’s face. “You did this to me,” he rasped. “And tonight you will finally pay for it.”
“How dare you?” Charlotte shouted. “You tried to murder Baxter that night.”
“Silence.” Morgan flicked her another annoyed glance before he turned back to Baxter. “I think we’ve had quite enough reminiscing for the moment.”
“I agree,” Baxter said.
“Tell me what you found in Drusilla Heskett’s watercolor sketchbook that pointed in my direction,” Morgan said. “Tell me now, St. Ives, or I will kill your mouthy Charlotte.”
“We found a very interesting sketch.”
“Baxter, no,” Charlotte said. “Do not tell him anything. He will kill you.”
“Shut your mouth, Miss Arkendale,” Morgan snarled, “or I shall do it for you.”
Charlotte promptly opened her mouth again to tell him what she thought of him but she never got the chance.
With a sudden, terrifying rush of unseen wind and a sharp crack of sound, the heavy drapes at the window where Baxter had been standing a moment earlier, erupted into flames.
Morgan froze for an instant. Pure terror etched his handsome face. “No,” he whispered. “No, god damn you, no.”
“Bring back a few memories?” Baxter asked evenly. “Certainly does for me.”
Morgan shuddered and then made an obvious effort to collect himself. He aimed the pistol at Baxter with shaking hands. “I’m going to kill you now. I shall get the information I need from your woman. And I will take great pleasure in doing so. Think of me between her legs as yo
u die.”
Charlotte saw Morgan’s fist tighten around the pistol.
She opened her mouth and gave a bloodcurdling scream.
Morgan flinched at the earsplitting sound.
Then, with a roar, the small fire on the hearth suddenly exploded into a great blaze. The tongues of flame shot past the fire screen, the talons of a great beast seeking prey.
“No.” Morgan took a faltering step back and came up against the edge of the large bed.
Flanked by pillars of fire, Baxter walked slowly and deliberately toward Morgan. “There is no time,” he said. “You must flee.” The flames soared behind him as he went steadily toward Morgan.
Charlotte knew that he was counting upon Morgan’s fear to supersede his deadly intent but she did not trust that factor. Another distraction was needed.
Crouched on her knees, she reached up and seized the silk fringe of the scarlet bed drapes. She pulled downward with all of her might.
The heavy hangings fell, an avalanche of crimson fabric. Some of it landed across Morgan’s head and shoulders.
The rest of it crashed down on Charlotte. She was buried in a mass of dusty red velvet.
Morgan’s shout of rage echoed on the stone walls. The roar of his pistol exploded across the chamber.
“Baxter.” Charlotte surfaced from the tumbled red drapes, choking from the dust and the smoke that filled the room.
The flames were spreading swiftly. Against the fiery backdrop, Baxter and Morgan were locked in a violent embrace. They fell to the carpet and rolled wildly. Firelight glinted on steel as they struggled for possession of the other pistol, the one Baxter had brought with him into the room.
Another shot reverberated off the walls.
For a timeless instant, neither man moved.
“Baxter. Oh, my God.” Frantic, Charlotte scrambled to the edge of the bed. The rope brought her up short. “Baxter.”
Morgan stared at Baxter with wide, stunned eyes. Blood soaked the snow-white front of his pleated shirt. “No. It cannot end in this way. I must fulfill my destiny.”
Baxter started to get to his feet. Morgan clutched at his arm.
“I am fated to triumph over the golden griffin,” Morgan whispered in his shattered voice. “Something has gone wrong.” He broke off, coughing. “All wrong. I am a magician.” Blood welled in his mouth.
He started to say something else but the words were drowned in the crimson tide. His hand slid away from Baxter’s arm. He fell back on the carpet and lay still.
Baxter surged to his feet and turned toward Charlotte. She saw that he had lost his spectacles in the struggle.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” He moved toward her.
“I cannot untie these ropes.” For the first time Charlotte felt real fear of the fire. It occurred to her that she might not escape the dreadful chamber. Panic struck with dizzying force. “I have a knife in my reticule but I don’t know where it is. They took it away from me. Dear God, Baxter.” She stared at him, unable to speak her terror.
“My greatcoat. I dropped it.” Baxter glanced around. “Quick. Where is it?”
“On the floor behind you. Not more than three paces. Straight back.”
He turned and followed her instructions. “Ah, yes. You give excellent directions, my dear.” He rummaged in his pockets and withdrew a blade.
He hurried back to the bed. “I retrieved this from the man who took it away from me earlier.”
Working by touch, he fumbled briefly with the rope, got a grip on it, stretched it taut, and slashed downward with the knife.
She was free. Charlotte nearly collapsed with relief.
“Come. There is no time to lose.” He seized her hand and yanked her off the bed. “You will have to lead the way, Charlotte. Everything in the distance is unfocused and indistinct for me.”
“Yes, of course.” She nearly tripped over Morgan’s still form as she headed toward the door. She looked down and saw that a great quantity of blood stained the front of his shirt and coat. “What if he escapes again?”
“He won’t escape this time,” Baxter said in an emotionless voice. “He’s dead.”
“But how can you be sure?” she demanded as they raced toward the doorway.
“Even I cannot miss at such close range.”
Charlotte was almost to the door when she caught the glint of gold out of the corner of her eye. “Your spectacles.” She scooped them up and put them in his hand. “One of the lenses is broken but the other appears to be whole.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Baxter held the good lens to his eye. “It will do nicely.”
They ran through the door and down the corridor toward the massive stone staircase. Smoke snaked after them.
The black and crimson room exploded into an inferno.
Baxter estimated that nearly a third of the top floor of the mansion was ablaze by the time he and Charlotte reached the main hall.
He heard shouts in the distance. Panicked servants and assorted ruffians fleeing the fire, he concluded. The confusion was a godsend. It would make escape much simpler. But there was still a risk that one of the villains, unaware that his master was dead, might attempt to halt them.
“Do you see anyone about?” He held the unbroken lens to his eye and searched for signs of movement in the shadows.
“No.” Charlotte was panting but she did not slow her pace. “I think everyone is too busy attempting to escape.”
“Excellent.” He felt the chill wind blowing down the length of the hall and saw darkness at the far end. “The door is open.”
“It would appear that most of the staff has already fled to safety. We passed no one on the staircase, so I think it’s safe to assume that none of the servants feels inclined to rescue the master of the house.”
“As Morgan observed, it’s very difficult to get dependable staff these days.”
They reached the front door and stepped out onto the steps.
“There’s no one around.” Charlotte peered into the shadows. “Which way shall we go? I have no idea where we are.”
“Neither do I, but the flames are certain to draw someone’s attention soon. There must be farmers and tenants in the district. Let’s make for the road.” He took Charlotte’s hand and started down the steps.
“Baxter.”
The alarm in her voice brought him up short. He whirled, the small penknife in his hand.
A dark figure loomed in the doorway.
“Here now, where d’ye think you’re goin’?”
The man raised his hand. Even without the aid of his single eyeglass, Baxter had no difficulty recognizing the shape of a pistol.
“Good heavens,” Charlotte said. “You’re the villain who tried to stop us outside Mrs. Heskett’s house.”
“Aye, and there’ll be none of yer tricks this time.”
“We’re of no use to you now,” Baxter said.
“If the magician went to all that trouble to get hold of ye, I expect yer valuable. Reckon I’ll take ye with me until I see what’s what.”
“Your master is dead in one of those chambers at the top of the house,” Baxter said calmly. “There is no profit in this night’s work. Be off with you before the mansion burns down around your ears.”
“Must be some money in it somewhere,” the villain whined.
Baxter sighed. “If it’s merely money you’re after, we may be able to come to an agreement.”
The villain brightened. “A bargain, sir.”
Before Baxter could offer him a sum of money to seal the deal, a pistol cracked in the darkness behind him.
With a cry of surprise and pain, the villain clutched at his shoulder and reeled back into the hall.
“Baxter. Miss Charlotte.” Hamilton’s voice rang through the night. “Are you all right?”
Baxter turned and raised his broken spectacles to his eye. Hamilton and Ariel rushed toward them from the shelter of a small grove of trees.
Hamilton held a pistol i
n each hand. His cravat fluttered around his throat in an extremely rakish manner. His boots gleamed. His curls were ruffled from the night breeze. There was an air of exuberant excitement about him that was unmistakable. Baxter had seen that same look in his father.
“Charlotte.” Ariel flew to her. “Oh, thank God, I’ve been so frightened. Hamilton arrived just after those terrible men overpowered the Runners and kidnapped you. We managed to follow you in his new carriage. It is amazingly swift, you know.”
“How clever of you.” Charlotte wrapped her arms very tightly around Ariel. “Clever and brave.”
Hamilton shoved his pistols into his belt. “Sorry to be so late in arriving, brother. Lost the trail a few miles back. Took forever to locate a farmer who remembered hearing a carriage go past his house. He told us about this place and said no one was allowed near it except the servants. Very mysterious, he said. Figured it had to be the magician’s haunt.”
“Brilliant deduction.” Baxter grinned at the dashing image his brother presented. “I do believe that what they say about the earls of Esherton is true.”
Some of Hamilton’s excitement faded. “What’s that?”
“They do everything with style.”
Hamilton blinked in surprise and then he burst into laughter. “It’s in the blood, brother. All of the St. Ives men have style. It just took me a while to notice yours. Quite unique.”
Charlotte raised her head from Ariel’s shoulder. She fixed Baxter with a brilliant, blinding smile that he could see quite clearly even without his broken eyeglasses.
“His style is one of the many things that I have always admired in him,” she said.
Twenty
Two days later Hamilton lounged against one of the long workbenches in the laboratory. He watched with interest as Baxter busied himself arranging and rearranging the chemicals and apparatus that littered every surface.
“How did you cause the curtains to go up in flames and how did you create the explosion in the fireplace?” Hamilton asked.
“I told you I had a box of my new instantaneous lights with me.” Baxter carefully polished a small Wedgwood crucible. “Charlotte distracted Judd long enough for me to break a couple of them in the folds of the curtains. I threw another one into the fire.”