Cinders and Ashes (Cavendish Mysteries 2)

“Ah, isn’t that sweet. He will find you, Amelia,” Ballantyne sing-songed. “He won’t want you when he realises what we have done to you, but he will find yooouuuu!”

Sebastian suddenly had a thought. “You are going to the gallows for murder, Ballantyne, you know that. Unfortunately for you, nobody will buy your claim to insanity. You are greedy. You are a callous, depraved murderer, but you are not insane.”

Ballantyne turned hard, feral eyes on him. All traces of mirth vanished in an instant, leaving Sebastian in no doubt that before him was the cold, hard murderer who had ruthlessly slaughtered an innocent servant. Then sent an innocent man to the gallows.

“You have nothing on me,” Ballantyne spat, his voice devoid of humanity.

“Oh, but I am afraid we do. You see, we have people who will testify against you and letters confirming your trickery from the people who were your victims.” Sebastian paused when Ballantyne snorted.

“Of course you do. They are all dead,” he shouted, holding his arms wide. “Nobody is alive to implicate me, because they are all dead!”

“Unfortunately for you, they all knew how low you could really go, and wrote letters confirming what you had done before they died.” He watched Ballantyne hitch a breath to interrupt and continued.

“Martha, the maid you murdered with your brother, had told her sister that you were both raping her. Passing her around at orgies and so forth. Her sister told her to leave, but she daren’t be cast out, especially as she was carrying your child. It was yours, wasn’t it Ballantyne? You had slept with a servant and stupidly got her with child.” Contempt coloured his voice. “But that wasn’t enough. You had to get rid of Hawksworth when he saw you slit Martha’s throat, didn’t you? You knew that when he sobered up, he could remember everything and go to the authorities. So you framed him.”

“Stupid oaf. Always drinking. Even with the most beautiful woman at the orgies, he couldn’t get it up. Instead, sat in the corner in a drunken stupor. Drinking and watching. Stupid bastard woke up while we were trying to clean up the mess. Damned maid bled like a stuck pig. Hawksworth became agitated, so we plied him with more drink. It was easy to lie him down in the bed next to the whore’s body, and put the knife in his hand. He couldn’t remember anything he saw when he woke up. He was easy to convince.”

“Until he did sober up in gaol. By that time it was too late, and nobody would listen to the ranting of a drunken murderer.” Sebastian was unsurprised when Ballantyne made no move to contradict him.

“You didn’t count on Hawksworth writing to his family seeking help, and revealing everything though, did you?” Sebastian added. “Sending a letter to his cousin that clearly detailed everything he knew. Telling everyone you were the one holding the knife. He could remember the events he witnessed that night clearly enough to recount specific details. When nobody would listen to either his true identity, or the name of the real murder, he wrote a true account of events and sent it to his family. Especially when he knew he was going to be hung for a crime he didn’t commit.”

For the first time Sebastian felt a little empathy for the drunken Hawksworth, who for no other reason than his own weakness, had found himself living on the fringes of society. A society that parcelled him up and handed him over to the hangman’s noose without mercy.

“Nobody has any firm evidence. Your aunt claimed she had a letter, but who would believe her? I am now Lord Ballantyne. Nobody can accuse me of anything. Especially some mad old bat who was behaving oddly anyway. Nobody has any evidence that can convict me of anything.” The arrogant contempt in the man’s voice made Sebastian’s skin crawl.

“You have no wealth,” Sebastian contradicted loudly. “You spent it all on whores and gambling. Your estates are about to be claimed by your creditors. Your family name is blackened by your debauched lifestyle. You can fire a house, but the evidence isn’t there, Ballantyne. I have it. Montague has the rest.” He watched panic enter the man’s eyes and wondered just how far he could push him. “You are finished, Ballantyne. The hangman’s noose is going to be the easy way out.”

“My family name is not besmirched,” Ballantyne screamed, and he drew his sabre, lunging at Sebastian with an epithet.

“Keep back,” Sebastian shouted to the others, as they all moved out of their respective hiding places at once. “This is between me and him.”

He lunched forwards with a parry that took the smaller man by surprise.

With astonishing dexterity, Ballantyne returned the volley and sparks flew.

The fight was on.

Amelia couldn’t see anything from her hiding place behind a huge gravestone, but could hear the clanging of steel upon steel as the two men fought. Once or twice, she thought she saw sparks fly into the air but daren’t look.

Despite knowing Ballantyne’s attention was on Sebastian and their fight, Amelia daren’t stand up. She was so cold, she wasn’t sure she had the strength in her legs anyway. Her feet were so bloodied and bruised from running through the woods, it was painful just to sit with them resting on the floor. Instead, she tried to block everything out and curled into a tight ball to wait.

If Sebastian was there, the chances were Peter, Edward or Dominic was there too. She couldn’t see them and she didn’t want to distract Sebastian by appearing like a ghost from behind the crypt. So she had to sit and wait, and hope that if Sebastian became at risk, his brothers would step in and finish the job for him.

Shivering and terrified, she curled into a tight ball and began to pray.

Sebastian fought for Amelia. Not for the physical pain of the beatings they gave him, or his attempted murder. But for everything they had subjected Amelia to.

His blows were harder; his parries longer. He let his demons loose. With a low snarl, he countered each blow Ballantyne struck with dexterous ease, pleased when the tip of his blade scored along the man’s shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Ballantyne stared down in disbelief at his shoulder before turning his gaze back to Sebastian.

“Tell the others to move back,” he spat, chest heaving with exertion from wielding the heavy sword for such a long time. “Tell them, or I kill her.” The tip of his sabre disappeared behind a large gravestone.

Sebastian heard Amelia’s whimper before she was grabbed by the hair and dragged to her feet. He swore fluidly at the bedraggled sight of her.

Her hair was loosely hanging down around her shoulders and wildly tangled, barely covering her modesty. The abject terror in her eyes nearly unmanned him.

Sebastian was vaguely aware of his brothers moving out of the way, to allow Ballantyne to edge sideways towards the entrance, dragging a reluctant Amelia with him.