all sensed something wrong with him.
‘So you agreed with de Forrest that he could marry her, for her money and perhaps for children he could acknowledge as his, knowing that he cannot consummate the marriage. And you would come to her, in the darkness of this room, wearing the same cologne that he favours and you would make her believe it was her husband.’
‘Yes. The perfect solution.’ His smile was smug with his own cleverness. ‘He would have his heir, his family, she would have a title, this house would be restored as a fitting setting for her, safe from the corruption of London.’
‘Perfect? Arabella is in love with Selbourne. And however antiquated church law might be, she should not be tricked into breaking it. And even if it was perfectly legal, it is abhorrent to deceive her like that. Have you no respect for her feelings?’
Cottingham looked at me as though I was the demented one. ‘Her feelings? She is a woman and, as such, she will be guided by her husband. She will have security, a position, a family. What more can she possibly want?’
It was difficult to know where to start. Her liberty? Free will? Control of her own body? The love of a man she loved? Respect? Freedom from fear? But I was dealing with a madman, a murderer. Reason and discussion would get me nowhere.
‘So what is your plan? You have her here now, a captive. You tricked her into eloping, believing it was with Clement Selbourne – ’
‘Which only proves what a bad influence he has been on her! I tested her and she proved weak.’
‘Of course, it is always the woman’s fault.’ I thought of Lord Welney, flirting with the innocents as a way of winnowing out the virtuous ones so he could marry and carry on his own debaucheries, confident that his wife would be chaste and faithful, a fit mother to his children.
‘Exactly. They will marry soon and all will be well. Do not sneer at me, Madam!’ he snapped. ‘Look at you – dressed in that scandalous fashion, living blatantly with Radcliffe, unfit to mingle in polite society. Who are you to point a finger at my actions, my decisions?’
Sane? I didn’t say it. ‘So what do you intend to do with me?’ I asked as coolly as I could manage. How good were his reflexes? How arrogant was he? Could I reach him, stab him with the nail, bring him down? He was bigger than me, heavier than me and I had no hope of surprise as I’d had with the servant upstairs.
‘There is one suitable place for women like you,’ he said. ‘And I will have you delivered there tomorrow.’
‘A brothel?’ That was bad but far better than I had feared. I could escape, somehow. I had been expecting a bullet or a knife.
‘Oh no. Bedlam,’ Cottingham said. ‘That is the place for a woman as deranged and corrupted as you are.’
Chapter Twenty Six
Bedlam. My mouth went dry with sheer horror. I had heard of the Bethlehem Hospital for the Insane, of its confinement, of the chained madmen and those who were not mad at all, merely awkward or inconvenient, condemned to a living hell with no appeal, no hope of escape except through death. I could vanish into that place and no-one would ever find me.
‘No!’ I put my hands over my face, stumbled towards Cottingham, cried out imploringly, and he laughed and put out one hand to fend me off.
I took him by the wrist, pulled him onto my body as I stabbed him in the back with the nail, pulled it out, stabbed again. It would not kill him, not even seriously wound him, but it would hurt him.
He let out a roar of pain, struck out and knocked me away, but I kept hold of his wrist and pulled him with me as I rolled backwards, planted my feet in his stomach, and threw him over me to crash against the chest of drawers.
As I scrambled up he stumbled to his knees, shaking his head as though stunned. I ran for the door, got it open, found the key on the outside and turned it in the lock. There was a bellow of rage from within, but I knew how solid that door was. He might be stronger than I was, but it would still take Cottingham a good while to get out.
I started towards the attic stairs and then halted, trying to think. I hated to leave Arabella there, but I had to get out, find James and Sir Clement. If I went deeper into the house I risked being caught again.
‘Stop right there!’
I spun round and found myself facing the brawny woman from the attic. By her side was an even bigger man and he was holding a large pistol aimed right at my stomach. At a range of perhaps two metres I couldn’t see how he could miss.
‘Lord Cottingham has abducted his step-sister, he has murdered at least two men – ’ My voice cracked as I said it, made it real. Lucian. I clenched my fists in an effort to stay in control. ‘The law is coming. Do you want to be hanged as accessories?’
‘There’ll be nothing to find. Not once we clean up the blood,’ he said, with a grin that showed broken, stained teeth. He raised the pistol and I braced myself to dive flat to the ground. How futile, I thought, even as I tensed every muscle, closed my eyes…
The report of the gun was so loud my ears rang. Oddly there was no pain. Shock, of course… Then I realised that I was still on my feet and opened my eyes, blinking as the acrid smoke stung them, and looked down. There was no blood on me, no wound, but sprawled at my feet was a body with half a head. The gun must have exploded in his hand, I thought hazily. And yet he was still clutching it, intact. The woman was on her knees wailing.
I turned and there were men behind me, four, no, more than that, silhouetted against the light from the window at the end of the corridor. I couldn’t fight that many…
‘Cassie? Cassie.’ Lucian.
Yes, it was shock. I was hallucinating now. My knees buckled and I went down and it hurt and then it didn’t…
It was the noise that roused me. Someone was sobbing and laughing and someone else was making loud demands for slings and bandages and at least three other people were talking at once and someone was saying my name over and over again and I seemed to be bundled up tight in something.