Patricia Hagan (32 page)

When she told him she was in charge, he had looked her up and down nastily. “You gotta be kiddin’. I don’t take orders from nobody but Mr. Bonham. I don’t know what’s goin’ on around here, but I goddamn well don’t take orders from you.”

“You will,” she had told him coolly, “or else you are fired, Mr. Phillips. Quite frankly,” she added, “it would suit me if you did remove yourself from my property.”

That infuriated him. “You let me tell you somethin’, Miss Uppity, I work for your husband, not you, and you ain’t tellin’ me what to do.”

“Mr. Phillips,” she said very quietly, “I gave you a chance. Now leave. You don’t work here any longer.”

“I told you,” he had taken an advancing, menacing step, “you ain’t got the power to fire me. I’ll run this place as I see fit, and you’ll keep your mouth shut. When Mr. Bonham gets back, he’s gonna be plenty pissed at you.”

Holly didn’t lose her temper. No, she was beyond that particular weakness. With one swift movement, she swept up the hem of her skirt and whipped out the knife strapped to her calf. Moving so lightning fast that Barney Phillips was caught completely unawares, she pressed the tip of the blade beneath his chin and told him, “I said, Mr. Phillips, to get off my property. Now move!”

His arms shot high above his head in surrender, and he leaped backward. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’,” he assured her, backing toward the door.

But when he reached the door, and was, he felt, out of her reach, he yelled, “One thing I do know, bitch, when Mr. Bonham gets back, you’re gonna get what’s comin’ to you, and I damn
sure
want to be around to see it.”

He had bolted from the house. Holly returned the knife to its sheath and lowered her skirt, sighing. The knife was necessary. She was no longer going to be defenseless, not ever.

Now, walking toward the house, she hoped Phillips had packed up and left the area for good.

She had almost reached the house, anxious to see her mother, when she felt a sudden chill. It was twilight. Why were there no lights burning inside the house? She came to a full stop while her gaze swept the mansion, top to bottom. Then she quickened her steps, hurrying through the back door.

The kitchen was empty and chilly. There was no smell of dinner cooking. What had become of Betty? Holly’s worried calls brought none of the other servants, either. A staff of six, and nobody was there.

She went down the hall, into the foyer, and on into the study. A candle was burning on the desk, but that was the only sign of life. “Betty?” she called again.

There was no answer, only the rustling of curtains at a partially-opened window.

She ran from the study. She did not see the movement in the shadows in a far corner of the room…did not see anyone follow her up the stairs as she ran to find her mother.

Pushing the door open slowly, Holly made her way to the bed. Leaning over, she found her mother sleeping. But why, she wondered, had Claudia not been served her dinner tray? There was no sign of anything on the bedside table, not even the usual teacup. Damn it, where was everyone? If she’d known her mother was all alone in the house…

She gently pulled the sheet up to her mother’s chin, straightened the covers, then tiptoed out of the room.

Walking along the gallery, she moved toward the stairs, then froze.

Light was spilling from the study into the foyer, not the scant light of a single candle, but much more. Holding to the railing, she moved cautiously down the staircase, trying not to make a sound. She reached the foyer, bent and lifted her skirt, pulling the knife from its sheath.

Suddenly a strong hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed her wrist. The knife clattered to the floor.

“Phillips told me about your goddamn knife,” the voice growled as she was pushed roughly to her knees, then kicked to the floor.

“Roger,” she spat. “You bastard!”

He grabbed her arm, snatched up the knife, and jerked her upright, dragging her to the study and flinging her inside. She fell on the sofa, started to rise, but he yelled, “Stay, damn you. You’ve got a beating coming, but not now. We’re going to settle things.”

He tossed her knife onto his desk, locked the study door, pocketed the key, and poured himself a drink. Then he sat down behind the desk.

“What are you doing here?” she cried, knowing what an idiotic question it was, but unable to stop herself.

“I live here,” he said, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. “I’m so disappointed that you left Jamaica without me. Had I known you were this anxious to return, I might have been persuaded to bring you back here myself. You just never learned how to coax and wheedle your way with me, did you?

“Actually,” he went on without pausing, “I returned two days ago. Not far behind you and your abductor. Of course, I had a larger ship, so we made better time than you did. I’ve been around, watching you. I talked to Phillips. Thank heavens, he warned me about that disgusting knife. Really, Holly!”—he made a clucking noise, downed his drink, poured another—“We will have to do something about your behavior. I can’t have my wife—”

“I’m divorcing you, Roger.”

He turned to stare at her, stunned more by her calmness than by the information.

While she had the chance, she spoke. “We both know I never loved you, that you caught me in a helpless situation. I not only do not love you, Roger, I hate you,” she said emotionlessly.

He waved a hand. “Makes no difference, Holly. I don’t care how you feel about me. You’re my wife. You will remain my wife.”

He reached for the bottle again. “Would you like to join me? We have time before we have to sail.”

“What have you done with the servants?”

“Told them to go to their quarters and keep quiet if they valued their lives,” he replied matter-of-factly. “They were no problem. I wish I could say the same of you. Now, if you’d like a drink, don’t be stubborn. We have a few minutes before we have to be on our way. And,” he added, smiling, “don’t worry about packing. I brought enough of your clothes that you can get by on the return trip.”

She struggled to keep from screaming at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Roger.”

“Well,” he gave a mock sigh of resignation, “then you leave me no choice but to drag you out of here. That might awaken your poor mother. It would upset her. That would be most unfortunate, don’t you think? It will be startling enough for her to find you gone, without her having to witness an unnecessary scene. But that’s all up to you.”

Holly’s teeth were clenched so hard her jaws ached. “I am not,” she repeated tightly, “going with you. I will fight you every inch of the way.”

He yawned, looked at the large grandfather clock in the corner. “Well,” he said airily, as though it were really no great inconvenience, “I’ll just have to go ahead and put your mother out of her misery. She’s going to die soon, anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much.”

Holly pressed her hands together, praying for the strength to act calm. “You would, wouldn’t you? You are capable of killing. It was you who murdered Sally and Norman.”

He looked at her as though she had gone insane, then chuckled. “Oh, good heavens, woman, no, I surely didn’t. I would never bother killing Negroes. That’s beneath me. I had my men do it. But,” he said thoughtfully, “I must admit to being responsible for Jarvis’s death. The bastard asked for it. He pushed me too far, so he had only himself to blame.”

Holly suddenly felt all of the strain, and she began to shake. “Your own father?”

He snorted. “Father! That spineless ninny was
not
my father. My mother might have been stupid enough to marry him, but she wasn’t so hopeless as to have a child by him. My father, she told me, was an earl, a man of great wealth and power, who was killed in an accident before he could take her away from the misery of her life. She had no choice but to pass me off as Jarvis’s son, but she never tried to fool me. She used to talk to me for hours about how wonderful my real father was.”

“I’m glad,” Holly told him sincerely, “glad to hear that Jarvis Bonham was not your true father. From what I’ve learned of him since his death, it would be difficult to believe so fine a man could sire a cowardly, worthless piece of scum.”

His eyes narrowed, face tightening into a mask of uncontrollable fury. “Watch your tongue, you fiery little bitch, or I will kill that simpering mother of yours just to watch her die and teach you what happens to people who try to cross me.”

Holly pressed on, knowing it was a risk, but she had to take it. “You ordered the Night Hawks to try to frighten me away. You were behind all of it. Why?” She knew why, but she couldn’t give away the fact that Scott was on to him. She was hoping he wanted to brag about his triumphs, and she was right, he did.

His face took on a glow and he announced, “I have a fortune in gold buried in various spots on that land.” She managed to look suitably shocked, and he was gratified. “You complicated things when you retained title,” he confided, “because I had picked that site very carefully. I was sure Jarvis could buy this land and everything surrounding it.”

“Why didn’t you have me killed so you could get the land?” she asked bluntly.

He shrugged. “That would have raised a lot of questions, and I wanted everything to go smoothly. Then I became attracted to you and I decided I might as well marry you. It didn’t take me long to realize I would have been better off if I’d just made you my mistress.” He shook his head. “You’re a lot of trouble, Holly, and sometimes I wonder if you’re worth it. But, I suppose, like a prize horse, once your spirit is broken, you’ll be good stock for breeding and pleasure.”

He laughed, a nasty sound that brought to mind slime and muck.

He stood. “Now then. It’s time for us to go. Which will it be? Will you go peacefully, or shall I put your mother out of her misery? It really matters not at all to me, my dear.”

Holly made no move. She couldn’t go with him, knowing what awaited her, but was there any alternative?

He picked up her knife from the desk and examined it. “I think,” he said thoughtfully, “that we’ve tarried long enough. I really don’t want to kill Claudia, you know. I have nothing against her.”

Suddenly he looked toward the open terrace door and called out, “Barney, we’ve wasted enough time.”

Before Holly could react, Barney Phillips charged inside from the terrace. He was upon her in an instant. A gag was stuffed into her mouth and her arms were bound together. She struggled, but the gag and bonds held.

“Damn right, we’ve wasted enough time,” Barney grunted. “That sentry of Colter’s we bought off has had plenty of time to ride to Vicksburg and tell Colter the big dig is under way tonight. I’ve got to get over there and be ready if we’re going to get rid of Colter tonight.”

“And your other men?” Roger asked, his eye on Holly’s face. “They’ll take care of the rest of Colter’s bunch?”

Barney snorted. “Ain’t that many of ’em, but we got ’em covered. Our men are handling that. They ought to be out of the way by now. When Colter can’t round ’em up, he’ll head out on his own, and that’s the way I want it, just me and him.”

“Take care of Colter, and when the rest of our men get there, dig up all that’s left of the gold and take it to the barge. We’ll take it on board, then head for Jamaica.”

Outside, in the dark foyer, undetected, Claudia stood clinging to the stairway newel post. She held on for dear life. She could not give way to the oblivion that offered to take her away. No matter that she knew she was dying. No matter that Roger had admitted to so much evil. All that mattered was that Holly was in Roger’s grasp and Colonel Colter was about to be killed.

What could she do? Already a cold, clammy numbness was creeping up her legs. She felt so weak, she could barely keep herself upright.

She knew there was no point in dragging herself to the servants’ quarters and begging for help. Those poor Negroes were terrified, would never interfere in a white man’s business. Whatever could be done, she would have to do. Please, she prayed, give me the strength I need.

She loosened her grip on the newel post and took a faltering step toward the front door. On the next step, she pitched forward onto her knees, consumed by weakness, by sickness, by terror.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Through that black night rode the two men on horseback, their horses’ hoofs thundering against the red Mississippi clay. They rode hard out of Vicksburg, but as they neared their destination, they slowed to a canter, then to a walk. They strained, nerves on fire, desperate to make as little noise as possible.

Neil Davis spoke softly, “I don’t like it, Scott. We need men with us. How do we know what we’re riding into?”

Scott shared his partner’s anxiety, but he had learned in war that when men are faced with danger, one person’s fear could spread. Neil Davis was no coward, but he had reason to be scared. “All we know is that when Sparkwell was on sentry duty he overheard a couple of men making plans to get the gold out tonight.”

“Hell, there might be a hornet’s nest in there,” Neil said. “They might have twenty men, or a hundred. Unless Sparkwell rounds up the few men we can trust and gets them here in time, it’ll be just you and me.”

Scott shook his head. “Bonham won’t have that many men. Remember, from all we’ve managed to find out, the Night Hawks are gone. That means they’ve taken their part of the gold and headed home. I figure a half-dozen, a dozen at the most, and they’ll all be roustabouts Bonham picked up for a few hours’ labor. They’ll run if there’s any shooting. Whatever they’re being paid won’t be enough to make them risk their lives. And remember”—he reached over and touched Neil’s shoulder for emphasis—“we’ve got surprise on our side.”