“You’ve played some hoax on my son. I see that now.” Sir Thaddeus glowered at her as he took in the full detail of her dress. “The devil take you, you hellcat. What nonsense did you fill that boy’s head with?”
He poked the end of his cane hard against her stomach. She choked with anger and thought about lunging at him with her claws unsheathed. If she aimed correctly, she’d hook his cheek nicely. But just as she tensed her hands, he jabbed at her again, harder this time, causing her to stumble backwards. With chilling speed, he grabbed her gloved hand by the wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. The bruised bone and muscle of her injured arm cried out in protest, but she bit her lip to silence herself.
“Pip is frightened of you,” she managed to pant out, “but he’ll never respect or love you. Never.”
“As if I care tuppence about that.” He wrenched her arm harder. “It’s naught to me as long as he marries the girl I’ve picked out for him.”
“Oh, yes. The so-called message from beyond the grave you paid Madame Olga to deliver. So who is this Miss Montague? Some weak-chinned inbred miss with high arches and thin blood?”
“Hold your tongue, harpy.” He cuffed her across the head. She ducked, but he grabbed hold of her hair and yanked her upright. “Now move,” he ordered. Her scalp stinging, she had no option but to obey.
She staggered past the curtain and into the room beyond. They were in some sort of grubby kitchen which reeked of stale drippings. The shabbiness of the room only highlighted the horror of seeing Julian lying on the floor, arms and legs bound with stout rope, a filthy cloth gagging his mouth. His eyes were shut, and he appeared insensible, while the bestial lout stood over him, one dirtied boot resting on Julian’s shoulder.
“What now, guv?” From his coat Kray drew out a long knife and ran his thumb along the wicked edge, his eyes never leaving Nellie. “I wouldn’t mind finishing the job I started on this hoyden. I could add a few more stripes to ’er face. Make ’er real pretty.”
At the sight of that familiar knife Nellie shuddered, the scars on her face itching and tingling at the memory.
“You’re all talk and no show, I’m beginning to suspect,” Sir Thaddeus grumbled. “Why should I pay you when I have to correct your bungles?”
The man kicked pettishly at Julian’s comatose form. “Killing ain’t as easy as it looks.”
“Of course it is. You just have to go about it with purpose.” He pushed Nellie forward. “See to the wench. Tie her up properly.”
Nellie’s determination to struggle dissolved as the knife blade glinted closer. That same knife had carved into her face, had sliced through her fingers, had stabbed at her defenceless body. Dread and loathing numbed her as Kray dragged her to the far side of the kitchen. He fished out a length of rope from his pocket and swiftly bound her hands behind her back. Forcing her to the ground, he tied her ankles together, his hands jerking the rope viciously, then shackled her to the leg of a cumbersome table. When he balled up a greasy rag and kneeled down, she twisted her head from side to side in protest, but to no avail. He stuffed the loathsome cloth into her mouth until she was almost gagging.
“Don’t you look dainty?” He pinched her scarred cheek hard. With both feet, she aimed a kick at his exposed ankle. He yelped and backhanded her across the face.
“Stop that racket,” Sir Thaddeus barked. “I can hear someone on the outer stairs.” A knock sounded on the front door. Fixing his glare on Nellie, Sir Thaddeus muttered, “You’ll keep your mouth shut. One peep out of you and Kray sinks that knife into his gut.” He pointed at Julian.
Kray hunkered down next to Julian’s inert body and positioned his blade at Julian’s exposed stomach. Her mouth dry from fear and the noisome cloth, Nellie could only nod her acquiescence.
Sir Thaddeus disappeared past the curtain just as the knock was repeated, louder this time. There was a creaking noise as if the door was swinging open, and then Nellie heard Pip’s voice, sharp with shock.
“Father! What the…what are you doing here?”
“I could say the same of you,” Thaddeus retorted.
“I-I came to speak with Madame Dariya. W-where is she? What have you done with her?”
“You’ve already spoken with the woman. Why did you return?”
“How do you know that? Have you been following me?” Pip’s voice pitched upwards. “Oh my heavens. Is there nothing you won’t do to manipulate me? Why can’t you just leave me be?”
“You’re my heir, the last of the Ormonds. Your wishes are the least of my considerations,” Thaddeus thundered. A thud followed as he kicked over a piece of furniture. “From now on there’ll be no more visits to fortune tellers. You’ll do as I say and marry the Montague girl, and that’s the end of it.”
“It—it’s not the end of it.” The desperation in Pip’s voice made Nellie’s stomach contract. “I have a few questions for you, Father, and I d-demand your answer.”
There was a brief silence. “Oh? And what questions might they be?” Thaddeus asked in a deceptively mild tone.
Pip swallowed audibly. “Nellie’s disappearance and death. D-did you have any part in that?”
“What! What poppycock. Who told you that? I’ll have his guts for garters, I swear.”
“So you deny any involvement in my wife’s d-death?”
Nellie leaned her head back against the table leg and shut her eyes as relief of sorts trickled through her. Pip had just proven he’d known nothing about his father’s plans to get rid of her. Cold comfort now, but it was something to know he hadn’t betrayed her so completely.
“That fortune hunter was not your wife,” Sir Thaddeus said. “You promised yourself to the Montague girl.”
“Only under duress.”
“Why did you come running back to me then as soon as your little gold digger’s back was turned? Answer me that, son.”
“I came to you asking for assistance.”
“And I gave you the best possible assistance. Now you’re free of that tawdry association, you can start behaving like a proper Ormond.”
“A proper Ormond. I see.” Pip’s voice quavered. “And does a proper Ormond discover his wife bleeding and leave her to die alone?”
Fraught silence. Nellie’s legs shifted spasmodically. Across the room Kray bared his teeth at her in a silent snarl.
“Well, Father?” Pip continued. “Why won’t you answer me?”
“Your aspersions don’t deserve an answer.”
“Why? Because they’re true?”
“Because they’re ridiculous,” Sir Thaddeus growled. “You are ridiculous.”
“Me, r-ridiculous? Well, p-perhaps this will alter your mind.”
A strangled gasp of disbelief. “Phillip! No. Put that down—”
“Answer me, Father. Did you murder my mother?”
“Stop this farce, boy. You don’t even know how to fire a pistol. Give that to me, you idiot—”
Scuffling, bumping, furniture knocked over. Two men grappling with each other. Grunts and shouts. Confused and flummoxed, Kray stood irresolute over Julian. Clearly he was hesitant to interfere until told to by his employer.
“No—” A loud explosion severed Thaddeus’s bellow. Something heavy crashed to the floor.
Gripping his knife, Kray charged for the other room. As he rushed past, his hip jarred the table. The lamp, left on the edge, teetered for several moments and fell to the floor. Its glass broke on impact, and oily fluid spilled everywhere, alight, the greasy floor only fuelling the flames further.
From the next room Kray yelled, Pip shrieked, and a second gunshot rang out, followed by another weight toppling over.