When I first heard Jeremy’s voice resonating from above the ruins, I felt relief. Someone had come for me! But the sensation did not last. If he were looking for me, why was he not calling my name? And if my friends knew me to be missing, would not my husband have come himself? I almost called out, but bit back the words, knowing it would be foolish to reveal my position, particularly if Jeremy had been brought here against his will or, like me, lured under false pretenses. I scuttled across a more open section of the site, where the walls were considerably lower, doing my best to use the occasional column to hide my progress, and made my way to the tall edifice, having decided it could offer me both protection from being seen and an excellent vantage point from which to better observe how I might get back up to modern street level and away from this place.
Jeremy was speaking again. I thought I heard him laugh, but no amount of straining could enable me to see him. From the direction of his voice, it was apparent he was still above me. The smell of cigar smoke wafted from the general direction of the entrance to the ruins, and I started to wonder if he had even the slightest idea that I was here. Had he and Amity—and, no doubt, Margaret—decided to steal into the site? It seemed unlikely, and I did not hear any female voices. If Margaret were with him, she would be (loudly) reciting Virgil in Latin, but surely Jeremy would never have come on his own, unless—no, that thought was too dire even for my current circumstance.
I was tempted to try to move closer to him in order to hear what he was saying, but knew I ought not. Instead, I climbed to one of the arched doorways partway up the façade, at what would have been the first floor, pressed my body against the side not illuminated by the moon, and waited. The height of my perch would protect me, for anyone searching would be likely to assume I had remained at ground level. Every instant felt like a lifetime. The voice—or voices—had stopped, and the silence was oddly terrifying. I tried to distract myself from an impending sense of doom by considering why these archways were so far above the courtyard. Had there originally been a terrace of some sort that looked over the more open space below? The cat was now sprawled out on the top of one of the shorter walls, meowing loudly. Then, in the snap of a second, I heard a cracking sound, a cry, and a dull thud. The sickening feeling in my stomach told me Jeremy was being treated to the same warm hospitality I had enjoyed upon my entrance to the site.
The sound of a grunt was followed by footsteps coming closer, and soon a hulking figure appeared in the moonlight. Monsieur Guérin—although at this point I could no longer believe the person who had introduced himself to me as such was actually the archaeologist—carrying a lifeless form over his shoulder. Jeremy. A second form appeared a few yards behind him.
“There,” Amity said, pointing, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Tie him to that column and then go get the other one and bring her to me.”
The man dropped Jeremy at the base of the column, took a large coil of rope that had been slung over the shoulder opposite the one that had carried my friend, and moved him into a sitting position before wrapping the rope around his chest and the column, again and again. He tied what appeared to be an enormous knot. “That will hold him.” He spoke to her in heavily accented English.
“Good,” she said. “Now get her, quickly.”
The man took a lantern from her and slunk away, back toward the entrance, which I could now see was accessible from the courtyard via a modern, if somewhat haphazard-looking, staircase, without going through the stone maze into which I had been flung. As soon as he was out of sight, Amity stood directly in front of Jeremy and pulled something from her reticule.
“I am very sorry to have to do this,” she said. “You must understand you give me no choice. It is nothing personal, I assure you, and I am grateful that you made it so easy. Anyone could see that you love Emily, and no matter what her devoted husband claims, it will be easy enough to convince the world that she loved you as well.”
Jeremy moved his head, moaning as he regained consciousness. “Amity?”
“I do wish you could forgive me, but it hardly matters, does it? We cannot always have icing for our cake. She will be with us at any moment and then—”
“Put the gun away, Amity,” Jeremy said, his voice rough.
“What should it be, do you think?” she asked, circling him, her arms raised in front of her, the weapon firmly in her grip. “A lover’s pact ending in mutual self-destruction or, rather, murder-suicide? I had settled on murder-suicide myself, because I do not think these days anyone would believe in double suicide. It is not dramatic enough and hardly necessary when everyone is having affairs.”
“What are you talking about?” Jeremy asked. “Amity, untie this rope.”
“She’s gone!” The man’s voice boomed through the air and Amity spun around.
“Find her!” she cried. Amity lowered the object, which I could now identify as a small pistol, and looked around. Raising the gun again, she walked the perimeter of the grassy area near the edifice where I was hiding. “Emily! You might as well come out. I know you are still here. There is only one exit and it has been under constant guard.”
She was fewer than thirty yards from me, but fortunately had her eyes focused on ground level, and had not looked up, so I remained securely hidden. My decision to go up had been sound. I could not stay, however, as I had to do something to get Jeremy away from her. I wished I had not been forced to abandon the broken brick when I had climbed the wall. There was nothing that could replace it in the archway where I now stood, but regardless, I was too far from Amity to be able to throw something with reliable aim. I would have to make my way back down the edifice, keeping out of her sight, find another suitable stone, and somehow get close enough to strike her. What would be the wiser course of action? Should I target her head, hoping to render her unconscious, or try to knock the gun from her hand?
Then there was the matter of her henchman. I presumed he would be armed as well. Neutralizing him could prove even more difficult. Furthermore, she had said the gate had been guarded. Was he the guard, or was there a third man? The clouds were moving back toward the moon, so I waited until the light dimmed again, and then, carefully and quietly, I crouched down in the archway, keeping to the darkest corner, and lowered myself along the side of the wall away from the open space across which, so far as I could tell, Amity was still pacing. She would not be able to see me unless she walked behind the remains of the building. So far, she had not gone in that direction, but now I would no longer be able to follow her movements.
When my boots touched the ground I bent down and felt around for a new weapon. There was no brick handy, but I picked up an uneven hunk of white stone. Its weight could do a significant amount of damage, but its cumbersome shape would make it difficult to hurl through the air with any hope of accuracy. I would be better off with something easier to wield.
“I don’t see her!” The voice sounded far away. The fact that no one else joined in the henchman’s chorus encouraged me. If there were a third person, surely he would be joining the search for me, or at least shouting out to confirm I had not left the site.
“Do not lose focus,” Amity said. “Start where you left her and try to retrace her steps.”
“You want me to go down into the ruins, room by room?”
“How else would you propose to do it?” Amity’s voice raged with frustration. Her partner did not reply. I could hear the sound of her shoes on one of the patches of marble pavement scattered over the site. She was not far from me now. I lifted the less than satisfactory stone and clutched it to my chest, figuring it was better to have something rather than nothing, and quietly made my way along the length of the ancient façade until I reached a small, low opening in the wall. I ducked through it, knowing that now I would be on the side of the building facing where Jeremy was being held. Having studied all that was below me while I had hidden in the higher archway, I was aware that there were three rectangular spaces enclosed by walls of varying heights between me and the column to which my friend was tied. If I could make my way through them, I might be able to approach Amity from behind.
The trouble came from not being able to scale walls while carrying my would-be weapon, so I abandoned it, confident that I would be able to replace it as I came nearer to my target. As I shifted my weight over the first wall, I heard, from the general direction of Jeremy’s column, a strangled cry followed by the shuffling of feet and a single shot. Half over the top, I stopped, unable to breathe. Had she killed him?
“It was a cat, Amity, nothing but a cat,” Jeremy said. “Please, you must let me go.”
I opened my mouth in a silent scream of relief at the sound of his voice and lowered myself back to the ground on the other side of the wall, wondering if she had shot the cat. Almost as if the creature anticipated my thought, it meowed, and I would swear it sounded almost bored.
“Do you hear something else?” Amity asked. “I hear her. She is nearby.”
“Who? Emily?” Jeremy asked. “Why would she be nearby? If she is not where you left her, you can be sure she is long gone. She is probably back at the hotel having a hot bath right now.” He was trying to distract her. “Let’s go find her together, Amity. If you would just—”
“Silence! I hear something.”
I had made good use of their conversation, covering the remaining ground—and walls—that stood between me and the column, and was now just on the other side from where my friend was being held. The wall separating us was solid and high, too high for me to feel confident about using it effectively. I would not be able to carry a heavy projectile to the top, and, once there, would be exposed to my enemy. If I tried either to throw something down or to lower myself, she would spot me at once and I would be an easy target. Assuming most Americans (Margaret being an obvious exception) to be partly civilized cowboys, I had no reason to doubt Amity’s skills with a firearm.
As a result, I decided to stay as far away as possible from her and her gun for as long as I could. I climbed over a shorter wall parallel to the other. Beyond it was a grassy area littered with stones. I selected what seemed, in the rush of the moment, the best choice to arm myself, and made my way around the outside of the structure, keeping as close to the walls as possible. I paused at the final corner, knowing that another step would render me vulnerable to attack. I could now see Jeremy again. Blood had stained his collar but he was conscious and alert. Amity was not in my field of vision.
What one needed in such a moment was a berserker rage, so fierce and so violent that one might overcome one’s opponent in a blinding flash. Unfortunately, despite my father’s insistence that the Bromley family were descended from Viking stock, I was unable to rise to the occasion. I watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of Amity so that I might at least ascertain what direction I should head. I took the slightest step away from the wall, hoping for a clearer view. I still could not see Amity, but my movement caught Jeremy’s attention, and his eyes widened.
“What are you looking at?” Amity’s voice was sharp. “Do you see her?”
“I heard something,” Jeremy said, gesturing with his head in the direction away from me. “It was probably the cat.”
“You looked the other way.”
“I was startled.”
“I am afraid, my darling boy, that I am going to have to end this without further delay.”
“You have already fired one shot,” he said. “Another is likely to raise alarm, and there is a villa in plain sight beyond those trees. You will have to give up on finding Emily, but perhaps it was I who was your target all along.”
“Of course you were.” She stood still, several yards from him, searching for any sign of me while she spoke. “How was I ever going to convince my parents to let me marry Jack with you alive? I must have a duke, you know. They decreed it.”
“Jack?” His voice sounded strangled. “You want to marry my brother?”
“Almost from the moment I met him,” she said, her tone turning soft. “When he told me about you, the plan came to me with so little effort it was all but miraculous.” She was moving closer now. “If you had only gone back to your room and had a nightcap, your darling Emily wouldn’t be in the slightest danger now. You have quite let her down. Not very gentlemanly of you.”
I could see her shadow now. She was very near to Jeremy. If I attacked now, she would have a clear shot at close range, but if I waited, she would probably still have that. I stepped back, well out of sight, protected by the wall, and grabbed a second stone, this one smaller. Then, in a fluid motion, I flung it with all my strength over the wall behind me and ran toward her shadow.
The noise startled her, and she turned around, but only for a moment. It was enough, however, for I was already upon her and smashed a second rock against the side of her head. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground, but she did not drop the pistol and was now swinging it wildly, trying to point it at me as she struggled to get back on her feet. Fortunately, as archaeological sites have no shortage of convenient blocks of stone, I reached for another one and threw it at her. It cast only a glancing blow, but to her face, and this gave me the time I needed to stomp on her arm until she released her grip on the gun.
I scooped up the weapon, surprised to find that my hands were not shaking, and leveled it at her. A strange calm came over me. “Untie him,” I said.
“I will not.” She spat the words at me, her eyes wild.
“I will shoot you.”
“You won’t. And even if you tried, it would amount to nothing. Jeremy told me what a terrible shot you are.”
“You believed him?” I laughed. “Amity, my dear, I am an excellent shot. If your fiancé—or perhaps I should say former fiancé, as I think it very likely he shall call off the engagement after this—told you otherwise, it must only have been to hide his admiration for me.”
“You are wrong if you think I am jealous of you,” Amity said. “I never wanted him.”
“Yes, I heard it all. It wasn’t a very interesting story, I’m afraid.” I was circling closer to her. “At least the way you told it. In more skilled hands it might make for a rather diverting, if somewhat sensational, novel. Just the sort of thing my husband despises.” Footsteps, hurried, warned me that her henchman was drawing near. I had to incapacitate her so that I could deal with him. I bit my lip, steadied my breath, and pulled the trigger. She cried out and I looked away, searching for her accomplice. He was not yet in sight, so I turned my attention to Jeremy, but the knot restraining him appeared all but impossible to untie. I would need something to cut it.
“No, I do not have a knife with me,” he said in answer to the question I posed him. “I thought I was going to have a rather different sort of evening and did not arm myself. You shot her, Em.” We both looked at her crumpled body.
“Yes, I am well aware of that. We need to get away from here before—” But it was already too late. The hulking form appeared once again from the shadows. “Time to screw your courage to the sticking place,” I said, my voice choked. “Never thought I would have the occasion to feel such sympathy for Lady Macbeth.”
“Don’t joke, Em.”
They were the last words I heard before I pulled the trigger again. This time, I did not hit my target and I braced myself for return fire, but none came. Instead, the man turned and ran. Amity must not have thought he would need to be armed with anything other than the cudgel he had used on both Jeremy and myself. Or perhaps his loyalty to Amity’s cause proved insufficient. I applied myself again to freeing my friend, and found that without the threat of imminent disruption, and possible destruction, I was able at last to loosen it. Jeremy stood, took me by the shoulders, and looked deep into my eyes.
“I do think this will get me entirely over loving you, Em. I should have been the one rescuing you. How ever will I live down this embarrassment?” I appreciated his attempt at humor, but the pain in his voice was evident. He crossed to Amity’s motionless body. I could not bear to look. “She is still breathing.”
“I aimed for her shoulder,” I said. “I have read countless novels in which the hero lives relatively unscathed after a bullet goes clean through the fleshy part. It seemed a decent enough strategy.” The preternatural calm that had come over me so unexpectedly now vanished, and I stood, shaking rather violently. Shouts came from the direction of the gate, and soon half a dozen gendarmes had descended upon us. They told us, later, that the owners of the nearby villa had summoned them the moment they heard the first shot. Never have I been more grateful for my fluency in French, as the situation looked rather awkward: me, standing, holding a pistol, and Amity bleeding on the ground. I explained what had happened, Jeremy corroborating my story, and, perhaps more importantly, Amity’s henchman, whom they had caught fleeing from the scene, had confessed to everything. She had hired him to lure me to the site, and had given him explicit instructions to introduce himself both to my husband and me, so that there would be no question that I would meet him at the ruins. That task finished, he was to come to a predetermined spot on the Promenade des Anglais and deliver a note to the Duke of Bainbridge. He did not avoid looking at either Jeremy or me as he spoke. The affability I had noted upon first meeting him now seemed to mask something more sinister. All the while, the cat, who had reappeared after I fired my last shot, sat approximately six feet from Amity, staring at her accusingly.
We followed as they carried Amity away, putting her in a wagon that would take her to the hospital. Much as I wanted to find Colin, I decided we should accompany her, and asked if we could give our official statements there, rather than at the police station. Ironic though it may sound, I wanted to be sure I had caused her no irreparable harm. The gendarmes did not object. Just before he helped me into the second police vehicle, Jeremy put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him.
“All things being equal, Em, I much prefer Cannes to Nice.”
“Is that so?” I asked, doing my best to restore both of our spirits. “It seems to me you ought to rethink your position. I am beginning to believe that your life was threatened multiple times in Cannes, yet only once in Nice.”
“Multiple times?” he asked, sitting next to me on the hard bench against the wall of the wagon. “I am not certain about that. Regardless, the attempt here was far more dramatic. You know I have no stomach for drama. And my head may never recover from that fellow’s blow. Yes, I blame Nice entirely. Much prefer Cannes.”
I took his hand and smiled before letting my head drop onto his shoulder. “The ruins are lovely,” I said, “yet I find myself forced to agree with you. Cannes was much better.”