Ella paced her room, pausing only to try the door, find it locked, and curse. After catching herself at that fruitless endeavor for the fifth time, she clenched her hands at her side, and took several deep, slow breaths to try to calm herself. She wanted to hurl herself at the door until it fell open, but told herself firmly that that would be stupid. The door was solid oak with heavy iron hinges. She would just hurt herself.
She felt torn apart by fury, pain, and fear. Despite all that had passed between them, Harrigan had handed her over to her relatives without hesitation. He had muttered some vague promises about keeping a close watch on her, but she refused to have any faith in his promises. With that one traitorous act he had shown her that he had never believed her, so she refused to believe in him. Her brief bout of understanding had faded the minute she had been given into Harold’s hands. Ella found it hard to believe that Harrigan would ever take Harold’s word over hers. He had his blood money and she had been fool enough to let him enjoy the use of her body. There was no reason for him to stay around and certainly no profit in it.
“And you have far more important things to worry about than some handsome, grey-eyed rogue,” she grumbled, and kicked over a footstool. “Idiot,” she cursed herself as she hobbled over to her bed, sat down, yanked off her slipper, and rubbed her sore foot. “You will not get far if you break your foot.”
“Ella?” called a tremulous female voice from the other side of the door. “Are you in there?”
“No, I’m waltzing down the promanade,” Ella snapped as she limped to the door, wondering if some miracle was about to happen and her cousin Margaret was going to set her free.
“There is no need to be pert. It is I, your cousin Margaret. Eleanor is here too. We wished to talk to you about Harrigan Mahoney.”
Ella slumped against the door, cursed, and shook her head. She was locked in a room facing death at the whim of her relatives, and these two women wanted to gossip about Harrigan. He was the last person she wanted to talk about. There was, however, a slim chance that she could fool or cajole her cousin into setting her free, a very slim chance, but one she had to try for.
“We could talk more clearly and freely if you would open this thick door,” Ella suggested, not really surprised when the two young women giggled, but thinking that it was a particularly cruel thing for them to do.
“Come, cousin, do you think we are stupid?”
Deciding it was best if she did not reply to that, Ella sighed. “I had thought that you might not wish to be party to a murder.”
“Murder? Carsons do not spill the blood of their own.”
“No, they hire others to do it for them.”
“Ella! Eleanor and I have come to visit, to have a pleasant chat, and all you can do is spit accusations at us. If you do not wish to talk about Mr. Mahoney, you need but say so. There is no need to be so unpleasant.”
For a moment, Ella stared at the heavy door and wondered if Margaret was truly ignorant of her father’s deadly plans, then shook her head. Margaret had helped her father destroy the lives of half a dozen men and their families. She was also very close to her father. In fact, Harold and Margaret’s love for each other was sometimes so obvious and intense it was uncomfortable to see. The woman knew exactly what her father wanted and just how far he would go to get it. Under Margaret’s genteel, pretty face, the woman was as cold and as avaricious as her father.
“Many pardons. I fear the thought of my impending death has made me ill-tempered. What do you wish to know about Mr. Mahoney? I am not certain I can tell you very much. I was merely his prisoner.” Ella realized that, despite her hurt and anger, she did not want to tell these women anything they could then use against Harrigan. Their families had hurt him enough.
Margaret laughed, a high, light, trilling sound she had practiced long hours to achieve. “Cousin, you are modestly fair of face and Mr. Mahoney is a rogue. Would you have us believe that nothing passed between the two of you?”
“Yes, because nothing did.”
Ella subdued the urge to tell Margaret and Eleanor that she and Harrigan had made wild, passionate love all the way from Wyoming to Philadelphia. She might yet escape her dire situation alive and she did not want that little bit of news to be spread far and wide. Giving Eleanor’s haughty pride a little tweak was simply not worth the price she might have to pay. She wavered slightly in her decision when she heard Eleanor say, “I told you Harrigan would never touch such a thin, plain mouse like Ella.” The woman’s vanity certainly deserved a thorough bruising. Ella hastily pushed aside all thought of how intimate Eleanor and Harrigan might have been during their courtship. That was something she neither should know, nor wanted to know, anything about.
“But Ella, you were alone with him,” Margaret began in a too sweet voice.
“Not often. And Margaret, you may deny that I have been brought here to die, but I certainly believe it. Do you really think I would stoop so low as to become romantically involved with the man who is dragging me to my own execution?” Margaret did not need to know the depths of her stupidity, Ella thought glumly.
“Well, you could have thought it would help you gain the freedom you so crave.”
“Harrigan was fooled once by close friends of this family. He is too smart to be fooled twice.”
“Any man can be fooled by a woman,” Eleanor said, her voice heavy with scorn. “They are easy to blind with sweet words, promises, and passion. One simply must know how to stroke their vanity and stir their passions. A man caught tight in the net of his own desires cannot think clearly.”
Ella was a little shocked at the cold, cynical way Eleanor spoke of men and then wondered why she was. The woman thought nothing of winning a man’s affections so that her family could more easily steal all he owned. Despite all her efforts not to, she also wondered just how deeply Eleanor had stirred Harrigan’s passions and if the woman had then satisfied them in any way. The images that that thought brought into her mind were painful and she shook her head, fruitlessly trying to fling them aside. What Harrigan had done before they had met was not her concern, not even if they had shared more than a fierce passion. She knew what troubled her most was not that he had been some other woman’s lover once, but that he had been Eleanor’s. That realization angered her, for it made her feel even more the fool than she already did.
“And that is when you steal all that is important to him, isn’t it, Eleanor,” Ella said, forcing herself to concentrate on Eleanor’s crimes and to try to forget the woman’s love affairs.
“If the man does not have the strength or the wit to cling tightly to what is his, he deserves to lose it.”
“No man deserves the treachery you visited upon those poor fools you wooed, won, and discarded.”
“How high-minded you are. If all you mean to do is preach to us, I believe we will leave you alone.”
“I am prostrate with grief.”
“You have more than earned your fate,” snapped Margaret. “If you had tried harder to be more amiable, more pleasant of nature, you would not have stirred Papa’s anger.”
“I have not stirred his anger, Margaret, only his greed.”
“Curse you and the fates that made you stay behind the day the rest of your family went boating. You ruined many a good plan.”
Ella stared at the door as she listened to the two women walk away. A coldness gripped her, sweeping through her body until she shivered. She told herself that Margaret’s parting words were simply meant to be hurtful, no more than a spiteful child’s wish that she had died years ago so that she could not plague the woman now. It was not an assertion she could make herself believe, no matter how often she repeated the words. The words Margaret had spat out were little more than a curse; it was the cold, hard way Margaret had spoken them that troubled Ella so.
She gritted her teeth, forced herself to walk to the bed, and sat down. Her hand shaking slightly, she clutched at her locket, running her thumb back and forth over the embossed rose on the front. There had been knowledge weighting Margaret’s words, the strong insinuation that she knew something about the boating accident that had stolen away Ella’s family that warm summer day seven years ago. Ella was certain that Margaret knew it had been no accident.
“How could I have been so blind, so utterly stupid?” she whispered, fighting back a grief she had thought she’d conquered years ago.
There was no doubt in her mind now that her family had been murdered. She was also certain that no one would believe her if she made the accusation. She had no proof, and, if she repeated what Margaret had said, she would be thought foolish or mad to have read so much into one angry statement. There was no clear admission in those harsh words, but Ella knew that was exactly what it was.
Fear became a hard knot in her stomach. She had known for a long time that Harold wanted her dead. Knowing that he had already committed murder, however, made it all the more starkly certain, and much more terrifying. Anyone who could kill three people, including a babe in arms, would not blink an eye at killing her. A small part of her had always hoped that she could change Harold’s mind or continue to elude him. Now she knew she had never had a chance.
The sound of the door being unlocked yanked her from her dark thoughts. She struggled to push aside her fear, to adopt an expression of anger and derision, as her uncle by marriage and two of his hulking men entered the room. As she held Harold’s cold stare one of his men set a tray of food and drink on the small writing desk in the corner of the room.
“Food for the prisoner? How kind,” she drawled.
“You brought this trouble upon your own head, m’dear,” Harold said in a soft, cold voice.
“Odd, I do not recall requesting that I be dragged back here and locked in this room.” Ella could see that she was angering Harold and knew that was dangerous, but a cold, cynical voice in her head said that it did not really matter. The man intended to kill her, and being sweet and obedient would only make it easier for him.
“This treatment is necessary because of your constant attempts to run away.”
“Not attempts—successes. You would never have pulled me back here without help.”
“Which cost me dearly,” he said, his voice slightly rougher as his anger grew stronger.
“Good.” She resisted the urge to lean back when he took a step closer to her. “I should hate to think that my life was bought cheaply. I just hope you used your own money and not what you anticipate gaining from my death.”
“Child, I am your guardian—”
“Only because you killed my parents before they could alter their will.”
It was hard not to stare at him in surprise when he visibly reacted to her accusation. His too-narrow face hardened, the bones standing out with an ugly clarity. His cold eyes narrowed and he clenched his hands so tightly that his thick knuckles turned white. Obviously there was proof of his crime somewhere, or he thought there was, and he now believed that she had found it. Ella knew she had just given him another reason to kill her.
“You clearly need more time alone to reflect upon your errant and foolhardy ways.” He signaled the two men with him to go out the door even as he backed toward it. “You have not yet recognized your own faults and weaknesses in character.”
“My only fault was in trusting you, and my only weakness was in allowing you to keep breathing,” she snapped, racing toward the door even as he shut it behind him and locked it.
Ella fruitlessly yanked on the door latch, then kicked the door, cursing when she hurt her foot again. Part of her fury was bred of fear, but a greater part was born of the injustice of it all. Even if she escaped, or her Aunt Louise made the man pay for whatever he did to her there would never be any retribution for the death of her family. Even if Harold feared there was proof, Ella doubted there was any, not after seven long years.
She limped over to her desk and sat down, staring morosely at the meal in front of her. Although she was not hungry, she knew it would be foolish to weaken herself through hunger. There was always the slim chance that she could escape or be rescued and she needed her strength so that she could grasp whatever small opportunity might come her way.
The food was tasteless to her, her mind too clogged with thought for her to appreciate the cook’s efforts. She had let her anger take control again and it had cost her. Not only had she made Harold even more determined to kill her, but she had neglected to find out what had happened to her aunt and the others. Ella was not sure how much trouble Harold could make for them, and she needed to know if they were free.
She stared out of the barred window as she drank the tart lemonade, thinking morosely that Harold had planned well for her return. So well that she might not be able to escape even if Louise and the others were free to help her. It took more effort than she thought it ought to to push away the sudden sense of defeat that swept over her. She would not let it take root, however. It just did not seem right that a man like Harold could continue to commit such crimes and never have to answer for them. It certainly did not seem right that she should have to die simply because she had money.
As she set the glass back on the desk, she frowned, wondering why that simple act had suddenly seemed so difficult. Ella shook her head. There were still a lot of thoughts swirling about in her head, but they were no longer clear. It was hard to center her mind on any one of them. She fiercely blinked her eyes as the objects on the desk became less distinct, but that only made her dizzy. Suddenly, in one brief flash of clarity, she stared at the now empty glass. The lemonade had held a lot more than a refreshing tartness. Ella struggled to stand up, then cursed Harold as blackness flooded through her mind and she slid to the floor.
“I wasn’t really sure that would work,” Harold said as he tossed Ella’s limp body onto the bed.
Margaret stared down at her unconscious cousin. “I think my slip of the tongue might not have been as ill-advised as we thought. I suspect it made her a little less sharp and cautious than she usually is. It was probably completely occupying her mind.”
“True. It has, however, made killing her far more necessary. She is clever. I don’t think she can find any proof that I murdered her family, but if there is some out there, she is one who could find it.”
“And she is stubborn enough to never stop looking for it.” Margaret grimaced. “Sorry, Father.”
“No real harm done, dear. I understand how furious the bitch can make a person. We will just have to move a little faster than we planned. It’s probably wise, anyway. Mahoney is still poking around in our business, and Thompson is getting nervous about keeping Louise and her mongrels in jail when he has nothing substantial to charge them with.”
“Louise could be charged with Robin Abernathy’s death.”
“Not any more. Not only has it been eight years, but not many people still believe the tale we so assiduously put about back then. It did what it was intended to—got rid of Louise before she could get her brother to change his will. I remained the heir.”
Margaret lightly chewed on her bottom lip. “Louise could be trouble.”
“Not if we’re careful. Everyone thinks the woman is mad, an embarrassment. And now that they have seen the sort of people she travels with, many think she is little better than a whore.” Harold put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders and led her toward the door. “I am a little more concerned about Mahoney. It’s time to come up with a way to completely destroy his credibility.” Harold paused outside the door to speak to the muscular, bearded man standing just outside. “The minute she shows signs of growing clearheaded, make her drink some more of the lemonade.”
“What if she won’t drink it?” the man asked.
“Then pour it down her damn throat.” He shook his head as the man shuffled into the room and shut the door behind him. “Once I have Ella’s money, I think I’d better loosen my purse strings enough to hire a few men with some brains.”
“Brawn is also important, Papa,” Margaret said as they headed down the stairs.
“True, but just once it’d be nice to give an order without having to explain it or repeat it.”
“How long are you going to hold Ella in that room and pour opium down her throat?”
“A few days, just until she is so filled with it that it’ll take a long time for her mind to clear, and long enough for a few select people to notice her problem before we take her to the river.” He smiled. “People will shake their heads and murmur poor girl. They’ll recall what an emotional little thing she was and the ones we allow to see her will speak of the opium, the glazed eyes, and the incoherence of the girl in her last days. They will all think it a tragic suicide.”
“Ah, yes, the poor thing never really did recover from the death of her family, did she?” Margaret laughed along with her father.
A voice in Ella’s head warned her not to swallow, but she had already done so. She looked up at the bearded, homely man who had poured the drugged lemonade down her throat and wished she could think of some curse to spit at him. Tiny flashes of memory poked through the haze enveloping her mind. There had been people in her room, tsking, and shaking their heads as they had looked down at her. That should worry her, but she was not sure why.
Her uncle’s face came into her view and she felt a sudden strong wave of hatred and fury, but it faded as fast as all other feeling and thought. “How long have I been like this?” she asked, fighting to cling to the tiny scrap of rationality she had grasped, before it was swept away by the new dose of opium forced upon her.
“Only three days, Ella.” He sighed and shook his head, looking at someone behind him. “I do not understand such mental disorders, Mr. Stanton. I just do what I can. She is either like this, or raging and thus a danger to us as well as to herself.”
Ella looked at the man who moved to stand next to Harold, and heard herself laugh, a strange giggle that alarmed even her. Harold was lining up his witnesses. Who would question the minister of their church when he said that poor Ella Carson had lost her mind? Ella wished she could think straight so that she could figure out how spreading the tale that she had lost her mind would help her uncle.
“It’s the lemonade,” she said, and could tell by the way Mr. Stanton shook his head that her words made no sense to the man, simply worked to confirm Harold’s claim of madness.
“Has there ever been insanity in the family?” asked Mr. Stanton.
“Well, we have often wondered about poor Louise,” Harold replied. “We always tried to explain away her wild actions by saying she had too much spirit, or that her upbringing was unusual, but now, I confess, I begin to wonder. Right now Louise is in jail, alongside the four half-breeds with whom she’s been galloping over the countryside,” he added, as if revealing some confidential family shame.
“Only two are half-breeds,” Ella said, but no one paid her any heed.
When the two men moved away from the side of the bed, Ella struggled to lift herself up enough to watch them. Neither man paid any attention to her, talking as if she was not even in the room. It was clear that Harold’s tale of madness had its believers already. When the men walked out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind them, she flopped back down onto the bed.
There was a faint hint of clarity in her mind and she fought to hold onto it. Lethargy held her body in a tight grip. She knew she was in danger, but each time her mind tried to tell her to save herself, she either did not heed it or she forgot the warning the minute it had sped through her mind. Her strength and will were still there but it was as if they were held captive in hundreds of layers of heavy batting. The opium was making her more of a prisoner than the locked doors and the bars on the window.
All the doses forced upon her after the first one had been weaker, she realized. Harold did not want her unconscious. He wanted her to be awake enough to confirm his tale of insanity with the strange way she acted and the odd, disjointed things she said. This was the clearest of mind she had been in a long while, although it was still not enough for her to plan an escape and enact it. She could feel the newest dose of the drug intruding upon her mind and trying to steal away her thoughts.
There was no way to fight it, she thought with a flash of alarm that was immediately soothed by the drug. That inability to be afraid, that sweet blind compliance now infecting her, was the worst, she thought as she slowly closed her eyes. She was going to walk to her death with a smile on her face and there was nothing she could do to stop it.