Chapter 15

There is something behind the throne

greater than the King himself.

—William Pitt, Earl of Chatham

Elysia felt waves of pain pounding against her senses as consciousness returned to her with nauseating rapidity. She almost longed for the peaceful blackness of unconsciousness again. She moaned softly as she tried to sit up, but failed, as a sharp pain stabbed piercingly behind her eyes, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor of the cave in a huddling crouch. She opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings in disorientation, as the walls spun around and around, the torches wedged into cracks in the walls, flickering hazily before her eyes. In the distance, she could hear the undulating rumblings of the sea, as it surged against the mouth of the cave.

Elysia pulled herself up into a sitting position, leaning against a barrel for support—feeling its hard and steady presence behind her as her vision began to clear and her balance returned, the floor of the cave steadying and righting itself. She put a shaking hand slowly to the back of her head; feeling the sticky, congealed blood matted to her hair, wincing as she touched the tender bump on her skull. It ached unbearably, and closing her eyes she breathed deeply, as her stomach began to heave. She felt sore and stiff all over. Elysia glanced down at her riding outfit—torn and soiled, stained with blood from cuts and bruises covering her body. She nearly laughed hysterically as she thought of the work and careful stitching Dany had done, to mend it from her other accident. It would take more than that to salvage it this time .

Elysia repressed a shudder as she looked up at the steep and narrow steps cut out of the side of the cave, climbing dizzily up to the large iron door set into the wall of the pagoda.

What had happened? She had fallen down those treacherous steps—and she was still breathing. She remembered the vicious blow to her head, and the emptiness of space before her as she fell, but then blackness had engulfed her and she was mercifully unaware of her descent into the cave.

And what had happened to Mrs. Blackmore? She remembered that she had been up there with the squire's wife when she had fallen. Elysia looked about her. Mrs. Blackmore wasn't down here with her, injured and helpless. Surely they had not killed the squire's wife, whoever had hit her over the head. No, she couldn't be dead—the squire wouldn't have his own wife killed. But why did they trick her here to this underground cave that was filled with their cache of smuggled goods? She wondered if Ian knew about this. What could they possibly want with her?

Elysia struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall of the cave as her knees wobbled beneath her, a giddy feeling running through her. She'd have to get out of here. They must have thought she succumbed to her injuries, and they would soon be coming back to remove her body—probably to dump it into the sea.

She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, but she felt chilled from lying on the damp stone floor. Elysia began to move slowly and painfully to the steps, when she stopped, startled as the door was flung open, and light streamed down from the flaming torch held high in front of someone coming down.

"Still alive?" an incredulous voice asked. "I am surprised. You certainly are hard to kill—as many lives as a cat," Mrs. Blackmore remarked in a peevish voice as she carefully stepped down the treacherous stairs; slippery from the moisture seeping in.

Elysia stood stupefied, as she stared at the figure of Mrs. Blackmore. That mild and meek little woman—now holding a pistol pointed directly at her heart, a look of dislike in her pale eyes. She seemed to emit an evilness that Elysia had never before noticed.

Mrs. Blackmore's lips were thinned in a grimace as she waved the ominous-looking mouth of the pistol in a threatening gesture at Elysia.

"Mrs. Blackmore. What is the meaning of this outrage?" Elysia demanded, stepping forward bravely, as she quelled the fear that shook within her.

"Your pardon, your ladyship, for not explaining things more clearly. Will you please forgive me, your ladyship? The grand marchioness—" she laughed unpleasantly, casting a look over Elysia's bedraggled appearance, "you don't look so grand to me, your ladyship, eh, boys?" she inquired of the two men who'd come in behind her, unobserved by Elysia as she'd stared hypnotically at Mrs. Blackmore and the pistol.

Now she saw for the first time the two men who'd been standing silently behind Mrs. Blackmore. They were big and powerful-looking, with thick shoulders and long muscular arms; menacing as they stood with their bull-like stances, watching Elysia's predicament without a flicker of emotion on their faces. Elysia remembered the men who had beaten up Ian. "They mean business," he'd said, and she'd seen first-hand the punishment they were capable of dealing out—if these were the same two.

"Her still looks mighty good t'us. Yes, indeed," the smaller of the two, and dirtier one, smirked unpleasantly, giving his companion a knowing nudge with his elbow.

"Surprised?" Mrs. Blackmore asked in amusement

"Indeed I am. You wrong yourself by not displaying your talents on the stage. Playing a part seems to come easily to you," Elysia answered flippantly, trying to recover from the surprise of Mrs. Blackmore's metamorphosis.

"I shall accept that as a compliment," she laughed, "for I should be good. After all, I played the boards for more than fifteen years before marrying the squire—a stroke of luck for me. I was quite a good-looker then—still am—but I'm playing down my looks, of course, for this role. It is a role that I have not especially enjoyed but it has served its purpose. "

"Which was?"

"To lull you stupid fools into underestimating me. Who would suspect the meek little Mrs. Blackmore as heading one of the biggest smuggling operations in England? No one gave me a thought—laughing and dancing, eating and drinking, enjoying themselves in my home, and never casting a look in my direction. They were too busy being entertained by the squire, the gullible fools. They ask no questions as long as their bellies are full of food and drink, and they've plenty of games to keep them amused—mindless as a herd of sheep."

"So you are the brains of the smugglers' ring? And what of the squire? Is he merely an actor too?" Elysia asked.

"Oh, no, he's quite legitimate. He had a small holding up North, but that's no use for big smuggling, and we needed lots of money. No, that estate had no place in my plans, and the squire does whatever I want. He knows I'm the one with the brains, who keeps him in brandy and cigars, and surrounded by flunkies," she bragged.

"And what are your plans?"

"Well, I suppose you've the right to know," she deliberated thoughtfully for a moment, building the suspense, "since you play such an important part in them."

"I do?" Elysia exclaimed, startled.

"Oh, yes. You are at the center of the plan—actually, an obstacle, but one that will be removed shortly. Unfortunately, my first attempt failed. You didn't really believe that your accident was caused by an innocently gone astray poacher's shot?" She seemed pleased by the remembrance. The urge to boast of her accomplishments was too strong to deny, and that streak of cruelty that she usually controlled could not resist tormenting her victim.

"You purposely had me shot? Hired someone to kill me?" Elysia asked in disbelief, feeling a knot of terror rise in her stomach.

"Yes. It was superbly planned—only the fool winged you instead of killing you. Now I shall have to get rid of you with less finesse, but it can't be helped. I am really rather pressed for time, what with my guests, and a new shipment arriving this afternoon. It was luck that this fog moved in earlier. We can move ahead of schedule. This is one of my most important loads. Never before have I received such a large payment for one cargo. That is why I shall personally see to it. The squire is already down there, but I can't trust him not to make a mess of things.

"Do you realize how much inconvenience you have caused me?" Mrs. Blackmore asked conversationally. "You really do owe me an apology. I have had to worry about getting rid of you, along with all of my other business transactions, which I really need to devote my fullest attention to. When I think of the precious time spent in worrying about you."

Elysia stared incredulously at her. The woman was mad, standing here calmly planning her death while she was expected to admire her brilliance. Had she no conscience? Mrs. Blackmore apparently felt no remorse at all, only slight irritation at being inconvenienced.

"How discourteous of me, Madam Smuggler. I do beg your pardon," Elysia replied, stalling for time. She clenched her hands into fists as she struggled against the fear she was feeling. She would not show panic in front of these creatures—it would merely add to their pleasure. "A small point of curiosity—if you would be so kind as to enlighten me. Why do you desire my death? I have never done you harm."

"Never done me harm?" Mrs. Blackmore repeated with a snort. "Cheated me out of my rights, you have."

"That's absurd. I have never taken anything that belonged to you."

"You're Lady Elysia, the Marchioness of St. Fleur, aren't you?" she demanded belligerently, stepping closer as she waved the loaded pistol wildly.

Elysia nodded her head. "Yes," she said faintly as she backed away from the determined advancing of Mrs. Blackmore.

"You stole that title from me."

Elysia looked at her in disbelief. What in the world was she talking about?

"Louisa should now be the marchioness, not you. I would have all of the estates, money, and position—a place in society—not just the insignificant wife of a country squire. But you shall pay for it. You with your ladylike airs. Regardless of your aristocratic blue blood, your veins will drip red blood as you die, and like all others, you will beg me—Clara Blackmore, the little actress all those fine ladies lifted their noses at while their husbands kept me on the side—to have mercy and spare that lovely white neck of yours."

"Never," Elysia spoke imperiously, raising her chin higher. "Since there appears to be little I can do to prevent your murdering me, I will retain my dignity at least, and not bargain with the likes of you," she said quietly, looking at Mrs. Blackmore contemptuously.

Mrs. Blackmore's hand shook slightly before she shrugged her shoulders, feigning indifference. "Brave words, Lady Elysia, very brave indeed. But I wonder how long that dignity will last, as death comes closer and closer, until you can breathe it?"

"Dignity is something you will never know—nor will you ever understand. It is beyond you," Elysia said boldly, her eyes glowing like green flames, "and do not think that you will succeed, for you shall not, Mrs. Blackmore. Shall I give you a prediction?"

"Enough. I do not care for this game you play—I'm no fool. Predictions, bah!" Mrs. Blackmore laughed scornfully.

"Oh, but you should. I have been accused on several occasions of being a witch," Elysia laughed as the other woman looked momentarily startled.

"Ah, I can see you do believe—if maybe just a little. Well, let me tell you your future. You shall be destroyed, found out, and unmasked, for the traitor that you are—and soon, my dear Madam Smuggler, quite soon. All that money and power that you crave will not be yours to enjoy, for my death shall not go unavenged, either," Elysia promised in a soft voice, sounding as if she had placed a curse upon her head.

The two large men behind Mrs. Blackmore shifted uneasily as they stared in fascination at the play of color in Elysia's hair, the flames from the torches seeming to dance within it.

"Kill her!" Mrs. Blackmore screamed as she backed away nervously from Elysia, and the strange, green light that shone from her slanted eyes as she continued to stare at Mrs. Blackmore. There was no fear of dying visible on her beautiful face, only a smile curving her lips, as she saw the doubt and fear conflicting on Mrs. Blackmore's pinched face. "You're going to die," Mrs. Blackmore hissed venomously as she made her way down the passage to the mouth of the cave. "Finish her off quickly—we've work to do this afternoon. Good-bye, Lady Elysia," she added, laughing as she disappeared through the entrance.

Elysia stood silent, facing the two men as they measured her up. Wondering if she would put up a fight, were they. Well, they would soon find out that she was no coward. If she was destined to die, she would go fighting.

But they had other plans for her first. She was not to die immediately, and not with any shred of dignity, Elysia felt her heart stop and start up sickeningly, as she understood what they were planning. She watched them run their tongues over their thick lips and rotting teeth expectantly.

"Ye'll not be givin' ol' Jack any trouble now, eh?" one of them said, noting her clenched fists. "We're to have our way with ye. Ain't nothin' ye can do about it, and I reckon we might just enjoy ourselves with ye before we finishes ye off."

"Yeah, I was a-hopin' ye'd be a feelin' that way, Jack me boy," his friend added, making a move forward like a hunter stalking his prey.

"Not so fast there, laddie-buck. She's mine first," Jack warned his smaller companion.

"And who says so?"

"I do—and that should be answer enough, if ye knows whats good fer ye," he threatened.

Elysia took a step backwards. It was too much to hope that they might kill each other off in a fight over who would rape her first. If there were only some way she could escape—but they were too big and powerful. She didn't have a chance. She couldn't bribe them—what enticement could be great enough for them to risk their necks by hanging. Turning her loose would be endangering themselves with detection as smugglers—even worse, traitors, and possibly murderers. No matter how great a sum she promised, they would not risk it.

The one called Jack made a sudden lunge, grasping Elysia around the waist and pulling her into his arms. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, his shirt smelling of sweat and grime. Elysia gagged as the smell putrefied in her nostrils. He pulled at her dress, already ripped in the seams, revealing her shoulders.

Elysia felt faint; a thousand hammers were beating away in her head and his arms were pressing against her bruised sides. She prayed for unconsciousness to come swiftly and release her from this agony that was far worse than death.

"Oh, no ye don't. Come on, fight me," he said thickly as his foul breath hit her nostrils, before his mouth closed down on her lips. She tried to struggle but his arms were like a vise, forcing her into immobility, lifting her off her feet, her half-boots causing little damage to his thickly booted legs.

His large hands pulled at her as he threw her roughly to the ground, following her down, his heavy bulk pressing against her painfully. Tears trickled from beneath her closed lids as she felt his fingers moving along her leg.

The fogginess in Elysia's brain was suddenly shattered by the sharp report of a pistol firing twice, the roar of the shot echoing from wall to wall around the cave until it drowned out the sound of the sea. The man above her gave a surprised cry and rolled from her, a stricken look of astonishment crossing his heavy features.

Elysia stared up into the coal-black eyes of the man standing over the lifeless bodies of her attackers, the pistol he held negligently in his hand still smoking.

" Mon Dieu !" he repeated in a voice of disbelief. "What are you doing here? I would kill the swine a thousand times over for this." He spat on the still form beneath his highly polished, booted legs.

The count knelt down and helped Elysia to her feet, removing his coat and placing it about her shaking form, his arms holding her steady as she swayed on her weak legs .

"Here, drink this," he offered, drawing a silver flask from his coat and holding it to Elysia's white lips.

She coughed as she breathed the strong fumes of the brandy, but drank deeply of it. Elysia could feel its heat burning through her body, spreading its warmth like a flame. The dizziness passed and her legs no longer felt like quivering jelly. Taking a deep breath she looked at the count who was staring at her with deep concern in his black eyes.

"I do not know quite how to thank you, Monsieur le Comte. I owe you my life," Elysia said humbly, her voice weak and shaken.

"That I could have been of service to you, c'est un honneur—mais , I do not think they would have killed you. As a woman of dignity, however, you would have wished it."

"No, you are mistaken—they had orders to kill me."

"Orders? C'est impossible. Pourquoi ? Why should anyone desire that one so lovely as yourself should die?" the count asked incredulously, still doubtful. He glanced about him at the stone walls of the cave and the stacks of goods piled up beneath its domed ceiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I was tricked into coming here—by Mrs. Blackmore. She's insane—mad with the lust for power, and she will stop at nothing to get what she wants." Elysia watched the look of disbelief on the count's face. He may be working with the Blackmores, but he was entirely innocent of Mrs. Blackmore's murderous plans concerning herself, she thought. He proved that when he killed two of Mrs. Blackmore's hired assassins.

"Why should she want to kill you, Lady Elysia?"

"I am in her way. She had designs on the marquis. She had hoped for a match between Louisa and Alex, but unfortunately, he chose me instead."

"Ah, je comprends . That is a woman to beware of. If it were otherwise…well," he shrugged, "I would have no dealings with her. It is always safer to know the enemy—then you are prepared—but if you do not think that one is to be feared, then how can you protect yourself from a blow that you do not expect? She is evil, that one, and very da ngerous." He looked perturbed. "Even I did not know how dangerous."

"Then you know a great deal about Mrs. Blackmore, Monsieur le Comte." Elysia's thoughts were beginning to orient themselves once again, despite the aching in her head, and she realized that the count had no idea that he had been detected, and that she knew the truth of his mission in England.

" Oui , this is so," he smiled hesitantly, casting a look over his shoulder expectantly, "and I suppose that you must be wondering what I am doing here. It is true—now that you have seen that woman's true character—that she is a smuggler. My involvement with her is only for the purpose of transportation. You see I must get to France, on occasion," the count explained sincerely. "You must believe me. I am not a Bonapartist. Non ! I am a Royalist. I am fighting with the groups who oppose that tyrant, but I also must see to my estates. You do believe me?" he demanded, as if her trust meant something to him. "In fact, I have the sanction of your prime minister to do this work," he lied, trying to make her believe him.

If she had not already learned the truth about the count, then she would have believed every lying word that he had so eloquently spoken just now. He was an accomplished spy, after all, and it was his job to deceive people into trusting him.

"Please, you will believe me?" he entreated. "You do believe me…you will not say of what you have seen…at least about me?" He seemed so sincere, so anxious for her to believe him, Elysia thought in puzzlement, until she noticed how his fingers were nervously handling the trigger of the pistol tucked into the waistband of his pantaloons. He did not wish to kill her—unless she did not believe him, and denounced him to the authorities. That was the reason for his insistence that she believe him. At least he was giving her a chance—which was more than Mrs. Blackmore had done. Very well count, you shall receive my complete faith, Elysia thought, and we shall play this charade out .

"Yes, I believe you, Monsieur le Comte," Elysia finally answered him, noticing the relief on his face as he seemed to relax.

"You will for once call me Jean?" He lifted her hand and kissed the scratches softly, before glancing over his shoulder nervously again, towards the mouth of the cave, and pulling out his watch to check the time with a worried expression on his face. "I must depart at any moment now," he told her, staring at her with indecision.

What could she do, Elysia thought in confusion? He had saved her life, yet he was a traitor. He was planning to leave England with secret documents—and she could stop him—or could she? Despite his timely interruption that had saved her life, she had no doubt that he was as loyal to France as she was to England. If she tried to stop him, he would kill her without hesitation.

"It is a pity that our paths have crossed—and there it will end. I suppose that is the way of the world. Nothing is the way that I would want it. If you had been French…ah! But, alas, it cannot be. Come now, I shall escort you out of here, for I must meet a boat that is coming to collect me," He looked at the suffering in Elysia's eyes, adding, "You had better leave here at once…and I shall deal with the squire's wife in due time." He took Elysia's elbow and began to guide her to the steep flight of steps.

"Count…I must stop you," Elysia began, and would have reached for his pistol, but before she could, there was a disturbance at the mouth of the cave. The count halted, turning expectantly at the sound. His look changed to anger and watchfulness as he stared at the intruder.

Mrs. Blackmore came to a surprised stand-still in mid-stride. The sight of the count and Elysia, and the two prone bodies of her henchmen, brought a look of concentrated fury that whitened her already pale face, tautening the skin painfully across her cheekbones.

"You should be dead!" she screamed, looking wild-eyed at Elysia. "You deserve to die for what you've done to me with your damned curses," she said panting, a trickle of saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth .

Mrs. Blackmore smiled grotesquely and charged Elysia, snarling like a mad dog, but the count stepped quickly in front of Elysia, shielding her with his body.

"Stop!" he warned as Mrs. Blackmore's hands reached out, claw-like, the nails looking as lethal as the fangs of a vicious animal. "You jeopardize my whole mission. I shall, in future, recommend that we have no further dealings with you."

"You stupid Frenchie. You'll never get out of here alive," she laughed. "The soldiers are right behind me. You've been betrayed," she told him, as she pulled a pistol from her cape, and before the count could make a move she had fired. There was a look of surprise and disbelief on his face as he fell forward, the blood oozing from his chest.

Elysia stared, mesmerized by the glowing eyes of Mrs. Blackmore, and stunned by the cold-blooded shooting of the count.

"Now you shall finally die—once and for all," Mrs. Blackmore promised, as she levelled the barrel of the pistol directly at Elysia's head.

Elysia took a deep breath. It would seem that she was really going to die this time. There would be no last minute effort to save her—unless she herself made an attempt—but she was drained of all energy. She could barely stand.

She tensed herself to spring. If she could just knock the gun from Mrs. Blackmore's hand. She was desperate, willing to try anything to save herself, hoping her strength would hold out, when she heard the sound of running feet and voices. They seemed to be surrounding them, from everywhere people suddenly converged upon them. Mrs. Blackmore glanced about bewilderedly, the sounds echoing through the cave without direction, magnified over and over, until it was a confused mass of sound.

Elysia saw Ian come striding through the opening, a look of triumph on his face as he saw the cave and its storage of smuggled treasure. His triumphant look faded abruptly, as he caught sight of Elysia's torn and bloodied figure.

"My God, Elysia!" he gasped in surprise, momentarily taken off balance .

Elysia cried a warning, but Mrs. Blackmore had already turned and fired at Ian. Elysia screamed as she saw Ian react in pain and stagger back to fall against the wall of the cave.

Other men entered the cave now, halting, as they stood unsure of what to do, as they looked with surprise at the two women standing mute before them—one with a pistol smoking in her hand.

The opening of the secret door above them broke the spell, as the marines' eyes were drawn upward to two well-dressed gentlemen entering in a hurry, followed by a small grizzled man waving a dangerous-looking blunderbuss.

Mrs. Blackmore screamed like a cornered animal, abusing them all with foul language, as she forcibly pushed her way past the bemused marines, towards the mouth of the cave. Elysia's paralysis seemed to break and she rushed anxiously to Ian, who had slumped down upon his knees. As Elysia knelt down beside him, she was unaware of the sound of the booted feet hurrying down the steps behind her. Her only concern was for Ian.

Mrs. Blackmore had paused at the entrance, her hatred so insane and twisted that she aimed her pistol once more—this time at Elysia's vulnerable back, before the astonished marines could anticipate her actions. But Alex had been quicker. He grasped the count's pistol from the dead man's waistband and fired it in one quick motion, without stopping to aim.

Mrs. Blackmore cried out as the shot winged her arm, making her drop the pistol. She grabbed her shoulder and turned in panic to escape, but her steps were uncoordinated as she staggered onto the path. She stumbled as she hurried, losing her balance and falling forward over the edge, her arms flailing the air futilely.

Inside the cave her blood-curdling scream echoed eerily in the silence as she fell down the sheer drop, onto the sharp rocks below.

Alex dropped the pistol distastefully as he walked over to where Elysia knelt beside the wounded man. He stared in disbelief at her bruised and bloody appearance. He reached out to pull her to him, and only then did her voice reach him, turning him pale at her words .

"Ian, oh, Ian. Are you all right…please…don't die. You can't…now that I've found you again."

Elysia was touching Ian's face with gentle and loving hands, and was completely unaware of all that was going on around her—not seeing the outstretched arms drop, as Alex turned away unnoticed.