Page 40 of The Scarred Duchess Deal
Mortimer nodded and took a deep drink of his tea to steady himself. “Very well… I will not deny that I allowed myself to fall into a spot of trouble. I made many mistakes that I am not proud of all those years ago–”
Tessa nodded encouragingly. Her love for her brother had never wavered, and it never would.
“That night, I had come home late and fallen asleep in the stables. I had not wished to hear my father chastise me for spending too much at the gambling den again. It was warm and I had just stabled my horse. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. I awoke to the sound of the horses crying. Their distress was the first thing. The very floor had shaken from the stamping of their hooves to try to free themselves. The smell of ash was the second thing that registered.” He closed his eyes as he spoke to let the memory overtake him.
“Morty! Morty, where are you hiding?!”
A threatening sing-song voice called out for him. He hated to be called Morty; nobody with good intentions with him called him Morty. His first instinct was to hide in the barn, but the horses were panicking.
“Come out, come out wherever you are! I want my money, Morty!”
The voice was drawing nearer… it would find him here certainly. He would have to do something.
“Hey! You there! Go in through the servants’ entrance if you can–see what you can find inside! If we cannot find the bastard then there has to be something in this big ol’ fancy rich house that will settle his debts. If you cannot get in… smoke them out.”
Smoke them out? What did that mean? He did not understand.
Mortimer moved without thought of the consequences. If he simply left the house they would see him, and who knew what they would do to him. The smell of ash was getting stronger. What was on fire? No, he needed to focus. How to get out of here?
Mortimer went to each and every stall and untied all of the horses. He opened the gates as quickly and swiftly as possible before running to the stable doors as if his life depended on it. He ripped them open so that whoever was looking for him would have to dodge a dozen terrified horses charging for safety.
His intention had been to run out with them, perhaps snag one and ride away bareback until he could gather his wits about him. He certainly was not built to be a fighter. It was not something that he had ever been any good at. All thoughts of running away died when he noticed the state of the house. It was on fire. Not a small kitchen accident like had happened when he was a child, but a roaring inferno. His family was in there. He had to get inside.
Mortimer ran around the side of the building to the trellis that he had always climbed when he was younger to sneak in and out of his bedroom. He could access all of the bedrooms from there and get his family out. They did not know that he had left this evening. They would think that he was still in his rooms or asleep in his bed. They might think he was in danger of the fire and come for him. He had to help them. He had to do something to free them and make sure his family was safe–
He had only just started to climb when they found him. One of the thugs made a running leap for him. Mortimer kicked at him as hard as he could, but it did not dislodge the ruffian. He tried to climb anyway, but the weight was too much and he was forced from the trellis with so much force that the very thing came loose from the side of the building.
“No!” he screamed as he fought with everything that he had to get away from them. They punched and kicked at him, laughing and mocking him the whole time.
“See, Morty? This is what happens when people do not pay me my money. I sure hope that your pretty sister is not in there. Hmm? Would like to visit her if she makes it out. Bet she can work off some of your debt in one of my bath houses, hmm? How would you like that?” the foul man said. He leaned forward and braced his hands above his knees to speak in the most condescending tone possible. He scoffed as the sound of screams came from the house. “Which one do you think made that? One of the servants? Your dear ol’ Mama?”
Mortimer snarled with rage and surged forward so quickly that the two men holding him lost their grip. His forehead collided with the debtor so forcefully he was certain that he had broken the man’s nose, or worse. The debtor fell backward onto the grass with a sickening thump. Mortimer knew that he had split the skin of his head; he could feel hot, sticky blood running down the side of his face. He was lightheaded. There was so much ash in the air that he could hardly draw breath into his chest before coughing.
“Tessy!” he shouted. “Papa! Mama?!” He tried the servants’ door but it was barricaded from the inside and he could not budge it. He could hear the constables and the fire brigade coming this way. They would certainly be able to help, would they not? They had to be able to help. The sounds of their alarm were still too far away. Mortimer staggered around the house, looking for any way to make another entrance or to find where his family might be trying to escape from.
He hefted a large boulder in his hand and threw it through the dining room window. He covered his face with his arm and kicked at the glass until he was certain that he would be able to go inside. Smoke poured out into the night sky. The constables were nearer now. He pulled down one of the intact drapes and crossed to the kitchen to soak it with water to assist in getting his family out–this would cover her well.
“Tessy!” he called out again. She was young, and small–certainly she could make it out. The constables were here. He raced out through the entrance that he had created and gestured to them wildly. “Here! Here! Over here!”
“Oi! You there! Put that down! What are you doing!” they called to him.
“Please, come and help me! My family is still inside!”
“You live here?” They took a look at him, covered in ash and muck from sleeping in the barn, and instantly concluded that he was a liar. He could see it written across their faces.
“Yes. Please. There is no time! I am Mortimer Windrop–my family, please, Sirs!” Mortimer begged and coughed.
One constable drew his baton and started to advance. “Did you do this?” he shouted accusingly.
“No! Please! There are people inside!”
Another scream in the distance–Tessy. He had to reach her before the constables did. He turned and swiftly rushed back into the house. He draped the wet fabric over himself as much as he was able. He could hear the constables shouting… not helping. They were chasing him and not searching for his family. They were going to arrest him; he could feel it. Constables out front. Thugs in the back. Tessie is in need of help. He wove his way through the wreckage of the house until he came to a dead end. He was trapped. Something collapsed behind him in the fire. He was going to die here.
“I do not recall how it was that I managed to get out of there… I think some part of my mind must have blacked the whole thing out, but when I came to, I was on a boat headed for Scotland. I remember seeing wanted papers with my name and face on them. In the span of one night, I had become the most wanted man in all of London by both the constables and the seedier sides of things, and I panicked.” Mortimer’s voice was thick with regret.
Tessa’s hands covered the lower half of her face as she wept softly. She could only imagine how helpless he felt… how terrified he must have been to have resorted to such terrible measures.
“I have no proof of my innocence. I have nothing but my word and the good opinion of family to fall back on. I reached a point in my solitude in Scotland where I felt that a lifetime of prison would have to be better than the way that I was living. And I missed my sister. I tried my very best to keep up with you from afar. I watched for mentions of you in the social papers or mentions of you in the tabloids. It was not much but it was all that kept me going.”
