Page 97 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
“A little late in coming, Tipton. Now get him off me.”
“Where did the ball hit you, Bedegrayne?” Rayne was already turning the facedown Lockwood over.
“Not me.” Brock sucked in his breath at what was left of Oz’s face. “Lockwood must have bungled the loading.”
“Bring the lantern closer,” Rayne ordered. He did not need the extra light to show him that Oz was badly injured. Whatever the reason, the pistol had literally exploded in his face. Pieces of wood and hot metal had punctured his left eye and sheered off a ghastly amount of flesh, exposing gleaming white glimpses of cheekbone.
Bedegrayne swore and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Even stitched back together he’ll look like some sort of hellfire creature.” He stared on as Rayne unknotted his cravat and began wrapping the long cloth around the injured man’s head.
“I will need yours as well.” Rayne slipped the end of the cloth under another layer to keep it in place. “Talk to me, Oz.” The man was conscious, and his pain beyond a man’s endurance. When he parted his lips, blood gushed and soaked into the cravat. “You will most likely die if we do not try to sew up these wounds. First, tell me where Devona is hidden and we will get you to the rectory. I have my medical case in the coach.”
“Want—want to die.”
“Fine,” Rayne snapped. “I would not stand between a man and his God. Where is my wife?”
He shuddered. “At peace.”
Brock slapped his cravat into Rayne’s hands. He glared down at the injured man. “Lockwood. It would give me the greatest pleasure to draw out your pain, till madness makes you peel the other half of your face off. The bastard cracked me in the head with a bloody shovel,” he explained to Rayne. “He probably knocked my father out, too. I vow he will get no peace until he pays for what he’s done to our family.”
“No riddles, Oz. I have no patience to explore your perverted views. I want you to tell me where Devona is or I will abandon you to Brock’s negligent abilities.” Rayne checked his patient’s pulse. “Sometimes when the trauma is severe, the brain cannot cope and it begins to depress normal functions.”
Brock spat at Lockwood’s feet. “If you mean he’s dying, good riddance.”
“This weather is not helping his condition. Unlike you, I hope he lives long enough to tell me where he’s taken Devona.” Rayne rose to his feet. “Carry him to the rectory. There isn’t much you can do except to question him again if he awakens.” He picked up the lantern and the shovel. “You might want to look for your father. If Oz greeted him with this shovel, call out for me. His head may not be as hard as yours.”
“Where are you going?” Brock asked.
“To search the graveyard. Devona might be tied up and gagged somewhere close.”
Rayne felt he had no choice but to leave Oz in his brother-in-law’s care. Head injuries were fickle. Some wounds bled heavily and still the patient survived, where other smaller wounds killed the patient outright. If Oz survived, he would be recovering in Newgate. If the infections there did not kill him, the hemp would.
“Devona!” Rayne yelled. Holding the lantern out in front of him, he scanned each gravestone. Most were small, but their shadows were large enough to conceal a slender woman. He also kept a firm grip on the shovel. If Oz had any more accomplices roaming the area, he wanted a reliable waterproof weapon. “Devona!”
After he finished searching the graveyard, he would move on to the copse of trees beyond. She was close and unharmed. He could feel it. The light washed over another stone. This one made him pause. Nightmares of drowning in a river of rain, the smell of inebriated resurrection men, and the smell of corpse-packed earth still awoke him at odd times over the years, his mouth opened in soundless terror and cold sweat drenching the sheets. He forced himself to say the words aloud.
“RAYNE TOLLAND WYMAN OUR LAMB AT PEACE.”
At peace.Those were the last words Oz had spoken before he lost consciousness. Another riddle or was he speaking the truth? Rayne’s eyes widened in horror as he nudged the soft earth with the toe of his boot.Too soft.He lowered the lantern and surveyed the area. It was difficult to ascertain in the darkness and rain, but the ground looked freshly dug. He dropped to his knees and pushed his hands into the earth. The first inch or so was mud; however, the dirt beneath was dry and soft. A newly dug grave.At peace.My God, Devona!
He screamed her name. The madman had buried her alive. Rayne could very well imagine the horrors tormenting her. If he wasn’t too late. He couldn’t be!
“Tipton!” Brock called out from the other side of the graveyard. “Lockwood is conscious and asking for you.”
“I will see him in hell!” he shouted back, not slowing his frantic digging. “Find another shovel. That demonic bastard buried her alive.”
He heard Brock’s roar of denial, then his heavy footfalls as he went to search for a shovel. Rayne vehemently hoped Oz was still alive when he was finished. He would see to it that Lockwood took her place.
Keep your head, Tipton,he thought, when his clawing fear for Devona threatened to overwhelm him. This was just like that night fifteen years ago. Resurrection men were able get a body out without disturbing much of the gravesite.Concentrate on the head.He could splinter the lid and pull her out.She will be fine,he tried to assure himself. He survived; so would Devona. The shovel struck wood. Lying on his stomach, he scooped the crumbling dirt out with his hands.
“Rayne.”
He could hear the tears in Brock’s voice. He tamped down the surge of raw emotion. “Clear away the excess dirt. I don’t want it to fall on her face when I break open the lid.”
“Maybe you’re wrong. This could be your old coffin?”
Rayne was in no condition to calm Brock’s fears. “The wood is new,” he said, his teeth clenched as he drove the edge of the shovel into the lid. “If this had been mine, this lid would have been breached.” He slammed the shovel into the wood again. A crack formed in the center. Again. Again. Again. Three crevices the width of his thumb opened. He bisected the damage by smashing the shovel horizontally.
Tossing the shovel aside, he got down on his knees and shoved his fingers into the cracks and pulled. A jagged piece of wood broke off. He threw it to the side and attacked the next section.
