Page 48 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
He shrugged. “That’s the wealthy English for you. I bet you’re reconsidering your feelings about them ‘innocents’ getting a taste of their own medicine, ain’t you?”
His words served as a stark reminder of why she was here. No matter how furious she was, that did not mean she was willing to see English folks struck down. There would be ladies present at the ball, and maybe even children. Her personal grievance with the Duchess of Woodworth and her deceased husband did not give her the right to decide who would be corralled like cattle into the well-laid trap of the Ribbonmen.
No one else is going to suffer. If I do nothing, people will be hurt, or worse. It may light a fuse that no one will be able to put out.Ireland had seen enough turmoil, and if the Ribbonmen did anything to incite English anger, it would begin a cycle of bloodshed and misery that might never end. Or, if it did end, it would come to a close once the emerald of this isle ran scarlet with the blood of its natives. The English had the firepower, while the Irish had only their pride. And she knew how the old saying went—pride came before a fall.
Even so, her heart remained torn. This had become vastly personal to her, where before it had not hit her so keenly. Maybe the English did deserve to be punished… but not at the expense of Irish lives. To ensure the latter did not occur, she realized she was going to have to swallow her own pride and put aside the fresh resentment she felt for the Duchess of Woodworth.
She might not have liked it, but she knew she had to stop the attack from occurring tomorrow night, at the manor ball. By doing that, she would save her own people from further suffering. And, right now, that was all that mattered.
Although, there is one more thing…
“Da, why did you attempt to shoot Lord Owen?” It stuck in her throat to call him ‘Lord,’ now that she knew he was undeserving of the title.
Her father’s eyes clouded over. “I… I didn’t.”
“Don’t you lie to me, Da. It was your musket that missed and shot Elias instead. I know it was—I’ve held it in my own hands often enough, as I did that day, too.”
Her father shook his head. “It may have been my musket, but it weren’t my hands that did the shooting. I was instructed to leave it by the stables, where I supposed Elias would make use of it. No one’s as surprised as me that it wound up killing Elias.”
Alicia toyed anxiously with a strand of her red hair. “You didn’t do the shooting?”
“No, though I can see how it looks, believe you me. I were there that day, admittedly, but I didn’t go near that musket after leaving it by the stable. As I said, I expected Elias wanted to make use of it, and I were obeying the orders given to me in a letter. I was already leaving the estate when the shot rang out—you can ask Francis Potter. He was riding toward the manor when he saw me on the road.”
Alicia fixed her gaze on her father. “This doesn’t make any sense. It wasyourmusket.”
“Aye, it was. And now, I’m understanding why I was told to burn them letters as they came to me. Whoever’s been sending them doesn’t want any evidence left behind or having anything left to point the finger at them.” Her father scratched his stubbled chin. “See, pet, if someone else realizes it’s my musket, I’ll be the one made to hang for that shooting. It’s lucky Ididsee Francis Potter as he’s the only one who’ll be able to account for my whereabouts when the shot went off.”
Alicia shivered despite the heat of the flickering fire.If Elias didn’t use the musket for himself, and my Da wasn’t nearby when the shot struck Elias… then whodidsqueeze the trigger?
Chapter 35
Jacob crept closer to the action, though he kept to the shadows offered by the cold stone walls. Meghan appeared to be in a state of distress while Mistress Snowdrop folded her arms across her buxom chest and stared disapprovingly at the younger woman. Owen, meanwhile, said nothing. He just stood there, shaking his head slowly.
“I only did what I was asked!” Meghan howled. “It’s naught to do with me.”
“It’s that lass, you mark my words. She spelled trouble from the moment she stepped into this house,” Mistress Marigold replied curtly. “She caused this, and that drunken fool she calls a father.”
Caused what?Jacob edged a little closer.
“It was his musket, after all,” Mistress Marigold added. “How was I to know that—” She stopped abruptly as a chunk of stone broke loose from the wall and clattered to the floor. Jacob cursed under his breath, realizing he must have dislodged it.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Owen barked.
Jacob contemplated hurrying back the way he had come, but Owen would likely catch him on the stairs before he had the chance to escape. Besides, he was curious to discover just what was going on here.
“It is me.” Jacob stepped out of the darkness and into the soft glow of the lamps that illuminated this strange gathering.
Owen narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to find… you,” he half-lied. His pursuit of Meghan had been the impetus that had driven him to the kitchens. Owen being here with her had simply been a coincidence.
Or perhaps not so coincidental…
“In truth, I am very eager to understand what is happening down here.” He glanced a Meghan. “For example, I would be keen to hear what isnaught to do with you, Miss, just as I would be curious to hear what you have to say of ‘that lass,’ Mistress Marigold.”
Owen stepped toward him. “I am in the middle of something extremely important.”
“And what might that be?” Jacob replied, with an air of belligerence.
