Croach stopped in his tracks. Max tried to hide his astonishment; he hadn’t heard an English word from her in years.
“Merciful heavens,” said Frances Bentley irately. “Will someone whip this revolting man from the property, or must I shoot him?”
She had come in from the side door. She held a pistol in her hand. And Bianca was with her.
As Croach stared at her, obviously trying to decipher her role in this scene, Frances added, very matter-of-factly, “I’ve already had the footmen chase off those men who came with him. Beastly characters, both of them. They seized poor Hickson and dragged him outside, which is disgraceful. They won’t be back, not unless they wish to be shot as well.”
“Well done, Aunt Frances,” said Bianca. “Are you hurt, Greta?” Slowly Greta shook her head. Bianca smiled encouragingly. “Won’t you come upstairs? You don’t have to see this man ever again.”
Croach’s veneer of civility dropped. He took a step toward Greta, but stopped when Aunt Frances cocked her pistol. “What you both fail to comprehend,” he spat, “is that Margareta is mine. She is my wife, and by God’s will she belongs to me. This man has attempted to cheat me of my rights under law!”
“Bosh,” said Aunt Frances scornfully. “Marriage laws are such rubbish. I never liked them before, and don’t see why I should start now.”
“I don’t think Greta’s mad at all,” remarked Bianca. “But I do think you’ve been abusing her, sir, dosing her with poisonous drugs so you could confine her to an asylum. I suppose you did that to be able to spend her fortune as you pleased.”
“Shut your mouth,” snapped Croach. “I acted in her best interests. You know nothing about madness or poisons or drugs!”
“No, I don’t know about madness,” said Bianca thoughtfully. “But I do know a bit about poisons, after working with all those glazing compounds. Chemistry is such an interesting study.”
“All right.” Croach was breathing hard but trying to maintain his control. “You chased off Dr. Hawes’s men, and you think an accusation of poisoning will frighten me away as well. It won’t. I have rights, damn you, and the law is on my side!”
“I suppose it will have to be murder, then.” Max stripped off his coat. He felt delusional himself, but also drunk on the thought of beating Croach to a cinder, whether or not it became murder. He’ddreamedof this. “Bianca darling, will you fetch a shovel?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Bianca. “We’ll put him in one of the kilns.”
Max blinked, startled. He had not expected that. Croach laughed after a moment. “I say, Maxim! A bloodthirsty little slut, ain’t she?”
“Not really,” said Bianca, as calmly as before. “There’s no reason to make such a mess. One good blow should incapacitate him long enough to carry him down the hill. Kiln four is ready to fire. Have Lawrence take his horse to Lichfield to sell, and no one will ever know he was here.”
This set Croach back on his heels. A frown creased his brow. “Be careful what you say, madam. Making threats will not stand you well.”
In reply she lifted the fire tongs she had been holding behind her skirt. “Our kilns are hot enough to melt glass, sir. In four days’ time there won’t be anything left of you but a pile of ash, nothing at all for a magistrate or coroner to investigate. It is not an empty threat.”
Croach glanced between them.
“If I were you,” said Max, “I would run.”
“Far, and fast,” added Bianca.
“Get out,” repeated Greta in a low growl.
“I wouldn’t mind shooting him,” announced Frances. “I have never liked this carpet and if we have to burn it in the kiln with the body, so much the better.”
Bianca’s lips twitched. Greta suddenly laughed. “Burn, burn, burn,” she declared in delight. “Silas will burn!”
That, more than anything, seemed to unnerve Croach. “Silence,” he snarled at her, but Greta took a step toward him, and he stopped.
“You poisoned me,” she said, slowly but clearly. “You can burn.”
“For pity’s sake. Hold my spare,” said Frances to Bianca, handing over her second pistol. “Goodbye, Mr. Croach.” She raised her pistol, and Croach gave a shout before sprinting from the room. Max took off after him, only stopping when Croach was galloping away, glancing behind him with a mixture of terror and hatred.
He stood, breathing hard, and watched until Croach was out of sight. It wasn’t the last of the man, unfortunately, but Max would be ready for him next time. Leake had uncovered some of the mad doctors Croach had hired, at least one of whom stood accused of poisoning a man into madness at the instigation of his mother, over a planned engagement the mother disapproved of. Dr. Hawes at Mowbry Manor would also no doubt suffer an inspection by the local justice of the peace.
Max turned back toward the house. God above. Never had he been so astonished in his life, between Mrs. Bentley threatening to shoot Croach and Bianca coolly planning to shove the man’s corpse into a kiln to dispose of it.
And Greta had spoken English. Combined with the doctor’s diagnosis that she showed signs of laudanum dosing, perhaps Bianca was right, and Greta wasn’t really mad at all. She’d stood up to her husband after he’d almost killed her.
Feeling lighter than he could ever remember, Max walked back inside. He found Greta on the settee with Frances Bentley, chattering away in a mixture of German and English, more animated than he’d seen her in... forever. The pistols lay on the side table, and Bianca was pouring small glasses of port for all of them. At his entrance, she grinned and handed him one. Max was astonished that his hand shook, while hers were steady. He threw back the drink with one gulp.
