“I have never seen you before in my life,” Mr. Swift denied. But there was a new edge in his tone, fear mingling with the desperation.
“Swift, please lay down your weapon and step out of the carriage,” Lucien said now, calm and soothing, cajoling, almost. “There is no need for anyone to be harmed here this evening. Lower the gun and release Strathmore.”
“I am innocent, Arden,” Mr. Swift insisted. “You must believe me.”
“Drop your weapon,” Lucien prodded instead of answering.
“No,” Swift denied. “Drop all of yours. Each one of you.”
“Swift,” Lucien began.
“I said drop them!” he yelled. “Now!”
From the side of the carriage, Violet watched as four male hands placed their weapons upon the ground.
“Kick them away from you,” Swift ordered next.
They did. One of the pistols—she recognized it as Lucien’s—slid across the gravel of the road to within her reach. Holding her breath, Griffin’s shooting lesson of that morning still vivid in her mind, she slowly, soundlessly, knelt and took up the gun. She did as Griffin had shown her, making certain it was loaded and ready to shoot.
“Why did you do it, Swift?” Lucien asked, perhaps trying to distract the man.
She listened carefully, inching toward the corner of the carriage.
“I have debts,” Mr. Swift said then, sounding angry. “I could not escape them on the pittance I earn in the employ of the Home Office. Selling the secrets did not begin as my idea. My cousin Thomas came to me first with the suggestion. I had been initially opposed to it, but in the end, something had to be done.”
“Debts?” Ludlow’s voice emerged now at last. “Good God, man! Debts are no reason to turn traitor against your own country.”
“The secrets I sold were all small, but they fetched a high price. Mahoney was willing to pay well. His successor has not been nearly as generous, and I have been forced to seek other methods.”
“Methods like apprising the Fenians of my whereabouts and providing them with the descriptions of my carriages,” Lucien said. “It was you who organized the shooting of my carriage, was it not?”
“An excellent touch, that.” Swift sounded pleased with himself. “It is a pity Thomas was a poor shot, else he may have at least put the old crone out of her misery.”
He spoke of Aunt Hortense’s death with such casual indifference, it sent a shudder through her. This man was mad. He was mad, and he was going to kill, not just Griffin, but all the men gathered, if she did not act.
“Who is the new leader of the Fenians?” Carlisle demanded.
“I suppose I can tell you since none of you will live to see tomorrow. You there, driver! Come stand with these other fine gentlemen. I would hate to have to shoot you while you are running.”
“You have but a six shooter and one round is already gone,” Lucien said.
“My aim is excellent. Five bullets. One for each of you. All I n—”
Chains rustled. Another dull thud of something connecting with human flesh made her shudder. Fresh horror roiling through her, and she peered around the corner of the carriage to find Griffin and Mr. Swift engaged in a battle over possession of the gun.
Turning and wrestling, they moved until at last Violet felt certain she could take aim and shoot. Griffin and Mr. Swift were far enough apart, Griffin using the chain on his shackled wrists as a means of immobilizing Swift.
Now was her chance. She held her breath, raised the gun with two hands, and trained the bead upon Mr. Swift’s head, just as Griffin had taught her. Holding her breath, she squeezed the trigger, bracing for the recoil.
The sharp report of the pistol shocked even her. She hit her intended target, and Mr. Swift fell instantly to the road, a pool of blood spreading from his head. She had done it.
Dear, sweet God, she had done it. She swayed on her feet, her ears ringing. For a moment, she feared she would faint.
Ludlow acted first, springing into motion, rushing forward to kick away the pistol from Mr. Swift’s body.
“Lettie!”
“Your Grace!”
