The Lady of Bolton Hill

Chapter 17





Clara had been feigning sleep for hours, even forcing herself to lay motionless when one of Bane’s men occasionally nudged her with the toe of a boot to test her awareness. Would they kill her once they realized she was awake? She had been listening for any clue of their intentions, but all she heard was Bane discussing navigation routes and tidal schedules. She could make no sense of the discussion, and that left her mind to wander. She wished Daniel were here. What she wouldn’t give to feel his arms around her and listen to the confident tones in his voice. Whenever she had been timid or afraid, he could always tease her out of it.

A lump formed in the back of her throat. She would probably never see Daniel again. Clara felt the terror begin in her spine and work its way up to her throat. Begging for mercy was useless with this boy, for he was utterly, entirely without a conscience. Her wrists were bound and she lay on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, she was still sluggish from the opium, and she was surrounded by henchmen who were at the command of an insane adolescent. She would never escape this place alive.


I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

The words came unbidden to her mind. In this moment of inconceivable fear, the comfort of the passage reached out and soothed the worry that threatened to cripple her. Even in these darkest of hours, she knew that Jesus had not abandoned her. Her life was unfolding as God wished it to, and she must not yield to the soul-destroying effects of despair.

“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty has decided to rejoin us.”

Clara’s gaze darted to Bane, who was watching her through those crystal blue eyes. She struggled to push herself upright. Her newfound courage took a hit when she saw him approach her. How was it possible that she had once thought him fine looking? There was fierceness behind the boy’s icy blue eyes, a feral quality that sliced through the air and robbed her of composure. Bane hauled her upright and then squatted down beside her to look directly into her eyes. “I imagine you are thirsty,” he said, not unkindly.

Clara wouldn’t take a drink from this boy to save her life. Her tongue felt so thick she doubted she could speak, but when she managed to make it move, all she could say was, “I’m still alive.”

“For the time being.” Bane’s arm locked like a manacle about her arm and he pulled her to her feet. The ache in her head pounded and Clara felt herself sway, but Bane propelled her toward the table and chairs in the corner of the warehouse. She flinched at the sight of the small knife in Bane’s hands, but all he did was slice through the rope that bound her wrists. She sank into the chair, feeling the pressure in her head increase and slide about inside her skull. What a hideous sensation, but worst of all was the plaguing, unrelenting thirst. Bane pushed a pitcher of water toward her, and Clara had to clasp the seat of her chair to stop herself from grabbing it between both hands and swallowing from the pitcher until it was empty. She clutched at the chair until her knuckles went white, and Bane seemed amused by her plight.

“It’s plain water; I haven’t drugged it.”

Droplets of condensation rolled along the outside of the pewter pitcher, looking like the coolest, purest water she had ever seen. “I would drink the sweat from a horse before I drank anything you served me.”

A smile turned up one corner of Bane’s mouth, giving him an almost unearthly beauty. “While I would find it vastly amusing to watch, there’s no horse readily available. I suggest you drink the water.”

How cool the water would feel sliding down her throat. The cotton in her mouth seemed to swell, and Clara longed for nothing so much as the clean, tempting water just inches away from her.

She forced her gaze away from the water, and her eye was snagged by the form of a man curled atop a cot in the corner. His face was turned toward the wall, and unlike Bane’s other henchmen, this one was dressed in fine clothes. A dark suit and well-made leather shoes.

“Mr. Manzetti?” she asked as she rose from her chair. The man remained motionless, and her horrified gaze slipped to Bane. “Is he dead?”

Bane shrugged. “I certainly hope not, as that would upset my plans. He is enjoying the same narcotic you recently had.”

When she listened carefully, she could hear the slow wheezing of Manzetti’s breath as he slumbered. It was hard to remain standing on her weakened legs, and she sank back into the chair.

“What are you planning on doing with us?”

“I am planning on killing you, but Manzetti has other uses.” He tossed off the comment as though it were of no more consequence than what he intended to eat for dinner. Clara pushed back the wave of fear that threatened to clog the working of her brain. She had to reach behind that cool facade Bane wore so effortlessly and figure out who this boy was if she was to have the tiniest prayer of survival. What did he value? What had corrupted him at so young an age?

Bane poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher and drank deeply. The ache of thirst intensified as she watched him swallow, and he caught the look of pure longing on her face when he set his glass down. “It isn’t drugged,” he said. “That is the last thing I would do to myself in the middle of a business deal.”

She believed him, and she simply could not function until she quenched this agonizing thirst. Before he had finished his sentence she picked up the pitcher and swallowed directly from it. She sucked the life-saving water down her throat, savoring every second as it cleared the cotton from her throat. She tipped the pitcher higher, and water rolled down the front of her dress, but it didn’t matter.

When she had drained the pitcher she set it down, feeling well enough to do battle. Find out who Bane was, his weaknesses, his needs. “Do you use narcotics at other times?” she asked.

“Never. I’ve seen what opium does to the mind and have no interest in turning into a drooling idiot.”

“And yet you sell it,” she said. She had seen him that first night weighing and measuring the drug like a shopkeeper sacking up bags of flour.

“I have no qualms about making money from other people’s weaknesses. All over the world there are people willing to pay solid gold for the opportunity to snort, drink, smoke, or inject this poison directly into their veins. If I don’t ship it to them, someone else will.”

A curious turn of phrase. Someone who merely sold it on the street would not speak of “shipping” a drug. Baltimore had a harbor that reached the entire East Coast and Europe, as well. If Bane was using the Baltimore harbor to ship drugs, he was far more powerful than she originally thought.

Her gaze strayed to Mr. Manzetti, still lying unconscious on the cot. Bane may be a drug runner, but somehow she did not believe her kidnapping related to drugs. What was it that Bane had punished Richards for doing? Something about leaving a gun at the scene of a fire. And she knew of only one fire in recent days.

“Did you set the fire at Daniel Tremain’s house?” she asked.

“Personally? No.”

“But you were responsible for it.” She remembered Daniel’s face as he watched his home become engulfed by the flames. It was infuriating that Daniel had suffered at the whim of this terrible adolescent sitting before her. “What on earth did you gain from such a thing?”

“I was handsomely compensated.”

“By whom?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Was it the same person who paid you to kidnap me?” she asked.

His casual shrug was maddening. “Once again, you are asking questions I have no interest in answering. It’s getting a little tiresome. Now it is my turn to ask you a question.” There was something disturbing about those fine-looking eyes as he scrutinized her. Bane had the face and voice of an angel, but his eyes had a piercing intelligence that made it hard to look at him. “Tell me this,” he said silkily. “Why does Tremain have such animosity toward Alfred Forsythe? If the reports I have read are true, he has lost a fortune over the memory of a dead man. That seems a little off-balance, don’t you think?”

“Daniel loved his father very much. Why would such a thing surprise you?”

Bane shrugged his shoulders. “It just does. I’ve never met anyone who would walk away from that much money over a principle.” Bane’s eyes narrowed in thought. “In a way, I suppose it is admirable.”

Yet he sounded sad when he spoke the words, and for the first time, Clara saw a trace of softening in the cold marble of his face. She was still terrified of him, but her best chance of survival was in trying to understand him. “Has there been no one you have ever cared about?” she asked. “No one you would sacrifice for?”


A bitter smile twisted Bane’s mouth. “The man who is the closest thing I will ever have to a father is not the sort who would inspire lifelong devotion. If someone ever bumped him off, the only thing I’d feel would be relief.”

Clara’s eyes widened in shock. “You would not mind if your own father was killed?”

Bane shook his head. “My real father died long ago. I’m speaking about the man who raised me. He is a dragon, and I won’t shed any tears if he comes to a bad end.”

When Bane spoke, the revulsion in his voice was plain, but it masked the tiniest trace of anxiety. “Is he the person who is paying you to do all this wickedness?” she asked. “Burn down Daniel’s house and kidnap me?”

Several moments passed before he answered her. “You know, Clara, the less you understand about what is going on, the greater the likelihood you’ll be allowed to survive this ordeal.”

“I thought I was as good as dead anyway.”

“I did, too.” Bane almost looked surprised when he made the statement, but the look quickly vanished to be replaced by his usual nonchalance.

“What has changed your mind?”

He narrowed his eyes as he considered her. “I like you,” he said abruptly. “You stood up to Richards when he burst into your carriage. I didn’t expect that.” Clara remembered the incident when Richards had first shoved that imposing revolver in her face. “Pointing a gun at women and children. Your mother must be so proud,” she had said.

“Is that what it takes to impress you?”

“The only thing that impresses me is someone who has the guts to face down their fears. Maybe you qualify.”

“And if I do? Is it going to save my life?”

Bane shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Keep him talking, just keep him talking, Clara thought. “Do you believe in God?” she asked suddenly.

The question seemed to take him aback, but he gave it consideration. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. The way he stared at her was unnerving, but she didn’t let herself look away. Finally he answered. “Maybe.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I believe in the devil. And if the devil exists, I suppose God probably does, too.”

Looking into those vacant eyes and hearing him proclaim his belief in the devil was chilling, but she could not afford to stop. “What makes you believe there is a devil?”

That peculiar smile spread across Bane’s face, revealing a row of white, perfect teeth. “Because I’ve met him, Clara.” He gave a snort of laughter at her shocked expression. “You may think I’m wicked, but trust me, the man I work for reeks of brimstone.”

It was too hard to continue looking at Bane. Fear was crawling up her spine again, and her stomach was filling with acid. She looked at the crates stacked up around them, forming a makeshift room in the corner of the huge warehouse. Contained in these crates was the recipe for unmitigated human misery. How many thousands of people would imbibe this poison after it left the warehouse? Marriages would crumble, children would suffer as their parents slipped into a narcotic haze, fortunes would be lost. All so that Alex Banebridge and his crew could line their pockets.

I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to look back at Bane. “Why do you always let the devil win?”

Bane stared at her blankly. “What?” he finally asked.

“Why do you let the devil run your life? Wouldn’t it be more of a challenge to stand up to him? You said the only thing you are impressed by is someone who has the guts to triumph over their fears. And yet you succumb to the devil rather than stand up to him.”

“Don’t tell me you are one of those dreadful missionaries. And I was starting to like you, too.”

She leaned forward across the table. Getting this close to Bane made her flesh crawl, but it had to be done. “Just how brave are you? Brave enough to walk away from all this”—she gestured to the crates—“and give yourself over to God? It wouldn’t be easy, Bane.”

“Is it true you are the daughter of some fancy minister?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose that accounts for this prissy God-talk.” Bane took out the knife and began twirling the point into the wood surface of the table. The gleam of the metal sent flashes of light about the warehouse. “Some people just aren’t cut out for walking with the angels. I’ve been destined for the darker side of life since I was six years old and was hand-delivered to the wickedest man in the world.”

She glanced around the warehouse. “Is he here?”

“No.”

“Then you have no excuse for your behavior. Don’t defend yourself by telling me about a tragic childhood; you are old enough to be making your own decisions. There is nothing in the world to prevent you from walking out that warehouse door and starting a brand-new life today, Alex.”

“Bane.”

“What?”

“I prefer to be called Bane.”

“Let’s see how brave you really are, Alex. Wouldn’t your life be a little more interesting if you started challenging this belief that you are intended for more than to unleash evil on the world? Wouldn’t you respect yourself more if you had the nerve to stand up to this devil you claim to believe in?”

Bane twirled his knife even faster as he smiled at her. “I have never lacked for self-respect. I am pretty much my favorite person, come to think of it.”

“That does not speak well for the company you keep.”

If possible, the amusement in the boy’s eyes grew even stonger. “At last, you have made a statement I whole-heartedly agree with.”

“Then why don’t you do something about that?” Clara looked pointedly at the crates of opium that surrounded them. “If you destroyed the opium in these crates rather than shipping it out to exploit the weakness of men’s souls, it would be a fine start in a new direction. You can begin your life again and carve out a new path for yourself.”

At mention of destroying the opium, the amusement fled Bane’s face. “If I destroyed this opium, the price on my head would have every criminal in America out for my blood. I suppose that would certainly be a new path for me, just not one I want to be on.”

“It scares you, then? To stand up to this man you say is the wickedest man in the world?”

Bane just shrugged. “Someday I will be a match for him. Not yet, though.”

She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, surprised at her own daring. “The Lord will protect you, Alex. I don’t know what sort of appalling circumstances put you into that man’s path when you were just a child, but you are strong enough to walk away. Do it today, Alex.”

He snatched his hand back as though he had been burned. “You can be really annoying; do you know that?”

“I’m not going to give up on you, Alex. I am not going to calmly sit here while you destroy the lives of thousands of people with those drugs and drag your own soul through the muck while you do it. God has given you the freedom to simply walk away. He will forgive you.”

She could not pinpoint when it happened, but there was a shift in the atmosphere. The knife Bane had been twirling dug a gouge into the surface of the table, and his fingers were clenched tight around the handle. “All your pathetic God stories make me sick,” he said. “You brainwash children into believing goodness and sunlight and mercy swirl around them like fairy dust. In the real world, children can be snatched from their mothers’ arms and plunged into a pit of corruption where no trace of sunlight can ever penetrate. Where is God in a scenario like that?” Contempt dripped from his voice, but Clara would not let it dissuade her.


“I’m not blind to the evil in the world,” she said. After all, it was sitting not five feet away from her. “And I am not blind to the fact that I have been given gifts you never had. Living a godly life was expected of me, and it was an easy path for me to follow. No one ever had such expectations for you. For you to embrace the Lord at this point in your life would be nothing short of heroic, Alex. It would take an act of such strength and courage that it would be humbling for all who have ever known you. You can begin building a life of valor today.”

Bane stood up and walked to the makeshift counter where food and supplies were kept. “You ought to listen to what I say. Cut out the God-talk.”

For the first time since he had revealed himself as the mastermind behind this criminal enterprise, the coolly remote look on Bane’s face was gone, replaced by anger glittering in his eyes. Bane had been drenched in evil and vice from the time he was a child. Of course he was going to struggle against leaving that life behind, but the fact that he hadn’t killed her yet meant that on some level she may have broken through to him. “God made you for a purpose, Alex,” she whispered. “I have no idea why you were steeped in such violence for most of your life, but it is not too late to turn this around. It would take the courage of a gladiator to turn your back on all this. Just how brave are you willing to be?”

Bane turned to face her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The cool, blank look was back on his face again, as though no earthly cares could ever bother him. He pulled out a chair and sat beside her at the table. Before she could gather her thoughts, Bane yanked her arm down on the table and locked it into place with his forearm. With his other hand he shoved a needle into her arm, and pain shot up her nerves like a bolt of lightning.

“Time to say good night,” Bane said as her world grew dim.