O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,99

you kill me now, you’ll get nothing. But my beneficiaries will thank you heartily for providing them with their inheritance years before they expected to receive so much as a shilling.”

He’d made provisions for various pensioner homes for sailors, as well as for the Church. Not that he was in any way pious or concerned about saving his soul. But the Church was no meek widow easily browbeaten into giving up her rights in court. His brothers, should they wish to contest the validity of his testament, would have the battle of their lives.

“Since you cannot kill me before I sign my assets over to you in whatever document you’ve brought for me to sign, why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll discuss this like gentlemen?”

“We’re not discussing anything with you,” Herbert snarled.

“Warms my cockles, it does. Father would be so proud of you, coming to visit me as Christmas approaches and showing me all your brotherly love.” He kept his fingers on his own pistol but did not raise it just yet. “I’m afraid I will have to decline your request to sign over my assets to you.”

He turned to his other brothers. “Why are you here? Has Herbert assured you he will give you a percentage of whatever he steals from me? I hope you got that in writing from him. You’ll never see so much as a ha’penny if you haven’t.”

Herbert growled. “Shut up, Innes.”

“Ah, so you were all foolish enough to trust him. Why don’t we all sit down and draw up that document first? How much of a split did you offer them, Herbert? Shall I take out my quill pen and ink pot? I have plenty of good quality parchment at hand.”

Herbert menacingly waved his pistol in Innes’s face. “I told you to shut up!”

Innes was done indulging these fools. “And I told you—”

But they all turned to the doorway at the sound of a rifle being cocked.

Sweet, merciful heavens.

Hyacinth had somehow got a hold of one of the big guns he kept locked in a cabinet in his library. Holmes. He must have led her to them. The idiot. He should have turned her away at the front door.

He didn’t want her anywhere near them if shooting erupted, as it likely would.

“Your Grace,” she said with remarkable calm and poise, “kindly put down your weapon. All of you, please do the same.”

“Who are you?” Herbert stared at Hyacinth, who looked like a glorious angel of vengeance. “What makes you think I’m going to listen to one of my brother’s tarts?”

“You’re going to listen because I am holding the bigger gun and will not hesitate to blow your head off. Is this in any way unclear? Rest assured, it is your head I will blow off first, and I will not miss. I suppose that would leave your wife quite happy. I cannot imagine her weeping over you. I expect it will leave the next brother in line quite happy, too. Which one of you is Alfred?”

None of them answered.

Innes was trying his hardest not to laugh. First, because they were still in danger while everyone had pistols pointed every which way. But it was hard to overlook Hyacinth and the big gun twice her size that she was toting.

And in typical Hyacinth fashion, she did not simply level the threat and then shut up, but chattered on, threatening to shoot off Alfred’s big toe right after she shot Herbert in his big, fat arse, for which she then apologized for using the unladylike word.

By heaven, it was all Innes could do not to burst into gales of laughter.

Then Romulus appeared in the doorway, looming over his daughter. “Hyacinth, what are you doing?”

“Oh, Papa. Thank goodness you’re here. What took you so long?”

“I was…never mind. What is going on here?” He must have recognized Herbert. “Your Grace, is there a reason you are holding a pistol to your brother’s head?”

“Captain Brayden, don’t tell me this is your daughter? Have her set down the weapon and we shall talk.”

He turned to Holmes, who must have been standing in the hallway. “Ah, you’ve brought it. Thank you.” Romulus now had an even bigger gun than Hyacinth’s and was pointing it at Alfred, who now looked as though he was going to soil his trousers. “Good afternoon, Alfred. Please don’t move. I would hate to have to shoot you, too.”

“Well done, Papa,” Hyacinth said, never taking her gaze off Herbert, who remained her target.

“Be quiet, Hyacinth.”