Chapter thirty.
The weeks followed in an endless, beautiful wave.
They were married.
Horse riding followed long walks in the park, shopping and long weekends by the beach. Tea was taken daily with her Mother followed by afternoons with Edwina and the infant, who had taken an extreme liking to Rose and therefore was rewarded with regular gummy smiles.
This was life. Perfect. Beautiful.
On a grey day, the sky was still as blue as ever.
Except for the Friday which followed the news of Hockley's demise. The newspapers printed various adaptations of the story. Lady Dewitt and the Duke of Wellington escaped to the country following the news of their affair and his serving of divorce papers to his scheming wife...
Oh, the scandal.
William Sedgewick's Mother had been committed to a mental asylum in an unknown location and would not be heard of again most likely. Her involvement with Hockley had been uncovered. William, himself fled London on a ship the day after bound for New York.
The scandal.
Caledon Hockley had been responsible for the murder of most in the town over the last few years. His father had died penniless after leaving the last of the fortune to the charities of London. Or so it was printed.
Some say they saw Hockley put a pistol in his own mouth. Others say he was never really dead. That he had fled the life of London and would return in thirty or so years. He was almost a myth.
But the truth was, he was dead. Burnt. Gone. Jack had seen the sword inserted into him with such force. The hatred which had built over the years had spewed out and caused the brutal end.
Hugh Harrington was buried the week after his death. The cause of death was likely he was in a sword fight and struck by mistake. No one had known much of his involvement with Hockley and so his grieving widow had taken herself to the country for the time being to recover.
There were still so many unanswered questions. So much scandal.
All involved knew it would be a very English scandal. Spoken of, whispered on the lips of the London elite for years to come. To escape the gossip would have been hard.
Today's print is tomorrow's garbage. Jack had told Rose as they had ridden in unison across the Southend coastline the day after the it had come out. Neither had retreated and instead, would continue courting their usual lives. That caused more scandal as they laughed, ignoring their peers as they publicly displayed their affections toward the other.
But now, now there was another beast to be claimed. One he had waited for.
Jack's racing heart wasn't seen from the outside. He smiled, knowing this was what would hurt Caledon Hockley the most; his reputation. He had told the truth to every single newspaper outlet. He had provided the evidence and now, there was one last battle. The one which he knew would crawl out of his cowardly hiding space once his name had been provided to the press.
Spicer Lovejoy. Ex-police officer. He made a reputation for the bad guy but now, he was working alone. His wife had left their marital home and exposed his affairs.
Scandalous.
His children had disowned him and claimed their revenge.
''You know that this will destroy your reputation even more, Mr Lovejoy.'' Jack watched as the tall, grey man stepped out of the shadows of his study. ''I have been expecting you for a little over a month and you take that sweet time to arrive.''
Lovejoy stood, as quiet and as calm as could be, he stepped closer as though he was approaching a spooked horse. He wanted to make him rage, see just what he had in him but instead he stood behind his cowardly gun. A military gun no less.
Spying the crest upon the weapon, Jack smirked. ''I heard you were once a man who fought for this country. Shame to see what absolute tosh this country has allowed into their army.''
The man was not what Jack had expected at all. He was tall but grey, lithe and not really anything but a man. He contemplated the amount of coin Hockley had paid for this lackey to do the dirty work which he had failed to do.
Spicer Lovejoy said nothing. His dark eyes didn't waver once. He just raised the gun further to Jack's head, stepping closer.
''Give it to me?''
''What do you want?'' Jack shrugged, steepling his fingers atop his desk.
''The money. The Hockley fortune that you stole, that was promised to me by all.''
Shaking his head, he knitted his brows. ''Fight me for it.'' He didn't have it but who would have to know that small detail? This was the way to trap this sticky insect and remove him from their lives forever.
Lovejoy stepped closer, up to the desk and held the pistol almost to Jack's skin but then he felt the cold hand wrap around his throat. ''I will not be made to be a fool.'' Lovejoy pressed the cold metal to Jack's forehead. He heard a click, as he closed his eyes quickly expecting death to come to him within the next few seconds. There was nothing there. No darkness engulfed him.
That was a threat, Jack noted. The gun would not be loaded or perhaps he hadn't pulled the trigger far enough to release the bullet.
Lovejoy tightened the grip around his throat and Jack felt himself choking, he attempted to cough but nothing would come out. There was a need in Jack Dawson. A need to feel the extent of which Spicer Lovejoy wanted him to die. A need to feel just what mattered to him the most. Was part of his anger because he was let down by a man like Caledon Hockley?
Jack smirked beneath the struggle.
His reputation was already in tatters. His life spread all across the newspapers of the land and yet, he felt the need to come out of hiding to finish off the finish of which he was hired for. Jack's face grew redder as he squeezed tighter. Surely the life should be draining away from him now? No, something seemed to be helping him to hold on.
The hatred glowed arraying from the pure evil of Lovejoy's eyes to the clasp upon his neck. Jack wanted to fight but now wasn't the right time to act. He had nothing but his own will. His own instinct of which he had lived with since his days as a young lad, scrapping with class mates back in Ireland. A fancy wig, expensive clothes and a different accent did nothing to hide the façade. Spicer Lovejoy was more of a scoundrel than he ever was. If not, he was more so.
''You-you seem to think that killing me will save your honour?'' Jack spluttered.
''It will help me immensely.''
He laughed but it came out as a splutter.
''Go ahead then. Do what you wish with me. Finish me off.''
The latter was a taunt. A taunt which he knew couldn't be followed through for all along, Spicer Lovejoy had been hired to scare, to squander and to help. Not to kill. He wasn't a man with the ability to end a life just like that. He had proved so now. Jack had the man right within the palm of his hands.
''Cowardly bastard.''
As the large wooden door opened, a flourish of tapestry came into sight followed by the red of her hair.
Rose.
Damn her to find them.
Gone was Jack's reverie of thought...the train which was ensuring all his instincts were indeed correct.
Now, he just needed to get rid of him.
''No!'' She screamed. ''Let him go, please.'' She pleaded as she attempted to pull Lovejoy away from Jack but he simply lifted his hand, scutching her left cheek and sending her tumbling unexpectedly backwards.
''You shut up, little trollop.'' She fell back against the desk, struggling to find her balance. Her eyes glanced about to find something to aid her next attack but there was nothing. Jack was red, lifeless or so it appeared.
Until something in him seemed to flip. Laying hands upon his wife was the red which Jack saw. A knee in the stomach was all it had taken for the elder man to be sent flying back and tumble over the desk to the floor just beside Rose, who shifted aside quickly, pulling her night rail with her. The gun was pulled from his hand as he went. It was a single swoop. One which if blinked could be missed. Jack was trained in this. Fought a lot harder battles with hundreds of men. Easy...
''You can fight with me, toy with me, but you do not lay your hands on my wife.'' He took her hand in his, pulling her to his hard and still body. She felt safer there. ''Caledon Hockley put up a good fight before he was slain; the man was not used to losing. Although, he did beg for mercy.''
Lovejoy steadily found his feet, his breathing ragged. The silken and velvet suite of which he wore was torn in various places. Blood spatters told Jack he had slain another before coming here to send Jack to his deathly demise, or at least injured those in his path.
''I will not beg you.''
''There is nothing to beg of. You will have no choice in the matter. You are lucky I am alone here.''
''Your men were killed.''
''No, they were set free. My brother sent to live his life how he wishes to live it and I have one final match to meet before I retire.''
Rose pressed herself against him so tightly, he felt her shudders but he wouldn't allow her to feel the fear any longer. The anger inside of him had boiled over way too much. Lovejoy reached forward to retrieve the gun which Jack had taken from his grip and thrown on the floor out of the way. He aimed to go for it but Jack lunged forward knocking it from his grip and the smug look was soon wiped away from his face. Rose screamed as her husband was hit; laced into.
Jack felt the blood trickle from his nose from the punch. There wasn't much hatred behind that. Wiping the stain away, he smiled. This wasn't a fight worth having. Again; he lunged for Lovejoy, knocking him into the table and throwing him over it in one swift move. The grace and fluid of his movements were a reminder that he was a fighter through and through. This was the battlefield for him. It was the way in which he was taught, how he had lived for many years. In a second he could send the lackey to his grave but he refused to. Surely the man had some fight in him. Older dogs seemed to never learn the new tricks; he smiled through his pulsating face.
Rose watched with wide eyes as she watched her husband in a way she had never seen before. He was cat-like, in another state of mind as though he had flicked a switch to ensure he felt nothing. His hand came up, holding the elder man by the throat against the wall with his throat and he could only move his eyes. He knew what it felt like. This was exactly what he had done to him. The revenge could be served here; Jack Dawson could kill him. Was it worth the effort?
Instead, he lifted his foot kicking in the stomach and winding him sending him flying backwards against the wall knocking the large gold mirror from the wall and it smashed over his shoulders and cutting his arms as it fell. Jack could taste the blood but he wouldn't give up yet. He would fight until the very end. Lovejoy lay out, blood covering his face and his suit, running downwards onto the carpet onto the expensive furnishings which were now meaningless. This was the final battle which he had waited to take part in before the house became the property of someone else.
Jack waited for his opponent to stand with patience. He had always found the patience to wait, to observe and to attack. Lovejoy came for Jack but this time he moved out of the way sending him crashing to the floor. He had grown weaker and feeble; he was an older man.
''Come on, fight me.'' Jack taunted him. ''Where is the damned rage I hear you are so famous for?''
''I am fighting,'' he snarled.
Lovejoy found his gun there on the floor and shakily he got to his feet and this time he aimed it at Rose. She was the one he wanted, after all. She was the cause of all of this. Her. The root cause of all of these problems.
''It is all because of you.''
Rose knitted her brows together.
''The cock teasing adolescent who couldn't take the right man to the alter.''
''I chose right.'' She fired back. ''All you did was fight for a man who couldn't fight for himself. A man who wasn't even worthy to be called that. He is a coward. You are the coward.''
He turned to Jack who he knew was behind him. A snigger came but it didn't last long.
''There is no use in prolonging this.'' Jack stood cool, square and soft. ''Hugh Harrington tried to toy with me and had a dagger wound in the end.''
''I am not the fool like he was.''
Lovejoy's rage was slowly bubbling, like a pan of water at boiling point. Rose stood at the side of Jack, almost united, like one. The chit showed no fear, not when she was beside the man, she had the belly flutters for. He wanted to laugh at them with pity but he knew not to show any form of emotion to the pair of them.
Now, Spicer Lovejoy stood alone. Truly alone. Once he had been a part of an empire greater than any other known in London. They had quietly dispersed one by one. Caledon Hockley had been killed. There was no one left now but him. For months he had worked with no pay. No word. Nothing. The promise was what had kept him driven. The promise to be a rich man, for his reputation to be great and for him to retire from the agency in which he worked as a legend.
He wanted that still. He had worked for that status.
Jack stroked his fingers over Rose's hand, Lovejoy watched it, back and forth, back and forth, in a slow rhythm and by the look of Rose's breathing, Jack was bringing her comfort. There would be no comfort for him. His wife had gone, their children also. His authority had been broken. It was laughable but he didn't find it funny one little bit. Then out of nowhere, he was pushed over the edge. His body stiffened as he ran to Jack, about to break him apart from Rose. To see them together was infuriating; the damned caused of this entire scandal.
The scandal of the century. The scandal which had caused lives to be destroyed. The wrong ones had won here but it would be no more.
He went to push Jack at full force out onto the balcony, he would take him down all the way to the ground if he could, he would cover it up as a damned good accident, but as he ran, Jack grasped the back of his tight collar, propelling him towards the window of the balcony before he moved to the left, pulling Rose with him, grasping her to him tightly. She fell hard against his chest.
The window crashed through, glass shattering and raining down upon their heads. Jack used himself as a shield over her, taking the brunt of the shrapnel pieces which came over them. The tiny cuts upon his face and arms were nothing. He barely felt them.
Rose felt her stomach drop, as though she was floating in mid-air. She didn't dare look up. Jack's widened eyes answered her unasked question and then the truth were revealed as they heard a sickening crack.
Rose screamed, her body shaking. She felt as though she had been hit by a horse at full speed, thrust mid-air into something she couldn't control. Jack's hard body seemed to relax as his hands came up about her shoulders in a small comfort. His fingers were torn apart, his face and hair splattered with the blood which he had shed once more; all for her.
Rose was never meant to witness this but the truth was, it was never going to be less than gruesome. The man deserved his death; like his master did. Perhaps it was true, perhaps Jack Dawson was a dangerous man. Still. Would that part ever leave him?
''Jack-''
''It is over.'' He whispered quietly. ''That is all you need to remember.''
Rose placed her hands over her face. She shook her head. ''That-that could have been you.'' She managed, her entire body succumbing to the shudders of shock.
''It's not. I was in control, I anticipated this to happen.'' He grasped both of her hands in his. She was in so much shock, she struggled to face him. He shook her hands in an attempt to rid her of the deep surprised state.
''You were not meant to see the extent of this, my darling but just remember what he did to you, to us, to Samantha.''
She nodded. ''Yes.''
''We knew that he would come for us.''
''Y-yess,'' she stammered.
''You knew that I could take him alone.''
Jack felt his jaw tense, he dragged back the curtain as he glanced over the side of the balcony.
There on his neatly tended lawn lay a pool of red surrounding the last of the demons which had haunted them and taunted them for months.
''He put a dagger in my wife. He wasn't about to live past the moment he stepped a foot inside my house.''
Rose blinked through unshed tears as she glanced about the study. It was once a fully upholstered, enchanting room littered with the collections of Jack's life, his business. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
''This was our freedom.''
There were no cold shivers. His stomach was settled. Easy. The damage was already done and this had been the final battle of victory. Justice was finally served for his father, his mother, his brother and Samantha Rowland but above all for his wife.
His wife.
Rose Dawson. The woman who he had dared to follow after a chance meeting. The one he had been unable to remain away from. The woman who challenged him, changed him and enabled him to feel love and to be loved in return for the first time in a lonely, young man's life.
''Freedom,'' she repeated, clinging to that word.
''Yes.''
Jack grasped onto Rose's hands, stroking her face and he kissed her forehead just once. Her eyes closed, inhaling his scent and she was taking back to the first night back in the horse shed when she had tumbled with him. The evening which had changed the course of her life.
Forever.
''This is the end.''
Her eyes remained closed as she repeated his words, remembering them, ''the end.''
And it was.
