Wait Until Midnight

by Amanda Quick

  “Forgive me.” He seemed to be repeating himself frequently tonight, he reflected. He could not recall having apologized as many times in the past year. “The subject is obviously quite painful for you. I give you my oath, you will not be subjected to any more séances. It was a mistake to allow you to become more deeply involved in this affair.”

  “It was not a mistake,” she said brusquely. “It was my decision.”

  “I will expose Irene Toller at the first opportunity.”

  “No, you must not do any such thing.” Caroline sounded genuinely horrified. “Only think of the risk, sir. You might well jeopardize your own secrets if you allow yourself to become distracted by such a small, unimportant matter. You must be cautious.”

  “Toller should be punished for the cruel deception she practiced tonight,” he said, unmoved. “I cannot allow her to get away with what she did to you. To play upon your grief in such a fashion is unconscionable.”

  Caroline gave a small choked cry. She was, indeed, about to break down in tears, he thought. Alarmed, he reached for his handkerchief.

  When she saw the square of white linen in his hand, she sighed, as if in surrender.

  “That will not be necessary, sir,” she muttered. “I am not prostrate with grief. I suppose I may as well come straight out with the truth. I can see that there is no other way to convince you.”

  “Convince me of what?”

  “Irene Toller is not the only one skilled in deception. There was no Jeremy Fordyce. I invented him.”

  He sat there for a moment, ruefully amazed at his own amazement. He should have expected that she would surprise him yet again, he thought. Nevertheless, he had not anticipated this particular turn of events.

  He knew very well why he had failed to perceive the fiction. He had wanted to believe that Caroline was an experienced widow. It had been so convenient to think of her as a woman of the world who was no longer confined by the rules that dictated the behavior of unmarried ladies under the age of thirty.

  “You were never wed?” he asked carefully.

  “I’m afraid not. After the disaster in Chillingham three years ago, I concluded that my life would be a good deal more comfortable if I were perceived to be a widow rather than an unmarried woman. After we moved to London, I adopted the name Mrs. Fordyce for both professional and personal use.”

  He made a mental note of the change in location of the scandal. “Would you mind telling me your real name?”

  She hesitated. “Caroline Connor.”

  “I see.” He contemplated the fact that it was late at night and he was alone in a carriage with an unmarried lady who should never have been allowed out of the house in the evening without a chaperone. Yes, it certainly had been far more convenient to believe that she was a widow.

  “I realize that you are not pleased by my news, Mr. Hardesty,” she said. “But surely you must know how dreadfully restricted life is for an unwed woman of my age. Things were easier in the country. The rules of propriety are somewhat more relaxed there. But here in town, a single woman is easy prey for those who would spread malicious gossip. When one adds to that my involvement in a great scandal and the fact that I am an author of sensation novels, well, you can see the enormity of my problem. It was so much simpler to let Caroline Connor disappear.”

  He thought about how often Julia, before her marriage, had railed against the restraints Society imposed upon young ladies. “I am aware that the proprieties can be annoying. But I would remind you that there are some very good reasons for those restrictions. The world is a dangerous place for women. There are any number of vicious rogues at every level of society who do not hesitate to take advantage of females.”

  Her gloved hand tightened fiercely around her fan. “And the most dangerous ones are those who move in the most elevated circles,” she said in a voice that was barely above a harsh whisper.

  There was a short, tense silence. He said nothing but the part of him that was always on the alert to take note of the unusual or the unexpected registered her vehemence. Evidently the scandal in which she had been embroiled had involved a gentleman who inhabited exclusive circles.

  She exhaled deeply. “You may trust me when I tell you that I am well aware of the realities of the world, sir. I appreciate your concern but you need not waste your energy lecturing me on the proprieties.”

  She had every right to call herself whatever she wished in order to live her life on her own terms, he reminded himself.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said quietly.

  “Forgive me for snapping at you. As you can see, the subject is an unpleasant one for me.”

  “You have made your point. Unfortunately, this sudden change in your marital status only serves to make an already complicated situation considerably more difficult.”

  “Nonsense,” she said hastily. “Nothing need change between us.”

  He almost smiled at that. “Come now, we both know that you are not that naïve.”

  She winced and turned her head toward the window. “Are you angry?”

  Was he? He was not sure. “Let’s just say that you have put me in an exceedingly awkward position.”

  “There is absolutely no need for you to take that view.” She was anxious now. “The world believes me to be a widow and I see no reason to disabuse anyone of that notion. You may continue to treat me exactly as you did before I told you my secret.”

  “Do you really think that is possible?”

  She made an exasperated little sound. “It is not as though I am a fragile flower. You said yourself that the subjects and themes of my novels imply considerable experience of the world.”

  “You may be a lady of some experience,” he admitted, “but you nevertheless have a reputation to protect.”

  “On the contrary.” Bitterness laced the words. “Caroline Connor had a reputation to protect. But it was ripped to shreds three years ago. Mrs. Fordyce has nothing to worry about in that regard.”

  “That is a matter of opinion.”

  She gave him a reproachful look. “Who would have thought that you would prove to be such a prig and a high stickler, sir?”

  The accusation caught him off guard. He found himself smiling slightly. “I assure you, I am even more astonished than you are to discover that side of my nature.”

  She folded her arms beneath her breasts and tapped the pointed toe of one high-heeled shoe. “Well, I suppose that it is my turn to apologize. I never intended to place you in what you term an awkward position, sir.”

  “I realize that was not your objective.” He hesitated. “You have a right to your secrets, Caroline, just as I have a right to mine.”

  “On that we are agreed.”

  He struggled to deal with the dangerous brew of passions she stirred within him. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless, until she forgot the bastard who had ruined her in Chillingham. But he also wanted to do something that was far more reckless, something he had never done with any other woman. For some obscure reason that he could not explain, he felt compelled to balance the scales between them. He had unintentionally prodded her into revealing some of her secrets. He wanted to repay her by revealing one of his own.

  “Will you come with me to another part of town?” he asked. “There is something I want to show you.”

  “Now? Tonight?”

  “Yes.” He did not know what had possessed him; he only knew that he could not turn back. “I promise you that you are in no danger from me.”

  She seemed startled. “I do not fear you.”

  Perhaps she would refuse to accompany him. Perhaps that would be for the best. Nevertheless, he found himself waiting as though his entire future depended on what she said next.

  “Very well,” she said quietly. “My aunts will be out quite late tonight. They will not be home to worry and fret if I am late.”

  Before he could change his mind, he stood, raised the trapdoor
and gave Ned a familiar address.

  SIXTEEN

  Accompanying Adam on this journey by night was far and away the most exciting thing she had ever done in her life, Caroline thought. A strange, feverish anticipation was building within her. Where was he taking her? What did he intend to show her?

  But she did not ask any questions. She sensed that what he planned to reveal was extremely important and meaningful to him. He needed to go about the matter in his own way.

  She pulled her wrap more tightly around her shoulders and looked out the carriage windows at the fog-shrouded streets. They were traveling into a less prosperous neighborhood. The gas lamps were spaced farther apart on these narrow streets. There were fewer lights in the windows and far less traffic. The dark entrances of the alleys were ominous enough to send small chills down her spine.

  They passed a tavern. Through the grimy windows she could see men dressed in rough working clothes and a handful of women in shabby gowns. They sat at tables drinking from tankards and gin glasses.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Adam said, watching her face. “This is a poor neighborhood, but I know it well. You are in no danger.”

  “I am not afraid.” Not so long as I am with you, she added silently.

  The carriage turned a corner and went down a gloomy lane. A woman in a faded gown lounged in the light of a gas lamp. When she spotted the vehicle, she lowered her shawl to reveal her bare breasts and called out in a drunken, rasping voice, “I’ll show you some fine sport’ere, sir. The price is a bargain for what I’m offering.” Then she scowled. “What’s this? I see ye’ve already found some entertainment for the evening. Well, maybe next time. I’ll be here, sir. Look for me. My name is Nan.”

  “I feel so sorry for that woman,” Caroline whispered.

  “You are not shocked?” Adam asked.

  “I am aware that very little stands between a female with no resources and a miserable existence on the streets.”

  “You are right, of course.” Adam reached into the pocket of his coat, withdrew a small packet and tossed it out the window with a casual, practiced motion of his hand. The prostitute hurried forward, seized the package and ripped it open.

  “Thank ye, kind sir,” she shouted as the carriage rolled past. “Ye’re a generous man, ye are.” She kissed the packet, whirled around and hurried away into the night.

  Caroline knew from the manner in which the money had been wrapped and weighted that Adam had performed the same action on prior occasions.

  “There was another woman under that lamp the last time I came this way,” he said. “She had a bad cough. I wonder if she survived.”

  “Did you give her money, too?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes. And directions to a charity house that would have provided her with a bed and a warm meal. But I expect she spent the money on opium or gin and dice, just as Nan will no doubt do tonight.”

  “You know this but you give the women money anyway?”

  “Some of them have children to feed.” His face was harsh in the shadows. “Sometimes it is the children I see waiting under the lamps.”

  She could feel his quiet anger swirling in the darkness around them.

  The carriage turned another corner and halted in the middle of the street. Caroline looked out and saw an unlit doorway.

  “Come,” Adam said.

  He climbed down and reached back to assist Caroline.

  “We will be a while, Ned,” he said. “Go and get something warm to drink from the tavern at the top of the street. I’ll whistle when we’re ready to depart.”

  “Aye, sir.” Ned touched his cap.

  Adam guided Caroline to the dark vestibule. There he removed a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

  They entered a small hall. Adam lit a small lamp. Carrying it in one hand, he took Caroline’s arm and started up a flight of narrow steps.

  “There is no one living here at the moment,” he said. “I own the building and have scheduled some renovations.”

  She was more intrigued than ever. “What do you intend to do with it?”

  “I have plans.” He did not elaborate.

  When they reached the landing, he drew her down the hall and stopped in front of a closed door. He took out another key.

  Without a word, he unlocked the door and stood back to allow her to move past him into a dark, low-ceilinged room.

  She entered slowly, keenly aware of the heavy weight of significance that imbued the atmosphere. This small, shabby room was very important to Adam.

  The single window was covered with a simple curtain made of canvas. The furnishings were minimal. She saw a cot and a table. The floor was bare. There were no personal items of any kind lying about the place but the room was clean and well-dusted. A fire had been laid on the hearth.

  Adam followed her across the threshold, closed the door and set the lamp on the table. He turned to look at her.

  “This was where I lived until the beginning of my eighteenth year,” he said.

  He watched her with that enigmatic calm that was so characteristic of him but she sensed the powerful emotions simmering under the surface.

  “You were not born into wealth?” she asked, feeling her way.

  He looked wryly amused. “My mother worked in a milliner’s shop. She married my father when she was eighteen. He was a clerk in a shipping company. He was killed in an accident on the docks two years after I was born. Mother was left with nothing except his ring and his books. She pawned the ring to pay the rent and buy food but she kept the books.”

  The terse summary was given in an emotionless tone, as though Adam were recounting some rather boring bits of ancient history.

  “Your poor mother must have been quite desperate,” she said quietly.

  “Yes. She spent all day at the shop. At night she taught me to read and write using the handful of books that my father had left us.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “She was obviously a woman of great courage and determination.”

  “Yes, she was.” His expression grew even more detached and distant. “She died of a fever when I was eleven.”

  “Adam, I’m so sorry. What did you do? How did you survive?”

  “My mother had taught me to read and write, but I had also received another sort of education growing up on the streets in this neighborhood. It had begun to come in handy before Mother died. It kept me fed and paid the rent after she was gone.”

  “How did you make a living?”

  “I bought and sold other people’s secrets,” he said simply.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Remember Maud Gatley? The opium addict whose diary I am trying to recover?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He angled his chin toward the door. “She was a prostitute who lived across the hall. She frequently brought her clients upstairs to her room. Occasionally some of her customers whispered their secrets to her and she, in turn, told them to me.”

  “And you found a market for them?” she asked, incredulous.

  His smile was cold. “There is a vast and lucrative market for secrets, especially when those secrets belong to gentlemen from the better social circles.”

  “I hadn’t realized that.”

  “Maud was very beautiful in those days and she had not yet fallen completely under the spell of the drug. She counted a number of men of the Quality among her clientele. It was my job to find buyers for the gossip and rumors she picked up in the course of her work. We split the profits. The arrangement worked well for both of us for some time.”

  A rush of wonder swept through her. “Yours is an amazing story.”

  He raised one brow. “I am glad you find it intriguing. But I warn you, if a single word of it appears in one of your novels, I will be very displeased.”

  She gave him her most demure look. “I would, of course, change the names.”

  “A change of names would not be nearly enough to placate me,” he warned.
>
  “I was only teasing, Adam, as I’m sure you are well aware. Tell me the rest of the tale.”

  “Over the course of the next few years I acquired two sisters and a brother.”

  “How does one acquire siblings?” she asked.

  “It varies. Sometimes one finds an orphan who is about to be auctioned off in a brothel that caters to gentlemen who prefer virgin girls under the age of twelve.”

  “Dear heaven.”

  “Sometimes one finds a girl abandoned at the age of three next to a pile of trash and sweepings.”

  “Adam, are you telling me—”

  “Sometimes one finds a boy who, at the age of four, has been set out beneath a streetlamp to beg but whose parent never came back for him.”

  “You took them all in to live with you,” she whispered. “I do not know what to say. I am quite stunned.”

  He shrugged. “I was making good money on the streets in those days. I could afford to feed a few extra mouths. It made for company in the evenings.”

  “Did you teach them to read and write as your mother had taught you?”

  “There wasn’t much else to do at night,” he said.

  She waved one hand to indicate the spare little room. “How did the four of you escape this place?”

  “The situation changed in the middle of my seventeenth year. I came into possession of a particularly valuable secret. It involved a large-scale financial swindle that affected a number of high-ranking investors. I sold the information to a new client, a wealthy, widowed gentleman. He used it to prevent himself and several associates from losing a great deal of money.”

  “Go on,” she said, fascinated.

  Instead of answering immediately, he straightened away from the wall, unfolded his arms and crossed the room to the fireplace. Going down on one knee, he struck a light and ignited the kindling.

  He watched the small blaze take hold for a moment or two. She got the impression that he was reviewing scenes from the past and deciding which ones to reveal.

  “The wealthy gentleman had lost his wife and children to a terrible fever several years previously,” he said finally. “The gentleman was very rich but quite alone in the world. After the two of us had done some business together over the course of several months, he went so far as to offer me a position as a sort of unofficial man-of-business.”