“Why is she tending to my clothes? I thought she worked for Mrs. Nash.”
“Mrs. Nash has packed her things and gone to Poole without her servants.”
“Are you joking?”
“No, all of the other servants left.” He dropped his voice. “It didn’t seem right to leave her behind. Poor thing didn’t know what to do with herself. She’s never worked anywhere else, and I thought you might need someone to help you get dressed and mend your clothing. I know you aren’t thrilled with Charlotte.”
She released a snort as she slipped from his loose grip and began tugging the dress from her shoulders. “I can dress myself. I have been doing it my entire life.”
“I know, but having her tend to your clothes and hair when you go out is one less thing for you to worry about, which would mean more time to work on your projects. You would also free-up Charlotte and let her resume her usual duties.”
Stepping out of her wet dress, Hadley rubbed her arms and slipped on her robe. She stood at the hearth, watching her husband regard her with a lopsided frown. Having a lady’s maid to do her hair or pick her clothing meant something. It was another long step from her old life where she relied on no one but herself. In marrying Eilian, she had gained the freedom that comes with being a married woman of class and standing, but she had lost her anonymity and the ability to say she did it all on her own. No longer was she merely a craftswoman. Her products no longer spoke for her. Instead, her person came with a name, a vision of what the Countess of Dorset ought to be, and a congregation of helpers. Since her mother died nearly a decade ago, she had prided herself in being the one to get it all done with as little help from others as possible.
As if reading her mind, Eilian said, “I have Patrick to help me with my things. I didn’t mean to spring it on you. I thought she would be a help. We could always have this be on a trial basis. If it doesn’t work out, she can join the other girls as chambermaids.”
“That would be a demotion,” Hadley replied, keeping her voice low so the maid couldn’t hear her through the wall.
“It’s better than no job and no references.”
Hadley rubbed her temples. “I’m not going to turn her out if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not as cruel as Mrs. Nash. I know what it’s like to not know where your pay will come from.” Drawing in a tight breath, she sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the rain patter against the mullioned panes. If she closed her eyes, she swore she could hear the waves lapping beneath the soft snapping of the fire in the grate. “Tell me more about your day. I want to forget mine.”
The question hung on his lips, but from her dour expression and her peevish plucking of the quilt, it was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about it. When she was ready, the story would pour out.
In the most cheerful voice he could muster, he began, “Well, I found the journals. Nash hid them in a nook in his study behind a painting of the orangery. It seemed funny at the time that he should put them there since he was always popping up in it until I remembered the murder. Anyway, there was also a jar of dried silphium seeds. I’m hoping I can plant them in Greenwich, and give some to a few botanists I know. Pilcrow was actually the one to find—”
He stopped, watching as Hadley bit her lip and stared at the bare planks of the floor. Her nails dug into her arm to staunch the tide of emotion collecting behind her lower lids. Eilian had only seen her cry twice before they came to Brasshurst, once in the desert and once when she called off their engagement, and after the latter happened, he could never erase the image from his mind. Seeing her so vulnerable still startled him. Dropping to his knees beside her, he held her hands in his and tried to catch her downcast gaze. She clamped her lips shut against the hiccupped sobs even as her body rocked in protest.
“Hadley, what is the matter? Please tell me. Was it something I did?”
She shook her head, her breathing coming in tight squeaks. Raising her eyes to meet his, she swallowed against the lump in her throat. His expression was soft with concern as he searched her face for some hint of what had occurred. Her eyes burned. She knew saying it would unleash every thought she had tried to suppress. All she could see was Mr. Rhodes with his eyes full of hurt, before he disappeared out the front door. The pain he must have felt.
“I botched it!”
The words fell heavy from her lips as the torrent of wet sobs escaped with them. Before she could clasp her hands over her face, Eilian wrapped his arms around her. His mechanical arm ran the length of her back as his other hand trailed into her hair to keep her close. Pressing her face into his collar, every frustration poured forth. She could never be a countess. She would never live up to his mother or the women hanging in the portrait gallery. All she could see was Randall Nash snapping at her in the orangery, the vein on his broad forehead pulsing; the void beside the pool where the silphium used to grow standing empty while Leona Rhodes lay bleeding; Nadir locked behind iron bars while Nash’s killer ran free. She was supposed to fix things, that was the natural order, but she couldn’t do anything anymore. How had it all gone so wrong?
Eilian held her close in hopes that it would quiet the cries wracking her body despite her best attempts to stifle them. Rubbing her back with his prosthetic hand, he whispered for her to take deep breaths. When she couldn’t, he hugged her closer and kissed her temple.
“I’m sure you didn’t botch whatever it is.”
“No, I did. I ruined everything,” she replied, her voice rough with tears.
The bedroom door creaked open, but when Eilian’s grey eyes met Pilcrow’s, she nodded and ducked out without a word. Turning back to his wife, he slipped from under her grasp and gently brushed the sweat-soaked hair from her cheeks.
“Don’t say that. Tell me what happened.”
“Nadir Talbot’s in jail. Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes have split up, and that’s all my fault.”
“I’m sure it isn’t—”
“Trust me, it is. She’s the one who stole the silphium plant. She needed it— she needed it because she had an affair with Nash and was with child. Argus overheard us talking and stormed out.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Using the edge of the quilt, Hadley dabbed her eyes and sniffed as Eilian settled beside her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You had so much on your mind at the time, and I wasn’t sure about the silphium or Nash until she told me. I— I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It just never came up. I didn’t know the rest of it until now.”
He kept his gaze soft, hoping he wouldn’t add to her pain and guilt. “Tell me everything.”
The whole tale poured out. She told him of how Leona used the aqueduct to break into the orangery in order to steal the plant and how she smashed the window to make it look like a burglary. All the pieces fell into place as she recounted how Leona’s “stomach troubles” at the party had really been a miscarriage. She was about to tell of her affair with Nash when she paused. Damn secrecy, Hadley thought at her momentary hesitation of sharing the details with her husband. Secrets had never helped Nash or Leona, and they certainly hadn’t helped Nadir Talbot.
When she had finished, she sat back on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest and her robe draped over her legs. Her eyes burned as she watched Eilian shake his head and rub his jaw. He was confused, but at least he wasn’t angry.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t know. Stealing the silphium didn’t really harm anyone, and by the time I put it together, it was too late to do anything about it. She had used up most of the plant when she miscarried. It wasn’t like we could put it back.” She swallowed hard. “She had a good reason for using it, and I didn’t want her to get in trouble with the police, especially after she— she nearly bled out.”
His eyes trailed down to his prosthetic hand before returning to her tearstained face, which had puffed and reddened. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
She averted her gaze from
his and rested her chin on her knees. “I didn’t know if you would understand, and I didn’t want you to say anything to Mr. Rhodes. Men don’t deal with these things. You won’t even touch me, so how was I to know how you would react to someone having an affair or choosing to end a pregnancy? I don’t know if any man can understand it.”
Eilian fell silent. How would he have reacted? He knew little of Mrs. Rhodes, and what he knew of Randall Nash made him wonder why anyone would seek to have a close friendship with the man, let alone an intimate relationship. Then there was Argus. Mr. Rhodes seemed to love his wife, but there was no way for Eilian to know what went on behind closed doors. Maybe Argus was negligent. Maybe he treated his wife with the same indifference he treated the news of the silphium, or maybe he was like Eilian and couldn’t do what his wife asked.
“I would have tried to understand.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“Is there anything else I don’t know?”
Hadley shrugged and pawed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I don’t think so. I sent a telegraph to Eliza and James. Hopefully they can find a decent lawyer for Nadir. The police wouldn’t let me speak to him or Purcell. I don’t know what else to do.”
Eilian rubbed her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “You have done all you can. I’m sure Mr. Talbot will be all right. He didn’t kill Nash; a judge will see that. When the magistrate gets here, I will see what I can do. Maybe throwing around the family name will do some good.”
“Thanks.”
As his wife drew in a tremulous breath and cleared her throat, Eilian withdrew a clean handkerchief from his drawer and carried over the wash basin. The water had gone cold, but he dunked the cloth in and wrung it out one-handed. He hated seeing Hadley fall apart. She was the strong one, and while he was never certain what to do, he knew this was something he had to make right for her. Cupping the side of her face with his prosthetic hand, Eilian gently wiped the moisture from her cheeks and eyelashes.
“I promise I will get Mr. Talbot out of trouble. If this lawyer doesn’t come through, I will call in some favors.” When her face brightened into a weak grin, he added, “I’m still shocked Mrs. Rhodes fell for someone as dreadful as Nash. I shouldn’t be; he apparently had a way with women.”
“Oh? What do you mean?”
“While you were out, I started reading great-grandfather’s journals. An illicit affair is what caused the big rift between Nash and my father. Nash was engaged to Rubella when he was caught by my father with one of the maids. Apparently, she found out she was with child after she was sacked, but by then, conveniently, Nash was already married and out of the country. Great-grandfather made sure of that.”
Hadley released a dry laugh. “And history repeats itself.” Clearing her thickened throat, she called, “Pilcrow, you may come in now.”
The moment the words were out, the dressing room door opened and the petite maid bustled in with a clean dress trailing behind her. She flashed the couple a smile before standing at the ready for Hadley to slip into the gown. The countess inwardly sighed but gave herself over to Pilcrow’s careful attention. After buttoning the back with nimble fingers, the maid stood before her to adjust the collar and brush her skirt. As Hadley lowered her gaze to meet Pilcrow’s, the breath caught in her throat.
What if the child had his eyes?
Chapter Thirty-One
Bullets in the Yews
“Get up.”
Nadir jerked awake as the sergeant’s boot collided with the frame of his cot. His head pounded at the sudden exertion and the dank cell tilted and whirled around him. When his vision finally settled, he locked eyes with Purcell, who stood in the doorway with his hands behind his back. A small smile crossed Nadir’s lips as he smoothed his rumpled shirt and brushed the bits of dirt and dust from his trousers.
“So, you finally came to your senses, Sergeant? Better late than never.”
“Lady Dorset hired you a lawyer. He sent a telegraph saying he will be here tomorrow afternoon.”
He turned and raised his eyes to the glowing full-moon peeking through the bars. How long had he been asleep in that stinking rat hole? Pain lanced through his stitches where hair had matted across it during his rest. With his fingertip, he picked at the wound.
“That is very kind of her. I will have to thank her.”
“Yes, it must be nice to have such a benevolent benefactress. Too bad his services won’t be necessary.”
As Nadir finally freed the last bit of hair from the minute knots, the noose slipped over his neck. His arm slammed into his neck as Purcell yanked him backwards, driving the rough knot into his spine. He grabbed the edge of the cot with his free hand, his fingers tearing through the threadbare fabric. Nadir fell back, staggering and falling onto his knees. All that stood between him and strangulation was his hand, which had been inadvertently trapped in the loop of the noose, but when Purcell pulled with all of his strength, his wrist pressed into his throat. Nadir gasped, groping for air. Spots fluttered in front of his eyes as he groped for anything he could use to get Purcell off. The darkness pressed in around him, his hand only meeting the filth-slicked stone. The cell wavered. He gulped down the tang of sweat and cloying cologne. The sergeant’s sweaty hand brushed against his neck where it slipped from the knot. Every sense heightened and flickered as he released a rasped cry. It couldn’t end like this.
Reaching back with his free hand, Nadir clawed at the officer’s face. A holler rose behind him as his fingers dug into the man’s eyes and tore at the soft flesh beneath his mustache. The moment Purcell whipped his head from beneath his grasp, allowing Nadir pushed up on his heels and threw him off balance. The sergeant’s hands groped for the length of rope, but Nadir spun away, his head reeling as he fell into the cot. Tugging the heavy cord from his neck with trembling hands, he drew in a lungful of air.
For a moment, Nadir and Purcell stared at one another. Nadir sat sprawled on the torn mattress, his chest heaving and his throat aching, while Purcell stood between the cot and the iron door. Keeping his eyes locked on the officer, Nadir stood. Purcell’s sharp gaze caught every minute flicker of movement that might betray his next move. He shifted, his hand slipping to the holster hanging at his hip, but before he could reach the leather pouch, the writer was on top of him. Slamming his shoulder into Purcell’s chest, he threw him into the iron bars. The officer reached for his hip and twisted beneath him, but Nadir’s fist plowed into his face before he could slip his hand around the gun. Three rapid blows were all it took. The sergeant’s head bounced off the bars of the cell as Nadir let go and he slid to the floor. His eyelids drooped and blood trickled from his nose onto his well-groomed mustache. Nadir didn’t have much time.
Nadir crept into the deserted front room and looked out the window. The streets were empty. The only noise he could make out was the steady tattoo of rain and the scuff of boots down the hall. Grabbing his confiscated walking stick from behind the desk, Nadir threw open the door and disappeared into the rainy night.
He ran heedlessly down the street, his expensive shoes slipping on the wet stones as he sprinted past shuttered storefronts and darkened homes. The last time he had gotten into a real brawl was during his brief time at Cambridge, but his hands never forgot the technique he had practiced for hours after being jumped one too many times at his first boarding school. His throat ached as he swallowed against the bruised knot where the noose had been. He had to hide. He had to get away from the footsteps pounding behind him.
Through the haze of heavy rain, he could make out where the road divided up ahead. He could follow the bend toward Leona’s house, but there would be no escaping once he was inside and he couldn’t risk Leona getting hurt. Past the house were the rickety path and the aqueduct leading to the dower house. If he could lose Purcell— No, the officer probably knew the tunnel better than he did, and he would be an easy target in the confined space.
Stopping to catch his breath, Nadir’s eyes t
railed to the moon glowing through the threatening clouds. His heart thundered in his ears. The other path was a direct route to Brasshurst Hall. Glancing over his shoulder, he could make out a shadow rushing toward him only a few hundred feet away. Nadir locked eyes with the blinking windows of the manor and dove into the brush.
***
Nadir’s head pounded with each footfall, but he couldn’t stop. Sliding down a steep embankment, he closed his eyes against the nausea as dendritic branches scratched his face and tugged at his hair. The leaves and trees behind him snapped under Purcell’s approach as he barreled after him. Nadir had expected to lose him a third of the way to Brasshurst, but he was right on his heels. Swinging his walking stick like a machete, Nadir scrambled through a patch of briars, feeling the pull and snap of his shirt sleeves tearing. The house loomed in the distance, a bulbous beacon. What if Purcell caught up with him before he could get to Brasshurst? What if he did and the Sorrells refused to help? Nadir banished the thought as he vaulted over a fallen tree, his ankle throbbing as he landed hard on an unseen stone. He was nearly there. He could make out the slick edges of the Gothic facade and the camphor trees illuminated within the massive dome. As he tumbled out of the thicket and into the clearing that marked the edge of Brasshurst’s ornamental gardens, the forest fell silent. Nadir turned, staring into the trees for any sign of Purcell. Had he given up?
A crack of light erupted from the top of the hill followed by a familiar retort. Nadir dove for the overgrown hedges, but a searing pain ripped through the flesh of his bicep followed by a hot sluice of blood before he could reach it.
“Shit!” he cried as he staggered, his body reeling against the pain. He clamped his hand over the wound and crawled behind the nearest yew. Shutting his eyes, Nadir gritted his teeth and held his breath as three more shots rang out. Bits of bark and leaves exploded out around him. So this was how it would end: curled up against a tree with his left arm blown open, waiting for his murderer to find him. The paralyzing pain refused to ebb, engulfing his arm in a vicious throb. With his knees, he pulled the scabbard from his cane-sword and listened. Rain pattered against his face, running down his cheeks and over his half-healed stitches in rivulets. For a long moment, he sat in the darkness; the only sound his labored breath and the rustle of leaves. Moonlight glinted along the length of his sword as the sergeant’s footsteps slowly retreated into the brush.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 80