“She? Delia, what are you saying?”
The young woman reached into her pocketbook and withdrew the nearly empty elixir bottle. Her hands shook, making the simple task of removing the stopper a major challenge. “Why can’t I do this!” she cried in despair.
Charles took the bottle and examined the typed label:
TINCTURE OF OPIUM IN ELDERFLOWER WATER. ONE TSP. AT NIGHT FOR SLEEP.
NOT TO EXCEED 2 TSP. PER DAY.
– ANTHONY GEHLEN, M.D., F.R.C.S.
“Delia, how much of this have you taken?”
“I don’t know. Mother told me to take a second dose before the funeral, and I may have taken another when we arrived here. I’m not sure.”
“And before that? Did you take any this morning?”
She nodded. “I took some before my bath, I think. Oh, but I shouldn’t talk of baths in front of a gentleman. But then, I’m no longer a lady, am I? Not after what happened.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” a pleasant voice interrupted. “I had to deal with a vermin problem.” Aubrey had the look of a man who intended to settle an old score with an enemy. Charles understood completely, but now was not the time. Cordelia required protection first.
“I pray you’ve not broken the law, Cousin.”
“Not yet. Shall we have that talk?”
“In a little while. First, I want to visit with Beth, if you’ll stay with Delia.” He still held the elixir bottle and decided against returning it, fearing she might overdose. “Delia, I’m going to give this to the earl for safekeeping. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Is it warm in here?”
“Paul, make sure she takes no more of this. From what I can tell, she’s already exceeded the daily amount by two doses. I’ll say a quick hello to Beth, and then we’ll meet in, say, half an hour?”
“Yes, of course,” the earl replied, as he sat beside Cordelia. “I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready.”
The duke wove his way through the dense crowd, offering polite smiles to wives and daughters of government officials who somehow managed to insinuate themselves into his personal space at the oddest of moments. One was a bright-eyed girl of seventeen or so, whom he recognised as the youngest daughter of Lord Castlereigh. Her father had hosted one of the Kent County balls the previous month.
“Pardon me,” Sinclair whispered as he tried to move past.
“Pardon you for what, Your Grace?” she giggled, her full lips blushing hues of pink. “It’s my fault entirely.”
“Not at all,” he told her automatically, his eyes on his wife. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Louise...”
“You remember my name!” she gushed, inching closer. “Perhaps our dance last month made a stronger impression than I dared imagine.”
“Ah, yes, our dance. Yes, it was quite—memorable. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Louise, my wife is waiting. Just over there.” He pointed towards the duchess, whose attention was dominated by the persistent gentlemen, currently bending her ear.
“I’d forgotten you and the duchess had already married. Such a pity. But she’s talking with my cousins just now. William and Wallace Abernathy. They’re not twins, of course, but only ten months apart; so Irish twins, I suppose. They operate a textile factory in Newcastle. I believe they’re talking to her about investments.”
“Is that so? How interesting. Again, if you’ll excuse me,” he repeated, wedging his way past her.
The Abernathy brothers rose to their feet as the duke arrived. They had strikingly similar appearances, though subtle differences emerged after a few minutes’ concentrated effort. William, the elder, had a habit of sucking his back teeth as if they pained him, and his squinting eyes were different colours: the left more of a greenish-blue in contrast to its hazel partner. His lips were thin and asymmetric towards the left, giving him a permanent smirk. His ears were low and round, and his chin weak and smooth, as though incapable of sprouting any hair at all.
Wallace, on the other hand, had matching eyes; both hazel, both constantly blinking. His lips skewed in a jagged fashion, rather like a Jack-O-Lantern’s. He’d made a feeble attempt at a chin beard, which grew in a patchwork of auburn and yellow. Neither brother had seen thirty winters, but both looked far older.
William reached out to shake Sinclair’s hand. “You must be the Duke of Haimsbury,” he declared in a thick, Northumberland accent. “It’s a distinct pleasure, sir. A distinct pleasure, indeed! I’m Will, and this poor excuse for a mourner is my younger brother, Wallace. And before you ask, we are indeed named for the Scottish hero, William Wallace. A Scottish mother, you see. But we’re not rebels. Not yet, at least!” he added, laughing at his own joke. “My brother and I’ve been speaking with your good wife regarding plans to extend our manufacturing business into London. The East End, to be exact, and we’re very interested in a property she owns there.”
“I see,” the duke replied as he took the chair vacated by William. He kissed his wife’s cheek. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, little one.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly as he took her hand. “You’re here now, Captain. That’s all that matters.”
“What’s this about a property in the East?” he asked her.
“There is none. Mr. Abernathy is mistaken,” she replied. “We do own two warehouses on Mansell, but neither is for sale. I’ve been telling these gentlemen that for quarter of an hour. Besides, a wake is hardly the place for business discussions.”
“We’d give you a fair price for them, Duchess,” William insisted. “The location meets all our needs. Doesn’t it, Wallace?”
“It certainly does, William,” the other agreed, his Jack-O-Lantern mouth screwing into the facsimile of an unsettling grin.
Charles answered for his wife. “Gentlemen, if you wish to visit with us regarding this matter after Christmastide, we’d be pleased to do so.” He handed the elder brother a calling card. “Speak with my secretary, and he’ll arrange a time. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”
The tone in his voice made it clear that Charles had no intention of speaking further on the matter, but the younger brother refused to take the hint.
“Five minutes is all we ask, sir. We’ve the best of intentions, I assure you.”
“Then, you’ll not object to waiting ‘til January,” Haimsbury answered. “As I said, speak to my man. His name is Gerald Pennyweather, and he’s available at Queen Anne House twixt ten and four. Good day, gentlemen.”
Shrugging, the persistent pair reluctantly departed, and Charles noticed that they stopped to collect their obtrusive young cousin, Lady Louise, before exiting the conservatory.
“This is supposed to be a wake?” he sighed as he took his wife’s hand. “The invitation called it a small gathering of bereaved friends and family, but it looks more like a soirée. Beth, why are you sitting out here all alone? I’d assumed you’d remain with Paul.”
“He’s been busy doing other things, and I’ve hardly been alone, Charles,” she answered. “After you wandered off with your detective friend, Paul suggested I find a quiet place to relax, and so brought me out here for a breath of air. Before long, a dozen people followed, and then another dozen after that. I’ve been hosting business proposals ever since. Apparently, someone has told the bankers and factory owners of England that I’m building a hospital in Whitechapel. The Abernathy brothers run a cotton mill and thought to curry favour with me by offering to donate cloth for bed coverings, uniforms, and the like. In exchange, they hope to pay a pittance for our warehouses.”
“Clearly, they underestimate you, but if you wish my input, I’m happy to offer it. Where are these warehouses?”
“Not far from Leman Street police station, on Mansell. We own two of the three on that block. The third goes under the hammer next month for unpaid taxes. The estate agency representing the Crown has offered me first right of r
efusal, providing we make the right offer. If we can buy it at a reasonable price, then we could transform the entire block into the new hospital complex.”
“And these textile merchants also intend to bid for that building?” he asked.
“So, it would seem. Charles, I know it’s asking a lot of you, but I’d like to tour the building as soon as possible. Mr. Pinchin, the estate agent, says he can meet me at ten o’clock the Friday after Christmas. The twenty-eighth. It would mean coming back to London for a day, but we could be back at Branham by five or so. Do you think you might go with me? This hospital is sorely needed, Charles, and the sooner it’s built the better. I’ve overheard the ministers whispering about a terrible fire at St. Katherine’s. All the area’s hospitals and infirmaries are overstretched. Don’t you see? Such tragedies make it imperative that we build this hospital right away!”
“Yes, of course. I admire your fervor, darling, but I cannot promise about the twenty-eighth. Let me take a look at my diary, and I’ll do my best.”
“Please, don’t patronise me, Charles. This is not a whim, and I am not a child,” she declared fiercely.
“I never said you were. Martin calls you a lioness, and he’s right. Woe to any man who gets in your way, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“If only Victoria saw it that way,” Beth sighed. “She thinks I’ve become too complacent.”
He began to laugh. “You? Complacent?” Her expression turned a bit harsh, and he immediately retracted the comment. “That is not to say you’re headstrong or unyielding, darling. Never. But you are determined. I admire your fiery spirit.”
“I pray so, Charles, for I intend to build this hospital, no matter what.”
He decided to change the topic. “I wrote in my new journal this morning.”
Beth’s smile returned, and she took his hand. “Did you? I’m very glad. It will help, Charles. You’ve grown restless these past few days; tossing and turning at night. You’ve even talked a little in your sleep. I pray the dreams aren’t too terrible.”
“How could they be, when you’re lying beside me?” he whispered. “And I apologise for stealing away this morning without a goodbye kiss. Once we get to Branham, all that will change. For two weeks, I’m all yours.”
“My darling husband, I hope it works out that way, but I understand the demands on your time. Criminals toll their deceitful bells, and you must dash away to still the ringing and uncover the hand upon the rope. You are my hard-working, busy husband! Did writing this morning help at all?”
“Yes, actually, it did,” he said, leaning close. “I’m not sure how faithful I’ll be to that daily task, but I’ll try. In one way, it did allow my mind to wander, and it was surprising to see what I wrote.”
“Good,” she said simply. “That’s the reason for the exercise. Remember that anything written there is private. For your eyes alone. And you must use the key that came with it and keep it locked. Those are your private thoughts, Charles.”
He smiled at her generosity. “Thank you, little one. I shall follow your instructions. Now, as regards the warehouse, I’ll speak with Pennyweather and see if my calendar permits it. If there is any way I can make it work, I will.” He glanced in the direction where Aubrey sat with Cordelia. It looked as though the earl’s presence had brought the girl a sense of calm.
“Perhaps, Paul could tour the warehouse with you,” he suggested.
“Paul has other matters to worry him just now. Other responsibilities.”
“You mean Cordelia? Do you think he’s serious about her?”
“I think he’s trying to understand his own heart,” she whispered.
“And how will you feel if he falls in love with her?” the duke boldly asked, a part of him fearing the answer.
“Grateful,” she said, surprising him.
“How so?”
“I’d be ever so grateful to the Lord for healing Paul’s heart, but also grateful that he would have what you and I have, Charles. If he falls in love, then I’d consider it a beautiful miracle.”
“You are the miracle, little one. It’s no wonder every man falls in love with you. Talking of which, I had breakfast with Henry this morning.”
“Yes, I saw the two of you arrive late. Did you invite him to the theatre tonight?”
“I did, and he promised to attend, unless he’s delayed in Whitechapel. Fred Treves sent for him.”
“Because of the fire?” she asked.
“No, on another matter, but I’m afraid I shall have to go there as well, Beth. The fire is making extra work for every fireman and policeman in the city.”
“Should we cancel tonight’s plans?”
“Not at all. You and Tory have worked too hard to do that. I’ll do my best to make the theatre party, but if not, Henry can accompany you. Is that all right?”
“Yes, of course, if you must work. Henry’s welcome to bring a friend, if he wishes.”
“I told him that. He thought he might ask his new patient. The one with amnesia. Her name is Stuart, apparently.”
“So he told me. Have you met her?”
“No. He’d wanted to introduce us, but she was involved in some beauty routine to do with hair. He speaks of her with great fondness.”
Beth’s dark eyes twinkled. “Does he? Now, that’s very interesting.”
“Are you matchmaking, darling?” he teased her.
“Merely making an observation.”
“But a very astute one. Henry claims he’s no desire to marry, but I think he might be smitten. Do you think I should investigate the woman? I shouldn’t like to see him hurt.”
“Neither would I,” she agreed. “She’s American. Did he mention that?”
“Is she? That makes it easier. Did he give her age or description?”
Laughing, Elizabeth stroked his face. “Ever the detective, aren’t you, Commissioner? Let me see if I remember. She’s somewhat tall, auburn-haired. He once referred to her as ‘voluptuous’. It was a slip, I think. He looked quite embarrassed after saying it. Oh, and she plays the piano and sings.”
“Auburn hair? She sounds a little like Lorena MacKey.”
Beth bristled at the mention of the woman’s name. “Why do you instantly think of her, there must be a thousand women with those features.”
“I didn’t instantly think of her. It’s an obvious conclusion. Lorena’s missing again, and it’s possible she’s feigning amnesia to protect her identity.”
“And you worry about her, apparently.”
“Not worry, exactly, but I’d like to make sure of her welfare,” he replied. “Beth, you claim to admire my chivalrous spirit, yet you chide me when it applies to other women. Why is that?”
“Not all women. Some need a man’s care, but others are rather like cats. These can take care of themselves.”
“You’re calling Lorena a cat?”
“Perhaps.”
He sighed. “Jealousy is unwarranted, little one. I’ve no romantic ideas about Dr. MacKey. She wants to leave Redwing, which puts her in danger. Lorena’s vulnerable, Beth. Can’t you see that?”
Her dark eyes rounded in anger. “Vulnerable? Charles, Lorena MacKey sided with William Trent in my abduction!”
“Yes, but she wants a fresh start. Who amongst us can cast the first stone?”
He could see the muscles of her jaw tense, and she pulled away from him a little. “Charles, have you forgotten the three-day fever you suffered in Scotland? Lorena MacKey caused that fever. She may even be connected to the castle fire.” She grew quiet for a moment, trying to maintain her temper. Finally, she reached for his hand. “Forgive me. I know your heart is in the right place, but I worry that the doctor’s considerable charms blind you to other truths. Charles, if she is this Stuart patient, then it may be a ruse to involve Henry, and I will not allow either of you to be hurt!”
He drew her chin upwards to kiss her lips. “Forgive me. You’re right. MacKey’s behaviour shows signs of repentance, but it could all be an act. I promise to bear that in mind. Besides, this Stuart woman’s American. It cannot be MacKey.”
“Accents can be faked, Charles. Please, be careful.”
“Of Lorena?”
“Of her, yes, but at all times. I overheard several ministers saying the streets in Whitechapel are quite dangerous now, and looters run riot, brandishing knives. Take your pistol.”
He patted the shoulder holster beneath his coat. “Both Paul and I are always armed. You know that.”
She smiled a little. “He’s going with you? I’m glad. If you get the chance, talk to him about Cordelia. You might be able to coax him into sharing his feelings. And whilst you’re investigating in the East, remember how much you’re loved in the West. All right, Captain?”
“You are ever on my mind and in my heart, little one,” he whispered, kissing her once more. “But just in case I’m delayed, remind Baxter to make sure no guests enter either the library or the ballroom this evening. Even if someone asks to see the library, he’s to deny them entrance.”
“I promise.”
Charles noticed Ned Wychwright standing with the coquettish Lady Louise near the entrance. “Isn’t he married?” he asked, nodding towards the middle Wychwright son.
“Yes, but I believe they’ve separated. According to my grandfather, Ned’s wife left him for another man.”
“Poor chap. I can certainly sympathise. Ned seems a nice enough fellow, but his elder brother is an insufferable lout.”
Beth’s dark brows furrowed together. “Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s true. We met briefly in the corridor, and he mistook me for someone he believes wronged Cordelia. Honestly, the man called her some quite awful names, Elizabeth. It was all I could do to keep from knocking him to the ground!”
She cupped his chin with her fingertips. “Is that why I see a bruise beneath your beard, Captain? I pray you’ve not been engaging in fisticuffs at a wake.”
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