The Sign of the Raven

by L. C. Sharp

  He took the chair next to Barnaby’s as the maid poured tea and dispensed it, leaving them with a tray of small cakes. “An extra person to dinner, please, Richards,” Ash said, as the maid left. “You are staying, are you not? Your parents are coming, so you might as well.”

  “I’d love to,” Barnaby replied. “Yes, I’m back from the wilds of the north, although Edinburgh is really quite civilized these days. They have clocks, coaches and houses made of stone, just like us.”

  Ash barked a harsh laugh. “Ha! Yes, very well, I’ll give you that. Welcome home. You must tell us all about Edinburgh over dinner. Meantime, I have some news for you.” He smiled. “Your father has kindly accepted a partnership in the business. Yes...” He held up a hand to forestall Barnaby’s response. “I know you will say it is well past time I did that, but my mind has been occupied on other matters of late.” He exchanged a glance with Juliana. “Still, I should have dealt with it years ago. I have not worked in the office for some time, and my career is leading me in another direction. Since your father does most of the work, it seems only fair that he should have a share in the business.”

  “Sir Edmund, I—”

  “I warn you, I will not accept gratitude. It is for me to be grateful to you and your father, for making the business such a success.”

  Evidently Ash was uncomfortable with gratitude. He needed to learn to accept thanks graciously. This time Juliana did it for him. “You are most kind,” she said, running over whatever Ash planned to say next. “How could Ash bear to lose you? And we all know that if he had not offered you a partnership, you could have found employment or a partnership anywhere in the city.”

  At least her words put paid to the uncomfortable to-and-fro and they could move into the dining room, where dinner was laid out.

  * * *

  Later that evening, a soft knock sounded on Juliana’s bedroom door. Since it came from the door linking her room to her husband’s, she knew who it was. She opened it herself, smiling her welcome.

  He came in and accepted the small glass of white wine she poured for him. The nightcap had almost become a nighttime ritual. Several times a week they came together like this to discuss the events of the day. And she found herself looking forward to it, disappointed when he didn’t come.

  He sat on one of the green-draped chairs by the fire and spread the folds of his dark blue banyan, covering his legs, for her more than for himself, she knew. Juliana took the other chair.

  “Like a comfortable old couple,” she remarked. “But with differences.”

  “Indeed.” He toasted her before he drank. “Not every couple meets before bedtime to discuss blood and murder.”

  That made her laugh. “I like Barnaby Redring.”

  “So do I.”

  She asked the question that had been bothering her all evening. “Why did he marry and go north when it is obvious Amelia is fond of him?”

  “Ah.” He sipped his wine before he answered her. Leaning back, he crossed his legs at the knee, and met her gaze. “Amelia was too young, too inexperienced, and at the time too damaged by our mother to consider marriage. Catriona was something of a distraction for him. She was the daughter of one of our Scottish partners, visiting London.”

  “Poor Catriona!”

  “Yes indeed. Redring and I sent them north, partly to separate him from Amelia, and partly because he needed the experience of working on his own. He’s a promising lawyer, and this was a test of his abilities, which he passed convincingly.” He sipped his wine again. “Unfortunately Catriona died in childbirth with their second child.”

  “Was he fond of her?” The story sounded tragic. Ash protected his family to the exclusion of everything else. She spotted his hand in this.

  “I believe so.” Ash shrugged. “Enough to father another child on her. She was a pretty little thing, the daughter of a clan chief, or some such. She adored Barnaby. Their first child died, too.”

  She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh no! How tragic!”

  “Yes indeed.” He shook his head slightly. “When I called her a little thing, I was not being patronizing. She was tiny. Probably not made for childbirth.”

  Obviously that deserved another question. “Has he come back for Amelia?”

  His lips tightened. “Perhaps. But this time it must be her decision. She has largely recovered from our mother’s abuse, and she’s older and has had more experience of normal life. I will not stand in her way if she wants him.”

  That relieved her mind. If Ash had actively opposed Amelia’s happiness, she’d have taken cudgels up on her friend’s behalf.

  “But he’s newly widowed. Catriona only died in January. Let’s see what happens, shall we?”

  She agreed with that, too. Collecting their empty glasses, she went to refill them.

  “So what did you find today?” he asked. “I know you discovered something. You were bursting with it before dinner.”

  She raised her brows. “How do you know that?”

  “I know you.”

  Juliana carefully placed her glass down on the side table and felt in the pocket of her robe. “Here,” she said, and handed over the token.

  “And this was the only thing you found?” Ash laid the disc on his palm and examined both sides closely.

  “All there was. His pockets were empty, apart from this. What is it?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but it looks like a counter, the kind used in gambling clubs. Or perhaps a ticket of admission. It is crudely done, so it doesn’t belong to the kind of establishment I visited today.”

  “His club?”

  “His Pall Mall club, yes. Full of the great and good. And the titled,” he added with a grin.

  “I think my father is a member. He has subscriptions to many clubs, since it is fashionable to do so, but I’m not sure he visits all of them.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Small and select, and not particularly political. More the kind of place a man goes to read the journals and exchange gossip. Not particularly distinguished. But not a gambling club as such, and not a place that would accept a tin coin as a token of admission.” He got to his feet. “That reminds me. I have something to show you.”

  He left, returning in short order with a sheet of foolscap that he handed to her. “This is our friend Ransom’s work.”

  She read the article he indicated, a bloodthirsty account of the murder, with atmospheric touches and a line drawing of the body, which, as far as she recalled, was reasonably accurate. But then, Ransom had seen it for himself. “Lurid,” she commented. “But he has a living to make.”

  Leaning back, he picked up the token again. “He does, but I don’t see why he has to do it using me. Us,” he corrected himself.

  Juliana took a different view. “Would it not help us if we knew a man who ran such a journal?”

  He frowned and shot her a piercing look from under his brows. “Explain.”

  “I liked him, as much as one can like a person who makes their living on gossip. This report has the facts as we know them. True, the speculations are colorful and have no relation to the truth, but the spine of the story is there.”

  “You see the good in most people,” he commented. “Ransom has been trailing me for some time. Ever since last year, in fact.”

  Her case, of course. She’d read the accounts. They’d given her some light relief when she’d badly needed it. Ransom had a droll turn of phrase, and his more lurid speculations had given her a smile or two. “I know. He takes an interest in you.” She flicked the paper. “But he also follows members of society, and those accounts are nowhere near as interesting as his crime reports.”

  “Go on.”

  “If we allow him to report our stories, if we made a point of giving him the information before other publications got hold of it, we could control the way we deal
with Grub Street.” She warmed to her subject. “And if we wanted a particular story told in a particular way, we have a journalist ready to listen.”

  He tossed the disc on the table and picked up his refilled glass, never taking his attention from her. “You want me to sponsor him,” he said.

  “At least consider it. I’m putting the case to you, that is all.”

  He gave one of his sudden barks of laughter. “Ha! So you are. Perhaps you should have been born in a man’s body.” Something in his eyes moved, and the steely gray seemed to warm as he looked at her. “But no. You become the body you are in much better. Besides,” he added briskly, with a change of tone. “Who would I use as a sounding board if not for you?”

  Mild indignation almost made her splutter a protest. She was more than a sounding board. But then she recognized his tactic. For a moment he had become more personal, less friend, more husband. He meant that last comment to push her away a little, not enough for serious dispute, but something to get them past the moment.

  He’d done that before, several times. Did that mean he wanted her? He was either careful to disguise his desire for her, or he did not feel it. Telling, that she yearned for small indications he felt more for her than friendship.

  She was beginning to think that she wanted more from him.

  Chapter Ten

  Juliana and Ash were leaving the offices of Fox and Smythe, Ash’s personal solicitors, having what was euphemistically referred to as a discussion.

  “I don’t need an inheritance from you,” she told him.

  He spread his hands. “Who else would I leave it to?”

  “Your family. Gregory, Prudence, William and Amelia.” Probably not his eldest sister. Silence Ashendon had taken care of herself.

  “You are my family, too. In case you hadn’t noticed, I left them all a legacy, too.”

  Exasperated, she tried to reason with him. “Yes, but I have my dowry. Surely that is all a wife should have.”

  She folded her hands tightly together, tension filling her. He put his hands over hers.

  His touch was becoming more natural, but this time she wanted to push him away for a different reason. He had given her enough, and thanks to his efforts, she had what she was entitled to from her parents. She didn’t need his money.

  Neither moved for a half a minute. Those eyes, soft gray with concern, met hers. He smiled. “There, now,” he said. “You’re a sensible woman. I leave it to you how to dispense with the various parts of your estate. I trust you implicitly. Will that do?”

  Juliana swallowed. “It will have to.”

  He retained her hand when they separated, then tucked it under his arm. He’d noticed, but he was behaving as if that touch was normal, as if her absence of flinching was normal. Which it was, now.

  They strolled up the narrow street in the direction of Holborn. “The smell of a solicitor’s office makes me happy,” he said. “The few times we visited London as children, our father would take us into the office, and the bitter smell of ink and the aroma of old paper mixed with lavender furniture polish gave me something to remember, a place in the world that did not include our mother.”

  Glancing across the narrow street at the passersby, Ash came to a full stop. So abruptly that she walked an extra step, tugging at his arm before she saw what had caused him to halt.

  An extravagantly dressed woman walked briskly down the opposite side of the street, a small boy at her heels. Both were dressed sumptuously, the woman in peach and cream, her attendant in shades of blue. She held a long beribboned cane, and her hat bore bunches of small pink flowers. The bow under her chin was tied to one side, enhancing her lovely features.

  She stopped at the same time and audaciously smiled and nodded at Ash. He ignored her, though his arm gripped Juliana’s hand to the point of pain. He started to walk again, the clack of their shoes the only sound between them.

  Juliana froze. London could be a very small place when a person wanted to avoid someone. And they avoided Silence Ashendon.

  Ash’s older sister, one of the two of his brothers and sisters Ash had been unable to help. Silence, forced into a marriage every bit as abusive as Juliana’s, had born her husband two children before she fled back to the family home. Their mother had sent her back.

  The next time she ran away, she had not sought them out. Ash had no idea she, too, had come to London. But she’d entered a very different kind of society. Now one of the premier courtesans in the city, Silence had become La Senza. And they could not acknowledge her. Only Ash, and now Juliana, knew what had become of her. Ash had told his family that she was living secretly in the country, for while her husband lived, he had jurisdiction over her. He would not consent to a legal separation, although Ash had tried. And he treated his children harshly, though he didn’t treat them as brutally as he had poor Silence.

  Juliana had deep sympathy for her, but Ash wouldn’t budge. Any scheme Juliana suggested to bring Silence back home was met with rejection from both sides. La Senza claimed she was happy, and had enough money to do whatever she wanted, and Ash would not expose Amelia, William, Prudence and Gregory to her.

  They could have arranged matters. The beautiful, assured La Senza had transformed herself once; why couldn’t she do it again?

  When she saw them, La Senza beckoned to her attendant, and sent him off.

  Her footman crossed the road and stood before them, blocking their way. He bowed.

  The man was dressed outlandishly, in a parody of footman’s livery, in a satin coat, a dazzling white, gold-embroidered waistcoat and a cocked hat with a white plume curling around it and over the top.

  Juliana silently begged that Ash would not cut the man dead and walk past him. This person was not responsible for the sins of his mistress.

  The man bowed. “My mistress begs that you will speak to her.” His English carried a heavy French accent. “She asks you to come to this address.” He handed a card to Ash, who didn’t grind it under his foot. “She says the house is respectable. She says she has information.”

  “About what?” Ash demanded.

  “Lord Coddington.”

  That was about the only thing that would have persuaded Ash. The corners of his mouth turned down.

  Juliana met his gaze. “Don’t send me home,” she said. “I won’t go.”

  Perhaps he saw the folly of fighting on two fronts. At any rate, Ash gave the attendant a curt nod, and returned the card to him. “Ten minutes,” he said, although he didn’t specify whether he was giving his sister ten minutes, or they would be there in ten minutes.

  The man scurried off.

  “I can’t take you to a whorehouse,” he told her bluntly. “Don’t ask it of me.”

  “The servant said it was respectable.” He’d made a point of it.

  Ash sighed. “In that area, you can’t tell. Brothels and gaming houses abound, of course, but a few respectable people live in the streets around Covent Garden.”

  She turned up her nose. “Respectable sounds so dull.”

  “Not always. The most appalling crimes happen in the most respectable houses.”

  She laughed.

  “Very well. You may come to the house, but you must promise we’ll go home if there is any indication that it’s a house of sin.”

  She reminded him of an incident in their past. “What about the time I met La Senza? You took me to that shocking masked ball.”

  “That was different.”

  “How?” she demanded.

  He closed his eyes. “Don’t ask.”

  “I’m asking.”

  He stared up at the sky as if looking for help. “Because,” he said to the clouds, “things were different then.”

  Yes they were. She had been under imminent sentence of death for a murder she had not committed. She had told him she wanted to experienc
e everything she could in the weeks left to her. Now she was a member of his family, an Ashendon. And not under sentence of death.

  But that wasn’t all. Something else provoked his concern. For her, or for his sister? To keep his respectable wife away from his decidedly unrespectable sister?

  No, not that either. That wasn’t Ash.

  He was ashamed. Ashamed that he could not save his sister from a childhood she felt she had to escape at any cost, and then from a brutal marriage. Just as he couldn’t have saved his brother Matthew from an unjustifiable sentence that had resulted in his death. His failures, as he saw them, haunted him.

  The street was no place for a heart-to-heart. “Your background’s showing,” she said lightly.

  Ash chose to laugh. “True enough. How we begin our lives affects us throughout the rest of it.” He gave a wry smile. “I’m surprised you turned out so well.”

  “Thank you,” she answered primly, making him laugh.

  They changed direction and walked toward the river, and Covent Garden.

  “I had nannies and governesses who quietly taught me that there were other people in the world, and their needs were as important as mine. That learning is power.”

  “I’m glad that somebody who cared about you looked after you.”

  “We had to be careful, because if my mother thought I was growing too fond of anyone, she dismissed them or moved them to another household.” She spoke matter-of-factly, without rancor or bitterness. Many people were worse off than she had been. She’d never wanted for food, clothes or shelter, and she never would. Every day she saw people in the London streets who could not say the same thing. “Miss Rotherham stayed with me until my come-out from when I was thirteen. She behaved coldly to me in public, because then my mother would not get rid of her.”

  “Where is she now?”