Lily screamed, half from fright and half from a practical desire to summon help. Her attacker cursed eloquently, grabbing at her arms and trying to cover her mouth. She fought against him as well as she could, trying to hold off his hands, but he had the advantage of both size and being upright.
“’Ere now, get off ’er!”
“Get ’im, quick!”
Someone was grappling with her attacker, Lily realized, hauling him away from her. With a snarled curse, the man disappeared between the houses, the workmen from next door in pursuit.
“Ma’am, lady!” The boy had come running around the side of the house after the workmen and skidded to a halt, looking unsure what to do next.
Lily scrambled to her feet. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to hide her shaking.
The boy gathered up Lily’s hat and reticule, which had been knocked to the ground. “Are you hurt? Should I yell fer a constable?”
Lily was saved from having to reply by the return of the two panting workmen. “Lost ’im, I’m afraid, miss,” the first said, clutching at a stitch in his side. “Cor, the blighter could run. You’re not hurt, I ’ope?”
“I’m perfectly well, gentlemen, in no small part thanks to your timely rescue,” Lily said, feeling more composed. “I don’t suppose you were able to see the man’s face?”
Both shook their heads. “Got away too fast. Tall fellow, though; ran like the devil.”
“Dark hair,” the other one added. “Pale, maybe? Couldn’t get a good look at ’im neither.”
“A loiterer, or some vagrant.” Lily shook her head. “I must have caught him by surprise when I came around the edge of the building.” Fishing in her reticule, she pulled out two shillings and handed them to the blushing workers. “For your aid, gentlemen, with my sincere thanks.”
To her relief, they took both the hint and the coin and left, touching their hats and muttering that “it weren’t nothing to help a lady what needed it.”
Her staff by that point had come outside to see what the commotion was. Lily was left to the care of Mrs. Carstairs, who sent the boy scurrying back to his work, exclaimed over what the world was coming to when ladies were assaulted in the streets, and fussed in a manner that was both soothing and frustrating. The housekeeper insisted on a hot bath followed by tea in bed while she had Mr. Carstairs go over the whole house to make sure it was secured against any other “ruffians.”
Lily, more shaken than she was willing to admit, managed to catch Anna’s eye in time to ensure the tea was liberally dosed with brandy.
As she sipped it, tucked into bed with a warming pan at her feet, Lily shivered. Her attacker had been no vagrant. Likely he had not meant to attack her; she had surprised him when she came around the house instead of going in the front door. But he had not smelled of poverty or drink, and he had reacted too swiftly, his movements too controlled, calculated to incapacitate her as quickly as possible.
A tall, pale man with dark hair, lurking around her house. As descriptions went, it was almost uselessly vague. But it matched the man Mrs. Carstairs had seen at the kitchen door, the man whose presence had so startled her that she had fallen down the stairs.
Lily shivered again, forced to consider a possibility she had been trying to ignore. She hadn’t imagined the sound of footsteps following her out of the Walters’ garden the night Mr. Finch was killed. And if the murderer had overheard her asking Jack for help, he knew she was a danger to him.
Lily threw off her covers. Crossing to her writing desk, she slid open a drawer and stared at the pistol that lay inside. It had been part of a set once, bought by Freddy while he was at university. One had gone to Sir John, Freddy’s older brother, but Lily, ever practical, had kept the other. Now, her heart racing but her hands steady, she loaded it and laid it back in the drawer.
Someone was after her. And she intended to be ready for him.
CHAPTER 15
It would have been easy, Lily reflected the next morning over tea, toast, and a halfhearted attempt to read Cecilia, to give up her self-appointed task. She could stay quietly at home or even leave London altogether. But a childhood of being bullied by her father had left her with an ingrained response to any attempt to intimidate her. It was irrational and defiant—and, she admitted to herself, this time it was dangerous—but the realization that someone was following her only left her more determined to continue.
Unfortunately, the next step was a ball thrown that night by a Mr. and Mrs. Chichester to present their daughter. The Walters had called for her in their carriage. Sitting with Serena would have been bad enough, given the state of her suspicions. But Lord Walter, as she had overheard, had returned suddenly the day before, and he was there as well. Smiling and conversing during the carriage ride, all the while wondering if he had been the one to attack her, was excruciating. Lily breathed a sigh of relief when, after greeting their host and hostess and complimenting Miss Chichester on the elegance of her dress and the style of her ball, Lord Walter excused himself to go in search of the card room.
Even that was short-lived relief. Lily watched him go, remembering the other times Lord Walter had disappeared into a game of cards and thinking of the debt owed and paid to the unknown Mr. King. She wondered how deeply Lord Walter would gamble that night.
“You have your battle face on,” Serena whispered as they made their way toward a group of their acquaintance that included the Harlowes.
Lily stiffened. “I certainly do not.”
Serena laughed. “What is battle face for you, my dear, is mildly bored on anyone else. But I know you.” She nudged her friend. “Cheer up, Lily. It is a party, after all. You are supposed to enjoy yourself.”
“I shall endeavor to do so, at your command.” Lily’s stomach twisted with guilt over the secret she was keeping from her friend, and she greeted the Harlowes effusively as an excuse to drop Serena’s arm. “And here is Margaret, looking beautiful as ever!”
Margaret laughed as she leaned forward to kiss cheeks. “You are the best sort of friend to keep around.” The other lady and gentlemen in the group made their bows. “Do you know, Lily, I had the pleasure of meeting your new friend the other afternoon.”
“Do you mean Miss Oswald?”
“Indeed. I see why you like her so much. Though she is more forward in her manner than should be encouraged in young ladies.”
“Perhaps because she was raised in such unorthodox circumstances,” Mr. Harlowe put in. At Lily’s slightly narrow-eyed look, he added, “I think any father raising a daughter on his own would be inclined to allow her greater liberty of manner than might otherwise be acceptable.”
“Not necessarily,” Margaret said, giving Lily a knowing look.
“I imagine it comes of being raised in the West Indies,” one of the other ladies sniffed. “Such places are savage, and George Oswald is not the only man from a good family to fall into disrepute there.”
Lily was about to offer a scathing retort when Serena laughed. “Nonsense, Mrs. Collins, the West Indies are quite civilized. Lord Walter used to have family property to visit there, and when he dined with the governor of Nevis, they always had three courses. And in any case, it hardly signifies. An heiress will always be forgiven for a too-easy manner that would be inexcusable in a girl of lesser fortune.”
“I should be wary, Mrs. Collins, of saying a Devonshire Oswald has fallen into disrepute,” Mr. Harlowe added, eyes twinkling. “The family is so well connected, you never know when one of their relations might overhear you.”
Another gentleman chimed in. “Do you think the girl will make a match this season, given her … unusual background?”
“I cannot imagine the Oswalds would allow her to do anything else, though they may have their work cut out for them …”
Another time, Lily would have been quick to disapprove of such condescension and speak in Miss Oswald’s defense. But her mind was playing Serena’s words over and over, and she couldn’t make herself focus on the c
onversation. Excusing herself, she hurried to the ladies’ retiring room, her mind reeling.
It was one line of inquiry she had not yet pursued—how had Mr. Finch learned his information? According to Miss Oswald, he knew no one in London, which meant he must have met the victim of his blackmail in Nevis. That meant that the murderer, whoever he was, had spent time in the West Indies.
She hadn’t known that Lord Walter had once owned property in Nevis.
At least this meant Serena knew nothing of her husband’s involvement in the murder—if he was involved—or surely she would not volunteer that he had been to the West Indies? Unless she thought Bow Street’s ignoring the matter meant there was no longer any danger …
Lily groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Nothing was coming clear, and much as she wanted to, she could not yet convince herself that her friend’s husband was innocent. What was she to do next?
General Harper. She needed to learn more about General Harper—perhaps that held the key to proving Lord Walter’s innocence. If he was innocent. Lily groaned again.
As if responding to her thoughts, a gentle voice asked, “Mrs. Adler? Are you unwell?”
Lily sat up with a start to find Isobel Harper watching her. Embarrassed, she quickly stood. “Perfectly well, I thank you.”
“Shall I have a maid fetch something? A glass of water? A vinaigrette?”
“Oh no.” Lily forced a smile. “I was only a little overwhelmed by the noise and heat.” She gestured toward the door. “Shall we return to the ballroom?”
“Certainly, if you are ready.” Miss Harper smiled obligingly. As they made their way out of the retiring room, she added, “You seem to make a habit of escaping from ballrooms.”
“A habit?” Lily paused in the hallway, which was empty except for the two of them. “What do you mean?”
“At Lady Walter’s ball you escaped to the terrace.” Miss Harper laughed. “I almost think London does not agree with you!”
“It is rather a change of pace, especially after—” Lily broke off abruptly. She was sure she had heard footsteps following them down the hall. But as soon as they paused, the sound stopped. “Did you hear that?”
Miss Harper looked puzzled. “Hear what?”
“I thought there was …” Lily frowned, breaking off once more, but the only sound was the music and laughter from the ballroom. “Never mind. Next thing, I shall be taking fright at shadows under my bed.” She managed a small laugh but still felt uneasy. Try as she might to tell herself she was imagining things, she knew that was not the case. “Tell, me, Miss Harper, who made your gown? It is the loveliest thing I’ve seen this season.”
She had intended the question as a distraction but had underestimated either her former schoolfellow’s perception or her concern. “Mrs. Adler, you look very pale.”
“It was nothing.” Lily shook her head but glanced down the hallway once more. “Only that … no, I apologize, I am being dreadfully silly.”
“You look as if you have been dreadfully scared,” Miss Harper said quietly. “Tell me what is the matter.”
Lily hesitated, but the silent, dim hallway was still working on her mind. Before she could think about it too closely, she confessed, “I think someone has been following me the last few days. It sounds absurd, I know,” she said quickly, feeling defensive. “But yesterday there was a man lurking outside my house. He knocked me down before running off.”
“How dreadful.” Miss Harper raised a hand to her heart as she looked around the deserted hallway. “Have you told anyone? Captain Hartley, perhaps?”
“Captain Hartley?” Lily’s surprise was unfeigned. “Certainly not.”
“But if you feel you are in danger …”
“I am sure it is nothing so dramatic as that.” Lily began to wish she had kept her fears to herself. A plausible excuse for her worries suddenly occurring to her, she added, with a self-conscious laugh, “Perhaps that night at the Walters’ is the reason for my being so jumpy, now I think on it.”
“What about that night?” Miss Harper grew very still, and her voice quivered a little.
That quiver made Lily feel guilty; no doubt Isobel Harper, like most gently reared young ladies, preferred not to think of things like murder and death. But that only made her lie more believable. “That horrid business with the man in the garden.” Affecting a shudder, Lily fanned herself, trying to infuse her voice with just the right amount of quaver. “Something so morbid, happening at a London soiree? I have been jumping at shadows ever since.”
“Oh, indeed.” Miss Harper sighed. “I feel the same. Such a terrible thing.”
“But nothing to do with any of us.” Lily snapped her fan shut. “Which I must endeavor to remember, rather than dwelling on it and upsetting my friends,” she added gently, seeing that her companion looked pale. “Miss Harper, I am so sorry, I have distressed you greatly.”
“And now we have switched roles, and you are concerned about me.” Miss Harper’s smile was forced as she endeavored to pinch some color back into her cheeks. “And I shall say, as you did, that I am perfectly well.” She paused a moment, then added, “And I think you were right not to mention your worries to anyone else, Mrs. Adler, particularly not the good captain. Being the gallant navy gentleman, no doubt he would consider it his duty to sit up nights, guarding your door against intruders.”
“Now there indeed is a terrifying thought.” Lily did not need to feign horror at the idea of being so closely watched over.
Her tone made Miss Harper laugh softly. “You were always so impressively independent.”
“Do you think it impressive?” An ironic smile lifted the corners of Lily’s lips. “Not many do. My father despairs of me, and he assures me that my mother would as well, had she lived.”
“Yes, impressive.” Miss Harper’s voice was firm and, Lily noted with surprise, even a little bitter. “It is something to be proud of. I hope you treasure it.”
“I do not seem to be able to avoid it,” Lily admitted. “You are feeling well again?”
“I am, thank you.” Miss Harper’s lips tilted up in a faint smile. “It seems we both find the idea of violence quite distressing.”
“Then let us continue back to the ballroom and talk of something more pleasant,” Lily said, glad to change the subject. “You still have not told me who made that marvelous gown.”
* * *
By the time they returned to the ballroom, Miss Harper’s concern had been sufficiently put to rest that she returned to her own party. Lily was relieved. She knew she was not imagining things, and trying to pretend nothing was wrong was giving her a headache. But her relief was short-lived: she rejoined Margaret and Serena just as Lord Walter arrived.
He bowed to the group, then smiled at his wife. “My dear.” He dropped a dutiful kiss on Serena’s cheek. The sweet gesture gave Lily a pang of guilt, and she turned away quickly. “Would you ladies care for supper? They have laid out a small repast in the next room.” He bowed, holding out an arm to Lily. “If I may offer you my escort?”
Lily hesitated. But Lord Walter was waiting, and the Harlowes were watching. Lily summoned a smile and asked, “If you do not object to a fifth spoiling the balance of the party?”
“Oh, nonsense.” Serena made a pfft noise. So Lily had no choice but to assent, and the group made their way out of the ballroom so the gentlemen could secure seats for supper.
It was, as Lord Walter had said, a small supper, laid out for guests to help themselves as the midnight hour drew near and they grew hungry. There were platters of warm lamb, cold chicken, and beefsteak wrapped in pastry. An array of silver tureens offered turtle soup, peas cooked with ham, asparagus in lemon sauce, and plain English mutton. For guests who were merely peckish, there was an array of nuts and cheeses, sweetmeats and five kinds of fruit, and both white and spice cakes. Footmen circulated, offering a selection of three different wines.
The gentlemen helped the ladies to fill their plates, an
d then all five joined the shifting sea of guests finding and leaving places at the table.
Mrs. Chichester had recently redecorated her supper room with a large, pastoral mural, and the beautiful scene drew admiring exclamations from guests as they passed through. Lord and Lady Walter—who shared an enthusiasm for painting—began discussing the relative merits of the piece, drawing the others into a lively conversation. The talk turned eventually to the construction of the Regent’s new pleasure pavilion at Brighton, the sensation caused by Mr. Shelley’s latest poem, and several bills before Parliament, the last of which made Lord Walter and Mr. Harlowe bluster loudly at each other. But when talk turned to the movements of the French, Serena was emphatic.
“Nothing of war, if you please, gentlemen. I am sick of the subject. Surely there is something else we may talk about?”
“Something like Miss Harper dancing twice tonight with Mr. Christopher Kettering?” Margaret suggested with a low laugh, tilting her head toward the doorway, where Miss Harper and her uncle had just entered.
“Twice?” Serena’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know, I think my suspicions about Isobel may be correct. I had been wondering, with her going about so much this season.”
“Wondering what?” Lily asked, distracted by watching the general. There was something sinister about his face, she thought—though perhaps that was only because she wanted him to be guilty so Lord Walter could be innocent.
“Wondering what—! Really, Lily, do not be so stupid.” Serena lowered her voice. “Of course I am wondering if she is to be married.”
“After all this time?” Margaret asked. “And I was determined to make a match for her—”
“Everyone says the Ketterings’ land is dreadfully mortgaged,” Mr. Harlowe said. “I should think the son needs to marry money—”
“They could be in love.” Margaret smiled at her husband, who kissed her fingers.
“As if his family would care about that!” Serena shook her head. “Bluest blood and tightest arses in England, my father always said.”
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