by Sara Bennett
Was it possible? The woman’s chin was up in a belligerent manner and her eyes were flickering from one face to another, waiting to see if she was believed.
“You see?” William said quietly. “There was a reasonable explanation. Now, can we be left in peace to—”
“I don’t believe you,” Sebastian broke in.
Mrs. March’s mouth opened, then closed again. She shot William a pleading look.
“Mrs. March?” Sebastian said quietly. “The truth, if you please.”
“Tell him,” William instructed her. “What are you waiting for?”
“If you don’t tell me, then I will have to call in the police to ask the questions,” Sebastian went on.
William’s nostrils flared, as if he’d smelled something bad. “The police?”
“It will probably be necessary to have the police here anyway,” Sebastian went on, sensing weakness.
Mrs. March must also have seen something in her employer’s eyes because she gave a little moan.
“Tell them,” he said coldly. “I’ll do my best for you, Mrs. March, but I will not have the police at my door, pawing through my belongings.”
“No,” she gasped.
“It will be better for everyone if you are open about your dealings with this woman,” William said. “Certainly it will be better for you.” He nodded at Sebastian and turned and left the room, removing himself from any further connection with an unpleasant and possibly scandalous situation.
Left behind, abandoned, Mrs. March had given up. “Stupid old cow,” she whispered, rage and despair making her face ugly. “I knew she’d bring me down, the stupid old cow.”
“Who would bring you down?” Sebastian asked.
Mrs. March glared at him and shook her head.
“Tell me,” he demanded, in a voice every bit as steely as William’s, and far more dangerous.
“Who do you think I mean? Mrs. Slater. My mother.” She laughed aloud at the shock she’d caused. “How’s that for a family, eh, Miss Francesca? Tops yours by a mile, don’t it!”
“Dear God,” Francesca breathed, appalled.
“I’m her daughter all right,” Mrs. March said, and there was a hint of twisted pride in her voice now. “The only child she had from her own body. There were plenty of others, but they weren’t hers. She always promised me a better life than she had. She promised me wealth and a grand house and a man to look after me.”
“And you blame her for not getting any of it?”
“Of course I do! This is her fault, all of it. Why didn’t she smother the three of you when she had the chance?”
Francesca didn’t remember being left in the library, but Sebastian must have taken Mrs. March out, because when he returned he was alone. He took her hands in his, rubbing her gloved fingers, trying to warm them. She let him; she didn’t have the energy to pull away.
There was too much to think about, too much to try and fit together, and hanging over everything like a black shroud was her concern for Aphrodite’s condition.
She might already be dead.
“Damn and blast it, Francesca,” Sebastian said softly, “are you listening to me?”
She looked up and realized that she hadn’t heard a word.
He sighed and bent his head, kissing the top of hers. “What do you want to do now? I can take you back to the club.”
Yes. She opened her mouth to voice it, and then she thought better of it. “Where are you going?”
“You can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous.”
“You’re going to see her, aren’t you? Mrs. March told you where she is? Mrs. Slater.” He didn’t have to answer her, she knew it. “I want to come.”
“Francesca…”
“I want to come. I have the right to see the woman who stole me and caused my mother such grief. You can’t stop me, Sebastian.”
He could stop her, of course he could, but would he?
“Please,” she murmured. “I will go in Aphrodite’s stead. For her.”
After a moment he reached out to take her hand. “I’m taking some constables from the Metropolitan Police with us. This is a dangerous game we’re playing, Francesca, and Mrs. Slater is a dangerous woman.”
“I understand that. I’m not afraid.”
“Very well,” Sebastian said gruffly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Who’s that? What do you want with a sick old woman?”
The slurred voice was even more slurred than usual. She was drunk, thought Jed in disgust.
“It’s me. We have to get you out o’ here.”
She stared at him blearily from her chair by the fire, and he stepped closer, into the flickering light. “Jed,” she muttered, mouth slack. “What do you want, Jed? Come to take me money, have you? Well, you won’t find it. I’ve hidden it well.”
“The bobbies are comin’, cousin. T’girl you had at the club has told ’em, and they’re on their way. We need to go.”
“You’re lying,” she insisted, shrugging off his hands as he tried to lift her. “You want me money, you do. I know you Jed Holmes. That’s all you’ve ever wanted. You’re not the man your father is. You’ll never be half the man Hal is.”
The words sparked a rage in him. All the times he’d refused to listen to Hal and returned back here, to be with her. All the loyalty he’d given to her, and now she was telling him she preferred Hal? Hal, who had gone into hiding like the rat he was!
“God rot you then,” he growled. “You can stay here and get took. I’m off. And I won’t be back, neither.”
She gave a raucous laugh.
He strode through the house, pulling out drawers, throwing aside anything that might be used to hide money. He wanted his share. What was wrong with that? She owed it to him.
He didn’t hear the front door open. He was too busy rifling through a bureau, bills and receipts raining down around him. There was an iron box at the back of a drawer, and he drew it out with a smile. It was heavy. There were probably jewels in here, or sovereigns. Aye, gold sovereigns. Cousin Angela liked her gold.
“Hello, Jed.”
The voice was familiar, but for a moment he couldn’t place it, and then he remembered. Sebastian Thorne. He turned, hoisting the heavy box to his shoulder, ready to throw it, but Thorne wasn’t alone. Behind him stood several police constables in their blue jackets.
He lowered the box.
“I should’ve left without it,” he said bitterly. He nodded his head toward the other end of the house. “The cow’s in there. Take her with my good wishes.”
Francesca stepped quietly into the cozy sitting room. The house itself had been a surprise, sedate and respectable-looking, and nicely furnished. The house of someone who obeyed the law and worked hard. Except that Mrs. Slater’s work was of the cruelest and wickedest kind, and she had never obeyed a law in her life.
The woman now slumped in the chair in front of the fire was the woman who had taken three sisters away from their home and their mother. She had caused great pain and suffering. She was a monster.
Francesca came closer, so that she could see her face.
She was asleep, and from the gin fumes wafting from her, she was also drunk. Her mouth was ajar, her face slack, and her gray hair untidy. Then, with a snort, she woke up. She opened her eyes, and her face went blank with surprise.
“Aphrodite?” she whispered. “Is that you? Or are you a ghost?”
Her heart was pounding, her mouth was dry, but Francesca found the courage to speak. “I am Francesca, Aphrodite’s daughter.”
The woman’s breathing was so loud, Francesca wondered if she had even heard her. “He’ll finish you, you know that,” she rambled. “He won’t never rest until he’s rid himself of you.”
“Who? Who will never rest?”
But she gave a shudder, her entire body jolting and shaking, and then she went slack. Her eyes flickered, the whites showing. A line of spittle ran from the corner of her mouth.
“Francesca?” It was Sebastian, grim-faced from his encounter with Jed. He glanced at her, as if satisfying himself she was all right, and then turned to the slumped figure in the chair. She watched as he bent over her, examining her for signs of life.
“She’s had some sort of fit,” he said. “Jed said she was unwell.”
“I keep telling myself that she’s Mrs. Slater, the monster who’s ruled my life since I was a baby, but she doesn’t seem like a monster.”
“Don’t you believe it. This woman has caused endless suffering and misery. The world is better off without her.”
“I want her punished. She will be punished, won’t she?”
“If she lives long enough, then she will go up before a judge.”
“Good.” Francesca sighed, suddenly weary beyond speaking.
“You’re free of her now, Francesca,” he said gently. “She can’t frighten you anymore.”
“Then why do I still feel as if I’m in danger?” she wailed.
“Because you are. Whoever it was who gave Mrs. Slater her orders, who gave Maeve her orders, is still out there. Aphrodite knows who he is, but she won’t speak. She wants me to find proof.”
“Why won’t she speak?”
“He must be a powerful man. Without proof she will never get anyone to believe her. He will destroy her, and maybe he will destroy you and your sisters, too.”
She shivered, and when he put his arms around her, she didn’t resist.
I’ll stay here for a moment, she told herself, just a moment. It can’t hurt to allow myself a moment. I don’t trust him anymore, how can I? Soon I will break with him forever, but just now I want…I need to be held by him.
Chapter 24
It was the following day, and Aphrodite was dreaming again. She was shifting through her memories like someone shuffling a pack of cards. She had reached the point where Francesca’s father had died and she was alone. There was the other one, of course, and at first she’d thought he might be enough. But it wasn’t long before she realized he wasn’t the man she thought him.
He wants to possess me. I see it now. He doesn’t love me, not like T. did. He has no love in him, no joy. When T. laughed, I knew he was filled with the wonder of life. When this one laughs it is a mean sound, a small sound, and there is no wonder.
London keeps me busy. The club takes much of my time, and I love it. I think perhaps it is the club that is my lover now.
Something dreadful has happened.
I cannot write, and yet I cannot not write.
My children are gone…my babies! Someone came in the night and took them away from me. I think I will go mad if I do not find them. I must find them. Why has this happened? I don’t understand why they have been taken. Who in this world could be so cruel?
I will find them. If it takes all of my life, I will find them.
But she hadn’t found them. He’d helped her, the lover she’d scorned, and she’d been grateful for his generosity. She’d trusted him. He’d sent out letters and hired men to search. Sometimes she thought he had mobilized the entire country for her darlings.
Or at least that was what she had believed at the time. Now she wondered if he’d even lifted one finger.
But despite all the efforts to find them, her children were gone, and as the days, the weeks, the months slipped by, she knew it. Her health failed and she grew weaker. For a whole year she was ill, and her friends wondered if she would recover. But she was strong; she had to be.
Today I returned to life. I rose from my bed and dressed in black mourning—I vow I will always wear mourning from now on—and I made my way to the club. I have come back to life, but there will always be a part of me missing. How can it be otherwise? I have lost my children.
And as the years slip by, I begin to think I know who was behind the taking of them.
She woke with a start. Francesca was sitting beside her, holding her hand. She realized with a flash of insight that although her daughters had been returned to her almost ten years ago, it was only now that that reunion was complete. Now that the wayward heart of her youngest daughter had been restored to her.
“Francesca,” she murmured, and smiled.
“How are you feeling, Mother?”
“A little better, I think.” She grimaced. “The doctor has done unspeakable things to me, petit chaton.”
Francesca couldn’t help but smile. “If it makes you better, and cleans the poison from your body, then it was worth it, surely?”
But Aphrodite had fallen asleep again.
Francesca heard Dobson come forward, and his warm hand rested gently upon her shoulder. “She is sleeping,” he said. “We are very fortunate that Maeve administered such small doses.”
“Fortunate,” Francesca breathed, and shook her head over the word. “Where is Maeve now?”
“Locked up in a police cell, where she belongs, but I think she’ll always be in a hell of her own making.” Sebastian was there, too, on the other side of the bed. He was watching her face, trying to read her thoughts. “She loved Aphrodite, and to harm her has caused her great grief.”
“I can’t understand why she didn’t stand up to Mrs. Slater and say no. She could ’ave come to us,” Dobson said.
“I think she was so used to obeying orders that it didn’t occur to her that it was possible for her to do other than what she was told,” Sebastian said.
“Did you speak to her, that woman?” Dobson asked, and he didn’t have to name her; the savage tone of voice was enough.
“Mrs. Slater appears to have had some sort of seizure. From what I can make out she’s been ill for years, and getting worse. She can’t talk at all for now. And Jed refuses to.”
“So we’ll never know the truth? Why she did it, and who else was involved?”
“Who else was involved? Do you mean the man who gave the orders?” Francesca asked.
Sebastian answered her. “Aphrodite always believed there was someone else, someone who paid Mrs. Slater to kidnap you and your sisters. She would not tell me who he was. She wanted a witness or some kind of proof first. She wanted me to name him.”
“One of her lovers,” Francesca murmured, and then bit her lip, casting Dobson an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry. I was thinking aloud. To do such a terrible thing, the man most have hated her very much, and love can turn to hate.”
“Perhaps,” Dobson agreed, “but I think it was more than that. The man must have had something to gain from it. Money, that’s what drives most folk.”
“You think he was going to force Aphrodite and our fathers to pay money for our return? And then it went wrong. Yes, that makes sense.”
Dobson said nothing.
“I haven’t given up yet,” Sebastian said.
“At least my sisters and I are out of danger,” Francesca went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You won’t have to follow me about anymore, Mr. Thorne.”
His brows slashed down over his eyes. She felt as if he were drilling holes into her. “You could still be in danger.”
“I don’t need your protection,” she said flatly. “I am returning to Yorkshire as soon as my mother is well again, and I will never come back.”
“You’re running away,” he said in a flat, angry voice.
Her eyes flashed, and for a moment he hoped she would flare up into temper, but she quashed the emotion and put on her proper face. “No, I’m going home where I belong.”
“Non, non, petit chaton,” a voice whispered from the bed. Aphrodite was awake again, her dark eyes brighter than before. “You have forgotten. There is to be a ball in your honor. Amy sent me a little note. You are to be introduced to London society, is that not so?”
“I can’t possibly—” she began.
“But you can. You must. I insist upon it.” She turned her head and found Dobson. “Jemmy,” she murmured, “you must act for me in this. Mr. Thorne needs his instructions.”
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br /> He looked into her eyes, and then he nodded abruptly.
“That is good,” she whispered. “All is well.”
Outside the room there were voices, and then quiet footsteps mounting the stairs. The door opened, and Sebastian stepped aside as a short, plump woman with fair hair peeped in. Francesca stood up with a gasp, and came around the bed and into her arms. Neither of them said anything, Francesca’s head resting on Marietta’s. It was only after she released her that she realized that Marietta was with child again, as round as a pumpkin.
“How is she?” Marietta asked anxiously, looking over to the bed where their mother lay.
“Sleeping, I think. She drifts in and out.”
“Is it true? That Maeve…?”
Francesca knew that Maeve and Marietta had always been close; it must be a terrible shock to her sister. Francesca squeezed her hand. “It’s true.”
Marietta moved toward the bed, and Francesca left her alone with Aphrodite. She felt Sebastian following close behind her, out onto the gallery. His fingers clasped her elbow, and his voice in her ear was angry.
“You’re not serious about not needing me?” he said. “Damn and blast it, Francesca, you’re still in danger!”
“Not in Yorkshire. You’ve made certain of that.”
He looked as if there was a great deal more he wanted to say, but she didn’t want to hear it.
“You’re going to climb back in the cage and close the door,” he said bitterly. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Francesca.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “Oh, but I do. That’s the trouble. Still, with most of England between us, I hope to forget. Eventually.”
“Francesca?” It was Marietta calling her, and without another glance at him, she returned to the bedchamber and closed the door.
Sebastian stood in the gallery and wondered what he was going to do. He felt as if his job wasn’t completed, and yet perhaps Francesca was right and she was no longer in danger. Perhaps he would have to learn to live without her.