She searched for drapes or shutters but, finding none, settled for moving to the other side of the table so that her back faced the window. The new position left her feeling slightly less on display, but far more vulnerable and exposed. Kray’s men could be three feet away, pressed against the glass, and she’d not know it until they opened the window and reached for her. And now she had the terrible urge to look over her shoulder every other second, which completely ruined the point of having moved at all.
She should have tried to sneak a look at the registry to see what name Gabriel had used. Maybe she should have looked for a maid upstairs. Therehad to have been a better solution.
But she had panicked. She’d let the noise and old memories get the better of her. She’d let fear guide her actions.
And she’d forgotten where her room was.
Imbecile.
She shoved the insult aside, and for the next ten minutes tried not to think of the window, the asylum, or the taunts of her childhood. She concentrated instead on the daunting challenge of explaining to Gabriel upon his return how it was that she had come to be in the dining room.
But not a single, plausible excuse came to her.
She’d misplaced the key…somewhere between the bottom and top steps of a single, small, enclosed stairwell.
She’d locked herself out of the room…even though she’d promised not to leave in the first place.
She’d been faint with hunger. Someone else had been in the room. The lock was stuck.
They were terrible lies, every one of them.
I have a spot of trouble with my hearing…
Even that half-truth wasn’t going to work. She’d taken the key, agreed to his instructions, gone upstairs, promised not to open the door to anyone else, and then waved him off.
Gabriel would never believe she’d not heard him. The only possible way out of the mess she’d created was to find her way to the room before he returned.
If only she knew what name Gabriel had used, what he had told the innkeeper, then…
She nearly jumped out of her chair when the door opened and a maid hurried inside, carrying a tray she set on the table. “Here you are, ma’am. Stew and—”
“I believe my wife would prefer to take her meal in our room.”
Jane didn’t jump at the sound of Gabriel’s voice. Instead, she went stiff and tense all over. She forced her gaze back to the door and found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a perfectly pleasant smile on his face. Almost as if he were pleased to see her.
He wasn’t, of course. He was furious.
She swallowed hard. “Hello,” she said, and wondered if it was possible to kick oneself in the shin. She’d run out of time, luck, and lies, and the best she could do washello.
He lifted his brows expectantly. “Jane?”
“Yes. Right.” She rose from her seat on legs that had gone to pudding, and managed a nod and wobbly smile for the maid. “My… Er… Our room, if you please.”
The maid retrieved the tray without complaint and led the way upstairs.
Jane followed in silence…all the way to the second door on the first floor.
Of course it had been the first floor. She’d been standing mere feet away from it when she’d waved Gabriel off. No doubt he’d left with the assumption she could manage the remaining fifty-two inches on her own.
And why shouldn’t he have assumed? Most peoplecouldmanage it. Just nother, she thought dully as she stepped inside.
Her first, useless thought upon entering was that the room looked rather cozy. It had a large bed on one wall, a table and chairs set before a window that looked out onto the street, and a pair of comfortably worn armchairs facing the fireplace. She shuffled closer to the beckoning glow of coals smoldering on the grate, but if it delivered on the heat it promised, she didn’t notice. Her fingers felt like ice, and they shook when she held her hands out to warm them.
She was dimly aware of Gabriel talking to the maid behind her.
There was a scuffle of feet, the sweep of skirts, the jingle of coins. It figured that now, when she didn’t need to hear them, every sound seemed amplified.
When the door shut, it sounded like canon fire. And the silence that followed was deafening.
***
Gabriel stared at Jane’s rigid back and, quite possibly for the first time in his life, found himself entirely too angry to speak.
And everything had been going so well.
During his quick visit to the station, he’d learned that Kray’s men had arrived by rail the day before, but had disembarked only long enough to speak with the young man at the ticket office. They’d offered him a reward in exchange for sending word to the town of Surcombe should anyone fitting Gabriel and Jane’s description appear at the station.
In explaining this, the young man had been quick to mention that he had not been made aware that it was Sir Gabriel Arkwright of the Thief Takers that he was being bribed to betray. He’d been more than eager to make up for the near mistake, agreeing to wire the address in Surcombe the next morning with the news that he’d seen Gabriel come through town on a train headed southeast.
Gabriel had returned to the inn feeling satisfied with the current state of affairs. As Kray’s men had come through only the day before, they were unlikely to check back during the six hours he and Jane had to wait for their train.
The only remaining threat was the possibility of one or two deserters in town, but Jane would be safe hidden in the hotel.
All in all, things looked promising.
He’d been imagining a hot bath with an entire bucket of soap if he could manage it, a change of clothes, and a nice long nap.
But first he would head up to the room and check on Jane.
Only he’d not had to go up to their room. He’d seen her through the window.
Every bloody soul walking down the street could see her, sitting all alone three feet from the glass and framed in like a damned portrait. A pretty picture she’d made, too. Even in his hurry to get inside, he’d noticed more than one man pause to take a second look. Any one of them might have been a straggler from Kray’s group.
“What happened, Jane?” He was surprised by how calm his voice sounded when there was so much anger boiling beneath the surface.
Still, she jumped a little at the sound of it and turned only halfway round to look at him. She’d taken a small candlestick from the mantle, and was nervously rubbing her thumbs over the brass. “I… Um…”
“Peckish, were you?”
“No, but…” She trailed off and shook her head.
“Butwhat?” he demanded, his temper breaking through. He couldn’t help it. She could have been taken. She might have been killed. “For God’s sake, what thehell were you thinking? Of all the foolish, idiotic—”
She turned to face him fully. “Don’t call me that!”
“Don’t…?” He swore and jabbed a finger in the general direction of the tavern. “The windows in that room looked out onto the street. We don’t know where all of Kray’s men are now, and you were sitting alone and exposed for everyone to see. What am I supposed to call—”
“There were no drapes or shutters. I couldn’t hide. I tried—”
“You should have tried coming to the room. I explicitly told you to come upstairs and lock yourself in this room. Any particular reason you decided to ignore me?”
“I didn’t ignore you.”
“Then what the devil were you doing, because I could have sworn I made my instructions simple and clear. Go upstairs and stay there. How bloody hard was that?!”
“Stop yelling at me,” she snapped.
“Explain why you didn’t do as you were told,” he shot back.
“I am not required to follow your orders, Gabriel. I’m not a child—”
“Youagreed to follow them. You promised to stay in the room. I watched you walk up here. Are you telling me you lied to me—”
“No—”<
br />
“—the way you lied to me about being able to seat a horse? What else have you been dishonest about?”
“Nothing,” she cried and went from rubbing the candlestick to twisting it in her hands as if she were wringing a handkerchief. “I’m not lying to you. Not—”
“We both knowthat’s a lie.”
“It’s not! Not the way you mean,” she insisted, her voice catching. “I don’t want to receive you. I just—”
“Receive me?”
“What? No… I… Did I say…?” Suddenly, she scrunched up her face in acute frustration and made a sound that was half growl and half groan. “Damn it! I’m not trying to receive you! I didn’t hear you properly.”
Deceive, he realized, notreceive. “Didn’t hear me? You answered me. You answered a direct question.”
“I know, but—”
“I asked you if you were comfortable waiting in the room, and you saidyes.”
“Idid, but—”
“So what is wrong with your hearing that you can answer my question, make a promise to me, and then completely fail to—”
“I don’t know!” She all but screamed at him. All at once, she lost all composure. Like a lit powder keg, she simply…exploded. “Idon’t knowwhat’s wrong with it! I don’t know why I can’t always hear you, or understand you, or remember what you said! I don’t know why I forgot where I was supposed to go! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and I don’t know why I can’t fix it! I don’t know why I can’t have a life like everyone else! Idon’t know—”
He rushed forward and caught her wrist before she could hurl the candlestick across the room. “Jane, stop. Stop.”
She was pale and trembling, her breath came in gasps, and, to his everlasting horror, there were tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all right. Take a deep breath now. Why don’t you—”
“Don’t patronize me. Don’t talk to me as if I’m stupid.”
“No. I mean yes.No, I won’t.Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” She sniffled then and shoved the candlestick at him. “Fine, I am. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“There’s not. Nothing at all.” He just really, really didn’t want her to do it. “Please stop anyway.”
She produced a small, watery laugh. “At last, something that frightensthe Sir Gabriel Arkwright besides teeth.”
He let that pass. He wasn’t afraid of tears. He simply wasn’t any good at making them go away. That was Samuel’s forte. His friend had a knack for comforting or soothing or…what have you. Gabriel, on the other hand, always felt like a blind bull in a china shop, stumbling about, frightening people, and generally just making everything worse.
Still, he had to try something. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” he said gently. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Jane opened her mouth, clearly intent on delivering a scathing retort. But then all the fight seemed to just drain out of her. Her shoulders sagged, and she let out a long, shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t have yelled back,” she said at length. “I apologize.”
“There’s no need. I did yell first.”
She swallowed hard and her gaze tracked to the candlestick in his hand. “I wasn’t going to throw that at you. I meant to throw it at the wall.”
“I know. But I’ve seen your aim. It could use improvement.” Her lips curved up in a weak, obligatory smile. It wasn’t much, but it gave him the courage to reach out and wipe away a tear. “It’s all right, Jane.”
When she gave a small nod, he set the candlestick aside, then began to untie the ribbons of her bonnet.
Jane blinked at him as he lifted the bit of straw and satin away. “I forgot I was wearing it.”
He tossed it on a chair, then cupped her face with both hands. “Will you tell me what that was all about?”
“I’d rather not.”
“I know.” He brushed his thumbs along her cheeks. “But will you?”
She worked her bottom lip with her teeth for a long time. “I was going to tell you some of it. I said I would, but then Kray’s men came to the stable…”
“I know.”
“I’m not insane,” she said firmly. “And I am not stupid.”
“I’ve never thought otherwise.” He’d thought her delightfully odd and mysterious, but there was no question she was sane and, her decision to sit in the dining room notwithstanding, quite clever.
“But other people do, and youknow they do. Haven’t you wondered why?”
“You’re referring to the villagers in Ardbaile,” he said and dropped his hands to her shoulders. “And no, strictly speaking, I haven’t wondered why. What Ihave wondered is why you’ve isolated yourself at Twillins, leading the villagers to form inaccurate assumptions about you out of ignorance. Assumptions that would be corrected if they had the chance to know you.”
“How do you know they’re inaccurate? How—”
“Because I know you, Jane. Even if I don’t know all your secrets, I know you.”
“You say that now.”
“And I’ll say it again.” He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Give me the chance to say it again. When it matters.”
He pulled back a little and watched her close her eyes.
“Come here,” he murmured. Taking her hand, he led her to the foot of the bed. “Sit down.”
“I don’t—”
He took a seat and tugged gently on her hand. “Sit with me. Please.” She complied with a sigh, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Do you really have trouble hearing?”
She stiffened again, and there was a long pause before she replied. “Sometimes.”
“And you jumble your words,” he pressed. “But not, I think, the way Eliza does.”
“No, not like Eliza. It’s not a quirk. It’s not a matter of speaking too quickly. I might confuse words at any speed. I mean to say one word but use another. I know the difference. I do. But it’s the wrong word that comes out. Sometimes I’m aware I’ve done it, but not always.”
In his estimation, it was still just a quirk, only of a different sort. But his opinion on the matter was irrelevant. Jane obviously considered it a significant problem. That was what mattered.
“You heard a bee in your parlor window,” he said, letting the subject of mixing words go for the moment. “And the nightingale in the woods.” Those had been soft, distant sounds. “How could you hear those, but not me when I’m standing right beside you?”
“It’s…” She briefly pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. “It’s difficult to explain. It’s not that I can’t hear soft sounds, though that can happen. The trouble is that I don’t hearcorrectly. That is… Oh, this is impossible,” she groaned. “I don’t know why I thought I could tell you part of this and not all.”
He didn’t know why she’d felt shecouldn’t tell him all of it, but he kept that question to himself as well. “Why don’t you try telling me from the beginning.”
“The beginning. Right.” She nodded, twisted her skirts in her hands, opened and closed her mouth several times, but didn’t manage to produce another word.
“Jane—”
“This is very hard. I…” Her gaze flicked in his direction and away again. “It’s hard. I wish we had some whiskey.”
“Whiskey?”
“Mr. Harmon keeps it in the house. I find it soothing when I’ve had a nightmare.” One shoulder jerked up slightly. “And other times.”
He rose from the bed. “Wait here.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He fetched a bottle from the tavern and returned in short order. Jane hadn’t moved from her seat in his absence, but she appeared a little more settled. Her hands were still gripping her skirts, but the knuckles were no longer white, and her cheeks had regained some of their color.
“I can’t answer to the quality of it,�
� he told her as he poured a finger of drink into a glass and handed it to her. “But it should get the job done.”
“Like a good lie,” she mumbled, staring down at the amber liquid. She took a sip as he resumed his seat next to her. Then she took another and sighed heavily. “You asked me why I was sent to Twillins Cottage. Do you remember?”
“I do.”
She gave a jerky nod. “When I was eight, I snatched a cane away from my governess, Mrs. Lineker, and struck her with it. Right across the cheek.” She released her skirts to draw a finger above her jawline. “It did her no permanent damage, but it was a perfectly horrid thing to do.”
Eight was a bit too old, he thought, to be lashing out in temper. “Why did you strike her?”
“Because she kept asking me the same question over and over again. What is forty minus ten? And I would answer, and she would cane me across the knuckles for getting it wrong. I’m sure you know how that feels.”
“I took a few raps across the knuckles at school.”
“But never, I imagine, for giving the correct answer.” She shook her head, and a line formed across her brow. “She would say forty minus ten, and I would say thirty, and then the cane would come down. Again and again. Forty minus ten. Forty minus ten. She never wavered from her question, and I never wavered from my answer of thirty.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I,” she said, a wealth of sadness in those three words. “I couldn’t figure out why all my governesses seemed to hate me. She was not the first I ran off. There had been a number before her. They all reported the same thing to my father—that I was a completely ungovernable child. They said I refused to listen, refused to follow instructions, and sometimes even refused to acknowledge them when they called my name. They told my father I failed at my lessons just to be contrary, that there was no reason I should struggle to sound out a word I had read quite well just that morning, or forget lessons I had learned only hours before. By the time Mrs. Lineker arrived, I was unbearably tired of it, of listening to them malign me in front of my father, of the names some of them would call me in private. And I was even angrier with myself. Every time I made a mistake, or forgot something, it felt unforgivable, as if I was proving all of them right. I couldn’t stand it anymore. The constant anger and frustration. My behavior became unpredictable, my temper more and more volatile. In the end, Mrs. Lineker’s insistence that forty minus ten was not thirty was the last straw. For everyone.”
A Dangerous Deceit (Thief-Takers) Page 23