by Coleen Kwan
“Sorry.” Quickly she sheathed her weapons. In her heightened state, she was not fully in control of herself. Julian’s crashing into the room had set her heart leaping, and the grasp of his hand on hers kept it hammering at a topsy-turvy rate. “But how on earth did you know I was here?”
“Murderers! Robbers!” Madame Olga shrieked.
Julian ignored the medium while keeping a wary eye on Tibor who was heaving himself to his feet. “Simple. I followed you.”
“You followed me! How…why…?”
“Get them, Tibor.” The spiritualist shook her fists in rage, causing her shawls to flap around her like vulture’s wings. “Get them both.”
“I knew you’d been sneaking out at night.” He picked up a small stool as Tibor ominously cricked his neck from side to side and smacked his meaty fists together. “Gareth has been helping you, hasn’t he?”
A guilty blush heated her cheeks. “Only to procure a horse for the night. He did not—mind, he’s coming!”
Tibor thundered towards them. Her warning was superfluous as Julian had already taken the measure of their opponent. He unceremoniously pushed Nellie to one side before brandishing the stool as though he were a lion-tamer. The wooden floorboards shuddered as Tibor stampeded forward, a snorting, bellowing buffalo. Julian held his ground, and at the last second he darted sideways and swung the stool at Tibor’s head.
Bits of wood flew in the air as the stool shattered against the giant’s gleaming skull. He roared and shook his head. Madame Olga screeched like a banshee.
“I think we should leave,” Julian said.
Nellie hung back. “But I still need to ask her about—about…”
Julian sighed. “You mean Pip? You’ve been following him for several nights, have you not?”
The weary accusation in his tone made her bite her lip. She was about to speak when Tibor let out a high-pitched squeal and pawed at his screwed-up eyes. The ogre became a babe, blubbering unintelligibly while tears streamed down the boulders of his cheeks.
“You’ve blinded my poor Tibor.” Balling up her fists, Madame Olga rained blows on Julian’s shoulder. “Monster! Barbarian!”
Shrugging her off, Julian moved towards the weeping man. “I’m a doctor. Sit down and let me have a look.”
At his authoritative tone, the man sank down into a chair, submissive as a lamb. His massive shoulders shook like jelly, and he moaned as Julian persuaded him to lift his head.
“A large jug of clean water, if you please,” he ordered Madame Olga. She obeyed him without a word and returned with an earthenware pot. He proceeded to flush out Tibor’s eyes with water, while Madame Olga hovered close by, anxiously kneading the man’s shoulder. Finally, when the giant sat up blinking, his vision restored, she muttered something to him, he nodded, heaved himself out of the chair and disappeared behind the curtain.
“You can apply a chamomile compress to his eyes,” Julian instructed Madame Olga. “That should help ease any lingering discomfort.”
The woman nodded, her manner far more subdued. “Thank you. The poor sod has a lot of trouble with his eyes sometimes.” By now the medium had dropped all pretence at being foreign. Flouncing back her scarves, she slid her gaze towards Nellie. “So you know this veiled one and her prying questions?”
“She didn’t mean to upset you. She was merely seeking some information regarding the gentleman who visited you earlier.” He paused, then dug into the pocket of his coat and drew out a handful of coins. “Perhaps this will help with your memory.”
In a flash the coins disappeared into the folds of the woman’s shawls. She gestured towards the fallen table. “Why don’t we sit?”
Julian righted the table and chairs, and they all sat. Madame Olga repositioned the scarf on her hair, pushed up her jingling bracelets, and crossed her arms over her plump bosom.
“The gentleman calls himself Pip Barchester, but I’d bet a tenner that’s a false name. My clients often want to remain anonymous. He comes here several times a week, usually during the day, but at night too. He doesn’t stay long. He gets nervous, can’t keep still.”
“And what does he ask you to do?”
“First couple of visits ’twas his late mama he wished to talk with. I didn’t see him for a bit, but he started visiting again with a vengeance, and ever since then it’s just been the one thing. Always wants to get in contact with his dead wife. Nellie Barchester, she was.”
Nellie gulped audibly, but Julian did not look at her. “Go on,” he said to the medium.
“He tells her how sorry he is that she’s dead, how sorry she met with such a terrible end, how awful he feels about everything. He gets quite upset.”
The heavy veil pressed down on Nellie like a shroud. She felt a scream building up inside her. Next to her, Julian’s hand was a granite fist on his knee.
“And what do you tell him?” Nellie blurted out.
“I tell him his wife is at peace, that she loves him dearly and harbours no ill feelings towards him.”
“And he believes you?” Her voice pitched high in disbelief.
Madame Olga shrugged. “My clients come to me for absolution, forgiveness, for peace of mind. I give them what they seek. I need to put food on the table,” she added defensively as she registered their disapproval. “And besides, I’m being paid to soothe Mr. Barchester’s fears.”
“What do you mean?” Julian retorted.
“Last week a man came here. Said he was Mr. Barchester’s father, and he was very worried about his son on account of him being on the verge of a breakdown. He wanted to know why his son was coming here—much like yourselves, except he paid better—and when I told him everything, he said he’d pay me if I kept on telling Mr. Barchester the same things about his wife, except for one extra addition. I also had to tell him that his dead wife wanted him to remarry, insisted he promise to remarry, in fact.” She paused for a moment to contemplate their incredulous expressions. “Well, who’m I to argue with a bit of extra cash, especially as I was already doing as he wanted? Good little earner, this Mr. Barchester has turned out to be, but what a mess he is, poor wretch. I’m glad I never married him.”
Nellie leaped to her feet. Her head was pounding, and she thought she was going to be sick. She had to get out of this stifling room, away from Madame Olga’s clinking bangles and mercenary eyes. Half-blind, she pushed her way out of the room, stumbled down the stairs and rushed out into the street.
“Nellie, wait for me,” Julian called from behind.
She sucked in the night air, grateful for its coolness despite the whiff of urine rising from the gutters. Mercifully, the threat of throwing up passed. “I’m sorry I behaved so queerly, but I had to get out of there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?” he asked, his tone stiff. “If I’d accompanied you, you wouldn’t have run the risk of that lummox Tibor.”
She busied herself with her veil, pushing it this way and that. “I wanted to avoid an argument,” she finally muttered. “I guessed you might disapprove.”
“Disapprove of you roaming the streets of London at night by yourself? Disapprove of you shadowing your husband? The husband who seems weighed down with guilt over your death? You guessed correctly.”
She winced even as she tipped up her chin. “You’ve been urging me to venture abroad, and yet you’re displeased now that I have. How contrary of you.”
“Do not twist my words, Nellie.”
“Heavens above, I am married to a man whose father tried to do away with me. Is it any wonder that I’m chary of trusting people again?”
“I saved your life. Doesn’t that put me in a category beyond mere ‘people’?”
She swallowed. If only he knew how important he was becoming to her. Every discovery she made of her weakling husband only exacerbated her growing tenderness for this dark-eyed, golden-skinned man scowling before her.
“Julian,” she slowly replied, “you are in a category all of your own.”
“And what category is that?”
The keenness of his gaze became rapier-sharp, peeling back her layers. Her veil and the darkness were no defence against him. Did Julian want more from her? How shocking and exciting and terrifying all at the same time. Her blood fizzed at the idea of him wanting her, of she giving him everything, but fear and melancholy tamped her desire. A man so handsome as he surely couldn’t desire a woman so disfigured as she. No, it was madness. Besides, how could she bring herself to put her heart and trust into another person’s safekeeping again?
She moistened her lips. “Champion, saviour, hero.”
“Humpf.” His frown remained. “And yet, after all my championing, you seem quite cavalier about your safety. You must promise me to cease these nightly trips at once.”
She couldn’t do that, not when she was so close to uncovering the truth, but neither could she lie to Julian. “Your concern is duly noted, and I’m eternally grateful to you, but I absolve you of any further responsibility for me. You’ve done more than enough for me. From here on I must solve my problems on my own.”
“You seem quite willing to involve Gareth with your problems,” he shot back, his gaze becoming acrimonious. “I didn’t realise you and he were so intimate.”
Her cheeks burned under the sting of his words. It was true that her initial dealings with Gareth Derringer had been rocky, but the man had gone out of his way to mend fences. He’d insisted no favour was too much to ask of him, and when she’d tentatively enquired where she might find some means of independent transport, he had directed her to a small inn a half mile away from Monksbane. She was merely to mention his name to the innkeeper, he informed her, and the fellow would provide her with a reliable horse, no questions asked. She would not even have to pay, as the innkeeper was somehow in Mr. Derringer’s debt, the circumstances of which Mr. Derringer did not elaborate upon.
“Mr. Derringer and I are not intimates,” Nellie said steadily. “He merely helped me to find a mount for the night.”
Julian snorted. “Mr. Derringer,” he stated with heavy sarcasm, “is a man of many connections, not all of them entirely reputable.”
“I myself am hardly reputable these days, so who am I to complain?” She tucked the ends of her veil inside her jacket. “Now, I’m sure you’re as tired as I am, and we’re miles away from home. Perhaps we should continue this discussion elsewhere.”
He frowned at her for several more moments. Eventually he shrugged as if he’d tired of her and all the trouble she’d caused him. “I stabled my horse at the same inn where you left yours. Let’s go.”
As she fell into step, his weary countenance pinched at her heart. How could she have imagined that spark of passion in his eyes a few minutes ago? She’d caused him nothing but concern, and he had his own problems to deal with, problems which were just as vexing as hers. Was she becoming a tiresome burden to him? She hoped not. She wanted them to be the best of friends. In truth, what she felt for him was far more than mere friendship, but considering the circumstances and what he’d already done for her, she had no right to ask for anything more. No right, no courage and no hope, either.
Chapter Nine
They reached Monksbane as the moon was waning. Julian’s mare jingled her bit and picked up her pace as she sensed that her stable, water, and a feed of oats were close by. Beside him, Nellie sat astride her raw-boned nag. Julian had already suggested she ride all the way back with him, that Figgs would return the mount to the inn the following day, and she’d readily agreed. They clip-clopped down the gravel drive towards the darkened house. At this hour everyone would be asleep, and Julian was loath to drag Figgs from his bed. He dismounted and turned to help Nellie, but she’d already slithered down from her saddle.
“Go to bed,” he said to Nellie, taking the reins from her. “I’ll see to the horses.”
He led the horses into the stable, where he busied himself unsaddling and watering them. He was rubbing his mare down when Nellie reappeared just outside the stall.
“Julian,” she began hesitantly. “I realised I hadn’t thanked you for coming to my rescue—yet again. That was churlish of me.”
On the ride home she’d discarded her hat and veil, and the night wind had brought colour to her cheeks and teased her hair until it fell in loose curls around her shoulders. The sight of her dishevelled hair gleaming in the lamplight made his heart behave queerly. He worked his cloth harder over the horse’s flank. Devil take it, why did she have such an effect on him?
“Will you make contact with your husband?” he asked, deliberately emphasising the last word.
Nellie plucked a wisp of dried grass out of the mare’s hay net and twirled it between her fingers. “I…I’m not sure.”
“Why not? It’s plain you wish to.”
“It is?”
“Is that not why you fled from the medium? Because you were all aflutter at the thought of Phillip?” He made himself stare at her. “I had a good gander at him tonight. He’s a fine-looking toff with those blond curls and milky complexion and soft hands. I can see why you married him.”
Her lips tightened. “Sarcasm does not become you, Julian.”
“No? But then, I’m just a rough-and-ready fellow, a swarthy cove who likes to tinker with bodies and machines, not a pale and sensitive milksop with a rich papa like Phillip Ormond.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I did not marry Phillip for his money!”
“Why the devil did you marry him at all?”
At his harsh outcry, the mare skittered sideways and knocked over her pail of water. With a muttered curse Julian lunged for the fallen bucket. When he rose, Nellie was still standing there, her arms wrapped around herself, a stricken look on her face. His jaw dropped, the pail tumbled to the straw as he strode forward and put his hands tentatively on her shoulders.
“Nellie…” All the rancour he’d worked up on the trip home dissolved as he stared down at her. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t know why I married him. I was naive and yearning to escape from the asylum and my father…” Gulping, she pressed her fingers against her face. “I had these girlish notions of what it was to fall in love, and Phillip appeared, and I transferred all those fanciful ideas onto him, but—but it was a fantasy, I realise that now, for both of us. He was looking for solace, and I was seeking an escape from the loneliness of my life, but I should never have eloped with him. And then I insisted we get married with all possible haste. I badgered and pestered him. That’s why…” She broke off, her distress causing his gut to clench.
“What? What are you trying to tell me?”
She lifted darkened eyes to him. “Mr. Derringer sent me a note earlier today. You recall he offered to find out the truth about my marriage, whether Pip had concealed a prior betrothal from me. Well—” she drew in a quick gulp of air, “—it appears Sir Thaddeus was telling the truth. Pip has been engaged to a Miss Montague for more than two years and the wedding was to be held this spring.”
“My God!” Julian couldn’t help himself bursting out. “He’s as devious as his damned father!”
“No, I don’t believe that. He lied to me, yes, but not out of deviousness. He’s simply misguided and…and desperate.”
“He’s a fraud. He lied to you and tricked you into giving yourself to him.” He stopped short, gulping hard as the image of an innocent Nellie offering her maidenhood to the wretched Pip blighted his mind. With a small gasp, she turned her head, and the action hurt him even more than his taunting imagination.
“I’m not entirely without blame,” she muttered. “I was a prude, caught up in notions about my respectability and the fantasy of marriage. Pip is a soft soul; he needs someone who can be his stalwart, but I could never be that, especially when his father turned on him. After that, I became a burden to him.”
Julian tightened his grip on her trembling shoulders. “Ye gods, he doesn’t deserve you. He’s a lily-livered featherweight.”
�
�No, he’s a tortured soul. Isn’t it obvious? Why else does he visit Madame Olga so often?”
Julian wanted to howl with frustration at her stubbornness. “Because he’s wracked with guilt over your death. Because he connived with Thaddeus to have you abducted and murdered, that’s why.”
“No, I refuse to believe that!”
“But you’ve contemplated it.” She did not respond, but her clouded gaze gave him answer enough. “Of course it horrifies you to think your phony husband would plot your demise, but you know it is a distinct possibility. Phillip scurried back to his father while you were out looking for employment. He had no means of support, and he was utterly incapable of living in poverty. His only option was to go crawling back to his father, cap in hand. Sir Thaddeus wanted you gone, but a public divorce would be too scandalous and take much too long. So Sir Thaddeus gave him an ultimatum. Get rid of your inconvenient wife immediately or live a life of penury forever. Phillip agreed, but he was too yellow-bellied to carry out the deed himself, so Sir Thaddeus organised the ambush. The bastard who assaulted you was supposed to have drowned you in the river, no doubt, but he was greedy. He wanted those rings of yours, and when I came to your rescue, he was in a quandary. He’d fouled up the job he’d been given, but he didn’t want to confess to Thaddeus. So instead he killed some poor streetwalker, hacked up her face, and put your rings on her. And now you’re dead, Phillip can live life on the hog again, as long as he does his father’s bidding.”
During his impassioned speech she’d said not a word. Now, with face set, she slowly disentangled herself from his grip. He wondered if he’d gone too far, but when she spoke her voice was low and hesitant.
“Everything you say is probably true, but I cannot condemn Pip without giving him a chance to defend himself.”
His gut clenched in protest. She must still nurse feelings for Phillip Ormond. How could she not see how feeble that boy was?
“Well, then, you must accost him with the truth.” Folding his arms, he regarded her brusquely. “You must show yourself to him.”