The Scarlet Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  For a pause, he looked into her eyes. Then, “If there wasn’t a chance that I’d be arrested for crimes against morality with my stable boy, I’d kiss you now.”

  Their eyes locked and she winked. “And I’d let you.”

  Everything outside of the two of them faded into a whirl of color. It took a drunkard with his voice spewing out a very loud and slurred ditty to remind Laura where they were.

  “Later,” she promised.

  Sobering, Simon stepped back. “We should take our post.”

  He led the way to a corner near the staircase and called for ale. When the tavern wench ambled away, he leaned down to be heard above the din.

  “Are you certain Henry will come?” Laura asked. “Surely he will not stay in one place long.”

  “Crawford confirmed with the innkeeper that Henry is staying here and paid up for tonight. There is no reason to believe he will not return.”

  They stared out into the room. The crowd was a seedy mix. It was a perfect hiding place.

  “His Grace should have found Crawford by now and let him know we’re in place,” Simon added. “They’ll watch for Henry at the front and back entrances. If you see anyone you think is the bastard, point him out, even if you are not immediately certain. He could be disguised.”

  “I will.” Laura began to scan the room. The large space was filled with faces, none of them Henry’s, but she refused to lose hope. It was still early and people were arriving steadily. Simon sipped his ale as she casually leaned against the wall and kept her head down. “What happens if we catch him?”

  “Crawford will question him for a confession, then turn him over to the Runners.” A woman sauntered past, her eyes raking over Simon. He ignored the blatant invitation.

  “And what if we’re wrong and he isn’t the killer after all?” Laura’s stomach soured. “If Henry is nothing more than a man obsessed with me, then our investigation of him will be in vain.”

  Simon looked down at her. “It’s possible, though unlikely. We have seen nothing to indicate another man was involved. All clues point directly to him.”

  Laura nibbled a thumbnail. A man walked in and her breath caught. When he turned his face toward the light, she slumped back. It wasn’t Henry.

  The night continued on in much the same manner for an hour, then two. Laura pointed out men that could be Henry, and Simon would head off for a closer look. When midnight approached and still no sign of him, Laura started to twitch. Her legs were weary from standing and her patience grew thin. The room was hot and the stench of questionable hygiene overwhelmed her.

  She tried to catch Simon’s eye across the room, hoping they could finish up and return home. She was ready to admit defeat.

  He was closing in on her latest suspect, but she knew it unlikely that the man was him. The coloring was the same, but his carriage wasn’t. Henry had a long-boned walk that this man didn’t have.

  Several men pushed in through the open door and Laura settled strained eyes on them one by one as they headed off in different directions. It was the fourth man who stepped over the threshold who brought her upright, her senses alert.

  Henry. Though he was unshaven, she knew him instantly. She’d not forgotten his face.

  Trying to keep watch over him and searching desperately for Simon in the crush, her eyes darted back and forth. Henry crossed the room, elbowing aside a prostitute who had the misfortune of approaching, and headed for the staircase.

  Laura turned her face toward the wall as he passed. He took the stairs up and disappeared.

  Following his trail, she paused on the first step and turned to find Simon.

  He was heading in her direction, the advance slowed by a group of men shouting at one another. The argument built in intensity as the shouts dissolved into shoving.

  Clearly impatient to return to Laura, Simon stepped sideways to avoid a stumbling figure and hurried toward her. She tipped her head, indicating her intention, and hurried up the stairs.

  Earlier, the innkeeper had given Crawford the room information and he’d passed it on to Simon. Laura quietly walked the dim and narrow corridor, stepping gingerly to avoid tripping over an uneven floorboard.

  Careful not to arouse suspicion, Laura leaned an ear against the door as Simon came up behind her.

  “It’s him,” she whispered.

  A door farther down squeaked open, and a man and woman stumbled into the hallway. They moved off toward the staircase and vanished from sight.

  “Are you certain?” Simon whispered. He leaned to listen at the door. There were sounds of movement inside.

  “Completely.”

  Without another word or any indication of his plans, Simon pulled her away from the door, stepped back, and kicked the panel open with a crash.

  Henry cried out as Simon and Laura spilled into the room. However, his stunned surprise lasted only for a moment. He lurched into motion and dove for the open window.

  Simon was fast, but Henry had fear driving him onward. Simon caught his boot as he scrambled over the sash. Laura rushed over and clawed at Henry’s trouser leg for a handhold. Unfortunately, his flailing and falling body jerked the leg free. There was a cry as Henry hit the ground below.

  His Grace appeared in the doorway as Simon went out the window behind him, feet first. “It’s Henry,” Laura cried.

  “I saw him enter the inn.” His Grace bolted for the window and leaned out. “He was moving too fast for me to catch up with him.”

  Laura wasted no time dawdling. She spun and ran out the door, along the corridor, and down the stairs. His Grace brushed past her on the landing, shoving bodies out of his way and moving Laura forward in his wake.

  The cool night air hit her face when they pushed out the doors and into the street. They paused long enough to see a pair of men running in the distance, with a third not far behind. The uneven gait was Crawford’s.

  His Grace bolted after them, Laura at his heels.

  Night encompassed them away from the lit inn, and yet they didn’t slow. There were shouts ahead and Laura recognized Simon’s voice. They rounded a warehouse and Laura smelled the brackish Thames on the breeze. Henry was heading for the wharf.

  “Stand back,” Henry cried out. The pair made a last turn and discovered that the chase had ended. Laura and His Grace lurched to a halt behind Crawford.

  Henry stood on the pier, a gun in his hand, pointed at Simon. Simon had his hands out, palms up.

  “You have nowhere to go, Henry.” Simon’s voice was surprisingly calm. “If you shoot me, you will hang.”

  Henry’s face contorted with pain. Laura realized he’d hurt himself when he’d hit the ground. How much, she couldn’t tell, but he was rubbing one thigh with his free hand.

  “To hang me, you have to catch me.” He fired, turned, and jumped into the Thames.

  Laura cried out and ran to Simon. He caught her against him. “I am unhurt, love. The shot went wide.”

  Unwilling to take his word, she pulled back and quickly assessed him from head to toe. Then she stepped back into his embrace. He pressed his lips to her temple.

  “You gave me a fright,” she scolded. “He could have shot you at any time during the chase.” They turned to see Crawford and His Grace searching the darkened water for Henry.

  “I gave you a fright? I thought you were going out the window with Henry. You had quite a grip on his leg.” He lifted her face. “You are positively fearless.” He kissed her soundly.

  “I did not need my knife,” she said, easing back. “Everything happened so quickly.”

  “He is a slippery fellow,” Simon agreed and kissed her again. She clutched his coat, her strength slowly fading.

  “There is no sign of him,” Crawford said as he and the duke returned. “If he didn’t drown, then he’s made his escape.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The night brought dreams of Henry, choked in seaweed, reaching up for Laura from the depths of the Thames. She woke up at two
in the morning, drenched in a chill sweat, her body shaking.

  The dream had felt real, down to his cold dead hand locked on to her wrist.

  Worried that he’d survived the river and had come back for her, she rushed to the window and scanned the garden. Seeing nothing to cause alarm, she ran barefoot down the stairs to peer out every window of every unoccupied room of the school.

  “Nothing,” she whispered. She proceeded to backtrack, checking the locks. The school was secure, with guards watching the perimeter, just out of sight.

  Feeling foolish, she returned to her room for a few more hours of restless sleep.

  You have a visitor, Laura,” Sophie said later that afternoon in the garden. “It is Lady Seymour.”

  Laura frowned. “Lady Seymour?” According to Simon, there were Harringtons all over England. But how many Harrington women would know about the school and travel to Cheapside to see her? One by her calculation. Her heart dipped. “It cannot be Simon’s mother.”

  “She didn’t say,” Sophie replied. “I’m not privy to any further information.”

  Laura stood and walked up the garden path to the back door. As she passed through the kitchen and into the hallway, she stopped briefly to check herself in a mirror over a hall table. Outside of sleep-rimmed red eyes, she looked reasonably presentable—if she were entertaining a flower vender or a shopkeeper.

  If the guest was indeed the countess, Laura was badly in need of the attentions of an experienced maid.

  Sadly, she lacked both a ladies maid and a fancy dress to change into. And decent breeding left her knowing it was rude to dash off and hide. She’d have to face the countess with pride and courage.

  With a sigh, she stopped outside the parlor, smoothed her dress, and stepped into the open doorway.

  Lady Seymour was not a matronly mother, nor was she a pinch-faced noblewoman in a too-tight corset. The woman was lovely in a simple blue day dress. As she sipped her tea and chatted with Miss Eva, her smiles were warm and genuine.

  Remembering the story Simon told her about how his parents met, Laura could easily see why Simon’s father had been so enamored of Kathleen that he’d married her the day they met.

  It was the countess who first spotted Laura in the doorway. Her smile faded to open curiosity as she seemed to take Laura’s measure.

  Any discomfort Laura felt notched up with each tick-tock of the clock. Miss Eva sat quietly, watching them both, with a half smile on her face.

  “Please come and join us, Miss Prescott,” Lady Seymour said finally. She slid over on the settee.

  “Yes, My Lady.” She squelched a resigned sigh.

  Laura braced herself and took a seat beside Simon’s mother. She clasped her hands primly in her lap and waited.

  “You are not at all what I expected,” the countess admitted. “I’d heard that there was a woman in Simon’s life and thought he’d finally chosen a wife. It came as a surprise to discover she was the same woman who was Aunt Bernie’s new companion.” Lady Harrington paused. “It was through gathering bits of information from my aunt and the staff and then pressing my son for details that I discovered you were not my future daughter but a mysterious woman my son helped flee a difficult situation.”

  “I am anything but mysterious, My Lady,” Laura countered gently. “I am just a poor squire’s daughter who became the victim of an unfortunate situation.”

  “So I understand.” Lady Seymour set down her teacup. “My son has an attachment to you.”

  “He has placed himself in the position of my champion. Nothing more,” Laura assured her. She was certain any feelings Simon had for her would fade once the case was finished. “Since my rescue, he has decided that he is the one person who can disentangle me from this unacceptable situation.”

  “Hmm.” Lady Seymour glanced at Miss Eva. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  Miss Eva smiled and stood. “Of course.”

  When they were alone, the countess turned in the seat to face Laura fully. “I think you underestimate my son. There is something about you that has pricked his interest as no other woman has.”

  “You must know that I expect nothing from him.”

  Lady Seymour nodded. She held Laura’s gaze. After a moment she said, “Will you tell me your story?”

  Laura wanted to refuse. It was kindness in the woman’s eyes that finally led her to agree. Her history had been told many times of late. What would one more time matter?

  “It is an unhappy tale. Not the sort of story one usually shares over tea.”

  “Please,” Lady Seymour urged.

  For the next half hour, Laura told Simon’s mother about her life. There was little she left out, including the murder. When she was finished, she slumped back in the settee, completely depleted of emotion.

  “As you can see, I am nearly penniless and am certainly homeless. I am living off the kindness of Miss Eva. No matter how many loaves of bread I bake or dresses I wash, I will never be able to repay her for all she’s done for me.”

  “I don’t believe Miss Eva expects repayment.”

  “No, she does not,” Laura agreed. “As for your son, I care very much for him. However, he is not in my plans for my future. Our lives are too divergent.”

  “You are a sensible young woman.” The countess pulled on her gloves and stood. “Perhaps you should wait until after the case has been resolved before you firm up any plans. You cannot know what the future holds.” She smiled. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Prescott.”

  Laura watched her walk from the room.

  She waited until the door closed behind Simon’s mother before she dumped several lumps of sugar into her tea with shaking hands, swallowed down the sweet concoction to calm herself, and puzzled over the exchange.

  Lady Seymour left her with as many questions as answers. Why had she come and what did she expect from the meeting? Was she hoping to assure herself that Simon’s plans to marry Lady Jeanette would not be thwarted by a courtesan?

  If that was the case, the countess had no worries.

  Simon arrived shortly after his mother left. He found Laura in the parlor. She was staring off at a painting of a landscape and didn’t immediately notice his arrival.

  “Laura? Is something the matter?”

  She frowned and turned her head. “I’m not sure.” He moved to sit beside her. “Your mother came for a visit. It was very strange. She asked me about myself and then left.”

  His mother was here? “How did she know where to find you?”

  “I have no idea. She told me nothing.” Laura rubbed her arms. “She may have gone off to summon the Bow Street Runners. Who would want their son mixed up with a murderess?”

  “She would not do that,” Simon assured her, though he wasn’t at all certain what his mother had planned. Her visit was as much a surprise to him as to Laura. “She knows you are innocent. I explained it well.”

  “I wouldn’t be so convinced of that. She has only your word that I’m not a killer. Mothers will go to great lengths to protect their children.”

  He stretched out his legs. “Whatever her reason, I’ll find out soon enough. Mother does nothing without a purpose behind her actions.”

  A commotion sounded from outside—a shout and then a second. Simon jumped to his feet and hurried to the window. He watched two guards race past the house toward the garden.

  “Something has happened.” With Laura following, he ran to the kitchen and outside. A guard was on the ground and several other guards circled him. Simon brushed them aside and bent to the fallen man. He had a gash on his shoulder.

  “What happened?” Simon asked.

  “I heard the gate open and went to investigate. I was attacked from behind by a man with a knife.” He winced. “We fought briefly and I chased him off.” He gave a brief description of his attacker.

  “Henry, the bastard,” Simon growled. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound as Laura knelt beside
him. Concern and fear were etched in her features.

  “Only a coward doesn’t face his foe,” Laura said. “He is getting brazen and desperate. There are guards everywhere.”

  “Desperation notches up the danger,” Simon agreed. “Whatever is driving this risk taking will explode eventually and everyone around him will suffer.”

  Sophie arrived, pushing through the men. She quickly assessed the guard’s injury. “Bring him into the house. I will tend him.”

  With Sophie leading the way, Simon and another guard half carried the injured man into the town house, while the rest of the men took up watch outside.

  Once the man was settled in the parlor, Simon pulled Laura aside. “Gather your things. I’m taking you to my town house.”

  Laura nodded. “I cannot stay here. It risks Sophie and the ladies.” She hurried away.

  Within a few minutes, Simon shuffled Laura off into a hackney, making a grand production of doing so, hoping that if Henry was still lurking, he’d follow her away from the school.

  Once settled, Laura pressed her fingertips to her temples. “Henry has proven he will do anything to get to me. Neither guards nor witnesses will stop him now.”

  “We cut him off from what few possessions he had when we chased him from the inn. Unless he has help, he is without funds and a place to hide.” Simon took a breath. “Crawford has set the Runners on his tail, claiming that he received information about a new suspect in the murder. Though skeptical, they have confiscated Henry’s things from the inn and are following this new information.”

  “So we wait?”

  Simon shook his head. “He is running headlong towards something and you are the key. It won’t be long until he makes a mistake and is caught.”

  “Then I will sit like bait in the Harrington town house and wait for the rat to come out to play.”

  When they arrived at the town house, Simon left her in the foyer and went to seek out his parents. Laura fidgeted, staring at the walls, the ceiling, and the paintings, trying to calm her nerves. She sniffed a vase of flowers and fidgeted some more. She passed her valise from hand to hand before finally setting it on the floor.