by C. J. Archer
No, Isabel couldn’t risk seeing her friend’s eyes become cold and her arms withdraw.
"I have to go," she said simply. "You can come with me if you want." The suggestion tumbled out before she even thought it through and she regretted it a moment later. How could she condemn her friend to a life worse than the one she already led? A life on the run from the law? And how could she keep her terrible secret from Meg if she did follow?
Surprisingly, Meg giggled like a young girl. "No, I won’t. I’m getting married."
"Married!" For a moment Isabel nearly forgot her troubles. But just for a moment. She rushed past Meg, directing her to follow her to the chamber they shared with Lucy. "Tell me while I pack."
"He used to be a regular customer of mine," Meg said, closing the door behind her and plopping down on the bed as if she didn’t have a care in the world. "Ever since his wife died a year ago, he’s been visiting me for...comfort. He’s always been nice to me, never treated me like a sewer rat like some of the others." Bitterness laced her words, but so did hope and something else. Love?
Isabel threw two clean shifts onto the bed. Meg folded them and packed them into a cloth bag. "I went to see him after our little talk the other day. Remember? You told me to take charge of my own life now that Biggin don't want me."
"I remember." Isabel tried to concentrate but her mind was still on Constance and her threats. And on Nick. What would he think? How would he react to the news his wife had left him again?
"Well, I took matters into my own hands," Meg went on, folding one of Isabel’s underskirts. "I told John, that’s my betrothed, that I’d take care of him in his old age, and in return he’s to teach me his craft and sign his business over to me. He’s a draper with a shop on Candlewick Street. He’s got no close kin since his wife died. His only son passed on nearly thirty years ago."
"How old is he?" Isabel asked, gathering her pins and hair combs into a small leather pouch.
"I’m not sure but he’s quite aged. And rather ill too." She sighed quietly then shrugged, as if dislodging something irritating her shoulder. "Not long for this world, I’d say. I just hope he lasts long enough to teach me. Do you think I’d make a good businesswoman, Izzy? Do you think I made the right choice? Only I didn’t want to be a burden to good friends like yourself for the rest of my life, didn’t want to have to rely on a man, just like you said." She smiled tentatively as she gazed up at Isabel from where she sat on the bed, her feet tucked under her like a girl in her mother’s chamber. "What do you think, Izzy?"
Isabel managed to smile at her. How could she not give her approval? A more naive person would think Meg greedy and opportunistic. Isabel was acutely aware that the Isabel of old, the innocent newlywed, would have scolded her and directed her to marry for love rather than money. But Isabel was wiser and knew more of the world now. Meg needed the protection that marriage to a prosperous, respectable man would provide, and her John needed a woman to comfort him in his final years, a wife to bury him when the time came. His reward for her service would be to leave her the business so she need never again find herself without a home.
If they treated each other well, with honesty and respect as she knew the good-hearted Meg would, then what harm was there in their arrangement? "You did the right thing. Be good to your John. He sounds like he deserves someone like you."
Meg jumped off the bed and hugged her. "Oh, I’ll miss you, Izzy. Write to me and I’ll have my husband teach me to read your letters. I will need to learn if I'm to run the business, you know." The new delight and passion in her eyes dimmed and her smile turned to a frown. "Are you sure your husband ain't done nothing to make you want to leave?"
"No." But that wasn’t entirely true. If Isabel was honest with herself, she was running from Nick too. He had been involved in her father’s death, then he’d lied about it, lied about so many things, including hiding his disappointment at the woman she had become. If he had only been honest with her, she would go straight to him now and they could fight his mother’s accusations together. If she knew without a doubt that he loved her then she would not bear to break his heart by leaving.
Yes, she was running as much from him as from his mother.
Again.
She held Meg’s gaze. "If you happen to see him, tell him...I’m sorry. But this is how it must be for everyone’s sakes."
Meg’s eyes shone with unshed tears. "I don’t understand."
Isabel clutched her friend’s arms and squeezed. "It’ll be all right. I have to go now." She scooped up the two bags crammed with as much of her belongings as she could carry. Everything else would have to stay behind. "Goodbye, Meg."
They hugged and Meg cried. Isabel left and hurried downstairs before she allowed her tears to spill. Once she had safely passed the open-mouthed Fox serving a customer at the counter and was out on the street, she could no longer stop them flowing.
***
Nicholas stopped pacing the bedchamber he’d occupied since the previous night and watched Ash stride through the door. "Well? Where is she?"
The earl shrugged. "No one seems to know for sure, but one of the servants thinks he saw her leave not long after the apprentice."
"Not with him?"
"No."
Nicholas resumed his pacing. It didn’t make sense. Why would she leave without saying goodbye? Surely if Fox had told her the shop needed her immediate presence, she would have left Nicholas a message with one of the servants. He stopped pacing and looked at Ash who frowned back at him. "And none of them spoke to her before she left?" he asked.
Ash shook his head. "Fox arrived, they met in the east parlor then he left. Some time later, she left too."
Nicholas started pacing again. "How much later?"
"Not long."
"And did anyone overhear their conversation?"
Ash looked offended. "My servants don’t eavesdrop on my guests."
"Why not? Everyone else’s do."
The earl sighed. "Merritt, you’re wearing my rushes thin."
"I’m thinking," Nicholas said without stopping.
"Then think in a different pattern so you wear them out evenly at least."
Nicholas stopped long enough to glare at him. "You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously."
Ash shrugged. "So she left without leaving you a message. Does it matter?"
"Yes. Why did she not leave a note with a servant if you and I were still talking?"
Ash picked up Nicholas’s sword and full purse from the table and held them out. "Why not go to the shop and ask her?"
Nicholas took his belongings. "I was about to." He strapped on his rapier and pocketed the purse. He reached for his cloak but it was too bloodied and torn to be worn.
"You can borrow one of mine." Ash called for a servant. The man who’d announced Fox’s arrival appeared at the door.
Ash told him to fetch another cloak, but Nicholas cut in before the servant could leave. "Are you the man who informed Fox that Isabel was here?" Nicholas asked him. "How did he react to the news?"
The servant frowned and shook his head. "Informed him, Sir? No, not I."
"I sent no one to the Bucklersbury Street shop," Ash said after dismissing his servant.
"Then how did Fox know she was here?" Nicholas asked. "I assumed you had sent someone early this morning."
"No."
They stared at each other and Nicholas could see his friend come to the same conclusion as him at the same time. "He followed her," Nicholas said.
"In the middle of the night? Why would he do that?"
Nicholas shrugged. "Curiosity. He must have overheard her leaving the shop and decided to find out where she was going." But it didn’t ring true. Why would Fox be curious about Isabel’s comings and goings?
"Is he in love with her?" Ash asked.
"No!" But Nicholas’s heart constricted. "I don’t know." The servant returned with a dark blue velvet cloak and put it around Nicholas’s shoulders, helping him
with the ties and clasp. "I’m going to find out." Nicholas looked up at Ash when his friend said nothing. The earl looked thoughtful, confused even. "What is it?"
"If Fox heard Isabel leave the shop, then presumably he would have heard the knocking beforehand. My men told me they had to pound on the front door before she opened it."
"So the question is, why didn’t he answer the knocking himself?" Nicholas said, finishing Ash’s train of thought. Ash was right—it didn’t make sense. Being the most senior able-bodied man of the household, Fox should have answered a knock on the door in the middle of the night. He shouldn’t have left it to Isabel.
Ash held his gaze. "And the answer to that is—"
"Because he wasn’t there."
"Precisely."
The servant left them to their stunned silence. It wasn’t until the door closed that Nicholas spoke the question he knew Ash must also be considering. "So where was he?" But he already knew the answer, and he could see from Ash’s darkening face that he did too.
"He was returning to the shop after trying to kill you." Ash’s hand went to his hip where his sword would usually be if he was armed. "I’m going to kill him," he snarled. He made to leave but Nicholas stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Wait. We need to tread carefully. If he’s the one trying to kill me then he’s most likely the Whitehall poisoner. I’d rather get him for treason, wouldn’t you? But we need the evidence linking him to this plot, and Samuel’s. I’ll see what I can find out."
Ash looked like thunder. "He tried to kill you, Merritt! And now, after his meeting with Isabel, he must know you’re not dead. Forget about gathering evidence, let’s go and beat a confession out of him before he does more harm."
"You’re as subtle as the rack, Ash."
The earl snorted. "Do you really want subtlety when a killer is in the same vicinity as your wife? Assuming they have both returned to the shop."
Nicholas shook off an involuntary shudder. "That’s exactly where I’m going now. I won’t be able to arrest Fox without evidence but at least I can warn Isabel."
And save her if necessary.
"She can take care of herself if it comes to that. I have the bruises to prove it."
Bruises? So Ash had learned about Isabel’s powers the hard way. Normally he’d find that funny, but not with a killer after her.
"She doesn’t know he’s dangerous," Nicholas said. "She wouldn’t be prepared. Besides, he might poison her or knock her senseless first while she’s not looking." Speaking about it only made his heart pound faster, his throat dry up. His hand closed around his rapier’s grip so tightly he thought he’d crush it. If only it were Fox’s head.
"While I’m gone," he continued, "I want you to find out about the third apothecary from the Whitehall conference seven years ago. I have a feeling he’s linked to this man Fox."
Ash nodded. "I’ll do what I can. But be careful. Your near-death experiences are sending me to an early grave."
"Then you should consider giving up the drink," Nicholas said, sheathing his sword.
"I consider it every day." Ash grabbed Nicholas’s arm and held it for a moment.
They gave each other a final nod before the earl let go and Nicholas strode out of the bedchamber.
CHAPTER 15
The insipid sun struggled to burn off the mist clinging to the hollows and ditches. Isabel hunched into her hooded cloak, her head bent against the bitter wind blowing off Moor Fields and through Bishops Gate into the city. Her shoulders burned from the weight of her bags and her back ached almost as much as her heart. There was still so much further to go before she was safe. She must catch a ride in a passing cart if she wanted to be far away from London by sundown. She’d decided not to hire a horse for fear of being followed. A woman alone would stand out at the stables. The grooms would easily be able to identify her if her pursuers described her.
With the gate and the bleak buildings of Bedlam Hospital behind her, she dumped her bags on the side of the road outside the Swan Inn and hailed a passing cart. But it rolled by, the driver giving her only a sideways glance. One by one they continued on without stopping, even when she offered to pay for her passage. It seemed nobody trusted anyone in these hard times. With footpads of both sexes often colluding to rob ordinary folk it wasn’t surprising.
Plopping down on top of one of her bags, too tired to even cry, she rested her chin on her hands and stared at the mud stuck to her boots. It was hopeless. She was exhausted after a sleepless night, her body stiff and sore. Perhaps she should see if the Swan had a room. She could pretend to be someone else, a widow or servant, and keep her hood low so no one would be able to describe her to the Justice of the Peace if he came looking for her. Or Nick.
No, she couldn’t risk it. She would look suspicious if she didn’t reveal her face. She had to keep moving.
She stood and dragged up her bags, lugging them over her shoulder and distributing their weight evenly across her back. Blocking out the aches, blocking out her misery and anger and fear, she trudged on. She tried to think of happier things and found Meg’s smiling face came easily to mind.
She felt proud of her friend for taking up the reins of her life after everything fell apart. Her new arrangement might not be everyone’s choice but it was Meg’s and it suited her. On the death of her husband, she would have control over her own affairs for the first time in her life. It was a most exciting time for her.
So much the opposite of Isabel’s own situation. The reversal in their fortunes struck her with a blunt force and her step faltered. Meg had made her own decisions and now she was rising above her terrible circumstances. Isabel had not made any decisions. She had merely reacted to someone else’s, and so she had sunk lower than ever.
Clearly that had to change. It was time she took some of her own advice and followed in her friend’s footsteps. She had to take charge again. Running away would never bring her peace, only loneliness and more anxiety.
Isabel turned around and headed back the way she had come.
She was going home, whatever the consequences.
She had a good life in London. A respectable, free life and she wasn’t going to run away from it without fighting. Nor was she going to run from Nick. Not again. He didn’t deserve it. The more she thought of him, the more her pace quickened.
Her Nick. With his easy smile, dimples and boyish mischief. His quick wit and ready words, something she hadn’t liked when he directed them at other women.
But her jealousy seemed to have disappeared along with her innocence in the last six years. She no longer worried that he desired anyone else. His soft kisses and hard erection was all for her. His words...well, they only meant something when reinforced by his actions. It was those very actions that spoke of his love for her more than his words ever would.
Not the same woman I married. More words, easily misunderstood. Just because she had changed didn’t mean he’d stopped loving her. If nothing else, she owed it to him to hear his explanation. He had been devoted to her for six years, never giving up his search or his hope that she would return. If that didn’t shout love then what did?
And Nick would know what to do about the charges against her. He might even be able to persuade his mother into withdrawing her testimony. She had to try. For Nick and for their love.
But most of all, for herself. She had to take control of her life or forever let life be in control of her. And she had come to like much of her life over the past six years. Having Nick in it would take it from good to perfect.
"Isabel."
The familiar voice made her look up. Fox hailed her and trotted over. As he drew closer, she could see the grim set of his mouth, the bleakness in his brown eyes.
"Fox? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?"
She waited until he regained his breath. He must have chased after her, getting lucky that she had stopped, giving him time to catch up.
"Is it the shop?" she asked, impatience getting
the better of her. "Or Shawe?" Oh no, not that, please.
When he nodded, her heart flipped. "He took a turn just after you left." His gaze slid away then back to her. "Meg said you were leaving London forever. But I thought you would want to know."
"Yes, thank you." She tried to think, tried to force her own problems from her mind. "Has someone fetched his son?"
He nodded, blowing on his bare hands and rubbing them together. He must have left in a hurry to have forgotten his gloves.
He must have closed the shop. Somehow that mattered, not because it would mean customers would turn to one of their neighbors, but because it would be the first place Nick would look for her. And if he spoke to Meg before Isabel returned...