Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  Gazing down at proof of Sally’s complicity, Jacqueline had to force her legs to bear her weight. The betrayal cut deep. The thought of Sally feeding information to that monster made her physically ill. Rather than give her despair free rein, she instead focused on relaying her own news. “The watchman who accompanied Coombs has been on this route for only a month.”

  A muscle in his jaw worked for a moment before he spoke. “I expected as much. Sally, Coombs, and now this? It makes me wonder how many more she’s managed to place around us.”

  Us. “Any word regarding Mr. Birdsley?”

  “None as yet. What of your message? Will it reach your friend in time?”

  “He will receive it this evening. Incidentally, he is leaving for the countryside on Friday for a week.”

  “Safely out of danger—good,” he replied with a satisfied nod. “Now we must look to our own security. You’re certain no one has had access to the keys fitting the outer doors?”

  “Absolutely. I keep my keys under my pillow at night, and the door to my room is always locked. Mrs. Sloane follows the same procedure.”

  “What of your personal maids?”

  “Mrs. Sloane prefers to see to her own needs, and Henriette has been with me since before the school was built. Though I trust her without reserve, she has neither asked for nor been granted the use of my keys.”

  “Good. It guarantees nothing, of course. Brute force can gain entry almost anywhere.”

  …

  Seeing her crestfallen expression, Will regretted saying it at once.

  “I might as well hand out keys to all, then,” she replied sourly. “Though I will say the locks are quite complex. No expense was spared in that regard. And don’t forget the bars are lowered each night, as well—stout, iron-reinforced oak.”

  “Excellent. Our night watch should include a person at each outer door, including the entrances to the courtyard. I suggest chairs placed against them and bells tied to the handles to alert anyone who might be drowsy.”

  “What if something happens during the day? MacCallum and his men are present, but I dare not trust them to protect us.”

  Indeed not. In fact, if he had his way, all construction on the new wing would stop until this business was sorted out. “I daresay that’s a wise decision. Both messages have come by way of that work area. It could be that some of MacCallum’s men are being paid by Boucher.”

  Her face turned white. “I’m sure MacCallum would never allow anyone to sabotage his work. He has an excellent reputation as a builder, and I cannot see him endangering it through negligence. Every day I see him checking over his men’s work.”

  “True, and my instincts tell me he, at least, is trustworthy. However, he is but one man and cannot see everything. How many men does he have working for him? Two dozen? Three? And how many of those does he truly know well enough to say they would never accept pay from someone like Boucher?”

  “You are correct,” she grudgingly conceded. “Perhaps I should speak with him, let him know what happened, and ask him to keep a lookout for any odd behavior among his crew.”

  Though everything in him said he should be the one to do this, man-to-man, he replied, “I think it a sensible course of action.” He watched as one delicate brow arched in surprise. Clearly, she’d expected him to charge in like a bull and take over. Having grown up with stubbornly independent women, however, he knew better. A wise man learned how to work with such females rather than waste time and breath fighting them.

  Silence stretched, and Will felt heat begin to creep up beneath his collar. “Certainly, Boucher will expect you to take such measures.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, still peering at him with a perplexed frown. “I will speak with him first thing in the morning. Is there anything more you wanted to tell me?”

  Words crowded behind his teeth. There was so much he wanted to say but couldn’t. Not yet. And her meaning was plain—she wished to end the conversation.

  In that instant, he became very aware of the fact they were together in a small space behind a closed door. And that there was a bed in the room. The effect of this realization was immediate in the urgent tightening of his vitals.

  Heat roared up his neck to flood his face. He cleared his throat. “I believe that’s all.” Turning, he opened the door wide and stepped back to give her plenty of room to pass. “Shall we join the others for dinner?”

  She swept past without answering, but once out in the foyer paused to await him. “Indeed, I’m sure we have already been missed.”

  Her displeasure in his error was evident in both her frosty tone and the stiff set of her shoulders.

  Silently, he cursed himself. “I ought to have waited to tell you, but I was uncertain I would have another chance this evening, and I felt you needed to know at once.”

  A bit of warmth crept back into her eyes, and her expression softened a little. “Thank you again for all you are doing.”

  Unable to dredge up a smile, he settled for an acknowledging nod. “It’s both my duty and pleasure, madame.” Gesturing for her to precede him, he matched her stride across the foyer and out into the hall. It was all he could do not to groan aloud.

  Every part of him was keenly alert to her presence beside him as they entered the dining hall. Curious glances were cast their way as they sat at the staff table, but there was no overt disapproval.

  Jacqueline began a conversation with him about the books they were soon to receive as if it were an ongoing one. Relieved, he picked up the thread.

  Talk flowed freely around the table, most of it centered on tightening security.

  As they spoke, Will pulled out his pocket booklet and made quick notes. If they could manage to implement all of these ideas, they would stand a much better chance of surviving an attack. The changes must be made with both speed and silence. The first would be easy. Figuring out how to do the latter with an informant present would be a challenge.

  Watching Jacqueline, he again marveled at her poise and self-assurance. He knew she was beside herself with worry, and yet she emanated calm, imparting to her staff a sense of confidence not only in her but in themselves. The message was clear: the situation was being handled.

  The children were dismissed, and he, Jacqueline, and a few staff members unencumbered with evening responsibilities remained to talk further.

  “Heavens, it’s late,” said Agnes, yawning as the grandfather clock in the corner struck the ninth hour. She’d come out to join the discussion almost an hour ago after supervising the washing-up and sending the other kitchen staff off to bed.

  Jaqueline rose. “How easy it is to lose all perception of time when in the midst of stimulating conversation. I thank you all for presenting your—”

  “Mr. Woodson!” called Mrs. Sloane from the doorway. “Come quick, there’s a man at the front asking for you. I asked him through the door to state his business—I dare not open it. He said he was bringing word from the constabulary and begged me to let him in. He claimed he was being watched.”

  Will shot to his feet, Jacqueline hard on his heels. When they reached the foyer, Mrs. Sloane made to open the front door, upon which someone was pounding insistently, but Will reached out and stopped her. “Not until I’m certain who it is,” he cautioned in a whisper. Placing his mouth beside the seal, he called loudly, “State your business.”

  The pounding stopped. “I—it’s Bartleby, sir,” stammered the man on the other side. “Please, sir, there’s a—”

  “Open it,” Will commanded, recognizing his voice.

  The instant Mrs. Sloane opened it a crack, Mr. Bartleby squeezed in, shoving her aside. “For God’s sake, bar it!” he gasped over her squawked objection, his eyes wild as he pushed it closed again.

  “What happened?” Will barked amid the sudden commotion as Mrs. Sloane and Jacqueline rushed to obey.

  “There’s a man lurking about in the bushes across the way,” said the other man, gulping air. “A footpad. Whil
e I was waiting for her to get back,” he nodded at Mrs. Sloane, “I heard a noise behind me—a sort of scraping sound, like rusty hinges. When I looked, I saw a man duck behind the hedges across the street. I think he’s still there—waiting for me to come out.”

  Beneath his breath, Will cursed. Because there were no windows at ground level, the only way to confirm the presence of a spy would be to open the door. Even now, Sally could be relaying a message to her master. “Why do you think it was a footpad?”

  “Well, he was sneaking about in the dark, wasn’t he?” wheezed Bartleby with a trace of indignation. “An honest man keeps to the light and is unafraid to show his face, while those as stick to the shadows are most likely up to no good. I’ve got nothing of worth, but that won’t stop a thief from slitting my throat to learn the truth of it.”

  Will couldn’t fault his logic, not when he’d seen one man kill another for the coat off his back. “You will stay here until sunrise.” He met Mrs. Sloane’s eyes and flicked a glance to the couch he’d occupied the night prior. Despite her mouth going thin-lipped with disapproval, she nodded. Returning his attention to their guest, he continued. “Now what news is so vital that it could not wait until morning to be delivered?”

  Bartleby reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a rather crumpled letter. “Nothing good, I trow,” he said, handing it over. “Mrs. Hayton bade me bring it to you at once. She said the chief constable himself brought it and told her it should be put directly into your hands as soon as possible. Said he would have brought it here, himself, but he had other pressing business to which he must attend.”

  Will broke the seal and scanned the hastily written lines. When he at last looked up, it was to see three anxious pairs of eyes staring back at him. “It is with deep regret that I must inform you of Constable Birdsley’s death.”

  He waited until the ladies’ horrified gasps died away before continuing. “As promised, Deering sent two men to his house this morning, but they failed to find him. The last time his neighbors saw him was when he left to break his fast yesterday at The Rose and Thistle as was his custom. He never came home. Then, this evening someone from the neighboring district reported finding a body matching his description. As Birdsley had no kin, Deering himself went to identify him.”

  A white-faced Mrs. Sloane turned her head away and muffled a sob.

  Will watched as Jacqueline, whose cheeks were also devoid of color, wrapped her arms around the older woman. “Does it say how he died?” she asked.

  Reluctantly, he answered, “He was garroted.”

  He’d thought it impossible for her to grow any paler, but she did. “Mon Dieu, that they would kill a good man simply to take his place for a day is…”

  “Monstrous.”

  She nodded. It was plain she was distraught, and yet she maintained enough composure to address Bartleby in a voice that wobbled only a little when she asked, “Does Mrs. Hayton know about Mr. Birdsley?”

  Mr. Bartleby gave a helpless shrug. “From the way she looked when she came out—she and the chief constable spoke behind closed doors—I can only assume so. She told us about Coombs and said the new night watchman wasn’t to be trusted. She also gave strict orders for us not to open the door to any strangers after sunset. If she failed to mention Mr. Birdsley’s death at the time, it’s likely due to Miss Flanagan having been present.” Two spots of color returned to his chalky cheeks.

  He nodded. “Mrs. Hayton would have wanted to break the news to her gently and in private.”

  “As soon as the lady was out of sight,” Bartleby continued, “Mrs. Hayton gave me that letter and told me to come to you straightaway. And here I am, with a few more white hairs for it, I’ll warrant.”

  Jacqueline frowned. “Considering the danger, I wonder that she did not send you on horseback.”

  “She tried,” answered the footman, wincing. “But I thought nothing of the walk, as short a distance as it is between here and there, and I was loath to waken Bob—her driver. I left without rousing him and walked it.” Bartleby glanced at the door with unconcealed apprehension. “Now I see she was right. Something foul is afoot in our neighborhood. Thieves, I trow.”

  “Worse than thieves,” Will told him. “But Mrs. Hayton should be safe.” He glanced at Jacqueline. “It’s not her they want.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Garroted.

  Jacqueline’s head spun, and she fought to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Poor Monsieur Birdsley! He’d been a kind and honorable man. He hadn’t deserved such an end. It’s my fault he died. Boucher wanted to get to me, and he was in the way.

  Though her conscience pricked her sore and she wanted nothing more than to cry, now wasn’t the time. Easing away from Mrs. Sloane, she looked into her devastated eyes. Had she been in love with Mr. Birdsley? “Come now, Prudence,” Jacqueline whispered, taking out a kerchief and blotting her friend’s cheeks. “We must remain strong for the children’s sake.” Only when the woman nodded did she release her and turn to address their guest. “Mr. Bartleby, when you leave in the morning, I must ask you to do me a favor and take a message to Chief Constable Deering before you return to Mrs. Hayton’s. You will use the school’s carriage, of course.”

  “Aye, ma’am. I’m happy to do it.”

  “Mrs. Sloane will see to some bedding for you,” she added, flicking a glance at the tearful woman.

  Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Sloane squared her shoulders. “Have you eaten this evening, Mr. Bartleby?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t wish to trouble anyone, but I could do with a bit of bread and a cup of tea to get me through until morning. The staff were just settling in for our dinner when the chief constable arrived and set the house all in an uproar.”

  Mrs. Sloane gave him a shaky smile. “’Tis no trouble, sir.”

  Relief flooded Jacqueline as her friend appeared to recover her composure. She addressed Bartleby once more. “Though I wish you had not endangered yourself to do so, I must thank you again, kind sir, for coming to us with this news.” Turning, she glanced at Will and silently indicated he should follow her out.

  “What are you going to tell Deering in the morning?” he whispered once they were in the hall.

  She clenched her teeth for a moment to keep from bursting into tears again. “That I plan to bear the cost of Constable Birdsley’s burial and monument,” she finally responded, heading for the stairs. “It’s the least I can do, especially as he has no family. That good man deserves better than a pauper’s funeral.”

  He stopped and grasped her elbow, forcing her to pause and look at him. “His death is not your fault. I know you think you’re responsible, but the blame for this rests solely on Boucher’s shoulders.”

  “She would never have troubled with him but for me.”

  “She’s after the Archangel, not you, remember?”

  Pulling free of his light hold, she narrowed her eyes at him, anger pounding through her veins to blot out all else. “Yes, and he would never have begun his crusade if not for me, so don’t presume to lift the yoke of guilt from my shoulders.”

  “Jacqueline, please…don’t do this to yourself.” He stepped close, his midnight eyes full of sympathy.

  She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted to scream in rage over what was happening! Everything she’d built, everyone she cared about, was in jeopardy. Including this man, her traitorous heart whispered. “Headmistress, if you please,” she corrected, but her voice broke on a sob as everything came crashing in on her at once: grief, anger, guilt, shame, and fear.

  Before she knew it, his arms were around her. She ought to have shoved him away and given him the rough side of her tongue for taking such liberties with her person. Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder and let him hold her as she railed against fate’s caprice.

  Through it all, he was as solid and unmoving as a mountain amid a tempest.

  Eventually, the storm subsided, leaving her drained yet curiously lightened. Ho
w odd it was to feel safe in a man’s arms! It had been a long, long time since she’d last experienced this sense of security. She’d been a little girl, back before Paris and the disaster that had ruined her family’s fortunes. Her papa had been a bulwark of strength standing between her and the rest of the world, protecting her and her sisters.

  But this is not Papa, and as it was with my father, no man’s protection is reliable. This feeling of safety was an illusion. And yet it felt so good to lean against his strength, even if only for a moment. His tenderness was like a drug. Just a little longer… To be handled with such care, to be looked at as though she were something precious, fragile, and beautiful.

  The tempo of his heartbeat beneath her ear increased, and his arms tightened around her. A heady thrill washed over her. What would it be like to belong to him? To be safe and sheltered in his arms forever, able to indulge her desire without dread or humiliation? To not have to be strong all the time? Longing filled her, so potent it made her want to melt into him, tilt her face up, and—

  No! Will—Woodson—no, Danbury!—would be gone when this was finished, and then where would she be? Alone. Again. And it would be so much worse if she allowed herself to love him. They were attracted to each other, at least for now. And he admired her, perhaps even felt fondness for her. But he wouldn’t love her back. Not knowing what she’d been. Not after he saw…

  Bracing her hands on his chest, she pushed—a feeble, halfhearted effort—yet he gave way at once. Heat lingered in the space between them. “Again, I must ask you to forgive my outburst,” she said, dashing away her tears. “I—”

  “There is naught to forgive. Your life is threatened, and your friend has just died.” His voice was like rough-hewn gravel. “In truth, I would be worried if you did not show some feeling. The hour grows late. You should try to take what rest you can.”

  “You cannot expect me to sleep after such news,” she said, wiping away more tears. “I can take the first watch tonight and let someone else rest a few more hours.”