by Jo Goodman
"Or leave with him," South said "What do you think, East? Did it seem the packing was done in haste or with some care?"
East considered what he had seen in Annette's dressing room. "It was done carefully, though not with the economy of space that one expects from a servant. I believe she must have been doing the thing herself." That seemed to indicate Annette had not wanted anyone in the household to know she meant to leave. The runners would question the servants, but Eastlyn wished he had taken the time to do the thing himself. Something of his frustration must have shown on his face, for the others were quick to remind him of what had already been accomplished.
"You put the Bishops in one room," said North. "That was no small feat."
West nodded and pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. "The colonel will get everything he wants to know from them. Prinny's presence will be a pure torture for them, East. Bloody brilliant of you to think of including him."
"Lady Dunsmore is safe," South said. "Given what happened to Mrs. Sawyer this evening, you may well have saved her ladyship's life."
East did not dismiss their statements out of hand, yet they rang a trifle hollow. He did not have Dunsmore, and the viscount ultimately had been his responsibility.
Sophie rose from her seat and went to her husband. "I am sorry for your loss," she said quietly. "I cannot imagine how terrible it must have been for you to find her."
East was made speechless by her sincere concern. He drew her close, at once mindful of his audience and uncaring of it, and rested his chin against the crown of her head. He breathed deeply of her scent and absorbed her hard-won calm. It was easy to forget that Dunsmore was her cousin and that she might harbor fears that his blood stain would attach itself to her.
He raised her face and kissed her smooth brow before he set her from him. "Some sherry, West, if you please." He led Sophie back to the couch and joined her. He looked to the others for suggestions of what could be done next. "Desperation will dictate if Dunsmore will come here for his ledger and his wife's journal. It can be planned for, but not predicted. I thought I would be escorting him here tonight."
"No one could have known he would be moved to kill Mrs. Sawyer," West said. The gravity of their situation kept him from pointing out that there were times he could have cheerfully done the thing himself. He handed Sophie a small glass of sherry and encouraged her to drink. "Does Dunsmore have a favorite haunt?"
"Only the usual places all gentlemen are wont to go," she said. "The clubs and gaming hells. The theatre." She glanced at Eastlyn. "What about the Flower House? Would he go there?"
"No," he said ignoring the startled expressions of his friends. "He would not go there tonight."
South rested his chin on his fist; his brow was creased with thought. "If he got some sniff of what was in the air tonight, he would go to ground. It is the only thing that makes sense. It is possible that he learned something from Mrs. Sawyer. She was remarkably well connected East. You know that."
"It is one thing to know the fox has gone to earth," North said "and quite another to find the den. It required considerable good fortune to find Elizabeth when she did not want to be found, and you know the effort that was made to return Miss Parr to London. How much more difficult will it be to hunt someone we do not know nearly as well?"
"Infinitely more difficult," South said. "Perhaps all of a week. Are you in?"
"Of course." North reached in his pocket and extracted two shillings and placed them on the arm of his chair. "I make it to be ten days before we find him. West?"
"Six and one-half days. I'm an optimist." He found two shillings and placed them beside North's. "South?"
"Seven full days." He tossed his money to North. "East? What chance do you give Dunsmore when we are all in the hunt?"
Sophie stayed East's hand when he would have gone searching for his coins. She remembered him regaling her with tales of these wagers but had never thought to witness one. To hear someone else tell her of this one, she would have wondered at the absurdity of it, perhaps judging it to be crass given all that had come before. Yet being a party to it, she saw it differently. The wager bonded them to a single cause and strengthened their resolve. For all that the thing was made with a certain black humor, it was also made in earnest. "Do you have enough for me?" she asked East. "I should like to be included."
"Of course." He looked to his friends for approval. "If there is no objection?"
They all agreed there was none and watched East show coin enough for himself and Sophie.
"I will be heartily glad if we find him in a sennight," he said, "but I think it will take twice as long to put him in the Tower. Sophie?"
"I suspect that if you are good at what you do, you shall find him before the night is out." She took a sip of her sherry as they exchanged puzzled glances.
"Perhaps you did not follow the conversation," East said.
"No. I followed it exactly. It was what Lord Southerton said about the hunt that made me think of it. Robert told me tonight that his father had gone to Artemis. She is the Greek goddess of the hunt, is she not? Might Artemis not also be the name of a ship?"
All four men surged to their feet at the same time. North dropped the collection of coins in Sophie's lap on his way to the door. "Your winnings," he told her. "Artemis is no ship, but a ship's captain."
East dropped a kiss on Sophie's cheek. "He is master of the Raleigh. It is a packet ship on the Black Ball Line, one that makes regular voyages to Boston from Liverpool."
"Liverpool? But you will never catch him tonight if he has gone to—" She stopped because Eastlyn had already picked up his coat and gloves and was following the rest of the Compass Club out the door.
* * *
Sophie dismissed the maid who was sitting with Lady Dunsmore and took up the position herself. Although she had prepared herself for bed, she knew there was almost no possibility that she would sleep for what remained of the night. There was some measure of comfort in being companion once again to Abigail.
It was difficult to reconcile the fragile figure in the bed with the one who had credibly resisted the efforts of Northam, Southerton, and Westphal to remove her from her home. Her shrieking aside, South reported a number of injuries to his person, most of them the result of well-placed kicks below the knee. North had taken a blow to his midsection, and West—who had been the one to finally subdue her—had sported several red marks along his jaw. Had Lady Dunsmore not chewed her nails to the quick, she would have drawn blood.
Sophie brushed aside damp tendrils of hair from Abigail's cheek and forehead. "Poor Abigail," she said softly. "What a secret you have required yourself to keep." There was no change in the cadence of Lady Dunsmore's even breathing, nor any alteration of her pale, drawn features. It was impossible not to note that she was considerably thinner than she had been this past summer, and Sophie could only suspect that her own absence from Bowden Street had contributed to the decline. Harold had been free to act against his wife without fear of reprisal from any quarter.
Sophie refilled a glass of water at Abigail's bedside before she sat down. To make the interminable waiting more bearable, she worked on an embroidery piece that required almost no thought and very little in the way of a fine hand. She occupied herself in this manner for the better part of an hour before she fell into a light doze.
"He's here."
Those two words pushed Sophie into wakefulness. The embroidery hoop slid from her nerveless fingers and dropped to the floor. Blinking, she sat upright only to find that Abigail had already done the same. It was then that Sophie realized the urgent whisper had not been part of a dream already forgotten but a cry from the wraithlike figure in the bed.
"Abby?" Rising, Sophie went immediately to her side and blocked her from easily leaving the bed. "What is it? What can I do for you?"
"He's here."
There was such insistency in the words that Sophie found herself glancing over her shoulder. "No o
ne is here," she said. "It is naught but a dream." She remembered how often she had been required to soothe her father in just such a fashion, knowing all the while that dreaming hardly described the visions that had plagued him. Looking at Abigail's features, Sophie saw the same vacancy of expression she had seen in her father. There could be terror, sorrow, or worry expressed in the voice, but the countenance remained oddly calm.
She sat on the edge of the bed and offered Abigail a drink of water. The offer was not acknowledged, and when Sophie pressed the glass to Abby's lips, there was no attempt to sip or swallow. "Will you not lie down?" Sophie asked. She placed one hand on Abigail's shoulder and pressed lightly. When she was met with resistance, she stopped and allowed her hand to fall away. "Very well. But you must remain abed."
Sophie could see no indication that she was heard, but she took it as a good sign that Abigail's restlessness subsided. She plumped the pillow at Abby's back, replaced the water glass, and stood. "Shall I go to the children?" she asked. "Will it give you peace to know they are both well?"
Except for a faint fluttering of her lashes, there was no response from Lady Dunsmore.
Sighing softly, Sophie made her decision. "I'll only be a moment." Until she was out of the room, Sophie did not realize how much she had desired to have some excuse to be so. No good memories were stirred by seeing Abigail in the same state as her father; the feelings of helplessness were as uncomfortable as they were unwelcome. Recognizing the need she had to do something, and understanding that she did it as much for herself as for Abigail, Sophie hurried down the hall toward the children's room.
The door opened before she touched the knob. Sophie did not have time to register either surprise or dismay. She was pulled into the room so quickly that there was no sense of how the thing came about. What she recognized was the fierce grip just above her elbow. Harold had always known exactly how to place his thumb and fingers to make her light-headed with pain. Quite against her will, Sophie felt her knees begin to buckle. Harold's shadowed features filled the center of her vision, while darkness clouded the periphery. She would have sagged all the way to the carpet if he had not pressed her back to the door.
"Do not alarm the children," Harold said quietly. "Do you understand?"
Sophie nodded because it was expected of her, not because she understood anything that was said. Harold blocked her view of the large bed. She could not see if Robert and Esme were still sleeping or if Harold had already roused them.
Harold eased his grip and helped Sophie regain her balance. "I watched Eastlyn and his friends leave," he said. "You can expect no help from them, Sophie, and you cannot expect to fool me into thinking otherwise. I have come for my wife's diary and my ledger. I have it on good authority that Eastlyn took them."
Sophie did not answer. She strained to see past Harold, rising on tiptoes.
"Robert and Esme are fine," Harold told her, pulling her attention toward him again. "And will remain so. I know you have no good opinion of me, but I am not such a monster that I would hurt my own children."
"Then let us leave this room," Sophie said. When he didn't move, she added, "What you want is not here."
He hesitated and then nodded once.
When he stepped back, Sophie had a glimpse of the children sitting on the edge of the bed. It was enough for her to see that they both were more sleepy than frightened. "Let me tuck them in. It will only take a moment."
"A moment," he said.
Sophie went to the bedside and helped the children back under the covers. Esme curled against her brother and closed her eyes at once. Robert was less confident that all was as it should be.
"He told me to let him in," Robert whispered.
Sophie recognized that it was at once an explanation and a question. The boy needed reassurance that he had done nothing wrong. "Of course you should have done so. I would have done exactly the same thing if I had heard him. You must have very good ears, indeed."
Robert smiled sleepily. "I think I must. He told me he was not scratching at my window very long."
Behind her, Sophie felt Harold's approach. She bent, kissed Robert's forehead, and then rose. "He wanted to say his prayers," she told Harold. Giving him no opportunity to challenge her, Sophie turned her back on him and quickly left the room. He had no choice but to follow her into the hallway. She had gone only a few steps before he brought her up short. Sophie closed her eyes briefly against the pain. The placement of his fingers was precise. She knew there would not be more bruises, only deeper ones.
"You are mistaken if you think I am intent on running from you," she said tightly. "I am only of a mind to give you what you came for and then to see the last of you."
Harold studied Sophie's face for a moment in the candlelight and wondered if he could believe her. He permitted his grip to relax a fraction. "Show me."
Sophie didn't take a forward step until he released her. When his hand dropped away, she led him downstairs, glancing once toward the front door as they passed through the entrance hall.
Harold merely shook his head when he saw the direction of her gaze. "I suppose you think it would have been better if I had not come at all."
Sophie shrugged. "I cannot say if it would have been better. It seems to me that you are taking a great risk by doing so."
He had only half an ear for her words. Her steps had slowed, and it was this that caught his attention. "What is it?"
"I am uncertain of the location of Eastlyn's library," she said. "I have not been in his home before this evening, Harold. I do not yet know my way through the rooms, or even if we will find what you want there."
Harold eyed her narrowly, trying to discern if there was a lie. He gave her full marks for not denying that she knew of the existence of Abigail's journal and his account book, or that Eastlyn had taken them, but this hesitation of hers now made him suspicious. "I have little in the way of patience remaining, Sophie. You would do well to begin searching."
Her chin came up. "And if I don't, Harold? What is it you will do? Can I expect the same as Mrs. Sawyer?" She saw his mouth tighten at the corners. "Though I suppose you would prefer to poison me as you did my father and your wife, there is insufficient time for such methods. It shall have to be a quicker end for me. East would give no details regarding your mistress's death. Did you strangle her?" She glanced down at her arm, then back at Dunsmore. "It is easy for me to imagine. I think there were many times when you took me by the arm that you wished it was my neck."
Harold did not respond. He reached past Sophie, opened the door behind her, and motioned to her to step inside. After removing a lighted candle from one of the sconces in the hallway, he followed. Even without the candle he would have known he was in Eastlyn's private study. He recognized the fragrances distinctive to leather bindings and rare books, the hint of tobacco smoke and port. "You have brought me to it straightaway," he said.
"It seems I have. I did not realize there would be so many. I do not know how you will take them all."
At first he did not understand what she meant, for it seemed odd to him that she would remark on the number of volumes Eastlyn had collected for his town library. It was only when he turned slightly and followed her gaze that he realized she had not been surveying the floor-to-ceiling shelves lining the room. Her attention was on the pyramid of wooden crates stacked beside the fireplace; at the apex they towered above the marble mantel.
Harold brushed past Sophie and held out his candle. The crates were stamped with Eastlyn's Everly Square address, the contents clearly marked as books. He asked the question, not because he did not know the answer, but because he required hearing the answer to believe it. "What books are these, Sophie?"
"The ones you came for," she said with perfect calm. "Abigail's journal and your ledger of accounts. The Society's ledgers as well, though you did not ask for them. Scores and scores of each, I imagine. I shall leave you to them, Harold."
Dunsmore spun around and made to lunge at So
phie. She eluded him, in part because she was prepared for just such a predictable end, but also because Eastlyn's presence on the threshold of the library made Harold falter, and then go rigid with surprise.
East held out his hand to Sophie, pulling her toward him quickly when she accepted it. He moved to one side in the doorway, allowing her to pass before pressing her to stay just behind him. He noticed she had some objection to this position, perhaps because she was thinking he was arriving rather late to the rescue. "Did you believe for even a moment that I was not nearby?" he asked.
"Robert told me he let you in," she said. "Could you not use the front door? You might have frightened the children."
"Your cousin was watching the front of the house."
"I saw you leave." It was Dunsmore who spoke, not Sophie.
Eastlyn shrugged. "I know. West glimpsed you as he was mounting his animal. One can be too furtive, you know, and that was your mistake. West has a remarkable eye for what is out of place. You should have fled to Liverpool, Dunsmore. There would have been a few hours reprieve in it for you. It occurred to me that you might come for your books, but I could not depend upon it. Mrs. Sawyer told you I had them?"
Dunsmore nodded vaguely as he tried to take in what Eastlyn was telling him. Light flickered across his features as the candle in his hand wavered.
"She also told you about the invitations that Prinny extended to certain members of the Society," East said.
This time Dunsmore found his voice. "Yes."
East wished it had been otherwise, and something of his regret showed on his face. "I intended that she should know about your ledger," he said. "And Lady Dunsmore's journal, of course. Then, if she chose to remain under your protection, she would at least know the nature of the man who was keeping her."