A knock, or rather a pounding on the bedchamber door brought a frown to Jean-Marc’s brow.
Meg sat straighter and wrapped the robe more tightly about her. She had only to look at Jean-Marc’s face to see that he had slept little the night before, and that he was tensely watchful. He didn’t lie when he said he considered her at risk.
Without further warning, Pierre burst into the room. When he saw Meg, he faltered and began to turn away.
“What is it now, man?” Jean-Marc said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Something very troublesome,” Pierre said, glancing uncomfortably at Meg. “Perhaps we should speak of this elsewhere.”
The worst thing he could do for their tenuous relationship would be to close her out. “You may speak here. I’m sure there is nothing you can say that Miss Smiles should not hear.”
Pierre did not appear at all convinced of that, but he moved closer to Jean-Marc. “A girl has come here,” he said, and Meg noticed that he was somewhat disheveled and that his hands shook. “If she is to be believed, then she has a strange and terrible story, but she will not tell all of it to anyone but you, My Lord.”
“Bring her here at once,” Jean-Marc said.
Pierre sucked in his bottom lip. He shook his head. “I’ve got the gist of it. Lady Upworth gave her the message and sent her. Her Ladyship may be in serious trouble.”
“Then for God’s sake, get the girl here now.”
Pierre rushed away at once, and Meg said, “When Lady Upworth spoke with me last night she seemed well enough, and certainly not concerned over anything but M. Verbeux’s condition.” She was coming to a grudging liking for the woman. “Oh, Sibyl should be here by now. Why hasn’t she come to me?”
“She is bound to be here soon enough,” Jean-Marc said. “Perhaps it would be best if I saw the child in the study.”
He was, Meg knew, concerned for her peace of mind. “I think she will be more comfortable if there is a woman present. And I would like to know what she has to say.”
Pierre settled the issue by ushering in a pretty, dark-haired girl of about twelve. Her clothes were cheap but clean, and she appeared more curious than frightened.
“This is the girl,” Pierre said, as if there might be some doubt. “Her name is Betty. She works in her parents’ bakery off Mount Street. Lumley’s.”
“How do you do?” Jean-Marc said, kindly, Meg thought. “I’m Count Etranger and this is my house.”
“I know,” Betty said. “That’s why I come ’ere. The lady told me. And she told me to talk to you, sir.”
“Speak your piece and be on your way,” Pierre said sharply.
“Take your time,” Jean-Marc promptly contradicted. “Thank you for coming to us.”
The child had bright brown eyes and a nice smile. “She give me a shillin’. I ain’t never had a shillin’ for meself before.”
“Good,” Jean-Marc told her. “And before you leave I shall give you a sovereign to go with it.”
That earned him a giggle. Betty raised her shoulders in delight at the thought of such wealth. “It was early this mornin’. We ’ave to start by three and I was taking slops out back. Imagine ’ow shocked I was when I ’eard ’er whisper to me.”
“Yes, yes,” Jean-Marc said. “And the lady told you her name?”
“She said I was to tell you she was Ila.”
Meg clenched her hands in her lap, afraid of what was to come.
“Ila is a good friend of mine,” Jean-Marc said. “What did she say?”
“It was in the alley, see. She was in one of them ’ansom cabs but the driver weren’t there, only she couldn’t get out on account of ’er bein’ tied up. I tried to ’elp but she said there wouldn’t be time and I was just to listen, then come ’ere to you.”
“It’s noon,” Jean-Marc pointed out. “You say you got this message at three this morning. Why didn’t you come at once?”
“Well, there’s more, ain’t there? But then I couldn’t come right away because I ’ad to do me chores first if I didn’t want a lashing.”
“Your parents wouldn’t have understood?”
She hesitated, then said, “Well, I didn’t want ’em to know about me shillin’, did I?”
“Just tell us your story,” Meg said gently. Let Jean-Marc be annoyed at her interference. He was slowing the process with all his questions.
Betty said, “She got nabbed by this gent, see. Something about ’er goin’ back somewhere for something and gettin’ nabbed by this man. ’Er face was bleedin’.”
Meg stifled a cry.
“A foreigner, ’e was. Sounded a bit like you, sir. I know because I ’eard ’im. That’s when ’e was coming back and I was ’iding. ’E was talking to this other gent. Real angry, I could tell that. Before that the lady said to tell you not to look for ’er. She’d be going on a ship but she didn’t know where. She said she deserved what she got because she ’urt people, but she just wanted you to know she’d gone so you wouldn’t wonder. Can I ’ave the sovereign now?”
“Soon enough,” Jean-Marc said. “This was in an alley behind Mount Street, you say?”
Betty shifted from foot to foot and said, “Yes, sir.”
“The man returned to the cab. Did you see a driver come? Did you see them drive away?”
“I had to go inside.”
“I thought you said you hid. If you did, surely you know what happened next.”
“The cab went.”
“Did you see where?”
“Just out of the alley. It was dark and I had to get inside. Can I ’ave the sovereign?”
The anxiety on the girl’s face made Meg want to cry.
“Where is Verbeux?” Jean-Marc asked. He sounded distracted.
“Still in his bed,” Pierre said. “I’m concerned about his reaction to this news, but he will get over it.”
Jean-Marc pushed back his dark coat, planted his fists on his hips and jutted his head. “Speak plainly. Verbeux admits he has offered Lady Upworth a sympathetic ear, but he is not an emotional man. Why would he be particularly upset about her?”
Pierre sucked even harder on his lip and appeared flustered. “Not my business,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t have spoken.”
“Well, you did. Now explain yourself.”
“M. Verbeux and Lady Upworth have seemed, er, friendly.”
“As opposed to seeming unfriendly? You can do better than that, man.”
Pierre sighed loudly. “I believe M. Verbeux is fond of Lady Upworth.” He averted his face and held up a hand. “I might as well tell it all. I know they are fond of each other. Perhaps more than fond.”
Jean-Marc did not answer at once. He was clearly perplexed by the announcement.
“M. Verbeux trusts my discretion implicitly. If he discovers I—”
“He won’t,” Jean-Marc said, interrupting Pierre. “But if you are right, I have little doubt he will want to find her.”
“The girl says that won’t be possible,” Pierre pointed out.
“Nevertheless, he will search.”
“Should I say about the other gent?” Betty asked, looking to Pierre. “The one what took ’er afterward?”
Absolute stillness followed. Evidently Betty was anxious to satisfy Jean-Marc enough to make sure he produced the sovereign he’d promised.
“If you have failed to tell us everything, then you must do so,” Pierre said. He shrugged at Jean-Marc. “One wonders how much of this is true.”
The girl turned pink and said, “I’d better just go.”
“Do you mean that two men took her?” Jean-Marc said. “Don’t worry, you’re among friends and quite safe. Nothing you say will get you into trouble.”
“The man come and took ’er from the man who took ’er. I mean, the foreign gent was the one who nabbed ’er first. ’E must have taken ’er to the alley—probably got lost. Then, when they was in the alley, another man took ’er.”
“This isn’t what you sai
d before. You said the foreign-sounding man came back to the cab—talking to someone on the way—but that the foreigner left with Lady Upworth.”
“I forgot.” Betty looked at the floor. “I get muddled sometimes. That’s who the foreigner was talking to, the man what took the lady away. ’E was a tubby man, but quick. ’E jumped up into the driver’s seat, and off they went. Left that other one sayin’ things that were ’orrible, I should think, only I didn’t understand ’im. Then ’e went off, too.”
Jean-Marc closed his eyes as if in deep thought. “So,” he said, “Lady Upworth—Ila—told you she was going to be taken on a ship by the foreign man, the one who was left behind?”
“Yes.”
“I see. In that case we can assume she hasn’t been taken to a ship at all, can’t we?”
“I suppose so.”
“And we’re looking for a quick, tubby man with a lady who has blood on her face. I should think someone might notice a pair like that.”
Betty became animated once more. “Oh, yes. I think you could ask and someone might ’ave seen ’em. That tubby gent don’t look like the type but ’e pushed the other one ’ard enough to knock ’im over, too. And I forgot, ’e was wearin this ’at. One of them funny ones like some preachers wear. The tubby one, that is.”
At the Count’s request, Sibyl entered his apartments for the first time but was too distracted to observe her surroundings closely. Oh, they were opulent, masculinely elegant, but she didn’t care.
“Miss Smiles,” the Count said. “I’m relieved to see you. I understood you were due here earlier. I trust you aren’t ill.”
He wasn’t concerned about her health, Sibyl thought, or her tardiness. “Where is Meg, please?” she asked him. “She isn’t in her rooms.”
“That’s because she’s here. My sister is with her in the bedchamber. You are not to be frightened, but she had an unpleasant experience last night and I decided that for her own well-being she should be where I could watch over her.”
Sibyl was instantly cold. “Don’t try to shield me.” Her teeth chattered and she made a move toward the other room.
The Count arrived at her side and took hold of her elbow. He guided her to a chair. “First, I want to speak to you about Reverend Baggs. Latimer More has already been told to detain the man if he returns to his room at Number Seven—which he is unlikely to do. The man is dangerous. If you see or hear anything of him, come directly to me. You are not to confront him yourself.”
What extraordinary nonsense. “Why would I confront Reverend Baggs? For what reason? He is a gentle bumbletop. And he cannot be dangerous. That is outrageous.”
The Count gave her a look that left no doubt but that he was deciding what to tell her. “Kindly follow my instructions. He is not to be trusted, that’s all.”
She regarded the Count steadfastly. “No, My Lord, that is not all. Kindly explain what Baggs has supposedly done so that I know how to react if I come upon him.”
The Count expected such behavior from Meg, but it surprised him in Sibyl. “You sisters should have been taken firmly in hand when you were children. You are too forward. Very well. Why not? What is there to be gained from sparing you? Reverend Baggs was described to us by a young girl who says she saw him take Lady Upworth away—against her will.”
Sibyl met the Count’s compelling eyes, then fiddled with the strings on her reticule.
“No response to that, Miss Smiles?”
“Reverend Baggs?” To laugh would be impolite. “Absconded with Lady Upworth?” Then she did laugh, she couldn’t help it.
When she managed to reduce the laughter to a grin, she was grateful to see that the Count also grinned.
“I have warned you,” he said, sobering. “I advise you not to take the warning lightly. Men are searching for Baggs and Lady Upworth now. More of that later. We have other worries. Meg was accosted by someone who caused her ankles to be burned. Unpleasant, but not life-threatening—”
“Oh, Meg. Let me see her at once.”
“Soon enough. The person fled and I made her comfortable here where she would know she was protected. When you go to her it would be best if you were calm. Reassure her, please.”
He spoke as if Meg were his…Sibyl studied his compelling face. This was a man who never questioned his right to take what he wanted, who had taken away the Meggie Smiles Sibyl had known all her life. He didn’t care who he hurt as long as he got his own way.
“I’d give a great deal to know what you’re thinking,” the Count said.
Startled, Sibyl turned in her chair. Her heart beat hard. “Something tells me that I am a great trial to you.” She was not accustomed to being the center of attention, certainly not the focus of rich, powerful and sought-after men.
“Sibyl,” he said quietly, surprising her with the use of her first name. “Will you share your thoughts with me?”
She stood up. “I must go to Meg now.”
He bowed and said, “Of course.” Leading the way, he tapped on the door to the other room. The Princess called, “Come in,” and they did so. Smiling, he stood back to allow Sibyl to pass him. “Your sister is here. She is anxious to hear all about what happened to you.”
Sibyl refrained from telling him she could speak for herself.
“I’ve told her you had a shock but are recovering nicely. Be certain to explain our planned departure for Windsor. Obviously that will be considerably later than I had hoped, but we shall need her…. What the devil?”
A warbling feminine voice, issuing unintelligible words, erupted into the study. Sibyl swung around in time to see Ash make an ungainly leap. She held her hand before her and hopped from side to side.
“What is it?” the Count asked. “Please be still and quiet. Miss Smiles, Miss Meg Smiles, is not in any condition for such outbursts.”
“Ooh,” Ash responded, and ran this way and that. She began to shake out her black skirts, showing the rolled stockings at her ankles in the process. “I had to come. Ooh. Get it away.”
As if insulted by Ash’s mode of address, Halibut appeared from beneath her skirts. He sat back on his considerable smoky gray haunches and bared his teeth at the woman. The cat’s blue-green eyes narrowed, and he looked for all the world, or so Sibyl thought, as if he were grinning gleefully at his victim.
“A crazed, vicious devil, that’s what he is,” Ash said. “He hates me.”
“There you are, Halibut, my darling,” Princess Désirée said. She sat on a chair beside the bed. “Come to me at once, naughty boy, I have worried about you. Where have you been hiding?” How she had grown up since Sibyl first saw her. Meg’s influence showed in hair that was drawn sleekly up with curls cascading at the temples. The pink day dress she wore was of heavy, silk-striped chiné satin.
Ash closed the study door firmly. Keeping a close eye on Halibut, she approached until she could see all of the Count’s bedchamber. “You, Your Highness,” she said to the Princess, “should be in the music room. I also understand the seamstresses have been standing idle for hours while they’ve waited for you.”
“Everyone was informed that this morning’s events were to be put off,” Princess Désirée said. “Including you, Ash.”
Ash drew herself up. “Quite. I’m so befuddled by my heavy responsibilities that I forgot. You, Miss Smiles, are on a very dangerous path. You are risking your reputation—what little reputation you may still be able to save. I suggest you return to Number Seven at once. I’m sure your cousin, that very good man Mr. Godly-Smythe, will assist you. He is a saint and will bear your shame in the name of family loyalty. Consider yourself fortunate he is not the type to abandon a relation who has shown herself to be of dubious moral character.”
The Count’s restraint slipped visibly.
Halibut had gone no farther than the foot of the bed. Now he turned to look up at Ash and bare his teeth once more.
The woman took a step backward and said, “Not, of course, that it is any of my business. Take
no notice of a plain woman relegated to a life of service to others. I merely wish to show that I care about you, Miss Smiles, and to offer you my considered advice.”
When Meg said thank you and nothing more, Sibyl gaped. Meg never failed to put people in their places if it was necessary.
The Count gave the considerable force of his attention to Ash. “I think perhaps we should reconsider your immediate future, Miss—”
“Everything is all right,” Meg said quickly, cutting off the Count. “Miss Ash is accustomed to guiding young women and has forgotten that I am no longer a child to be molded by others.”
“Well, I do think—”
“Please, Ash,” Meg said, “let us save this conversation for another time. You will see that I have been injured.” She indicated her ankles and the heavy coating of some lotion that covered them. “Burned. The Count has been kind enough to have me tended here for reasons I will explain later. I do thank you for caring about me.”
Ash made fists and pounded them against her skirts. She frowned magnificently and showed her notable teeth in a grimace. “Well,” she said. “Well.” To the amazement of all, she stamped a foot several times and rushed away, slamming the study door behind her.
“Mad,” the Count said. He bent to scratch Halibut’s head. “And this clever fellow knows it.”
Sibyl smiled at Meg, who radiated awkwardness. Dressed in a luxurious nightgown and robe the color of lemons, she fidgeted with long satin ribbons that flowed from the collar of the robe.
Another glance at the Princess showed that the young lady appeared deeply dissatisfied. With what, Sibyl had no idea.
“We had hoped to leave for Windsor later today,” the Count said conversationally. “Unfortunately, we shall obviously be forced to delay until at least sometime tomorrow—at the earliest.”
“Thank goodness!” the Princess exclaimed, flopping back in her chair and silently moving her lips as if in prayer.
“Why thank goodness, Désirée?” the Count asked.
Princess Désirée scooped up Halibut and nuzzled her face in his striped fur, more to hide herself than for any other reason, Sibyl thought.
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