The foolishness, which Cynthia talked about of her brother being alive buzzed in his ear like a nasty fruit fly. Amora had a reason to be mistaken whilst under such torment, not Miller's sister.
He pushed at his brow and pondered the most delicate way to correct his wife and not sound skeptical. There was none. "Miller is dead, but it could be a man who sounded very much like him. We have plenty to investigate."
"We?"
"Yes, I am serious about figuring this out. I've taken the time here to do some research. When I spoke with the magistrate, he mentioned Miller's particular friend, one named Druby, a Nan Druby. She was found about the time you escaped."
"She's dead, isn't she?" Amora's face blanked, her cheek twitched. She must remember the milkmaid.
His gut stung anew. "Yes." He should've asked directly if Amora had witnessed the cruelty inflicted upon the girl, but from the sudden paleness of his wife's skin, the stretching of her pupils - all indicated she had. "But I've found nothing yet on a Sarah."
She twisted her hands and drew her knees to her chin. "No, Sarah. I guess I was lying. Once a liar, always—"
"Your Sarah might have come down from one of the surrounding towns or even London, passing through Clanville when she too was abducted. That would account for no reports of her being missing."
Please see how seriously I'm taking this upon me. He folded his arms to keep them from exposing his angst. She needed to believe in him one more time.
"Down from London." She nodded and seemed to mouth Sarah's name.
"Whilst we were still in London, I'd been looking into abductions since Smith, the man I left you… I convicted him of coining, but he confessed to being a party of this worse crime. I am sure once we are back in London, I could gather resources and quickly find all the Sarah's who might have been missing about the time of your abduction. But only you could identify her. I will need you.
With her brow scrunching, Amora counted her fingers. Had he offered her enough so that her scales balanced in Barrington's direction?
She looked up, her violet eyes filled with questions. "You've been looking for Sarah. Don't you need more proof of her existence than just my words?"
He'd discover a molehill miles away if that gave Amora a chance not to hate him. "There are villains out there who've hurt and killed women. They must be found and made to pay. Amora, someone hurt you, took away your zeal. For that reason alone, I will not stop until I catch him. You know me. I will find your villain and he will be executed."
"So you will search for every monster from Clanville to London. You will be busy."
"That's why I need you, to prioritize my steps. Only you can identify Sarah."
The Dark Walk abductions in London and Amora's, could they be related? A similar villain. A shudder raced up his spine, but he shoved that thought to the recesses of his mind and returned to his goal of getting his wife to willingly work with him to find her fiend. "Together, we can find your monster and your Sarah, but it can only be accomplished with your help. I need all of you, your spirit and your heart to put the pieces together."
Amora folded her arms about her legs and looked away. "I'll try for two months if you are serious about letting me help."
"If I give you my word, you can count upon it. We'll leave in the morn."
He slipped out of the room before she had a chance to change her mind. Heart thundering with desperation, he leaned against her closed door. Solving an old crime was nearly as impossible and almost as hard as finding a person gone five years. Yet, if those miracles gave his wife hope and a little piece of her soul back, then Barrington would move heaven and hell to give her those reasons to live.
Chapter Seven: An Honest Hurt
Amora smoothed her dark scarlet almost-black colored skirts as she sat opposite her husband at a table in the Prospect of Whitby. A tavern. She was at a tavern. She'd never been to such a lively place in London, or any other. The stench of spilt ale and sweaty working men filled the room, making her senses swim.
It had been a gale-forced rush getting back to London. As if he had a timepiece counting each minute, Barrington hurried and cajoled her mother to pack. Getting them back to London and settled in Mayfair in less than a day was an amazing feat with all of mother's trappings.
Amora thought she'd get a week to rest before Barrington acted on his promise. Instead, he shocked her, sending a mid-morning note drafted from the Old Bailey's. He requested that she be ready for an evening outing. Mama and her maid had to hurry their stitching, making this older dress from her treasured trunk in the attic like new. With full mourning still occurring in London, it was the most color she could manage and not indict the couple as heretics.
Something inside Amora dizzied at the attention. Yet, husband and wife sat in a public house, barely speaking to each other. In fact, Barrington seemed quite bothered.
A drunk staggered in. "Welcome to Devil's Tavern." He waved his hands to a group of fellows huddled in the back.
She looked over at Barrington. He looked uncomfortable with his nose wriggling beneath his silver frames. "I thought you said this was Whitby."
He plucked off his spectacles, and fiddled with the eyewear's limbs. "It's Whitby now. Old fools call it by its former infamous moniker."
"Why are we here? It will be dark soon. I don't want to be out too late."
His lips pressed together as he shoved his lenses back onto his face. "The magistrate gave me a name, Sarah Jenkins."
Sarah Jenkins. Amora's stomach flopped, but one whiff of the lavender-scented handkerchief mother gave her made it settle. The woman made her special teas to build her strength. She had been true to her word. Maybe she could be trusted.
"This could be your Sarah. We'll know soon."
"Could it be Sarah? Was it that simple, just asking for your help?"
His eye's distant gaze settled on her. There was something there. It wasn't quite pain, like when his hip ached, but there was a glimmer of it. Had he hurt himself at court today?
He looked away, scanning the room from side to side. He'd never seemed so flustered. "We'll know soon enough."
"Barrington, are you well?"
He swiped at his forehead. "I don't like taverns. I spent far too much time in these pulling my father out of them. Bad mem…"
His lips clamped for a moment. "I'm one to talk about dark memories. Yours are more atrocious."
"It's no competition. You don't talk that much of him, only of your grandfather."
His fingers drummed the table and just when she thought he'd give no response, his lips moved. "It was difficult growing up beneath his drunken shadow and grandfather's severe one. To this day, the smell of these places, the careless one's of the bushes outside, they offer nothing but unease."
In all their years, these few sentences were the most Barrington had ever said of his father. She latched onto his gaze and stared at him. "What was it about your mother that attracted him?"
"Her money. He'd been widowed a year and burnt up all his late wife's money. Grandfather had cut him off to set him straight. So my father picked a woman with a large dowry, but he made his choice hoping to offend Grandfather's notions of a proper bride. That made my mother, a free black heiress, the perfect option."
He seemed to wince with each carefully chosen word. "Was there no love?"
"She loved him. He loved brandy. Not a good match. When she became very ill, grandfather stepped in, took care of us until her passing. Why these questions?"
"I've always wondered, but didn't think I could ask."
His lip twitched. "Yes, I suppose you have nothing to lose in asking now, and it's not like I have a choice in avoiding these questions. Couldn't let my reticence offer another reason to decide against me."
Her eyes popped wide at the rawness of his voice. "I don't mean to put you in such a position, especially since you've kept your word about finding Sarah."
He nodded and lightly drummed the table. His strong shoulders sagged
under his weighty greatcoat. "I said that I would find her. I have to make some of my promises to you true. The others, let's call them vows, are up for interpretation."
She peeked at him from between her lashes. It was one of his funny rebukes, but she didn't care. Pride and a smidge of warmth swam inside. In spite of his workload, this was a priority to him. She was a priority.
When she offered him a smile, he looked away, fumbling with the gold pin clasped to his cravat. Was he nervous? Was there something he wasn't telling her? "What did the magistrate say to make you think this is my Sarah?"
"The magistrate said this Sarah Jenkins disappeared in July, 1813. That was a month before your father died, a short period of time before you…were abducted." His breathing seemed to slow, if not stop.
"You can say the word to me, Barrington. I'm not that fragile." Well, not any more than the average loon."
He cleared his throat and then rotated his neck from left to right again, searching like the monster would come and grab her off the seat. What else did Barrington know and just chose to omit? "Did he say more? A simple date is not enough proof."
Leaning over the table, he thumbed his chin. "The father stated she was held in a dark place. It could be the same as where you were kept. Only you can tell me if it's your Sarah.
He fidgeted, then sank back into the hard chair. "My solicitor, Mr. Beakes, located this woman right away. He verified that this barmaid was the same Sarah Jenkins mentioned in the complaint."
Her stomach churned, switching from pride of the well-connected barrister to utter frustration. He chose his words too neatly. Barrington knew something he felt she was obviously too weak to comprehend.
"People can change a great deal in five years. Take a good look. Everything can become different the more time that passes."
Was he talking about Sarah or their marriage? A lump worked its way into her throat, but she wouldn't be deterred in hoping for her friend. "You were right to come back to London."
"Even I can get lucky sometimes." A sigh seeped out of him. "I pray this is your Sarah. I'd like to think I've done something that matters for you."
What was wrong with Barrington? His odd tone stabbed at her heart. Pity she had nothing inside to offer for comfort. Until she could put the pieces of her life back together, she couldn't be of use to him or anyone else.
Her husband's head whipped toward a harsh clink of mugs. His knuckles grew tighter as he gripped the table. "I forgot how loud these places were."
"What?"
"The tavern by the smithy in Clanville. It's not quite as big as this, but it's just as loud on the days the wages get distributed. My father would sit in the darkest corner away from the door. He said it was easier to see him coming."
She couldn't take her eyes from Barrington, captivated by the unease creasing his countenance. "Who could he see coming?"
He straightened as if her question drew him from a trance. "My grandfather. He used to find him, settle his tab, and then attempt to walk off the stupor. When I got older, it was my job."
Blam! The sound of a man's fist connecting with the face of another as he punched him a few feet from their table. The man landed with a loud whack. The row continued with shoving and foul insults until the fellows brawled outside the window by her seat.
She almost put her hands to her ears as whispered curses from the monster filled her brain, but one look at Barrington's grimace froze her limbs.
The tense press of his lips spelled trouble or, more so, regret. "I'm sorry, Amora."
Sorry was a despicable word. His lips formed the s again. Her insides churned.
"Sorry about this. I got so excited about getting you a name, I didn't think of the risks. I'm not doing a very good job of protecting you."
She wanted to put him at ease, but what if he twisted her words and thought her too weak to help in the hunt? She lowered her palms to the table, tracing a long scar deep in the worn oak surface. "It's fine. We need to find Sarah. Her memories may be more reliable. The three of us will be able to find the culprit. You'll get another win for your court record."
"Perhaps, but it's more important to me for you to win." He reached across the rough wood, his fingers almost touching hers, but she drew her hands down into her lap.
Finding Sarah didn't change things between them. She'd always be weak and otherworldly to him. After they found Sarah and even the abductor, Barrington wouldn't need her.
Other than sharing her bed, when had he?
A blonde buxom woman in a tight tunic sauntered to their table. Her bright blue eyes beamed as her hips pitched with each step. A wide mahogany tray balanced upon her arm. "Mr. Cardon said ye wanted to speak with me."
Barrington took a guinea from his pocket. He spun it then covered it with his palm. "We have a few questions for you to answer. This is yours if you are helpful."
The woman laughed. A whistle fled her flared nostrils. "Anythin' ye say mister. Anythin' you need, too."
The look of her was coarse. Her bosoms nearly fell out of her stained tunic. Had Sarah changed so much? The hair seemed right, but this girl was vulgar. Her Sarah wasn't, was she?
Amora scratched her temple. "Do you remember me?"
"From what? I can vouch for ye if the price is right. Especially if Mr. Tense can save me from the judges."
The tone of the woman and her familiarity with Barrington didn't sit well. It made her nauseated. "You know my husband?"
The barmaid reached over and settled her hand along Barrington's lapel. "The reputation of one of Bailey's finest and I mean fine as a good'n. You saved a friend from jail. She didn't pinch her 'mployer's silver. Ye proved it on the stand. He's a good black."
Barrington brushed off her hand then scooped up the coin. "We need answers. Tell us about the time you were abducted."
Sarah started laughing. Her low bodice shook, giving quite a show. The saucy maid popped over to Barrington again. "'Twas no abduction. I lied to keep my pappy from killin' me."
The air rushed out of Amora's lungs. She lowered her face toward the table and counted more scratches, anything to avoid Barrington's glare.
"So you weren't abducted?" His voice sounded smooth, controlled, but his fingers tapped. "You allowed your father to make a false complaint to the magistrate? He claimed you were taken by the Dark Walk Abductor."
"Ya. I didn't mean no harm. And no one was findin' those girls anyway. I just repeated the rumors — a dark room, chains."
The callousness of the barmaid burned. How dare she. "If you lied, how will anyone believe those who were actually taken? Why would anyone believe me?"
The barmaid leaned close to her ear. The large girl's shadow blocked the dim light from the tallow candles rimming the room. "Mr. Tense over there looks like 'e'll throttle the likes of ye. No wonda ye fibbed."
Amora sought her husband's face. Tense wasn't the word for the tightness in his jaw. It could be described as pained beyond measure like when his grandfather passed three years ago. Her heart sank.
Barrington shoved his fists under the table. "Miss, just tell my wife why."
"My fath'r had a temper. And I couldn't let 'im know his daughter was wanton." She pivoted to Barrington, putting down her tray. "Don't be hard on her. Ye men can get away with so much. One simple yes and we women bear all the burdens."
If Barrington's lips could press into a deeper line, they'd fall from his solid chin. He ran a hand over his dark salted hair then shoved on his top hat. "Thank you for your time."
He dropped the coin onto the tray. It spun, making the air hiss. One, two, three rotations.
A swirling image came to Amora's memory, a vision of her friend's heart-shaped face, and her thin nose with deep amber eyes illuminated.
Amora caught the coin, and put it the barmaid's fingers. "This isn't my Sarah."
"I didn't think so. Let's go," he said.
The strength in his arms wrapped about her, shielding Amora as they retreated from the tavern. She need
ed his might to breathe, to shore up her spirit from this disappointment.
"Barrington, I'm so… I wish this hadn't wasted so much time."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Besides, I was able to spend time with you without your mother or the vicar." His smile was warm, heating her numb insides. He buttressed her from the wind and lifted her over a patch of slushy snow.
With a hand on Barrington's shoulder, Amora climbed into his carriage. Her fingers dug into the heavy muscles hidden beneath the thick wool of his coat. Something instinctive, almost primal, made her imagine falling against him, burying herself in the strength of his chest, whispering, Please fight my battles. Save me.
But he couldn't.
No one else could. She had to be the one to save her sanity.
Turning, Amora looked through the window at the faded exterior of the public house. The answers she'd hoped to find weren't there. Maybe they didn't exist.
As the carriage lurched forward, Barrington reached over her head and closed the curtains, the gauzy fabric blurring the view of the wretched pub.
He cupped her hand within his, the large palm swallowing hers. For a moment, the chill in her limbs disappeared.
"We will find your Sarah." His tone sounded confident, but she could no longer share this optimism. What if Sarah had died, or worse? What if there was no Sarah at all, just a figment of her imagination lingering from captivity. Confidence eroding and sweat leaking out of her pores, she fanned her face.
"This was just our first try. I'll go back to the magistrate and learn more. Can you tell me some things about Sarah so I can be more certain of the person before I expose you to more disappointment?"
Barrington thought her weak, and she felt weak. Could one setback destroy her? She lifted her chin, feigning peace. "The barmaid had blond hair, like what I believe my Sarah has, but that wasn't her. My Sarah's eyes are amber."
"This is my fault. I should've done more checking before exposing you to the brazen miss." His hands spread as if he'd claim Amora's shoulders and sweep her into his arms, but he just touched the ceiling and sighed. "It's fine, my love. We'll find her yet."
Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 2) Page 7