"What is that tune?"
"Something I heard the last time we went to St. Georges. It's a hymn about grace, about being blind and now seeing. I so wish I hadn't been so blind. I could've been so much more understanding. I would've found ways to grow your love."
She moved her palms against the rough leather of the seat. "I feel like I am losing my wits. Do you think that is what King George or Harriet felt like before succumbing?"
"I know not about them, but you are as sane as anyone. Your struggle is just a bit harder. We have to trust that you will choose to fight every day for wellness, to choose to smile. Hopefully, God will use your dunderhead of a husband to make your burdens easier. That's my new prayer."
There he was, being noble about their ruined marriage. If she were a stronger person, she wouldn't have turned herself into an unlovable rag doll. "God has to be blind, Barrington. Why did He leave me captive for almost two months? Why didn't He save the girls? And why can't He heal my mind so I can forget?"
"I don't know. Some of the trials I've prosecuted made me doubt God's grace. There is evil in this world with no other mission than to kill, steal, and destroy. Then I look at the innocence of a child like Jackson or Rebecca, full of wonder and curiosity, perfect in so many ways. There is a God, for He made them. We have to fight the despair, the questions with no answers. I am going to trust that He will turn our sorrow to joy. That He will give us the strength to see the beauty in ashes, just like your nightingale.
Barrington's fingers sought hers. "I have a few more questions, but I'll make them brief. Answer what you can."
He took a deep breath and took off his spectacles. "Did he strike you?"
"Yes."
His boot started tapping the floor. "Did he bind you?"
"Yes. He chained us."
Barrington's foot became very still. He leaned closer and mouthed, "Did he abuse you? Force himself upon you?"
Images twisted in her mind. A memory of a blow to her cheek obscured everything. "I don't know. I can't remember."
He sat back and returned his lenses to their proper place. "Did he abuse others?"
"Yes, then he got rid of them. Please, enough. Don't make me say anymore, not tonight."
He leaned forward and grasped her hand, stilling her fidgeting. "I'm going to find this man. He will face justice."
One look in his smoldering silver eyes, the pride in his straight back, his wonderful swarthy skin and she knew he meant what he said. He would at last be her champion if she let him, but this battle wasn't his. "Can we go back to Mayfair?"
"You've given me enough for now." He joined her on her seat and tapped on the roof. Soon the carriage lurched forward. "I'm not as knowledgeable about God as your vicar friend, but I know God would never send a man to chain you."
He took off his gloves and put his warm palm on her cheek. "God wouldn't order a fiend to abuse his handiwork. You and the other girls didn't deserve this."
She let Barrington's words soak in, but it didn't feel true. God knew who was responsible, but He let the man go free. How many others were taken or killed like Nan Druby?
Barrington's arm slipped behind her. "Here's a shoulder to snuggle against, in a purely non-husbandly way of course."
If she'd had the energy to chuckle, she would have, but Amora felt drained, deflated. Instead, she drew against him.
The quiet cabin, the small light of the lantern, this might be romantic if she weren't dark on the inside.
The carriage kept a slow pace along the streets. Barrington sat frozen. He didn't try to embrace her or kiss her. Yet, this closeness was so much better. He was a strong tower, and she could choose to run deeper into his arms or sit as she was on the outskirts of his affection, venturing only as much of her heart as she felt safe to offer.
When she opened her eyes, the carriage had stopped at Mayfair.
He climbed down and lifted his arms to her. "See? The dark isn't so bad."
She clasped his fingers and climbed down. "Vicar Wilson said the other women he counseled were afraid of the dark, too."
The muscles in his forearm tensed. "How many others has the good vicar seen?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure they weren't angry at God for stealing their father."
She bit her lip, and then dashed ahead of him into the bright lights at the entry of Mayfair. Focusing on the sconces, she filled her lungs. Barrington could never understand how she ran from Tomàs Manor filled with stubborn hatred at her father's passing. Papa was everything. The evening of her abduction, she had slapped her brushes against the canvas with anger and tears, all while screaming at God. Yes, God smote her then and He'd keep doing it. What would be the next punishment?
Chapter Nine: The Best Plans
The sixth week of his fabulous plan to woo his wife into reconsidering a permanent separation felt as successful as the other five, another utter failure. Barrington was desperate, pouring through old complaints and witness statements of abduction victims during the day and trying to appear relaxed and amiable at night. It was harder than he could imagine balancing court and his new obsession with finding his wife's abductor.
Even harder realizing he couldn't help Amora.
His wife barely came out of her bedchamber. When she did, she seemed sickly. Her stomach, probably nervous tension had her vomiting in the mornings, and slow and sluggish the rest of the day. Though she said she'd be fine to attend his mentor's ball tonight, she groused at Barrington when he suggested having a doctor see her. With everything that had happened to her, he understood and wouldn't press her.
"Sir, what do you think?" The jeweler held the simple pair of diamond earrings up to the store window. The shine of the white crystals blinded with the noon sun. Barrington had never seen more perfect gems.
Amora would adore them, that is if he gave them to her. Their anniversary was several months away, but he'd tried just about everything else to sway her. Would she be open to bribes?
He'd pay for an extension of his two-month deadline. She was well worth the effort.
"The clarity will make yer lady swoon." The man put the elongated ovals into a tiny felt box. "The wife or the mistress will be appreciative. I am too. Business has been a little slow. Can't wait for the world to go to half-mourning to allow for extravagance again."
"They are for my wife." What was wrong with London? Did a man have to have a mistress to purchase jewelry? He could understand Amora questioning his fidelity after arriving on several occasions to Mayfair smelling of Cynthia's chrysanthemums. But a shopkeeper questioning his vows? Barrington shook his head. "You know where to send the bill."
He stuffed the box into his pocket and left the shopkeeper. Winding down Sackville Street, he crossed another. His steps thudded, matching the ticking of the clock in his study. The one he'd checked his pulse against after reading his mentor's notes on the Dark Walk Abductor. Hessing had tried to mount a case a few years back, but couldn't find the culprit.
In these victims' accounts, there were no Sarahs, but there was a Mary and an Elizabeth. Their interviews of being dragged away, of being locked in a dark cell and chained matched Amora's. Could the man who took Amora also be the Dark Walk Abductor? And if so, how to prove it?
His heart cringed at the thought of Amora taking the witness box at the Old Bailey. No, it had to be two separate villains. Clanville and London were hours apart. Yet, his instincts made his rib, his internal truth detector vibrate, his mind settled more and more upon the notion of one monster.
It would explain why no one in London found the girls. Was the monster hiding his depravity in a remote place between the small country village and the big city? That could be how he escaped justice.
The noises of merchants and rushing carriages pressed every side. The perfumery of musk scents clouded the sidewalk. He picked up his pace, before any lilac, Amora's lilac, found his nose. His heart couldn't take it.
She'd be leaving him for good in a fortnight if he didn't come up with a mi
racle. Maybe God would give him a reprieve when he met with the magistrate. He knew more, so maybe he'd find a new clue to Sarah's identity. This time he'd ask for the deaths attributed to the Dark Walk Abductor.
Shoving a hand into his onyx coat, he gripped the small box. Maybe he wouldn't make a big fuss of an early anniversary present and just give the earrings to her to wear for Hessing's party tonight.
Gong. A church bell sounded above.
Blinking, Barrington examined his perch. He stood upon the steps of the grand portico of St. Georges. He put his hand on one of the cold stone columns supporting the overhang. Somehow, he'd walked all the way to the church.
Maybe the vicar, his wife's chummy friend, could tell him about the other victim's he'd counseled. Something wasn't quite right about the man, but that could be Barrington's jealousy talking.
He slipped into the church and tossed a few pence into the bucket then hopped into a boxed pew. The church was quiet. Magical light streamed through the colored panes highlighting the painting of the Last Supper.
How ironic, the light, which Amora craved, highlighted the table on the canvas. Was that a sign not to give up?
Blast it. His eyes widened as he tamped down his impatient thoughts in the holy place.
Blowing out steam, he shook his head. He was a man of action. What could he do? If he tried again to convince her to stay, would she be angry?
Was there anything else he could lose?
He took off his hat and dipped his chin. "Lord, You made me a warrior in the battlefield and in the courts. How do I fight for my wife? I thank You for the double portion of patience You've given me, but please add just a smidgen of hope."
A tap on his shoulder summoned him from his worship. He leaned back upon the pew.
Wilson towered above. "Mr. Norton. Is something wrong?"
"Well, you should know. You've been in our lives quite a while. Yet, I know very little about you."
"Would you like to see my seminary scores? I can save you the trouble. They were abysmal." The light charcoal colored pants and cut of his dark jacket made the man seem quite pulled together, if not for the rumpled waistcoat and windblown hair. "What is it you truly wish to know?"
Barrington straightened his posture and tugged on his top hat. "Tell me about the other women you counseled?"
Wilson smiled. "Can you be more specific? Seems a widowed vicar gets a great deal of offers for dinner and ministry-making."
"That's not an answer, vicar. I want to know if you counseled any of the Dark Walk Abductor's victims."
He stood erect. "Yes, I have. If you count Mrs. Norton, that would be five in all."
Barrington's ears stopped working. He must be staring at the man witless. "Please repeat what you said."
"Yes, Mr. Norton. Her story is so similar, too similar. I highly doubt two men could operate in the same manner."
Blinking, to make his brainbox work, he stepped closer to the vicar. "Why didn't you say this before?"
"Let's talk later. Mrs. Hessing is in my office. She just stopped in to invite me to her party. She says you and her husband are colleagues."
"Yes." It was all Barrington could muster and breathe at the same time, thinking of his mentor's wife and her ready ear for gossip.
James bounded down the aisle. "Here you are, sir. You told me to keep you on task for your appointment."
The meeting with the magistrate. He nodded at his trusted servant. "Wilson, this is my Man-of-all-work, James. We shall talk. I have to know all."
"Go to your appointment, Mr. Norton. I haven't any good answers. One lady is committed, another disappeared, two had very short lives. When I heard your wife's fevered words, that's when I knew. That's why I warned you. So far, you've kept her safe."
The implicit warning of how long, how long would Amora be safe and well, hung in the air and for that Barrington had no answers.
Frowning, the minister turned and plodded out of the sanctuary. "See you tonight."
James reached into his mantle and retrieved a note. "Mr. Beakes sent this for you."
Barrington pounded near and took it. Beakes's scrawl indicated he wanted to meet today, but with the magistrate's meeting there wasn't time.
The magistrate's meeting was more important. He had to find Amora's Sarah. Please, Lord, I need to find this woman, just to prove Amora's not a Dark Walk Abductor's victim.
Beakes's note burned in his hands. He wouldn't want to meet unless he'd acquired a new client for Barrington or made progress locating the person impersonating Gerald Miller.
Barrington crushed the paper. This was a distraction away from solving his wife's problems. He slid the note into his pocket. He'd meet with Beakes tomorrow. Amora's interest came first even before his lost friend, Gerald.
James straightened his tricorn as he opened the church door. "May I see the jewels, sir?"
Barrington waited until he'd climbed into his carriage before retrieving the gift from his coat. The hinge of the case whined as he showed the earrings.
"You have the best taste, Mr. Norton. Such long ovals. Length begets loving."
A deep sigh fled Barrington's lips as he closed the box. "No, James. The saying is length begets loathing."
A twinkle set in the man's wizen eyes. "So it does, Mr. Norton. So it does. But may I offer advice?"
"You usually do." Couldn't stop the man if he tried.
James tapped his boot on the bottom of the wheel knocking a spoke. "The missus might not be as impressed with your expression of loving."
Barrington furrowed his brow. "The gems are the best. I want the best for my wife, James. I've got nothing left to offer her."
"You're a good employer, a very excellent man, but you don't understand being told no." James thumbed his livery at his chest. "I live no. My Ester's death was a no. And when England impressed our oldest…" His voice broke, then returned to his even, deep tone. "Took him for her Navy, I had to let them and pray for the best, but I'm used to no. Accept this one, sir, and pray for your next steps."
Barrington lifted his gaze to his manservant. "I didn't know. Maybe I could do something."
His dark brown eyes widened then slimmed as his head lowered. "Your hands are mighty full. I've made peace with it. Now, let's get you to your meeting."
"Yes. Take me to magistrate."
The door closed, shadowing Barrington within the carriage. No time for his wife or his faithful advocate, he had so many chits to right. He took out pages from his war Bible and thumbed the leaves. How would Barrington get along if the answer to saving his marriage was no?
Chapter Ten: Mooning and Mourning at a Ball
With Mama on one arm and Amora on the other, her husband escorted them into Wadling Hall, Hessing's brilliant estate. Not as gilded as the dowager's, but the house glistened with marbled stairs and beautiful lights everywhere.
Amora adorned her obsidian mourning cape. Scarlet velvet ribbon zig-zagged the dark hem, swishing from side to side as they took the steps. The gown was another gift from Mother. She'd went into town and had a dressmaker fashion something stylish and divine in the sea of black and grey mourning garbs. Amora enjoyed the kindness. Mama was on her side. Well, at least for now.
She looked back at the woman and smiled, hoping she felt Amora's gratitude. Or maybe she, like Barrington, could surmise the wall still in place about her heart.
Sighing, she glanced at Barrington as a myriad of servants in crimson and white descended, separating them, taking his top hat and the ladies' heavier capes.
Barrington led them forward. Other than assisting Amora into the carriage and asking if she felt up to attending, he hadn't said much. He didn't try to keep her hand. No easy quips left his lips. No, they were too busy forming a frown.
"Barrington, is all well?"
Handsome as he was in the crisp black and white formal wear, his mind appeared to be elsewhere. He fumbled with his pocket watch. "Yes. Let's say hello to Mrs. Hessing."
Why did his
odd manner send waves of concern to her roiling middle?
She steadied herself. The morning's nausea had returned. Her stomach hadn't been this unpredictable since…
No, she couldn't be pregnant.
That would be the height of irony. That one time of being intimate with Barrington four months ago, before everything went crazy. Before she let her mind go crazy. She blinked her eyes and tamped down this new crazed thought.
Barrington leaned close to her ear. "Are you suffering? Should I take you home?"
No more than usual. "I'm well. This night is to set your career back on the right path."
He sighed and led her forward. "Yes, part of our two-month agreement. Since I haven't changed your mind or made good on my other promises, you don't have to do anything but enjoy yourself tonight."
"I can do more, Barr. I want to do more."
His gaze tangled with hers, then he looked away. "Come along, Mrs. Norton."
It was good he started moving. She couldn't say yes to the heat in his stare.
In front of them sat a marble staircase. A glistening chandelier hung in the middle. It appeared to sway to the musician's tempo.
They joined the line to be greeted by Mrs. Hessing. Their hostess's onyx gown looked so beautiful with heavy lace on each cap sleeve. How marvelous it would have looked in cranberry or peach. A mourning country was terrible, almost as bad as a mourning couple.
Mrs. Hessing came forward. "Oh, dear. Hessing's project…protégé and his wife have arrived. Mr. Norton, I tried to get the prince's, I mean our new king's mulatto, Mr. Bridgetower to come and keep you company. But he was too busy, probably playing the violin at court. Do you play, Mr. Norton?"
Barrington opened his mouth, and then closed it for a moment. He looked truly at a lost to respond, so not his usually quip filled self. "I'm not musical, ma'am."
Amora gripped his arm and slipped between them. "We are delighted to be here, Mrs. Hessing.
"Norton, Mrs. Norton," Mr. Hessing plodded forward and took her fingers and kissed it. He held them a little long within his sweaty mitts.
Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 2) Page 10