A Matter of Grave Concern

by Novak, Brenda

  The look of defeat and resignation that appeared on his face told her that, in his heart of hearts, he agreed. He didn’t really want to be that kind of man—and she didn’t want to push him into it. “You didn’t even take a minute to consider it.”

  She didn’t need to. It was obvious to her. But she knew how terribly easy it would be to wake up one day and, against all intention to the contrary, find that she had indeed succumbed to the desire to be with Max in any capacity, which was why she had to break away now, while she had the strength.

  “Just make sure you get back safely,” she said.

  He paused to kiss her. “I’ll bring you some sandwiches before I go so you can keep the door locked while you’re here alone.”

  When he delivered the food, she told herself she should eat. But she had no appetite. She felt sick at the thought of walking away from him. The only thing that kept her firm in her purpose was the knowledge that it would be easier now than later.

  After he left, she got up and dressed in her gypsy rags—then hesitated at the last second. She was afraid of the threats Jack had launched. Her father, Max, anyone could be at risk. But with Tom and Emmett gone, Jack had never been weaker than he was right now. And the fear of falling into the kind of relationship that awaited her if she remained with Max frightened her more than anything, because then she would be the cause of heartache.

  Max had taught her what love was all about. Perhaps she would find it again someday, with someone who could be hers.

  She considered leaving the dress she had made and her brush and mirror set for Jack to sell. She hoped, by doing so, she would mitigate some of his anger. It was all she had to give him. But she doubted sacrificing these items would change his reaction, and she had a better use for them.

  Carefully wrapping the brush and mirror in the dress, she carried it all out of the house, along with her mother’s elephant.

  Chapter 24

  Abby didn’t think Agnes would answer. She felt strange, banging on her door in the middle of the night. But if she was going to do this, it had to be before she returned to Aldersgate. Once she got home, she wasn’t sure what would happen.

  “Who is it?” Agnes called out.

  Hugging her treasures a little tighter, as if in farewell, Abby glanced around the dark, foggy street. Smoke from the many coal fires of London had mixed with the mist coming off the Thames to create a thick blanket that was, at times, almost impenetrable. She could barely see the gaslight ten feet away. It was dangerous to be out in such conditions, especially in this area, but Abby didn’t plan on staying long.

  “It’s Abigail, the woman who was with Max earlier,” she said.

  “Aye. I know who you are.” She opened up but stood in her mobcap and robe, frowning at Abby over the dim light of a candle. “What is it? Somethin’ wrong?”

  “No, nothing. I just . . . I couldn’t quit thinking about the beautiful locket you showed me earlier.”

  She seemed confused, and it was no wonder. “Madeline’s locket?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You dragged me out of bed because you like that locket?”

  “I was hoping to purchase it for . . . for my mother. She lost one similar to it. I would love to surprise her by replacing it as it held a great deal of sentimental value.”

  She shielded her candle from the draft. “Well, this one holds a great deal of sentimental value to me. Reminds me of my good friend, Madeline, it does. So . . . how much are you prepared to offer?”

  “I don’t have any money,” Abby admitted. “But I thought perhaps you might be interested in a trade.”

  She gestured as if Abby couldn’t possibly have anything to entice her. “I’d rather keep the locket if you don’t have any coin,” she said and closed the door.

  Abby knocked again. “But you haven’t seen what I have brought. Agnes? I think you’ll like it. It’s worth more than that locket.”

  She wasn’t sure Agnes would care—until the door cracked open. “Fine. As long as you have me out of bed, what is it?”

  Abby said a quick prayer that what she held would be enough. She so desperately wanted to acquire Madeline’s locket for Max. “It’s a . . . a sterling silver brush and mirror set. Very nice.” She handed both over so Agnes could admire them. “And this dress”—she held it up—“made of fine fabric.”

  Ignoring the dress, Agnes turned the mirror and brush set over in her hands.

  “That set was purchased by a duke, no less,” Abby added, hoping to increase the value.

  “How do you know?” she asked, obviously skeptical.

  “My mother was a . . . a servant to the upper class. Her locket was a gift to her.”

  “Expensive gift for a servant.”

  “Not for a lady’s maid who was retiring after many, many years of faithful service.” Abby had never told more lies in her life. It was ironic that the statement that should have been most unbelievable—that the set had been purchased by a duke—was actually true.

  “Hmm . . .” Turning her attention to the dress, she fingered the sleeve. “I saw you in this earlier. I doubt it will fit me.”

  Doubt? There was no question. Agnes easily outweighed Abby by five stone. “But you could sell it,” she pointed out.

  “True . . .”

  “New as it is and well made, it should bring in a fair bit—certainly more than you paid for the locket.”

  “I got a bargain on the locket.”

  “This is also a bargain. So what do you say? Would you like to trade?”

  When Agnes’s eyes narrowed, Abby knew she had allowed herself to sound too eager—a mistake that was confirmed a moment later, when Agnes shook her head.

  “No. You run along back to Farmer’s Landing before something happens to you out here. I like my locket. I think I’ll keep it.”

  With a silent curse, Abby turned to go, but stopped when Agnes called out, “Unless you have something else to include?”

  Abby had nothing—except her elephant. Pulling it from the pocket of her old cloak, she stared down at it.

  “What’s that?” Agnes asked.

  Abby held it up. “A rare and expensive ivory elephant.” She was lying about the rare and expensive part, but she had to say something to get that locket.

  “From where?”

  “India, of course.”

  “I’ve always dreamed of going to India,” she said, clearly tempted. “So . . . is that elephant part of the deal?”

  Abby had risked so much to retrieve her mother’s last gift. But now she craved that locket almost as much as she had craved the elephant. In case Max wasn’t able to find Madeline, she wanted to leave him his sister’s locket to remind him of how hard he had tried. She thought that might help him forgive himself for whatever their past relationship had been. And if he did find Madeline, he could give it to her. Abby knew what it was like to have only a small token to represent someone who was irreplaceable.

  “The mirror and brush set are already worth more than the locket,” she said. “And you have the dress.”

  “But I’m not interested in trading, not unless you include the elephant.”

  Abby sighed. Apparently, it was her reluctance that gave the elephant its value. She almost said no and walked away. It was partly the elephant that had brought her to Wapping, brought her together with Max. She thought it might provide some comfort to her in the future. Depending on how her reunion with her father went, she could soon be living on her own and doing all she could to survive.

  “I don’t have all night,” Agnes said, growing impatient.

  Again, Abby nearly turned on her heel and hurried away. Agnes wasn’t someone she liked, no more than Jack or even Bill, who wasn’t as mean as his brother but was just as eager to make a pound any way he could. His greedy, selfish wife wasn’t much better. Bu
t just thinking of the way Max had kissed her before he left proved Abby’s undoing. She wanted to leave him the locket. And she loved him enough to sacrifice almost anything, even her elephant.

  “Fine.” She handed everything over—and Agnes pivoted so she could unlatch the clasp.

  When Abby let herself in, the college seemed strangely unfamiliar. Nothing had changed since she left, not that she could see, and yet it felt as if everything was different. For one, the rooms came off as rather sterile in their spartan cleanliness. It was overly warm, too, given that she had been living in a house with little or no heat.

  She considered alerting her father to the fact that she was home, but with the whole place dark and quiet, she decided not to disturb him. She didn’t want to cause an uproar that would leave everyone exhausted come morning. There would be plenty of time to discuss what kind of punishment she deserved when her father was already up. Then perhaps Mrs. Fitzgerald would be preoccupied with her tasks and not able to listen in quite so carefully.

  As she made her way to her bedroom, Abby wondered if her father would be happy to have her back, or merely relieved that she was safe . . .

  Her bed felt lonely without Max. She was going to miss him even more than she had imagined. Although they hadn’t been together for long, the minutes and hours of the days they had shared had been spent in very close and intimate circumstances. That made a week feel like a lifetime.

  She pictured Max returning to find the locket she had left on his pillow—and hoped that it would bring him solace.

  As soon as Max returned to Farmer’s Landing, he hurried up the stairs to see Abby but found the room dark, cold and empty. In his heart, he had been afraid she would disappear. The suspicion had nagged him all night—and yet he knew he should be grateful. She had no place in his life, not the kind of life he wanted to lead. The look on his face when they were discussing it had made that clear. So removing herself from the situation, even if it meant leaving without a good-bye, made things easier on both of them. They no longer had to dread splitting up—because it had already happened. But if the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was how it felt to go the easy route, he would hate to see how he would have felt had she stayed longer.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  Jack hit Max’s door as he passed by. “Don’t wake me up in the morning,” he said. “I might just sleep for a week.”

  Max made no reply. Jack didn’t demand one. The older man was so tired he could hardly talk, was fairly stumbling to his bed. As much as the London Supply Company’s leader had been up the past few days, maybe he would sleep for a week. He had to recover at some point, didn’t he? And if that happened, who could say how long it would be before he noticed Abby was gone? With any luck it would be so far after the fact that he wouldn’t even raise a fuss.

  Max certainly didn’t plan on telling him. Jack would figure it out when he figured it out.

  With a sigh—he was already missing Abby—Max put his candle on the dresser and began to remove his clothes. As he did so, he thought of his fiancée, Lady Hortense Brimble, a second cousin to his mother and the daughter of an earl. He wasn’t due to be married for another year—he had bought himself that much freedom—but he would feel better going into marriage knowing he and Abby had already cut ties. Then he couldn’t wind up loving Abby more than his wife, to the detriment of his family.

  He felt robbed, though. He couldn’t escape that sense of loss.

  Although he had promised Abby a gift, he hadn’t had the chance to buy anything—not while he was in Jack’s company and not so early. At least she had taken the brush and mirror she liked so well. He smiled to himself when he realized that she had also taken the dress made out of his coat. Would she ever wear it at the school? And, if she did, would she think of him?

  Then he saw the glitter of something gold on his pillow.

  What the devil could that be? he wondered. But the second he went over and picked it up, he recognized the locket Agnes Hurtsill had purchased from Madeline. It had to be the same one: inside, he found the lock of his father’s hair.

  How, in the name of heaven, had this turned up in his room?

  It could only have come from Abby. Somehow she had procured it—and left it as her parting gift.

  Sinking onto the bed, he dropped his head in his hands.

  The noise of the college didn’t wake Abby as it usually did. Since she had been living at Farmer’s Landing, she had been staying up most of the night—and the night before had been no different. That didn’t make for an early riser. So when she did open her eyes, she guessed it was after noon, and yet she stayed in bed, listening to the familiar sounds and wondering what would become of her. It wasn’t hard to believe she was back. It was harder to believe she had ever been gone. Her time with Max felt like a dream. Only in dreams did a simple surgeon’s daughter fall in love with a duke. But when she shoved up onto her elbows, she could see the gypsy clothes she had worn to Wapping there on the floor, and knew that Jack and Max really existed—and that Madeline was really gone.

  When she gathered the resolve to slip out from under her covers, she pulled on her robe to combat the chill and rang for Jessamine, the housemaid who cleaned her room and the others, blackened the grates and hauled up the hot water. She needed a bath—and preferred to take one before she confronted her father. She thought it might help if she was calm, composed, prepared. But Bransby, Mrs. Fitzgerald and her father all appeared at her door instead of the servant she had been expecting.

  “It’s true! You’re back!” Mrs. Fitzgerald exclaimed.

  Bran looked her up and down, then nodded as if he was satisfied to see she wasn’t any worse for her adventure. Of course, they couldn’t see all the things that had changed—and so quickly—on the inside. Perhaps she had been on the brink of establishing her independence before she left. She had taken to it easily enough.

  Her father said nothing. He waited for her to greet the servants. Then he told the others they should get back to their duties, came in and shut the door.

  Abby drew a deep breath. “Hello, Father,” she said. “I’m sorry if I . . . if I frightened you.”

  Edwin Hale frowned as he pulled the letter she had sent him out of his pocket. “You did frighten me, which is why I was so grateful to receive your letter. Thanks for sending that, at least.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “Of course.”

  He walked over and sat on the chair to her boudoir. “So . . . are you going to tell me why you left and just where you have been? I have nearly driven myself crazy trying to figure out why you would suddenly disappear, especially to go with a band of resurrection men. Men like Jack Hurtsill can’t be trusted. He—” Suddenly at a loss for words, he glanced at the letter and lifted it to her attention yet again. “And to think you wanted to be there with him. I admit I can’t quite fathom it.”

  Where did she start? So much had occurred. And so much of it wasn’t the type of thing she could tell her father. She doubted he would want to hear that she had lost her virginity to a man who could never marry her, even if he was a duke. She could only hope—and pray—that she wasn’t pregnant.

  “It’s not what you think,” she said.

  “I’m certainly glad to hear that.”

  “Are you familiar with the Duke of Rowenberry?”

  She had succeeded in surprising him. “Did you say duke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Although I don’t know him personally, I know of him.”

  “That will help,” she said and told him about Lucien posing as Max to search for his missing sister. She also told him about Tom and Emmett and Bill and Agnes and the others who figured into the story—and how she had tried to help “Max.”

  “So you didn’t find her,” he said when she finished.

  Was he angry at the decisions she’d made? Surprisingly, it d
idn’t seem like it. She got the impression he was relieved that he could understand her logic, that she hadn’t really joined the London Supply Company. “Not yet. Unless Emmett turns up, and happens to know something about her, I think we may never know what happened.”

  “Is that why you returned?” he asked.

  She went to the window so she wouldn’t have to look at him when she replied. “For the most part. I didn’t see what more I could do there. But here, I could possibly see to it that Jack faces justice.”

  He stood and came toward her. “How?”

  “By finding Tom’s body. If he’s dead, we know that Jack must have killed him. His brother spoke to someone who saw Jack and Bill drag Tom into an alley the night he was likely murdered.”

  “Murdered,” he repeated as if that word hadn’t previously existed in his lexicon. “What you are doing is so dangerous, Abby. You realize that.”

  “Of course. But Big Jack has to be stopped before he hurts someone else.”

  “Surely the duke can see to it.”

  “Max—His Grace—has had his clerk asking about Madeline at the colleges. It has gotten him nowhere.”

  “That doesn’t mean anyone is lying or withholding information, Abby. It could be that she isn’t dead.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m rather certain Tom is. The way Bill and Jack were talking leads me to believe they sold his corpse. If so, we should be able to find it.”

  “There is so much at stake here—for everyone.”

  “Matters of life and death should outweigh all other factors.”

  “And they do,” he assured her. “But . . . I don’t want you involved in this any longer.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, to say that she didn’t care one whit about her reputation, but he lifted a hand to stop her before she could even get started. “I don’t want it to be your life that swings in the balance. So let me do it.”

  “You’ll inquire about Tom?”