“No,” she exclaimed. She turned to Rob, with tears in her eyes. “I hate seeing you here, but not enough to go.” She pulled her cloak off and draped it around his shoulders. “Where are your clothes? Your coat and boots?”
“Guards took them,” he told her. “I am lucky to have been stripped of nothing more.”
“I shall make them give them back,” she said indignantly.
He could not withhold a cynical laugh. “They will demand money, and then steal them again tomorrow. Do not waste your time, Afton.”
She reached up and touched his forehead. “How can anyone sweat in this frigid cesspit? Are you ill?”
“It’s this place,” he admitted, stepping back from her touch. He couldn’t deal with that now. Maybe never. “I cannot tolerate confinement.”
Her face paled and he knew she was remembering his reaction to the closet beneath the stairs. She reached out again but he stepped away. Slowly, she held out the smaller of the two paper-wrapped bundles she had brought. “Lord Auberville said you would need these things.”
He pulled the paper away. Candles. Flint. Light. “Thank God.” He hated the dark almost as much as he hated confinement. He squatted near the wall and struck a tinder to the wick of one candle. The flame wavered, then burned brightly.
As the dark corners of the cell came into focus, Afton gasped. He glanced around, seeing his surroundings through her eyes.
Not much to see, he thought, only a pile of putrid straw in one corner, a slop bucket in another and something foul growing on the stone walls. The cell was long and narrow, no more than five feet wide and nine feet deep, meant to contain four or five men. Ah, but as a dangerous prisoner with a record of daring escapes, he ranked a private cell. Luxurious accommodations indeed, when compared to the Dey’s dungeon.
Rob turned to look at her—so beautiful, so fresh and clean, so treacherous. His betrayer. At this moment, he didn’t care if she’d told the authorities where to find him. He would face the hangman with a smile if he could have her just once more, hear her sighing his name. But not here. He could not defile her with this filth and corruption, and with the guard looking on.
She clutched her skirts away from the slime on the stone floor and asked, “How did they find you? You did not go back to your hotel, did you? Oh, I knew I should have stayed!”
Was she playing coy? “I left you a note, Afton.”
She frowned. “I have not been back to the salon since last night.”
“How did you learn I had been arrested?”
“Lord Barrington has been appointed to Lord Kilgrew’s post. He sent a message to Aunt Grace this morning. But how did they know where to find you? Who knew where you were?”
He hesitated, then stated, “Doogie knew. And you.”
“Me? I did not know where you were, McHugh. You would not tell me.”
“It was in the note,” he said.
She shook her head as if to deny his silent accusation.
Did she expect him to believe her? Could he believe her? God in heaven! He did not want to believe either alternative. “It was not my own brother, Afton,” he said. “I’ve told you before that Doogie is not capable of murder. He would not set me up to hang.”
“Nor would I! There must be someone else.” She looked so wide-eyed and earnest that he wanted to believe her. But who else had known where to find him? She was his betrayer, or Doogie was.
“Then why did you come?”
She stepped toward him as if closing the distance between them would make him believe her. “Lord Barrington is calling on Grace later this afternoon. I wanted you to know that there is no need to protect me. I am going to tell him—”
“No.” Rob coughed, the damp and chill slowly, insidiously, taking their toll. “Tell him nothing, Afton.”
“But I was with you when Lord Kilgrew was murdered. I will tell them that we watched someone go in and out of Lord Kilgrew’s home, and that he threw a bloody cravat off Westminster Bridge. When I testify to that, they will have to release you.”
“A bloody cravat with my initials on it?” He laughed. He was not about to let her sacrifice herself for nothing. “They’d never believe it. No, Afton. I forbid it! It isn’t just Kilgrew. They’ve charged me with the other murders, too. Most recently, Fengrove’s.”
“But they do not have evidence.”
He pulled her cloak off and returned it to her before it became as lice infested as the straw in the corner. “The raven buttons, Afton. Livingston, Fengrove, the others. The only murder they don’t know about is Madame Zoe, because you found her and covered it up. I took the button away from Eloise’s house, but they still charged me with her death.”
“You cannot expect me to do nothing while you sit in here! Even if I didn’t know what this does to you, Rob. Even if I couldn’t see it in your eyes.”
He needed to make her understand what she was risking. “I see. Then you will tell him that Madame Zoe was your aunt, and that she was murdered, too, and you have been hiding that from the authorities for your own purposes? And that after Eloise Enright was murdered, you surrendered your virginity to me? And that when Kilgrew was murdered, we were cavorting through London, and later I was naked in your salon? None of it can remain confidential, Afton. If you are able to secure my release with this information, it will be discussed over brandy and cigars in every club in London. If I am held for trial, you will be called to testify, and all of London will become privy to your deepest secrets through the Times. How will that affect Dianthe and Bennett? Is that what you want for them?”
She shook her head, looking up at him in desperation.
Those startling aqua eyes swam with tears and he understood the depth of her dilemma. Her duty to her family was all she had lived for these past years, but her tender conscience balked at remaining silent when he was accused of crimes she knew he had not committed. He would not have his freedom at the cost of her pride and the future of her family. “I forbid it, Afton. Promise me.”
She looked away, and something in the shift of her shoulders told him she had abandoned the fight. She held out the other package.
He took it, removed the paper and looked reverently at the bread and cheese. “Food fit for the gods,” he sighed.
Two luminous tears rolled down her cheeks. God, for one last embrace! How he longed to make love to her and tell her how deeply he loved her. Had she been guilty of it, he’d have forgiven her anything—from Zoe’s fortune to giving away his whereabouts. But it was the future that mattered now. He was a realist, and he knew that he was as good as convicted. He would probably hang, and he did not want her wasting her life mourning him. He would give her the only gift he could, though it tore at his heart.
“Go, Afton,” he said, holding his hands at his sides so he would not pull her into his arms. “And do not come here again. I do not want to see you.” He banged on the iron bars and signaled to the waiting guard that the visit was over.
Afton paced the small parlor worrying her dilemma from every direction while she waited for Dianthe and Grace to come down to tea. Honor McHugh’s demand to keep her silence? Or expose everything—all the details of Auntie Hen’s murder, her masquerading as a fortune-teller, her indiscretion with the McHugh? And he was right—there would be no way to keep it secret. They would become fodder for London gossipmongers. Dianthe would be anathema to the ton, and Bennett would be shunned by the same people who had hosted him for the holiday and played cricket with him at school.
She did not mind losing everything, but to watch Dianthe and Bennett suffer for her actions was intolerable. They would be worse off than if she and Auntie Hen had stayed in the country doing needlepoint while taxes and runaway expenses ate what was left. Her choices, then, were between her duty to her family and all she and Aunt Henrietta had worked so hard to achieve, honoring McHugh’s request, or laying bare her sins in exchange for McHugh’s freedom. Perhaps his life.
She pictured him again as he’d been in th
at tiny cell, shivering with the cold and the demons of his past, and she knew she could not leave him there. Though everything in her screamed to protect her family, she said a silent prayer and set her course.
“I am so excited about the masquerade ball tonight. What a delightful way to greet the New Year,” Dianthe chattered as she and Grace entered the room.
Afton turned from the window and committed her sister’s happy face to memory. She would not be seeing much happiness in the near future.
“Have you seen my costume, Binky? I am going to be Queen Elizabeth, complete with ruffled collar and coronet. What are you going to dress as?”
“I…I forgot the masquerade was tonight, Dianthe. I have a headache. I do not think I’ll go.”
“You must! Sir Martin vowed he would not leave until you dance with him.”
How surprising, in view of her rejection. “When did he say that?”
“This morning when Grace and I took a turn about Hyde Park. He stopped us and we had a nice little chat. I think he is still sweet on you.”
“That will end soon enough,” she said. “When he finds out what I’ve done….”
“Oh, I am certain it is nothing he would not forgive you for, Binky. He has always been most attentive…well, mostly since Lord Glenross began paying attention to you.”
Grace sighed and began pouring tea into three cups. “That’s enough teasing, Dianthe. Afton? Is there something you wanted to say?”
The words had been building inside her since Dianthe had arrived in London, and they spilled out now in a rush. “Auntie Hen is dead.”
Dianthe’s cup rattled in the saucer when Grace handed it to her, and she placed it carefully on the tea table. She composed herself admirably and folded her hands in her lap. “Pardon me?”
“Auntie Hen was killed the day before you arrived in London.”
“In Greece, or on her way home?”
“In London. In her fortune-telling salon. She was never a tour guide, Dianthe. We only told you that to spare your pride. We did not want you to know how we were able to afford all the extras so that you could have a London season, nor did we want Bennett to know where his tuition at Eton came from.”
There was a long silence and Afton could see that Dianthe was attempting to take a firm grip on her grief. What mettle the girl had! Afton had not given her sister enough credit.
“I recall the gypsy who taught us all to read the cards, Binky. She used to laugh as if she knew something we didn’t. When you told her you didn’t believe in magic, she promised you would one day. I always thought it great fun when Auntie Hen read my cards. I am not surprised that she could make a living at it. And, Binky, I understand why you might not want me to know, but I wish I had. I could have helped. And I would never have spent as much on gowns and such. What puzzles me is why you did not tell me she was dead.”
“There are a dozen reasons. We had worked so hard to get to this point, and I knew you would go into mourning and withdraw from the season if you learned that she had been murdered.”
“M-murdered?” Dianthe’s hand went to her throat. “When you said ‘killed’ I thought you meant in an accident. But murdered? Oh! Who would do such a thing?”
“We do not know. That is why I have been posing as her. To find out.”
“Posing? Posing as Auntie Hen?” Dianthe blinked.
“As Madame Zoe,” Afton confessed.
“You are Madame Zoe? The infamous fortune-teller?”
She nodded. “And Auntie Hen before me.”
“Heavens above! You must tell the authorities at once,” she said.
“I intend to—within the hour, beginning with Lord Barrington. But I wanted to tell you first.” She glanced at Grace for support, and she was not disappointed. Their aunt gave her a gentle nod of approval and encouragement.
“Poor Auntie Hen.” Lacking a handkerchief, Dianthe wept into her napkin. “Oh, Binky, my heart is breaking.”
“I know, Dianthe. I am sorry for it, but there is worse to come.”
“Bennett? Oh! Say it is not Bennett!”
“No, Bennett truly is in Devonshire for the holidays. It is me, Di. I have…done things that will cause the family shame. There is scandal in the offing. You and Bennett and—” she met Grace’s patient gaze “—and Aunt Grace will suffer for my bad behavior.”
“I am certain you overexaggerate, Binky. I know you. I know you could never have done anything—”
“I have been intimate with Robert McHugh.”
Dianthe’s mouth dropped open and she sat back in her chair as if she’d been slapped. “He…he will marry you, of course?”
Afton shook her head. “He has been arrested for murder.”
That left Dianthe speechless. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but she did not frame words.
“He did not murder anyone, Di, but he will hang if I do not come forward. I was with him at Madame Zoe’s salon when Lord Kilgrew was murdered. So, of course, I must tell the authorities, regardless of the personal consequences.”
Grace smiled. “You are very brave, Afton. I admire your integrity.”
“The Lovejoys will be a laughingstock,” Dianthe whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. She looked up at Afton, her china-blue eyes round with wonder. “Well, at least the ton will not soon forget us.”
Absurdly, Afton gave a choked laugh and then Dianthe began giggling through her tears.
“Is this a joke you can share?” Lord Barrington asked from the doorway.
Within three minutes, Afton had told him the details of Auntie Hen’s death and the full sum of her indiscretions with McHugh.
“And he forbade you to tell me, eh?” he asked. “Just like him. I vow, the man is suicidal.” He heaved a deep sigh and slapped his thighs as he made to stand. “Still, Miss Lovejoy, this changes nothing. You were not with him at the time of every murder, were you? I shall keep your little secret. No sense in disgracing the family for no reason. There is more than enough evidence that he committed the others.”
“Fabricated evidence, sir. Does it not seem odd to you that a man with McHugh’s experience would be careless enough to leave a button or some other personal item at every scene?”
“Could be his signature. Like a calling card. When we find a multiple murderer, we often find similar details at all the scenes. What was left at the scene of your aunt’s murder?”
“His raven stickpin,” she admitted. Then she recalled that McHugh had come to the salon after Lady Enright’s murder, and he had shown her the button he had found there. He had removed the evidence. If the authorities had charged him with her death, they must have another reason, “What did you find at Lady Enright’s house that implicated McHugh?”
“He let himself into her house with his lock picks. Left them on the foyer table and must have forgot them there when the deed was done.”
“What are lock picks?” Afton asked. Sir Martin had once told her that McHugh could pick any lock known to man.
“Angled implements you insert in a lock and manipulate to open doors, padlocks and the like. McHugh was expert at it.”
“Lock picks?” Dianthe asked. She frowned as if trying to remember something. “Ah, then that is what they were.”
“What were, m’dear?” Lord Barrington asked.
“Sir Martin had some,” she said, sipping her tea. “They must not be uncommon.”
Afton’s heart stilled to a slow thump. “Sir Martin?”
“We were at Tansy Welch’s party the other night, and he dropped them from his jacket pocket when he checked his watch for the time. He had an appointment, he said.”
“What night?” Afton and Lord Barrington asked at once.
Dianthe turned to their aunt. “Aunt Grace?”
“Tansy’s party was Saturday. The day after Christmas.”
Lord Barrington glanced at Afton. They both knew what that meant. It was the day Lady Enright was killed. Afton pressed the momentary advantage. “There
, you see. Lock picks are not McHugh’s exclusive provenance. Sir Martin could just as easily have been the killer. I think, my lord, that McHugh is being framed for murders he did not commit.”
“Why?”
God forgive her, she would not mention Douglas. McHugh was so certain his brother could not have done it that she had to believe him. “I do not know. Perhaps a better question would be ‘why would McHugh murder people he did not know, or those against whom he bore no ill will?’”
“Madness. The Dey’s torture unhinged him—”
“Nonsense! He is as sane as you, my lord. You must realize that some of the murders occurred while he was still in government custody. Are you charging him with those murders as well?”
Lord Barrington flushed. “He was not locked in, and he was allowed to sleep with his window open. Helped with the nightmares, he said.”
“Was he well enough to go about London committing murders?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“That if he did not murder Lord Kilgrew or even one other person where a raven button was found, then it stands to reason that he did not kill any of them. Perhaps you should look elsewhere. Other men had means. Look at the lock picks. Sir Martin also had some.”
“Christ’s blood!” Lord Barrington cursed.
“Release him, my lord. I am prepared to testify on his behalf in any court, in front of any assemblage.”
“I shall see what I can do,” he conceded.
“Today,” she insisted.
“Here, now! That’s a bit presumptuous.”
“Ronald,” Grace purred, “as a favor to me?”
The man sighed in defeat but his eyes held a new respect. “You’re a brave young woman, my dear, as well as a stubborn one,” he said to Afton. “For you, and for your aunt—” his gaze lingered on Grace “—I’ll move mountains.”
Chapter Twenty
After warning Dianthe to stay in plain view of Grace and the ballroom and to be especially careful of Douglas McHugh and Sir Martin Seymour, Afton sent her off to the masquerade ball at Reginald Hunter’s manor house. Lord Barrington had promised to send word as soon as McHugh was released, and Afton decided to wait at home for the news. McHugh wouldn’t come to her. He’d said he did not want to see her again.
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