“Oh, that is such good news.” She smiled, but her eyes remained sad.
“Christine,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “Are you unwell?”
She turned to me, her delicate face contorting. “Oh, Audrey. My heart is so heavy right now.”
I stroked her arm. “What is it? Tell me.”
She shifted, folding her legs beneath her. “It is Lord Weston. This past week. I…I find myself enamored with him. We have a connection…Oh, Audrey it is as if our souls were cut from the same cloth. I feel he knows me better than I know myself. As if I don’t even have to speak, he understands every thought in my head. Every feeling in my heart.”
I brought my hand back into my lap. “Christine…”
“I know. I know.” She shook her head, her blond curls shimmering in the firelight. “It’s ridiculous. But he…”
She folded her head in her hands.
“What is it?” I whispered.
She looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “He has hinted at running away together. To the Continent.”
“What?” I hissed.
She nodded.
“Christine! You will be shunned by society. Your son—”
“Yes, I know. I know.” She took my hand again, her body doubling up as if a painful spasm had arrested her.
I took her in my arms and hugged her close. She had lost weight, and she felt like a tiny woodland creature, her heart thudding fast against my shoulder.
“Weston is my last hope for love, Audrey. Since William left. Oh god…” she let out a terrible sob, and I clutched her tighter. “Is this what it means to be a woman in this world? They tell us we are stupid, incapable. And yet, in the end, we must bear it all. We must bear everything for everyone.”
“Shh…” I smoothed her hair away from her face. “I know, my darling. But think of Landon. Think of what he needs.”
“I know. I will.” She pulled away and scrubbed her face. “Weston will simply have to accept the affair for what it is.”
I glanced away, thinking of Joseph. Joseph’s hands. His broad shoulders, his long legs tangled up with my own. If I could not be with him, then at least I could try to save him from Castlevane’s horrible machinations.
“Audrey, are you all right? You look so pale.” She placed her emaciated arm around me. “Are you thinking of your sultan?” she whispered.
I let out a whooping laugh. “Oh no, darling. The sultan is…he was just a passing fancy, I can assure you.”
A plan formulated in my mind. It was desperate and dangerous, but with my life in ruins, it was my only hope for my family’s redemption.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Christine said.
I took a deep breath and turned to her. “If I ask you for something, will you promise not to inquire about it?”
“Of course, but…”
I raised my hand. “I swear to you, Christine. The less you know the better.”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “Tell me what you need.”
“Do you have a maid’s uniform I could borrow?”
Chapter 20
Audrey
The patter of rain fell against my cloak, and I balled the delicate material underneath my chin to protect my borrowed maid’s dress beneath it. Ducking behind the wall of the alley, I narrowed my eyes on the cook as she rushed out the door of the servant’s entrance. Tearing off my cloak, I hid it behind a stack of crates before racing through the doorway before it could close. Straightening my cap, I rushed inside the kitchens with my chin raised and my gaze unflinching. From the corner of my eye, I noted some of the staff lift their heads to see who entered, but they quickly returned to their tasks. No one notices another chambermaid, and I had learned early in life if you looked like you belonged, no one would question you. Why would they? Grabbing a pail and brush, I whisked through the doors and made my way upstairs in search of Castlevane’s study.
My footsteps fell silent against the thick carpets, but my heartbeat thudded in my ears. Four days in London probing rumors and seeking out chinks in his armor had elicited no results. A man like Castlevane had secrets, and I had to find them if I wanted to protect my family and Joseph. Castlevane would destroy him as easily as he destroyed Charles, and I refused to let that happen.
When I first came to London, Christine had dragged me to Castlevane’s townhome for what proved to be a dull affair, filled with boorish old men and their snobbish wives. Christine had drunk too much, as usual, and I spent the evening playing the harp in an effort to keep myself from dying of boredom with the poor conversation. But during the night, I had found myself lost in search of facilities and had thusly become acquainted with the general layout of the household.
The study. I had to find the study. I circled around the wallpapered hallways until I finally found an expansive set of oak doors. Perhaps this was it, but I couldn’t be sure. Palming the doorknob, I cursed when I realized it was locked. My stomach sank, and I leaned my forehead against the wall. I had no idea what I was doing there, or what I would find, and in that moment, my desperate mission appeared hopeless.
“What are you doing up here?” a voice asked in a thick cockney accent.
I jumped, whirling around. A footman stood in the hallway, a sullen look on his poxed face and his arms crossed firmly against his chest.
Giving a shy bow, I kept my eyes to the floor. “I was just looking for the study. The housekeeper wanted me to dust in there and see to the drapes.”
“Drapes were cleaned a fortnight ago.”
I risked a glance up at the footman, batting my eyelashes. “’Twas my orders. I’m new here.”
He studied me, and my heart raced beneath his bold gaze. Then he smiled, and my spine relaxed.
“The study is just down there, last door on the left. Best be quick about it.” He leaned in, whispering in my ear. “Mrs. Featherstone is a right old bitch, so hop to.”
I gave him a bright smile, and he grinned at me before retreating down the hall.
As soon as he turned the corner, I darted to the study, shutting the door behind me with a soft thud. I didn’t know how long I had before someone noticed an extra maid gallivanting around Lord Castlevane’s study, but I had to find something to use against that vile man. Casting my pail and duster to the side, I raced to the desk, flitting through a stack of papers, studying the names and signatures on each document. Nothing. A proposal for a new sewage line. A petition from a debtor. Stack after stack only revealed the mundane business of state politics. I would have to exercise my finer skills.
Lord Castlevane may have sentenced Charles to death for spying and other seditious activities, but not before my young man taught me two fine talents. One was lock picking.
I grabbed two pins from my hair and bent one at the tip. Then I inserted them into the lock, turning and twisting with the most delicate movements until I heard a soft click. I smiled, opening the contents of the drawer. Here were more private items. Secret letters in code. Foreign correspondence. But there was neither time to crack the strange hieroglyphics nor to translate the thin, spidery script on the stacks of papers. I could confiscate them, but then Castlevane might suspect something.
Charles was a cabinet-maker’s son, and his father didn’t make ordinary wardrobes and desks. He specialized in secret compartments. Tiny, unseen nooks and crannies hidden deep within the paneling.
I reached into one of the drawers, searching for the pin that would unlock the hidden drawers. Castlevane was a man with secrets, so he had to hide them somewhere. The first drawer came up empty, so I reached into the second, and there was a tiny nub of wood, something anyone else would mistake for a design for dovetailing the ends. But I knew better. With a sharp tug, I pulled at the pin, and it fell into my palm. Reaching back up to the middle of the desk, I pulled at the central, decorative door. It clattered onto the surface, but there, behind it, tumbled a small box. Something rattled inside, and I opened it, finding nothing but a curious green bottle wit
h a design of a pink flower on one side. Some strange writing swirled beneath it.
I opened up the bottle, and the fragrant scent of roses filled the room. As sweet as it was, a stabbing pain shot through my head, and I coughed, my stomach turning.
What a ghastly perfume.
I re-corked the bottle and placed it back inside. I couldn’t fathom why Castlevane would stow such a simple thing in a secret compartment. Perhaps it was some tonic for an embarrassing ailment, or the scent invoked pleasant memories of a former sweetheart. Either way, it wasn’t much to go on. Placing the secret compartment back into its hiding place, I reached behind the drawer and reinserted the pin.
The door burst open, and I lifted my head, banging it on the side of the desk.
“Ouch!” I exclaimed.
“Sorry, there,” the footman called. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I crawled out from beneath the desk, my heart pounding. “No, it’s fine. I was just dusting a bit under there.”
His eyes flitted over to the pail and duster by the door, a confused look on his face.
I gripped the edge of my apron and waved it in front of him in a scrubbing motion. “Sometimes I like to use a bit of elbow grease on it.”
He nodded and rounded the desk. I made for the duster and collected my cleaning materials.
The footman rattled around with the desk. “Suppose it will be a late night for me. His lordship is needing me to fetch something for him.”
I turned, trying to keep my face smooth while inside, my heart leapt in my throat. Perhaps the footman would know something.
“What does he need?” I asked in a small voice.
He smiled as he reached down into the second drawer to locate the pin. The inside of the desk remained hidden, but my blood rushed through my veins. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was going for the secret compartment.
“Oh, it’s official state business, to be sure.” The footman puffed out his chest and turned to the side, keeping his actions outside of view. “The lordship trusts me with all his important affairs, to be sure.”
“You must be very loyal to him.”
He turned, patting at the pocket beneath his coat. “I’m his right hand man, you could say.”
I shyly approached the footman, running my hands through the feathers on the duster. “So what sort of business is this? It’s not…” I lowered my voice and opened my eyes wide. “It’s not any bad sort of business, is it?”
The footman’s mouth gaped open, and he shook his head. “Not at all. Perish the thought!”
He turned around, glancing over my shoulder at the open door before continuing in a whisper. “I’m not supposed to say, seeing as though the lord is so humble and all, but he mentioned in his letter he’s trying to save a friend in desperate need. Tis a medicine he needs.”
Was that perfume actually medicine? Goodness…
I placed my hand to my throat in feigned surprise. “Who is this friend?”
The footman shook his head. “Couldn’t say. I’m just the messenger.” He wagged his finger at me as he darted to the door. “I don’t care what any of the lot says. Lord Castlevane is a good man and a good master.” He squinted up at the drapes, and I ran over them, shaking them off the hooks.
“Good day, then,” he called after me.
Letting the drapes drop to the floor, I grabbed my pail and feather duster and bounded down the stairs two at a time. A lump lodged in my throat, and as I passed through the kitchen, I threw down the pail and darted out the back door. The cold rain pounded on the cobblestones and streaked against my hot cheeks as I rushed toward the alley. I didn’t know what I had hoped to find in Castlevane’s office, but I never wanted to leave empty handed. Now I had to return to Aberthornes to retrieve a manuscript no one would publish, to accept the marriage proposal of a man I did not love, and face my lover who could never know the truth of my despair. I grabbed my cloak from beyond the stack of crates and held it close around my body. A horrible pain struck me in my chest, and I doubled over as the sob I had suppressed burst out of me, the strained, animalistic sound muffled by my sleeve. With one hand on the freezing stone wall, I crouched down, hiccupping and gasping, my tears bleeding together with the relentless rain.
Ten seconds, Audrey.
But no matter how much I tried to count, the numbers scattered in my mind, drowning in the shaking rage taking hold of my body. I made it to four, but then I couldn’t go on. The rain fell harder and finally, after counting and recounting, I gave myself up to it until my maid’s dress clung to my skin, and the puddles surrounding my feet soaked my boots, numbing my toes. And when the dirty London rain had finally seeped into my bones, I straightened myself and took a long sniffling breath. Turning back into the alley, I set forth to Christine’s townhome to await the Aberthornes’ carriage. They were coming for me, and it wouldn’t do to be late.
Chapter 21
Joseph
I closed the door of Lord Aberthorne’s chamber and rested against it, letting out a long, relieved sigh. His color was up and his fever had abated. I knew that could all change in a heartbeat, but for now it seemed we were out of the woods, as it were. My fingers itched to write my mentor, Dr. Jenner, to tell him of the success of the surgery. I wandered over to my room, going over every detail in my head. A loud bellow of manly laughter stopped me, and I turned into the sitting room to find its source.
Lingering in the doorway, I gaped at the larger-than-life gentleman commanding Lady Aberthorne’s attention. A wool mantle swallowed the giant man in a sea of green, and a large brass harp pin, similar to the one Audrey wore, rested on his shoulder. He had a ruddy complexion, and his bright eyes sparkled as he reached the crescendo of his story.
“So I drew my rapier,” the man said in a thick Irish brogue, holding an imaginary sword in his hand. “And I told Lord Kellings if he wanted to lay claim to the lyrics of “The Dew on the Rose,” he would have to fight me for them.”
Lady Aberthorne leaned forward. “Did he?”
The man threw his hands in the air. “Sure, ye know he didn’t. But he did send me a nice bouquet of roses and a cask of his best whiskey, saying I could keep the dew and the roses if it pleased myself.”
Lady Aberthorne tilted her head and laughed. She caught my eye and beckoned me forward.
“Oh, Dr. Moorland, do join us!” She gestured to the Irish gentleman. “This is Miss Byrnes’s father, Patrick Byrnes. You might be familiar with some of his plays.”
My chest tightened, and I struggled to keep my face a mask of calm. So this was the itinerant sire who sent Audrey out into the world with barely two pennies to rub together. The rush of rage coursing through my body startled me, and I took a deep breath, forcing myself to give the man a warm smile.
I bowed. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Byrnes. I am familiar with your work, of course. I saw The Lady of the Green in Covent Garden. It was delightful.”
Patrick Byrnes bowed and grinned at me. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “That particular play was inspired by my great-great-grandmother. I felt we needed a love story after such a messy business in Ireland, wouldn’t you agree, my lady?”
The burly Irishman turned to her with a wink, and she let out a giggle, folding her hands in her lap.
“I do enjoy a good love story,” she said.
“They say that French is the language of love, but I find Irish Gaelic to rival it in nuance and passion.” Mr. Byrnes smoothed his hands down his chest and raised his chin. “We Celts are warrior poets, ye know. We fight and die for love, and if we’re lucky enough to live through our sordid exploits, we’ll compose a poem about it.”
Lady Aberthorne clapped her hands together. “Oh, Mr. Byrnes, would you honor us with some Irish Gaelic poetry?”
Mr. Byrnes’s eyes glittered, and he raised his hand to his neck in a mocking display of shock. “My lady, I do not wish to scandalize you. There is, after all, a young lady present.”
It
was then my gaze caught the small form hiding in a shadowy corner of the sitting room. Lydia. Or Lyddy, as she called her. Of course. Audrey had mentioned she had a frail disposition, but my skin prickled at the sight of her. Her skin possessed a ghastly white sheen, her eyes glazed, and the edges of her lips cracked. I would need to ask her some questions, but the diagnosis of a disorder in the blood flashed in my mind. Anemia, no doubt. I needed to see her as soon as possible, and another fit of rage coursed through me. How had this poor young woman been so neglected? Who had been her physicians?
“I do apologize, Dr. Moorland,” Lady Aberthorne piped up. “This is Miss Lydia Byrnes.”
“How do you do?” I murmured to the young woman with a bow, and she nodded, her eyelids fluttering from sheer exhaustion. How could I get her alone to speak with her without calling notice? I clenched my fists at my side, wishing I had my doctor bag with me. It was a wonder the poor woman could walk at all. I sat down on the settee, sneaking glances at Miss Lydia before turning to Mr. Byrnes.
“Miss Byrnes will be surprised to see you. She mentioned she was on her way to Dublin to reunite with her family, but...” I forced a smile on my lips. “But here you are.”
Patrick nodded. “Aye. ’Tis a good thing luck interceded on our behalf, or we might have missed her. I’m headed to London to seek out prospects for a space for a theatre.”
“A new theatre?” I said, leaning forward. “Are you moving permanently from Dublin?”
My chest tightened. Audrey had enough to worry about right now, and she did not need this blustering buffoon making scandal for her and robbing her of her royalties to slake his thirsts for drink and gambling. Behind Patrick Byrnes’s brilliant smile lay a flicker of desperation in his eyes, and while the fabric of his mantle might have once been of the finest wool, the hem showed signs of fraying. Oh, no. The Byrnes’s visit had nothing to do with a new theatre and everything to do with money. I glanced over at Lady Aberthorne who grinned wildly, her eyes glittering at the Irish actor performing soliloquies in her parlor.
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