The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel)

by Sandra Lea Rice

  Mort had been right to wait. Harding was a right smart bloke, but Mort was streetwise. He’d grown up around the docks, mostly staying out of the way while his mum serviced the Jackies as they came ashore.

  He stepped from the stables as the carriage moved off, moonlight illuminating his face and the scar on his cheek. He’d paid good chink to see the nob snuffed. How was he to know Harding was handy with his dukes?

  Mort ran his fingers along the disfigurement, the result of a mugging gone wrong. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his heavy coat and set off after his prey.

  Chapter 24

  Clairece rubbed a clean circle on the hackney’s grime-covered window and peered out as London’s Paddington Station loomed into view. She edged nearer, taking care not to touch the filthy pane with her face. “What a magnificent structure.”

  A warm chuckle reached her from the other side of the coach. Anthony sat propped in the corner, an amused smile playing across his lips. “I agree with your assessment. Paddington is a feat of engineering with an extraordinary interior.”

  The hackney rocked to a stop and Anthony stepped down. With a swift look around, he paid the jarvey and reached up for Clairece.

  She whimpered. The heavy clothing added pressure to the painful bruising, making nausea an ever-present possibility.

  “Not much farther, sweeting.” Anthony tucked her arm through his and assisted her through the station door and across the broad expanse of tiled floor.

  She glanced up at the towering, hammer-beam roof. Although beautiful, the glazed dome cast large areas of the interior into shadow, providing a perfect setting for anyone wishing them harm.

  Her arm linked with Anthony’s, Clairece found herself ushered through a tall arch leading out onto a long wooden platform lining twin rails. As she watched the other travelers rush by on their way to the waiting train, she labored to keep pace.

  “We’re almost there, love, just a little farther.” Anthony’s stride faltered. Clairece flicked a glance in his direction to see him look over his shoulder and tug the collar of his tweed coat up around his neck.

  A blast of steam and smoke disgorged from the locomotive. Clairece cannoned into Anthony’s side, seeking safety, and felt the slide of his arm around her waist as he drew her closer.

  The iron platform of the sleeping car loomed ahead, an affront to a body suffused with pain. Her steps slowed. As if sensing her distress, Anthony lifted Clairece onto the platform.

  While the conductor checked their tickets and Anthony made additional arrangements, Clairece studied the pavilion. Darkened shapes danced along the walls as clouds moved across the moon. Soon, she’d be jumping at her own shadow.

  Anthony picked up the portmanteau and guided her inside the narrow compartmented car. Windows filled one side of the tight corridor while small sleeping compartments lined the other. He checked the numbers on the row of identical doors as they passed, coming to a halt midway down the passage. He raised a hand in a staying motion, swung the door open, and stepped inside, before signaling her forward. Anthony slipped by her to draw the curtains over the single window.

  “Do you think someone followed us?” She eased the glove off her bandaged hand, gritting her teeth at the sharp tug to her wounded palm.

  “The plan was to make certain they didn’t, but one should never assume anything.”

  The cubicle held a wooden chair, and a padded bench, which could be let down to make a somewhat questionable bed. Though undoubtedly not the most comfortable, the accommodations would allow her to recline for the journey. After the short trip from Town, she’d gladly lay on a pallet on the floor.

  Anthony studied Clairece. Her face was pale and pinched, her eyes ringed with black circles. As she worked to unhook her cloak, her hands shook. She gave an exhausted sigh and lowered her arms to her sides.

  “Let me.” With a few deft movements, the carved ivory button slid through the braided opening in the frog. He laid the wrapper across the small chair.

  Clairece sank onto the padded seat. “It’s warmer in here than I expected.”

  “Heat is piped in from special cars with boilers. Even so, I’ve asked for an extra blanket and a foot warmer.”

  At a knock on the cabin door, Anthony flicked open the latch on the portmanteau and withdrew a pistol, laying it against the outside of his thigh. He nodded to Clairece who turned to face the window.

  “Bellmen, sir.”

  Anthony swung the door open, startling two young men dressed in uniforms of the Great Western Railway. One held an armful of quilts while the other carried a heavy crock of hot coals.

  After the stewards deposited the bedding and warmer inside the compartment, Anthony dropped some coins into each of their palms and sent them on their way.

  Clairece turned to face him. “Would you help me out of this dress? I cannot manage on my own.”

  He worked on the row of buttons down the back. “Are you in pain?”

  “The weight and feel of the clothing makes me nauseous, and I ache all over.”

  With the last button, Anthony eased the dress down her arms and over her hips, leaving her clad in a cotton chemise and single petticoat. He released a few hooks and the petticoat followed. “If you would, my robe is in the portmanteau.”

  He retrieved the velvet housecoat and held it while she slipped her arms into the long sleeves. Her perspiring face now bore additional evidence of pain.

  Anthony settled Clairece on the padded bench and covered her with one of the quilts, moving the heavy warming crock nearer her feet.

  She settled the edge of the blanket over the pot and closed her eyes. “This feels wonderful.”

  After shedding his overcoat and hat, Anthony slipped in beside her, easing her against his side in the narrow space.

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I brought you into this, but I’m selfish enough to be thankful you’re with me.”

  “Hush. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He should tell her of his arrangement with Scotland Yard, but after the way she’d reacted to James’ announcement, he couldn’t risk it. Not yet. As she snuggled closer, every protective instinct he possessed surfaced.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetheart.”

  “That’s not a promise you can keep. If something should happen—no wait, let me speak—if something should happen, it won’t be your fault. I know what it’s like to live with guilt, and I don’t wish that for you.”

  “Nothing will happen.” He closed his eyes against the soul-wrenching fear her words conjured.

  The train’s whistle blew. With every rotation of the metal arms on the wheels, they moved farther away from London.

  The whistle shrilled as the train entered Swindon Station, the halfway mark to Bristol. Although the stop to pick up coal and water for the engine would take only minutes, it was long enough for Anthony to check the dining car for something to eat. He shifted to an upright position.

  Clairece opened her eyes and blinked.

  “Hungry?”

  She sat up, her face flushed from sleep. “Famished.”

  “I won’t be long, but I want you to lock the door behind me.” He shoved his arms into his jacket and reached for his cap, tugging the bill low on his forehead. He waited in the hall until the bolt clicked into place.

  With his mind on Clairece, he strode along the dimly lit hall toward the dining car. From his position on the iron grid separating the cars, he could see a few travelers seated at various tables. Assured there would be some offering of food, he reached for the door handle.

  A slight noise was his only warning.

  Chapter 25

  Anthony whirled and lifted his arm, partially deflecting the blow intended for his head. The cudgel rose again, coming down on his shoulde
r in a numbing explosion of pain.

  He dropped to his knees, leaning heavily against the metal railing. His right arm hung useless at his side. Blood clouded his vision. Anthony slid his fingers into the side of his boot and felt for the thin blade he carried. Fists, the size of hams, grabbed him by his coat front and he was hauled roughly to his feet. The club rose again.

  Anthony slashed with his blade.

  The man let out a howl.

  For one brief second, Anthony’s eyes met those of his adversary. The man stumbled from the train and disappeared into the shadows. Anthony wanted to give chase, but he couldn’t risk leaving Clairece unprotected should the scar-faced man double back.

  Anthony slipped the blade into his boot. Blinking to clear his vision, he wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his sleeve and retrieved his hat from the metal grate. At his entrance to the dining car, a woman screamed while another tittered nervously behind her hand.

  An attendant rushed forward. “Do you require a doctor, sir?”

  “No, just towels, ice, and food. Enough for two,” Anthony ordered. He swayed, grabbing the back of a chair. “Please hurry.”

  The steward quickly gathered the items and piled them on a tray, then handed them to Anthony.

  Anthony accepted the platter with one arm and nodded toward the exit. “If you’ll open the door, I can manage from here.” He advanced unimpeded, the other passengers having fled the car. The steward rushed to open both doors before disappearing back into the deserted dining car.

  Anthony bumped the compartment door with the toe of his boot and listened for the lock. The door swung open and Clairece gave a little shriek.

  “It looks worse than it is.” He deposited the tray in her hands and stepped past her. After tossing his hat on the chair, he carefully slid the coat down his inured arm. “Our killer waited for me between cars. He escaped before I could apprehend him. I have no way of knowing if he’ll hop on before we leave Swindon, or travel to Bristol by some other means.”

  Bright lights flashed behind his eyelids as Clairece eased his coat off. Her hands urged him down onto the padded bench. He didn’t need much encouragement.

  Anthony leaned back and closed his eyes while Clairece dabbed at the cut on the side of his head and cleaned the blood from his face with a dampened towel.

  Laying the towel aside, she unfastened his cuff and carefully rolled up the sleeve. He opened his eyes to view the damage. An ugly, three-inch-wide welt marked his arm below the elbow. He could only guess what his shoulder looked like.

  Clairece’s intake of breath hitched on a sob.

  “Don’t cry, love. I’ve had far worse.”

  She swiped at her cheeks and wrapped some ice in the towel, placing the bundle on his arm. Her fingertips moved to the scar at his temple. “How did this happen?”

  Anthony’s chest tightened as it always did when forced to recall his childhood. “I told you of my birth, that the late earl was not my father.”

  She nodded.

  “He knew from the beginning I was not his biological son, but I did not. I tried to please him, but nothing I did was ever good enough. Each time I failed at something, as it seemed I always did, he would call me to his study and take a birch cane to my back. Through the years I lost count of the beatings.”

  She leaned in and kissed the thin scar and he wanted to howl.

  “As I got older, the canings increased and so did their ferocity. My stepfather wanted to break me, to show how worthless I was. In that way, he could justify his hatred of me. The more I refused to give in, the more brutal he became.

  “On one occasion, my mother tried to interfere and he struck her. I turned on him and he raised the cane and hit me in the side of the head. I think he would have killed me had Mother not screamed.” Anthony fought to quell the rising panic as pieces of nightmarish memories slid through his mind.

  At the touch of gentle fingers on his cheek, the terror receded. He focused on Clairece and continued, “The servants carried me upstairs and my mother cared for me until I could crawl from my bed, three days later. The monster left us alone for a time while he locked himself away in his study and drank.” He met her gaze. “I was nine years old and couldn’t understand what I’d done to make my own father despise me. He told me repeatedly my heart was black and I was the devil’s spawn. After a while, I started to believe him.”

  “You were just a child and he a cruel, detestable beast. I’ve seen your heart, and it’s not black. It’s caring and good and—”

  He turned his face into her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. She had no idea how those words warmed him.

  The whistle blew, and the train moved on toward Bristol.

  Anthony accepted one of the wrapped sandwiches from Clairece and settled back against the padded bench. The numbness in his arm had been replaced by a deep, aching throb. At least it wasn’t broken, as he’d feared.

  Clairece selected a bundle and opened the wrapping.

  Anthony took a bite of his ham and cheese sandwich. “Do you like mayonnaise? I didn’t think to ask.” He would talk of sandwich condiments, anything to take her mind off the situation.

  She bit, chewed, and swallowed. “I’ve only tasted it once, but I like it.”

  “We don’t know much about each other, do we?”

  She smiled, the gesture a bit forced. “No, not the more mundane things.”

  “I have a fondness for sweets. While in town, I box and fence at a gentlemen’s club so I can indulge once in a while.” He waited for her to share something with him. Her response surprised him.

  “I would have guessed you take regular exercise for a different reason.” Her frank gaze met his. “I think, underneath your calm exterior, you’re angry and hurt. Rather than take your resentment out on someone who doesn’t deserve it, you relieve your frustrations in other ways.”

  He swallowed. “You, my dear, are far too perceptive.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?” She laid her sandwich aside.

  “No.” He finished his sandwich in one bite, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and laid the linen aside. “Try and get some rest. We’re still a couple hours from Bristol.” The look she sent him suggested she wasn’t fooled by the change of subject, but she curled against his side and closed her eyes.

  At the smaller Bristol station, Anthony assisted Clairece from the train and ushered her directly through the terminal to a waiting hackney. At almost four in the morning, the streets were all but deserted.

  Within minutes, they stepped from the black conveyance onto a well-lit portico in front of the Bristol Hotel. Gaslights illuminated the short distance between the carriage and the steps to the large, front doors.

  They strolled through the empty lobby toward a night clerk who waited behind a large mahogany desk. “We’d like your best room for the rest of the night, and well into the middle of the day tomorrow. Preferably, one with a private bathing chamber and sitting room.” Anthony picked up the fountain pen and signed his name. Clairece kept her bruised cheek turned away from the clerk’s curious regard.

  The innkeeper rotated the ledger and quickly scanned the signature. “We have a nice suite for you and your wife, Mr. Wade. It will be our pleasure to serve you.” He struck the bell once and a doorman appeared.

  The room was situated at the rear of the hotel overlooking a small, enclosed garden. Once inside, Anthony removed Clairece’s cloak and tossed it across a chair.

  She ambled around the room, checking the accommodations. “How soon will the carriage arrive?”

  “Late into the afternoon. Try and get some proper rest. You slept little on the train.”

  “What of you?” Clairece turned her back so he might unhook her traveling dress.

  Anthony dropped a kiss on the side of her neck.
“Shortly.” The last button unhooked, he slid the dress from her shoulders. “I’d like to keep watch for a short while.” He pulled a chair nearer the window and sat, stretching his legs out before him.

  Clairece searched the valise and withdrew a white cambric nightgown and her toiletries, retreating into the adjoining bathing chamber. Minutes later, she reappeared, looking anywhere but at him. Although the gown covered her from chin to toe, the thin material gave glimpses of what lay beneath. With one hand, she gripped her toothbrush and tooth powder, and with the other, she tried ineffectively to cover herself.

  He gently uncurled her fingers from around the brush and tin of powder and dropped the toiletries back in the case. Her free arm still partially covered her front.

  “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

  “I might as well be naked. And . . . I look a fright.” She gripped the material in her fisted hands.

  So that was it.

  “The bruising will fade without a trace, but even with the discoloration, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He tugged her closer. “When I make love to you again, neither of us will be clothed and you will see it’s perfectly natural and most enjoyable.”

  “Will I be able to see and touch you as well?”

  “I do hope so,” he chuckled, his voice a little garbled. “Now, let’s tuck you in.”

  Anthony urged her toward a bed large enough to easily accommodate two. He pulled back the heavy quilt, depositing her in the middle of the mattress, and kissed her cheek.

  “Good night, Anthony,” Clairece murmured. She was asleep almost immediately.

  After extinguishing the light, Anthony stood gazing at the grounds below. Since the man following them would have no difficulty discerning where they had stopped, he moved the chair nearer the window and resumed his seat. He rested his arms on the windowsill and considered the nightscape.