by Amanda Quick
Chapter Thirty
Twenty minutes later Edison settled himself gingerly into the cushions of the hackney coach Harry had secured. He had been right. The wound in his side was superficial, but it hurt like the very devil.
Victoria sat down across from him and studied him with grave eyes.
“How bad is the pain, Edison?”
Her obvious anxiety made him feel awkward. “Tolerable, madam.”
It was not the fire in the vicinity of his ribs that annoyed him, it was the strange, light-headed sensation he was experiencing. He gritted his teeth and vowed he would not humiliate himself by fainting.
Emma followed Victoria into the coach and sat down next to him. One-Eared Harry climbed up onto the box to join the coachman. The vehicle joltedd into motion.
“The bleeding has stopped very nicely,” Emma said, fussing with her makeshift bandage. “We shall get you some laudanum as soon as we get home.”
“You can forget the bloody laudanum.” Edison sucked in his breath and braced himself against the sway of the coach. “I prefer brandy for this sort of thing.”
“What about those villains we left bound at the warehouse?” Victoria said. “All except Basil Ware are alive.”
“Sooner or later they will get themselves free.” Edison’s head was spinning now. It was getting difficult to think. “When they do, they will disappear back into the stews.”
“We should have seen to it that they were taken up by the magistrate,” Victoria said.
“I do not care what happens to them.” Edison breathed deeply, trying to stave off the darkness that threatened to cloud his brain. “Ware is dead. That is all that matters.”
“Speaking of Basil Ware,” Emma said, “your grandmother and I have a great deal to tell you about him. He gave us many of the details of his scheme. He murdered the apothecary to cover Miranda’s tracks, by the bye, but he claimed that he did not kill Miranda. I did not believe him, but it is odd that he would lie about that murder when he willingly confessed to the other killings.”
“I believe him.” Edison closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He could not hold out much longer. A great weariness was about to consume him.
“What do you mean, you believe him?” Victoria asked. “Why wouldn’t he lie?”
“Good heavens,” Emma breathed. “Look.”
“At what?” Victoria asked.
Edison could not bring himself to open his eyes.
“That ship. The second one tied up at the wharf.”
Edison listened to her scramble about on the seat. Her next words were slightly muffled, as though she had her head stuck out the window.
“It’s The Golden Orchid,” she called. There was a joyous lilt in her voice. “I don’t believe it. Can you see it?”
“Yes, yes,” Victoria said brusquely. “It is nearly dawn. There is enough light for me to read the name of the ship. The Golden Orchid. What of it?”
“Stop the coach,” Emma shouted up to the driver. “I want to have a closer look.”
Edison groaned. “It’s just a ship, Emma. If you don’t mind, I really could do with some brandy.”
“Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? Harry, tell the coachman to continue on to Lady Exbridge’s address.”
“Right ye are, ma’am,” Harry called.
“I shall come back later this morning to get a better look.” There was more commotion as Emma settled back into the seat. “I knew it would return. I knew it all along.”
“Why on earth are you so concerned about that ship?” Victoria asked.
“That ship,” Emma announced, “is the stupid, bloody ship in which I invested all of the money that my sister and I got when we sold our house in Devon. Don’t you see, Lady Exbridge? The Golden Orchid is home safe and sound. She did not go down at sea after all. And I’m now quite rich.”
“Rich?” Victoria echoed.
“Well, perhaps not as rich as Croesus or you or Edison. But I can tell you one thing, madam, I shall never again be obliged to work as a lady’s companion.” Emma’s exuberance bubbled up and overflowed like fine champagne. “We shall have enough blunt to lure a dozen suitors to Daphne’s feet. She shall have her choice of husbands. She’ll have the freedom to marry where her heart leads. And she’ll never have to work as a governess or a lady’s companion.”
“Astonishing,” Victoria murmured.
Edison stirred but he did not open his eyes. “I believe that Lady Mayfield may have mentioned to you that I was hoping to secure a good match for myself this Season.”
“What’s he talking about?” Fresh alarm sharpened Victoria’s query.
“Perhaps he’s hallucinating.” Emma put her hand on Edison’s brow. “The pain and the shock of the night’s events may have affected his brain.”
“Now that you’re rich and as we’re so conveniently engaged into the bargain—” Edison paused to gather his strength. Emma’s hand felt very good on his forehead, but he could not seem to get his eyes open. “I cannot think of any reason why we should not go ahead and get married.”
“Hallucinations, without a doubt,” Emma whispered. “He’s worse off than I thought. When we get home we must send for the doctor.”
It occurred to Edison that she sounded far more anxious now than she had the night she believed that she would hang for Chilton Crane’s murder.
“There is no point arguing with a man who is having hallucinations,” he pointed out. “Will you marry me?”
“Quite right,” Victoria said. “Do not argue with him, Emma. There is no telling what sort of effect it might have on him while he is in this condition. We do not want him to become agitated. You may as well tell him you will marry him.”
There was a crackling pause during which Edison was keenly aware of the passage of eternity. After an endless moment when nothing appeared to be happening, he groaned and put his hand on his bandaged ribs.
“Very well,” Emma said quickly. “I shall marry you.”
Thank you, my dear. I am honored.” He slipped down toward the waiting darkness. The hushed voices of the two women followed him deep into the shadows.
“I doubt he will recall any of this in the morning,” Emma said.
“I wouldn’t be too certain of that if I were you,” Victoria murmured.
“Nevertheless, madam, I must have your word that you will not take it upon yourself to remind him that he actually proposed marriage tonight.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because he might feel obligated to go through with it.” Emma sounded oddly desperate. “I certainly do not want him to get the notion that he is now honor-bound to marry me.”
“It is past time he married someone,” Victoria said with an air of practicality that Edison could only admire. “I rather think you will do, Miss Greyson.”
“Promise me you will say nothing of this to him, Lady Exbridge.”
“Very well,” Victoria soothed. “I shall keep silent. But I do not think it will change anything.”
“Nonsense. When he awakens he will forget the entire affair.”
Not bloody likely, Edison thought, hovering on the very edge of oblivion.
“I wonder what it was about my mention of that bloody ship that brought on the hallucinations,” Emma mused.
“I expect it had something to do with the fact that he owns the bloody ship,” Victoria said.
He awoke at once when Emma poured brandy into the raw wound.
“For God’s sake, don’t waste it all on the damned bullet hole.” He reached for the decanter. “Let me have some of it to drink.”
Emma allowed him a swallow. Then she retrieved the brandy. “Go back to sleep.”
He lay back down on the pillows and put his arm over his eyes. “I won’t forget about it, you know.”
“You’re still suffering from hallucinations.” She finished binding up the bandage. “You’re a bit warm, but the wound is clean and it should heal nicely.
Go back to sleep.”
“On the off chance that I’m actually quite lucid, promise me that you’ll still be here when I awaken.”
She tried to squelch the wistful longing that threatened to film her eyes with tears. “I’ll be here.”
He groped for her hand. She hesitated briefly and then gave it to him. He gripped it fiercely, as though afraid she would slip away.
She waited until she was sure he was asleep.
“I love you, Edison,” she whispered.
There was no response. Which only made sense, she thought. He was asleep, after all.
The sound of the covers being tossed aside and a short, bitten-off oath brought her awake shortly before noon. She opened her eyes to a room full of sunshine. She was cramped and stiff from having spent the past several hours curled up in the large reading chair.
Edison was sitting up on the edge of the bed, studying her with the old, enigmatic gaze. He had a hand planted somewhat gingerly on the bandage that covered his injured ribs, but his color looked normal. His eyes were clear and as watchful as ever. He was bare to the waist. The sheet flowed around his thighs.
Emma was struck with a burst of shyness. The rush of heat to her cheeks annoyed her. She cleared her throat.
“How are you feeling, sir?”
“Sore.” He smiled faintly. “But otherwise quite well, thank you.”
“Excellent.” She pushed herself briskly up from the chair and tried not to wince when her stiff legs nearly gave way beneath her. “I’ll ring for some tea and toast for you.”
“Have you been sitting in that chair since we got home at dawn?”
She glanced uneasily at the mirror and groaned when she saw her rumpled gown and chaotic hair. “It shows, does it not?”
“I know I made you promise to be here when I awoke, but I did not mean that you had to sleep in that chair. I would have been satisfied so long as you remained somewhere in the house.”
She opened her mouth but could not find any words. After a few seconds she made another attempt.
“Tea and toast,” she got out. “I trust you’re hungry.”
His eyes held hers. “I was not hallucinating last night, Emma. And I have not forgotten anything. You promised to marry me.”
“Why?” she asked baldly.
For the first time he looked baffled. “Why?”
“Yes, why?” She threw up her hands and began to pace back and forth in front of the bed. “It’s all very well for you to say you want to marry me, but you must see that I have a right to know precisely why you wish to marry me.”
“Ah.”
“Is it because you feel obligated to do so?” She shot him a glowering look. “Because if that is the case, I assure you, it is not necessary. Thanks to the return of The Golden Orchid, I am no longer in any financial difficulties.”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed.
“And my reputation is of no great concern, because I do not intend to move in Society. Lady Exbridge has kindly offered to sponsor my sister, Daphne, for a Season. But I shall stay in the background and everyone will forget about my brief stint as a suspected murderess and fiancée.”
“My grandmother assured you that such minor peccadilloes could be swept neatly under the carpet, did she?”
“Yes, she did.” Emma came to a halt at the far end of the room. “So, you see, there is no need for you to feel obliged to marry me for the sake of honor or whatever.”
“Well, that certainly narrows things down a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled. “Apparently I have only one reason for marriage left.”
“If you think to convince me that you actually need the profits from my one, single share in the cargo of The Golden Orchid, sir, save your breath. Whatever amount of money I realize from my investment can be only a drop in the bucket to a man of your resources.”
“I love you.”
She stared at him. “Edison.”
“I sincerely hope the feeling is mutual.”
“Edison.”
“Just before I fell asleep for the second time, I could have sworn I heard you say something to the effect that you loved me.” He paused. “Or was I hallucinating again?”
“No.” She unstuck herself from the floor and flew toward him. “No, you were not.”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him with all of her strength. “Edison, I love you so much it hurts.”
He sucked in his breath very sharply. “Yes,” he said. “It does.”
“Good heavens, your wound.” She released him and stumbled backward, horrified by what she had done. “I am so sorry.”
He grinned. “I’m not. It was worth it. Now I won’t have to write that bloody reference for you.”
The captain of The Golden Orchid arrived the following morning to make his report. Emma was obliged to cool her heels with Victoria in the library while he was closeted with Edison.
“I’ve a good mind to tell him how many problems he caused me,” she fumed as she poured tea.
“Look at the positive side, my dear.” Victoria peered at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “If it had not been for Captain Frye’s problems at sea, whatever they were, you would never have met Edison.”
“Are you quite certain that you consider that a positive thing, madam?”
“Rest assured,” Victoria said quietly, “nothing so positive has happened to me in a good many years.”
Emma felt warmth flood through her. “I am so very glad that you and Edison have grown closer in recent days, madam.”
“Yes, indeed,” Edison said from the doorway. “Nothing like a little theft, murder, and kidnapping to bring a family closer together, I always say.”
Emma shot to her feet. “You should not be out of bed, sir.”
“Calm yourself, my dear. I feel perfectly fit.” He winced as he walked into the room. “Or very nearly so.”
Freshly shaved, a crisp white shirt covering his bandaged ribs, his Hessians newly polished, he looked as elegant as ever. It really was most unfair, she thought. If one did not know better, one would have thought that he had done nothing more onerous during the past two days than drop in at his Saint James’s Street club.
“Well,” she said gruffly, “just what did Captain Frye have to say for himself?”
“The Golden Orchid was blown far off course, got becalmed for several days, and was forced to put into an unscheduled port in order to take on fresh food and water.”
Emma folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I would like to have had a word with Frye. That man caused me no end of trouble.”
Edison took the cup of tea Victoria handed to him. “Frye assures me that the contents of the cargo will more than make up for any inconvenience the investors have suffered. In fact, it exceeds even my expectations.”
Emma decided not to hold a grudge against Frye after all. “This is wonderful news. I must write to my sister immediately.”
“I look forward to meeting her,” Edison said.
“So do I,” Victoria murmured. “It should prove quite entertaining to shepherd a young lady through her first Season. A new experience for me.”
Edison raised his brows. “If Daphne is anything like Emma, the experience will no doubt prove memorable.” He put down his cup. “If you will excuse me, I must be off.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Emma demanded. “Surely you do not intend to carry on with your usual business affairs. You must rest.”
He met her eyes. The lightness that had infused his mood a moment ago was gone. In its place was a bleak determination.
“I will rest after I have finished the affair of the missing book.”
“Finish it?” For a moment she was lost. Then it struck her. “Oh, yes, you did say that you were inclined to believe that Basil Ware told the truth when he claimed that he did not kill Miranda.”
“Yes.” Edison turned to walk toward the door. “Until that issue has been settle
d, we cannot close the door on this matter.”
She suddenly knew where he was going. “Wait, I will come with you.”
He paused in the opening. “No.”
“I have been as deeply involved in this as yourself, sir. I insist upon seeing it through to the end.”
He appeared to give that considerable thought. Eventually he inclined his head.
“You have that right,” he said.
Victoria glanced at each of them in turn. “What is going on here? Who are you going to see?”
“The man who murdered Lady Ames,” Edison said. “And who also brought about the deaths of several other people into the bargain.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Forgive me for not rising, Miss Greyson.” Ignatius Lorring remained in his chair and bowed his head with a grace that belied his frail condition. “This is not one of my better days. Nevertheless, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have long been curious to see what sort of lady Edison would choose when the time came.”
“Sir.” In spite of herself, and all that she and Edison suspected about this man, Emma gave in to habit and dropped a little curtsy.
She thought that she had been prepared for this encounter, but she was nevertheless dismayed by the sight of the obviously ill man. Edison had been right, she thought. Ignatius could not possibly have long to live. He was so pale that he appeared almost translucent.
Ignatius gave her a rueful smile as she rose from the curtsy. “Yes, my dear. I am, indeed, dying. I suppose I ought to be grateful for the privilege of having had a long and eventful life. But I cannot seem to accept my imminent demise with equanimity.”
Edison went to stand in front of the fire. “Was that why you went to such an effort to obtain the Book of Secrets. Did you hope to find a magical elixir that would prolong your life in that damned manuscript?”
“So you have reasoned it all out, have you?” Ignatius settled deeper into his chair and contemplated the infinity of libraries reflected in the mirrored wall. “I assumed that was the case when my butler announced you a moment ago. In answer to your question, I, and many others in the Vanzagarian Society, are convinced that the mysteries of the ancient occult sciences are not magical in nature. They are based upon a science different from the one we practice today, but they are not magic.”