Chapter 10
Kate
Kate trailed her fingers along the row of books, the scent of vellum and linseed oil strong yet strangely soothing.
Dust motes danced in the rare afternoon sunlight filtering through the bookshop window.
The bell above the door had clanged three times in the last quarter hour, each new patron drawing her notice for a hopeful instant before disappointment followed.
Tess sat patiently on an upholstered bench while Kate pretended to browse the shelves.
Visiting the bookseller’s shop usually soothed her mind, but today it was only an excuse.
If the oak-and-serpent messages continued to follow the same pattern, another notice would be placed soon.
This bookshop was one of several that handled submissions for The Morning Post, and as the largest, it seemed the best place to begin her search.
If she were fortunate, she would catch a glimpse of the person submitting the ominous messages.
At the very least, she hoped for a ledger or some other record of the submissions.
She took down one of her favorite volumes of poetry from the shelf but barely registered the title. The memory of the alley intruded too vividly. The danger itself should have unsettled her most. Instead, she kept returning to the moment James fell and the terrible stillness after.
She tightened her grip until the book’s spine pressed into her palm.
Once she had gathered her wits in the alley, she ran to him without thinking.
The burly man scrambled onto the rickety wagon, fleeing in alarm at the approaching shouts of watchmen.
As the wagon bolted into the dark, its loose oilskin shifted just enough to reveal the crates beneath, each stamped with The Great Dover Shipping Company.
Even now, relief swept through her at the memory of kneeling beside James and feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
She set the volume of poetry back on the shelf and turned toward the bookseller’s counter. The shop’s proprietor, a balding man with half-moon spectacles, glanced up from his ledger book.
“Lady Katherine, have you found anything to your liking today?”
“Not yet, Mr. Wells,” she said, summoning a polite smile. “Though I hope you might satisfy a small curiosity for me. Do patrons place notices for the newspaper here?”
“Some do, my lady. Some send a footman or errand boy. Others go directly to the printer or a different bookseller.”
She pretended only mild interest. “And do you keep a record of the submissions?”
Mr. Wells gave her an apologetic smile. “Only of the payment, and often with no name attached. Most customers prefer discretion. Announcements, legal notices, poetry, advertisements—they all pass through here quickly. I send them to the printer at the end of each day.”
Kate thanked him and moved away before her disappointment showed too plainly. It seemed she did not need Tess to create a distraction after all. The account book would yield nothing.
She resumed her slow progress among the shelves, aware of each opening of the door and the quiet rustle of activity around her.
A clerk purchasing stationery. A matron in blue silk searching for a book of sermons.
An elderly gentleman collecting several classic volumes for his grandson.
A young woman browsing for a gothic novel.
No one arrived with a newspaper submission.
Kate drifted toward the rear of the shop, where the shelves narrowed into a quieter, less visited section that contained histories, atlases, and travel guides. One title drew her eye. She took it from the shelf.
The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent.
She opened the book. The shop faded, and she was back at Aunt Edith’s estate near Dover, visiting the town and running with James and Hugh across the pebbled beach as a salty wind whipped around them.
A creak on the floorboards broke her reverie. Kate whirled, but there was only a middle-aged woman with an armful of books attempting to edge past her.
“Pardon me.”
Kate moved aside, pressing up against the shelf. “Of course.”
The woman passed, and Kate let out a long breath. She was acting absurd.
She paced the narrow passage, holding the Dover book close.
She needed answers, and every path to them seemed blocked.
Hugh was not conscious yet. Westmarch could not be reached.
James might have answers, but the thought of facing him after last night left her feeling perilously exposed.
She had plenty of practice at keeping secrets, but James’s scrutiny made her feel transparent.
The bell over the shop door rang again. The sound drew Kate’s attention to the large shop window.
A figure in a heavy greatcoat stood on the pavement across the street, half hidden by the passersby who crossed in front of him. His face was shadowed beneath the curved brim of his hat, but his height, his build, and the way he carried himself tugged at the edges of her memory.
A jolt of recognition ran through her.
He reminded her of the man beneath her window, though shadow, distance, and the movement of the street made it impossible to be certain.
Kate moved toward the door before she had fully decided to do so. She nearly dropped the book in her haste to shove it back onto the shelf and rush to the front of the shop.
“Tess!”
But by the time she reached the street, the figure was gone.
A carriage rumbled past, splattering mud in every direction. A flower girl argued with a customer over her prices. Two gentlemen passed in deep conversation. But the man had vanished.
Tess appeared beside her, breathless and concerned. “What is it, my lady?”
“There was a man across the street,” Kate said. “I believe he was the same man who was watching my house.”
Tess searched the street. “I am sorry, I do not see anyone.”
Neither did Kate.
She reentered the shop and stopped at the counter. “Mr. Wells, do you know the man who was standing across the street just now?”
The bookseller craned his neck to peer out the window. “I am sorry, Lady Katherine. I did not notice anyone in particular.”
Kate tamped down her rising frustration. The bookshop had yielded nothing. No messenger. No ledger. No name. Only the uneasy feeling that she was being watched.
Everything she had hoped to discover collapsed into a single, unavoidable certainty. Hugh could tell her nothing. The bookseller knew nothing. That left only one person.
“Come, Tess.”
She walked toward the door once again, with more force in her step than necessary.
If James possessed even one piece of the truth, she meant to learn it.
They navigated the crowded thoroughfare toward James’s town house, dodging passersby enjoying the rare sunshine and eager street vendors hawking their wares.
Their walk was accompanied by the jarring rumble of carriages and delivery wagons on the cobblestone street.
Kate and Tess stopped only long enough to buy several bunches of violets from two young girls whose desperate faces tugged at Kate’s heart.
Nerves fluttered as she reached James’s doorstep, and not just because she was a lady visiting the home of a bachelor.
There was every chance his servants would recognize her from the night before.
The watchmen and her hired hackney driver had loaded James into the carriage, and his servants had taken over when they reached his home.
She and Tess had pulled their hoods low and stayed in the shadowed corners of the hackney, but it only took one glance at the wrong moment for her secret to be revealed.
Tess rapped the knocker at the Earl of Brenton’s home and a middle-aged butler she had not seen before opened the door and surveyed her with careful reserve. Relief moved through her when he showed no sign of recognition.
“I have come to call on Lord Brenton.” She tried to appear confident.
The man inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I regret to inform you that Lord Brenton is not home to visitors at present.”
“I understand, but my business is urgent. Would you be so good as to take my card to him? I am quite certain he will make an exception.” She drew a calling card from her reticule and passed it to him.
In truth, she was not certain James would make an exception for her, but she needed answers.
More than that, she needed to assure herself that the blow had left no lasting injury.
She had lain awake long into the night wondering if she should have stayed to take care of him.
The butler opened the door wider, ushering them inside.
Kate and Tess moved past him into a large entryway, and a maid appeared to take their bonnets and pelisses.
The black-and-white tiled floor gleamed.
Portraits in gilded frames lined the wall.
The side table displayed a vase full of fresh roses, their soft scent calming her nerves.
The house was unusually hushed, as though even the servants had been warned to tread softly while their master recovered.
Tess laid a hand on her arm. “Lady Katherine, are you certain you wish to visit him today?” The concern in her voice was unusual, especially since she had shown far less alarm when Kate had shared her plan to visit the rookery.
Her maid seemed more willing to aid her in clandestine activities than allow her to visit a bachelor in his home.
“We shall not stay long, Tess,” she reassured her as the butler returned down the stairs.
He gave her a bow. “Lord Brenton will see you in the blue drawing room, my lady. Allow me to show you the way.”
When the butler led her into the room, however, it was so dim she needed a moment to find her bearings. The curtains were tightly closed against the afternoon sun, and a low fire in the hearth provided the only light.