Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Reid sat quietly, observing his wife as the carriage passed through the Islington tollgate and headed into London. While he struggled to shake the memory of their lovemaking from his mind and temper the newfound need for her, she watched from the window as fields and hedgerows gave way to the bustle of the city.
Her shoulders rose and sagged every few seconds, her weary sighs failing to lift her solemn spirit. She clutched her hands in her lap, but he saw the tremble she tried to disguise.
She was afraid—afraid of the Merricks.
The urge to settle her fears had him referring to the new hat pin the countess had given her at Studland Park. “The countess has a unique taste in gifts.”
Sofia blinked, touching the decorative pearl-topped pin visible in her poke bonnet. “Pins can be lethal if one knows where to stab a man. This one is a little wider, the tip sharp as a blade.”
“The countess knows how much you fear the Merricks.”
Sofia averted her gaze. “Judith’s erratic moods were bearable, but now Victor pulls her strings. He’s a law unto himself.”
Men like Merrick used fear as a weapon.
“Did Merrick ever touch you?”
Sofia shivered. “No, he enjoys being a silent participant.”
Rage roiled in his chest, but he fought to suppress it. “He watched as your stepmother hurt you?”
She pursed her lips, struggling against whatever visions filled her mind. “Judith has always been cruel with her words. She found a different outlet for her wickedness when she met Victor.”
“What is her gripe with you?” he asked calmly, hoping to put his pugilistic skills to the test when he finally faced Merrick.
Sofia gave a half-shrug but then explained how Judith had bled her father dry. “It makes no sense. I watched a logical man turn into a blithering idiot. He seemed blind to her manipulation.”
“Perhaps your mother was the sensible one and her death highlighted his weakness.” Reid’s father had proven his mind was feeble during his temporary commission in Brussels.
“It makes me wonder if you ever really know someone.”
It was a cue to reveal something from his past. He thought about changing the subject, but they’d vowed to make honesty the foundation of their marriage.
“That’s what killed my mother in the end.” His chest constricted. The tight hands of grief squeezed his lungs. He mentioned the letter found amongst his father’s personal effects. “Her heart gave out when she discovered my father had a mistress.”
He could still hear his mother’s mournful cry when she discovered the woman was staying in Brussels, in a village close to his father’s camp.
Sofia swallowed deeply. She reached across the carriage and clasped his hand. “I know how important she was to you. I’m sure your father’s selfish actions made her question every intimate moment they’d shared.”
Reid recalled speaking about this once before.
His grandfather’s response had been vastly different.
Can you blame him? A man needs a woman who worships him. Not one who dedicates her life to helping strangers.
“The light in my mother’s eyes died when she read that letter. Hours later, I found her cold in her bed.” In his grief, he’d resented her leaving, a feeling his grandfather nurtured.
She didn’t care about your father, and she didn’t care about you. I blame it on her upbringing and that religious zealot who threw her out.
“How old were you?” Sofia said softly.
“Fifteen.”
Her breath caught. “I was fifteen when my mother died.”
Losing a parent at a young age was not uncommon, especially if one lived in the rookeries. Yet the coincidence was like another string strengthening their bond.
While he had dealt with a bitter old man, she had coped with a violent step-parent. And now, two separate events had somehow brought them together.
“We have more in common than we realised,” he said.
They shared an interest in medicine, social reform, and a wild passion between the bedsheets. It should have roused hope in his chest, but the road to happiness was an uphill trek they might not survive.
“Much more in common.” Her coy smile evoked a picture of this morning’s lesson in curing hysteria. A lesson in scandal because he’d made her climax with his mouth as she stood naked before the looking glass.
“You don’t need to be afraid of the Merricks,” he said, returning to the reason for her sad sighs. “While I don’t make threats lightly, I’ll die to protect you, Sofia.”
She inhaled sharply, then threw herself into his lap.
He wanted to say any honourable husband would do the same, but his wife’s mouth came crashing down on his, and he forgot everything but the arousing taste of her.
“I fear my nerves are rather frayed,” she teased.
The prompt to slip his hand up her skirts encountered a setback.
The carriage stopped on Wood Street, outside the shabby Castle Inn. With a list of calls as endless as a madman’s rant, there was no time to waste.
“We’ll discuss the treatment for your nerves tonight,” he said, smiling. “When we consider the topic of my growing ailment, too.”
They alighted. The Castle Inn was closed on Sundays, so Reid thumped the door repeatedly until the landlord answered.
“We ain’t open. Not unless you’ve hired a room.” The pigeon-faced fellow peered through the narrow gap in the door, scanning their attire. “I’ve got a spare one going. It’s yours for three shillings, including a hot supper.”
Reid reached into his waistcoat pocket for a coin. “I’ll give you a crown if you let us discuss the matter inside.”
The fellow snatched the coin and beckoned them into the dingy taproom. Three older men sat huddled around a corner table, downing ale and putting the world to rights.
“Don’t mind them,” the innkeeper said, rubbing his hands together. “They’re kin, and there ain’t no laws about serving family on the Lord’s Day.”
Reid scoffed. “I’m not here with a warrant.”
The fellow looked at Sofia and gave a toothy grin. “I reckon I know why you’re here. I can have June put on the best sheets and fix the room up nice for the lady.” He nudged Reid and winked. “I’ll even put a flower on the pillow for a price.”
“Would it be possible to speak to June?” Sofia said. “I know her sister, Mrs Pugh. I heard she lost her position and could help her find another.”
The innkeeper screwed up his face like he smelled something foul. “I’ll give you a shilling if you take that drunken harpy off my hands. I found her slumped on the stairs this morning, piddle soaking her stockings.”
“Are you speaking about June or Mrs Pugh?”
“June’s only vice is that Congle tea from China.”
“Congou,” Reid corrected.
“That’s it. She sings every Friday so she can buy a pound. I told her she’ll have to sing every day of the week if I’m to suffer her sister.”
Reid tried to stem his impatience. “Fetch Mrs Pugh and I’ll give you a sovereign for your trouble.”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Will I still get the money if she’s spouting gibberish? I reckon she’s still half-cut. You’ll want a peg for your nose.”
“Bring her here, and you’ll get your sovereign.”
“Can I see the blunt?”
“Fetch her!”
The innkeeper scurried away through a door behind the counter. Raised voices upstairs accompanied thuds and bangs. A woman screamed to be left alone. She shrieked. Something smashed.
Long moments passed before the innkeeper yanked open the door and shoved a scrawny woman into the taproom. “Unless you want to sleep huddled next to a brazier tonight, you’ll speak to these good people.”
The innkeeper gripped the swaying woman’s wrist, dragging her forward along with a stench too putrid to name. A red scratch marred his cheek. He held out his hand to Reid, keen to be paid for his trouble.
Reid crossed his palm with gold. “Leave us. Best dab some brandy on that welt before it becomes infected.”
“She’s a wild one this morning,” the keeper warned.
Mrs Pugh cursed the fellow to Hades, her spittle pelting his face like plump raindrops. Then she turned, wobbled, and stared at Sofia. “You? Why, you little devil. I should tan your hide. That’s what I should do.”
Reid made to speak, but Sofia’s temper flared. “Lay a hand on me, and I’ll have you carted to the nearest gaol. I don’t need to tiptoe around you anymore. Say what you like to Judith.”
Mrs Pugh’s glassy eyes rolled in their sockets and she slurred, “I’m out on my ear because of you, s-sneaking off when you shouldn’t.” She burped, the fumes noxious. “Merrick never gave me a chance to explain. He’s already out looking for you.”
Sofia pressed her palm to her chest and breathed deeply. “Then he’s wasting his time. I’m married now.”
“Married!” Mrs Pugh looked at Reid, her head lolling back and forth. “You don’t need to lie to me no more. You left home less than a week ago.”
Reid cleared his throat. “I assure you. Sofia is my wife. If you see Merrick, tell him I’ll gut him like a fish if he comes near her.”
Mrs Pugh chuckled, the sound fuelled by drink. “Happen you’ve never set eyes on the devil. One look from him will have you scarpering.”
“I don’t scare easily, Mrs Pugh.”
A determined man was a fierce opponent.
“Merrick always gets his way. Happen he’ll take pleasure in stealing Sofia back.” Her cackle became a hacking cough. She pressed her mouth to her elbow, the fabric catching the phlegm. “I bet Judith is glad you’re gone. She never liked the way Merrick looked at you. Your virtue was the only thing stopping him from giving you one himself.”
Reid cursed under his breath.
“What did Judith say when she came home to find me missing?” There was a thread of satisfaction in Sofia’s tone. “She must have been livid.”
Mrs Pugh shrugged. “If she’d been there, she might have let me stay, but that devil acts like it’s his house.”
Sofia glanced at Reid and frowned. “But Judith was there when Mr Merrick threw you out. I was told they arrived home together in a hackney and you left shortly afterwards.”
Mrs Pugh shook her head, the action causing her to grip a nearby table for support. “Judith went to the solicitors. Merrick’s sister is visiting from Edinburgh for a month. The brute set her to work straight away and had her cleaning up the mess.”
“Did Merrick mention anything about the auction?” Reid said, desperate to gain insight into the fiend’s plan. “Do you know when the event will take place?”
“What auction?”
“Victor planned to sell me to the highest bidder.”
The woman stared through bloodshot eyes. “I know he likes you serving the old gents in the new card room, but he ain’t mentioned nothing about an auction.”
“Think, Mrs Pugh,” Sofia urged, gripping the sleeve of the sot’s crumpled dress. “Did Judith discuss a party with you? A wedding celebration, perhaps?”
“She talked about having a gathering at home.”
Despite pressing Mrs Pugh for answers, it was obvious she knew nothing. Maybe the liquor had rotted her brain cells. She begged Sofia for money and offered to talk to Judith Merrick, but Reid knew Mrs Pugh would hit the bottle the minute they left.
Outside the inn, he drew Sofia aside.
“We have two choices.” The way she worried her lip had him sliding his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. “We pray Mrs Pugh will tell Judith you’re married and they decide to leave you alone.”
“Or?” She closed her eyes, anticipating the other option.
“We visit the Merricks now and inform them ourselves.”
She paled, her frown betraying an inner turmoil. “We agreed to face our enemies. And it’s important you know what sort of man Victor is.”
“I know what sort of man he is.” A tyrant and bully. A beast without morals. He smiled to chase the haunted look from her eyes. “We’re married. The Merricks need to know you fall under my protection now. I’ll not let them hurt you. No one will ever hurt you again.”
Strange how his own words caused an ache in his chest, a twisting tug of longing that made it hard to breathe. His attachment to her deepened by the day. Nothing but the touch of her lips brought him peace.
He prayed the feeling didn’t fade.
“I don’t care about myself,” she confessed.
Unspoken words hung in the air between them.
He stroked her cheek to settle her fears. “The key to tackling men like Merrick is to show you’re not intimidated. I may play the considerate doctor, but make no mistake. I can be savage when the need arises.”
Sofia clenched her fist and hammered on the front door, wishing it were Judith’s smug face. Nausea roiled in her stomach. The Merricks were unpredictable. Nothing would go as planned. An argument was the least of her concerns. The meeting would likely end in a fistfight.
No one answered.
Reid stepped back, surveying the upper windows before banging on the door with his fist, too. “Daventry’s man said the Merricks are home, though they didn’t return until the early hours.”
Were they combing the streets looking for her or trying to explain to Mr Harrop that his bride had fled? Perhaps they didn’t give two hoots and were glad to see the back of her.
“Judith often spends the day in bed.” Judith found rising a chore and lacked the strength to pull back the coverlet. Maybe the creaking bed had finally snapped, and the couple had suffocated beneath a mangle of sheets.
But Sofia wasn’t so lucky.
Gruff shouts echoed from within the house.
A high-pitched shriek reached her ears.
The Merricks argued as much as they bounced on the mattress. After her experience with Reid last night, she knew the difference between a three-minute marathon of grunts and groans and two hours spent making love.
Seconds passed before they heard the patter of footsteps in the tiled hallway. A woman answered the door, her hair a tangle of red curls, her eyes bloodshot and her breath as stale as the dregs of yesterday’s ale.
“What has ye raising the roof at this godforsaken hour?” the woman said in an irate Scottish burr. “’Tis it not a crime to knock so early on the Lord’s Day?”
This woman must be Mr Merrick’s younger sister. While Sofia knew he had relatives in Scotland, the man spoke with a mild London accent.
Sofia gathered herself. “We’re here to see the Merricks. Judith was married to my father before she married your brother.”
The woman paled. She put a shaky hand to her throat. “Then ye must be Miss Moorland. My brother has nae slept and has been mindless with worry.”
Victor had never been of sound mind.
The woman beckoned them over the threshold. “Come in out of the cold. I’ll fetch Victor and make a pot of tea.” It wasn’t cold, but perhaps it was a standard greeting in Scotland.
“I would prefer to speak to Judith.”
“As I said, best come inside and talk in private.”
The stranger welcomed them into the drawing room, then hurried upstairs to rouse the household.
Sofia glanced at the blue brocade sofa, a lump forming in her throat because it was the last purchase her mother made before she died. The ornate brass fire screen had belonged to her grandmother, and for a moment she forgot about the hatred and arguments and remembered what it felt like to be with people she loved.
As tears filled her eyes, Reid drew her close, the heat of his body soothing her spirit. “I know how hard it is to leave your home and start anew. There are tenants in my parents’ old house, though I sometimes park outside and let the memories consume me.”
Sofia leant into him. “After today, I’ll never come here again. The Merricks have left their stain on everything I once held dear.”
“Is there anything you want from your room before we leave?”
She met his gaze, his question filling her with glowing gratitude. “My grandmother’s dressing table, though I doubt Judith will agree.”
Reid dashed a tear from her lashes. “I’ll offer her a sum she cannot refuse. People like the Merricks value nothing but ready coin.”
The pain in her heart eased, but the thud of footsteps on the stairs had the organ pumping wildly.
Victor entered the room—vanquishing all breathable air.
Doubtless Reid was expecting a monstrous fellow with evil eyes and a toothless grin, but a master of deception had carved Victor’s handsome mask.
“Sofia,” he said, slapping his hand to his wicked heart like his prayers had been answered. He combed his fingers through his greying black hair. “I trawled the streets looking for you. Mrs Pugh sent me to The Burnished Jade, but I found the place in darkness.”
Sofia raised her chin. She did not need to appease Victor Merrick anymore. “I left because I found a letter from Mr Harrop confirming he wished to purchase me at auction. I believe you’ve invited other men to bid on my virtue.”
Victor frowned, his mouth curling downwards, his thick black brows slanting though they failed to hide the sudden flare of anger in his eyes. “Harrop is a doddery old fool. Even if it were true, whatever secret arrangement he had with Judith no longer applies.”
His response raised a few questions, but she needed to leave this house and refused to linger a second longer than necessary.
“Where is Judith? Scrubbing the laundry in Mrs Pugh’s absence?”
A muscle in Victor’s cheek twitched. He glanced at Reid for the first time but continued to ignore him. “So, you’ve found your voice during your little trip about town.”
“I wasn’t allowed a voice when I lived here.”
“Lived?” Again, he looked at Reid but glared this time. “Introduce me to this gentleman, Sofia, so I might thank him for seeing you safely home.”
“I’d prefer to wait for Judith.”
“Judith isn’t here,” he snapped.
That’s not what Mr Daventry’s man said, though perhaps he had mistaken the Scotswoman for Judith. Both had red hair.
“When do you expect her to return?”
“Never.”
A heavy silence descended, the inevitability of the word hitting like the plunge of the guillotine.
“Never?” What did that mean? “Did Judith remain in Scotland?”
“No. She complained about the cold wind and dreary skies.” Crinkles appeared at the corners of Victor’s eyes, though his tone held no emotion when he said, “Judith is dead. She’d taken something to help her sleep and went missing from the coaching inn near St Albans.”
Sofia listened, shocked that Judith needed a sleeping tincture because she usually snored the minute her head hit the pillow. Fear crept into her heart and spread like a night frost.
Had Judith riled Victor’s temper?
“A coachman found her body in the grounds of the abbey.” The devil did not shudder or shed a tear. “The coroner summoned a jury of locals to examine her. They delivered a verdict of accidental death.”
“When was this?” Reid said.
Victor whipped his head around. “I’ll not answer your questions until I know who the hell you are.”
Reid straightened to his full height, a few inches taller than Victor. “Then I’ll tell you who the hell I am. I’m Sofia’s husband.”
Victor froze. Darkness passed over his features. “This is no time for childish games. Did you not hear me say her stepmother is dead? The house is in mourning. Have some respect.”
Respect? Victor was a walking monument to insolence.
“It’s true. I’m his wife.” She edged closer to Reid. “I’ve known Mr Gentry for months. We were married in the chapel at Studland Park.” And she carried no pity in her heart for Judith.
Victor stared and stared. Time stood still. A glint in his eyes said he’d found a flaw in the tale. “Yet you haven’t claimed her dowry.”
“I don’t need her dowry. We married for love, not money.” Reid didn’t slip a protective arm around her waist but stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. “We’re here because my wife wants her dressing table. We’re not leaving without it.”
A sly grin played on Victor’s lips. “It’s not her dressing table. I own the house and everything in it, per the details of Judith’s will.”
Sofia couldn’t help but wonder if this was Victor’s plan all along. Her beloved family home would belong to this brute. “You don’t own the house until the probate court determines you do.”
“To apply for probate, the executor needs the death certificate,” Reid added. “The coroner won’t issue a certificate for an accidental death until there’s been an inquest.”
Victor firmed his jaw. “The coroner gave his verdict.”
“A verdict on probable cause. The inquest findings usually reach the executor in two weeks. It will be another two weeks before the case goes through probate. Anything can happen in a month.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Victor countered.
“Take it however you please. Luckily, the accident happened in St Albans, a mere twenty miles away. Close enough for me to attend the inquest and ask pertinent questions.”
Victor raised a menacing finger. “Stay out of my business, boy, or I’ll make you regret coming here with your feeble warnings.”
The tension reached fever pitch.
The air crackled with the promise of violence.
Sofia knew they had evidence that might make Victor think twice about throwing a punch. “The coroner may change his verdict when he learns you purchased two bottles of potent laudanum from the apothecary in Covent Garden. You may say they were for Judith, but it will cast doubt on your tale.”
The fiend paled.
She saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
Silence stretched like a bowstring about to snap.
Victor stepped back and raised his hands in surrender, yet he would have appeared less terrifying if he’d drawn a blade. “Take the table.”
Sofia gripped Reid’s arm, keen to leave the house.
Reid summoned Nokes, telling him to place the table in the carriage, and they would hail a hackney.
Victor stood in the hall, his beady eyes fixed on her, not Reid and Nokes lugging the furniture. When his sister arrived with the tea tray, he dismissed her with a threatening jab of his finger.
Victor Merrick made sure he had the last word as Sofia left. The whispered statement prickled the hairs on her nape, filling her with ice-cold dread.
“Some men value virtue over experience between the bed sheets. Lucky for you, I’m not one of them.”