Chapter 2 #2
“I certainly can,” she said, trying to tug her arm free. “I have no qualms about dressing down such a horrid person in public.”
“I am sure it would be both eloquent and cutting, as she would deserve,” I said. “But you really mustn’t. Please.”
Ginny stilled. “Why?”
I sighed. “Because Clarissa Haythorne has every tool at her disposal to make my life perfectly miserable, as we’ve already seen. The only thing to do is to stay out of her way.”
Ginny examined me, and there was a discernment in her eyes that made me squirm.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “Only I know how difficult it was for you. I cannot bear to let her get away with such a thing.”
I smiled at her, a halfhearted effort. “We’ve quite switched places, haven’t we? Normally, I would be the one declaring war, and you would be urging caution.”
“Yes, well,” she said, touching one hand to her belly, “my motherly instincts are already firmly in play. Because if I see that woman again, nothing would stop me from putting her in her place.”
“Let us stay far away from Miss Haythorne, then,” I said with a short laugh. “I don’t think Jack would thank me for getting his wife involved in a bout of fisticuffs on Bond Street.”
“Jack has taught me plenty,” she said tartly. “I could handle Miss Haythorne.”
I linked my arm with hers. “I have no doubt.”
As we started off again, heading for Ginny’s carriage ahead, I had to swallow against the lump in my throat. Ginny had always been on my side, just as I had always been on hers. We’d been through so much together, and I considered myself the most fortunate of people to have so true a friend.
I forced several deep breaths into my lungs. Everything was fine, I reassured myself. It had been one chance encounter. Clarissa would forget me soon enough, if she hadn’t already. Perhaps her vindictive nature had softened since I’d last seen her.
Or perhaps she would revive her war against me, the one I had lost so terribly the first time.
She’d let me run back to Little Sowerby with the scraps of my reputation two years ago. I wasn’t sure I’d be so lucky should we cross swords again.
We returned to the Travers home as the sun began to set behind the rooftops.
Ginny had tried doubly hard to distract me for the rest of the afternoon, and we’d purchased armfuls of new trinkets that neither of us had really needed.
It hadn’t helped much, but at least now I could fully anticipate our evening at the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.
A thrill raced across my skin as I imagined dancing with the handsome Mr. Drake, strolling arm in arm with him along the lantern-lit pathways.
He was a quick-witted, lighthearted fellow—the perfect cure to the melancholy that had rooted inside me since seeing Clarissa Haythorne.
I dressed carefully, selecting a pretty deep-blue gown that brought out the same color in my eyes and a cream spencer jacket. It was October, and although the pleasant weather had allowed Vauxhall to remain open later in the year than was normal, there was still a distinct chill in the air.
We’d arranged to meet Jack and Mr. Drake at No.
4 Bow Street, which was only a short carriage ride away.
I was as equally fascinated by Bow Street itself as I was by their Runners, so I could not help but stare up at the rather austere brick facade as Ginny led the way down the carriage steps.
I followed her through the entry and into a broad room filled with tables and desks and chairs and a great many bustling officers and patrolmen.
The magistrates’ court had a very distinct energy, full of purpose and determination, and I found it quite catching.
That was, until I spotted Mr. Rawlings. He was speaking with Jack, the both of them intent on the conversation. My stomach curdled. Drat. I’d hoped to avoid the man altogether. To meet both him and Clarissa Haythorne on the same day was a crime, indeed.
Ginny immediately made her way to her husband. I trailed after her, nonchalantly searching for Mr. Drake. Perhaps he was in one of the smaller offices?
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Ginny said, wrapping one arm around Jack’s. “Have we arrived at a bad time?”
Jack’s face lit up at the sight of her. Heavens, the way Jack looked at Ginny. As if it had been a month since he’d seen her instead of a single day. It made one feel like quite the interloper.
“There is never a bad time for you to arrive.” He pulled her close to his side.
I glanced away, allowing them a moment, and my gaze—quite unfortunately—landed upon Mr. Rawlings. He was looking at me as well, though his manner could not have been more different from Jack’s. His coal-dark eyes held only a polite disinterest, his mouth a serious line across his face.
“Miss Lacey,” Mr. Rawlings said in greeting. Well, at least he’d remembered my name.
“Mr. Rawlings,” I replied coolly. “Any progress on your case?”
His expression changed not at all. “Some.”
Clearly, he wouldn’t give me any information on that front. I would wait to try my luck with Mr. Drake. Assuming we found him.
Ginny seemed to read my thoughts as she glanced around. “Where is Mr. Drake?”
Jack’s brow lifted. “Is he not back yet? He left two hours ago for an interview in Mayfair. I imagined he would have returned by now.”
“I daresay he’ll be a while yet.” Mr. Rawlings riffled through the stack of papers in his hands. “I asked him to confirm an alibi for the viscount’s solicitor while he was out.”
“And where would that take him?” I attempted a casual air.
Mr. Rawlings placed a paper on the top of his stack and peered down at it. “Whitechapel.”
My heart dropped, disappointment rooting deep within me. Whitechapel was in the opposite direction of Mayfair. It could be hours before Mr. Drake returned.
Hours. My focus sharpened on Mr. Rawlings. He had to have known when he’d made the assignment that Mr. Drake could not possibly return in time to meet us. Had he done it just to spite me because of our clash last night? He seemed far too discerning to have done it by happenstance.
What a toad.
Mr. Rawlings looked up, oblivious to the daggers I was glaring at him. “Jack, do you have the notes from your interviews? Lady Somerton is arriving soon, and I must apprise her of the new developments.”
Jack stepped to a nearby table to fetch his own stack of papers, much less organized. Mr. Rawlings held out a hand for them, but Jack paused, holding them out of reach. “You need a respite, Rawlings,” he said. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
“Of course I slept,” Mr. Rawlings said curtly.
“More than an hour or two?”
“I cannot see why that signifies.”
Still irritated, I inspected Mr. Rawlings, wishing to find a flaw in him.
He was impeccably dressed, his clothing well made and well cared for, if a bit too plain to be considered fashionable.
His dusky-brown hair was in perfect order and his shoulders ramrod straight, but there was a weariness in the stubborn set of his face, in the shadowed crescents beneath his eyes.
“You will run yourself ragged, that’s why,” Jack said. “You’ll be of no use to the investigation if you’re dead on your feet.”
A taut muscle worked in Mr. Rawlings’s cheek. Ginny stepped forward, her hand still on Jack’s arm. “You should come with us to Vauxhall, Mr. Rawlings,” she offered. “At least for an hour or two. A distraction is just what you need.”
“Or perhaps sleep would be the better idea,” I cut in. “Plenty of sleep.”
I was not being terribly subtle, but that had never been my forte.
“I thank you, Mrs. Travers,” he said stiffly, ignoring my suggestion. “The dowager viscountess is due to arrive any moment, else I would be most glad to accompany you.”
Thank heavens. Even if I didn’t much relish the idea of shadowing Ginny and Jack without an escort of my own, it was the far superior option to having that escort be Mr. Rawlings.
“What luck, then,” Jack said with a mischievous smile, holding up a folded letter, “that this note arrived from the viscountess a few minutes ago. She begs your pardon but asks to postpone your meeting until tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Rawlings blinked. He did not move for a long moment, and then his eyes narrowed upon Jack. He knew he’d been had.
“Come, we’ll have a grand time of it,” Jack said, “and then you may return here to your endless notes and meetings.”
“Yes, do come,” Ginny encouraged, though she carefully did not look my way. She knew very well from last night that I did not much care for Mr. Rawlings.
“I cannot say I am in the mood for merrymaking.” Mr. Rawlings did not intend to go down without a fight. “I would not be very good company for Miss Lacey.”
Ginny and Jack both turned to me, as if I were the deciding factor.
I opened my mouth to insist he need not come, but then I paused.
There was a delicious satisfaction in knowing I could force this man to do something he very clearly did not wish to do.
Since he had managed to deprive me of Mr. Drake’s amiable companionship, I would keep him from what he wanted—to be left alone with his work.
“I’m sure I’ve had far less pleasant company than you before, Mr. Rawlings,” I said, a challenge to my words.
He regarded me closely—an unwelcome inspection.
I imagined he was quickly cataloging each and every excuse he might use to free himself from this invitation.
But he dropped his stack of papers on the desk behind him with a soft thump.
“Very well, Miss Lacey.” He stepped forward and suddenly seemed taller than he had even a moment ago, his figure rather imposing before my smaller frame. “Lead the way.”
Oh bother.