Chapter 5 #2
He ignored my jab and faced Jack and Mr. Drake. “I’ll fetch a few things from home and return shortly. Have Verity begin her sketch with Miss Lacey when she arrives.”
Then he left the room without so much as another glance my way. A charmer, to be sure. The next few days spent in his company would be a delight.
“We should begin packing,” Ginny said determinedly, moving toward the door. She was never one to dally about once a decision had been made.
I followed, casting a glance at Mr. Drake as I passed.
He offered a reassuring smile, and I returned it, though inwardly I sighed.
Why couldn’t I be hiding away from a murderer with him?
I would almost welcome such a thing. Instead, I was to be trapped with Mr. Rawlings. My insides twisted yet again.
Mariah was waiting in my room, no doubt having heard from the servants belowstairs that something was afoot. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, still dressed in my ruined gown.
“What’s happened?” she gasped. “Why was the doctor called? Are you hurt?”
I could not summon the energy to tell her everything.
I sat heavily on the bed as Ginny recounted the rather unfortunate turn our evening had taken.
I needed to change, to pack, but exhaustion crashed into me.
Gone was my excitement and anticipation for a visit to London with my best friend.
Instead, I was left with an emptying dread and a hollow chest.
“They leave within the hour,” Ginny finished as she opened the wardrobe. “We need to ready Beatrice as quickly as possible.”
Mariah was speechless, her mouth gaping as she glanced between the two of us. “But surely I will come with you,” she said. “To help.”
“No,” Ginny said, sorting through my dresses. “Questions will be asked about Beatrice’s sudden absence. Perhaps we can say she is ill? You must remain to make it look as though she is here. It would be simple enough to bring food, clean clothes, whatever we need to keep up the ruse.”
Clearly, she’d thought everything through while I was still struggling to come to terms with my new reality.
“And, Mariah, you must promise you will not tell anyone what you’ve heard tonight,” Ginny said sternly. “This is of the utmost importance.”
She nodded seriously, face pale. “Yes, miss.”
Mariah helped me out of my soiled gown, and I washed myself as best I could at the basin since there was no time for a proper bath.
Once I was relatively clean, Mariah dressed me in a traveling gown and fixed my hair into a simple coiffure.
I looked through the many things I had brought to London, though they all seemed quite useless.
Silver combs and pearl necklaces and painted fans. None of that would do me any good now.
We packed my trunk, filled it with stockings, chemises, and the plainer of my dresses. Ginny, however, folded the one ball gown I’d brought to London, a beautiful pink affair in embroidered silk.
“I hardly think I shall need such a gown,” I said dryly.
“One never knows,” she said.
I’d never thought of Ginny as obtuse, so she must be quite mad if she thought I’d be attending any balls while on the run from a murderer and in the company of the dour Mr. Rawlings.
But I let her pack it because it seemed to give her some comfort. I added a few things to the top of my trunk—pieces of small jewelry, various perfumes and cosmetics, my hairbrush and pins.
“How will you manage without me?” Mariah fretted, hands at her waist as she gazed at the full trunk.
“I shall bravely soldier on.” I closed the lid with a thump. “Perhaps Mr. Rawlings is an expert on French hairstyles.”
Mariah did not appreciate my attempt at levity, swiping a sudden tear from her cheek. I took her hand. “Please do not fear,” I said more softly. “You’ll be perfectly safe here with the Traverses.”
“I am not worried for myself, Miss Lacey,” she said. “Who will keep you out of trouble?”
“Out of trouble?” A wry smile found my lips. “I believe I am quite in the thick of it already.”
A knock came at the door, and Verity peeked inside. “Might I come in?”
“Certainly,” I said. “It is something of a party already.”
Verity smiled sympathetically. “Your London visit took an unexpected turn, I understand.”
“Unexpected is one word for it.” Ginny laid my thick winter cloak atop the trunk. She turned to Verity. “You are ready to sketch?”
Verity held up her sketch pad and pencil, and Ginny nodded. “Come, Mariah, let’s leave them to it. We can sort out some food for the journey.”
They left, and then it was just Verity and me, the crackling of the fire, and the beginnings of a headache in my right temple.
Verity sat at the writing desk in the corner and gestured for me to sit in the nearby armchair.
“I am going to ask you a few questions about the man you saw,” she explained.
“I will do my best to recreate his face as you remember it, but it is an imperfect science. We can only hope for a decent enough likeness to be useful to the investigation.”
She spent the next twenty minutes questioning me, asking for specifics about the man’s eyes, the shape of his nose, the color of his hair. His features were something of a blur in my memory, but she managed to pry small details from me. The outline of a face began to appear on the paper before her.
At last, she held it up for my inspection. “What do you think?” she asked. “Am I close?”
I blinked. It was very close. She’d captured his dark brows and thick jaw, and while it wasn’t perfect, when I looked at the shadowed eyes—menacing, haunting—it twisted me back into that moment of terror.
When he’d come after me. When I’d been helpless.
A shiver traced over my spine. “How did you do that?” I asked quietly.
“I can admit to some skill in drawing, but nothing like this.”
She gave a slight shrug. “Nathaniel calls it a gift,” she said without any sense of self-importance.
“Until recently, I simply considered it a diversion. But whatever the word, I intend to do as much good with it as I can.” She collected her pencils and stood.
“Rawlings should be back by now. I will interview him and see what other details he might add.”
I made a sound of irritation at his name—an inadvertent reaction.
Verity paused, eyeing me. “Might I assume you and Mr. Rawlings are still on the wrong foot since the dinner party?”
I grimaced. “Let us simply say that nothing but the threat of a murderer would induce me to spend another minute of my time in his company.”
Verity tilted her head as she clasped her sketch pad to her chest, amused. “He is not so bad as that.”
Curiosity sparked inside me. Ginny barely knew Mr. Rawlings, having only met him a time or two.
But Verity had been acquainted with him for years and worked with him at Bow Street, besides.
“What do you know of Mr. Rawlings, then?” I asked.
“Because he seems quite determined to uphold my opinion of a straitlaced, long-faced, impossible-to-please officer of the law.”
“He is that,” she conceded with a short laugh. “But you mustn’t let him intimidate you, Beatrice. He is kinder than he lets on. You can trust him.”
Trust. I snorted. I very much doubted that.
She only smiled and patted my arm. “You will both have to trust each other, I’m afraid.”
“I’m quite afraid of that too,” I said. “Please, do everything you can to find this man”—I gestured at her drawing—“so that I may return as soon as possible.”
“Indeed I will,” she said with a wink. “Then perhaps you might regain your footing with a different officer of the law.”
I did not bother to hide my grin. “Perhaps.”
She moved to the door. “Good luck, Beatrice. I do hope we meet again soon under less dire circumstances.”
“As do I,” I replied soberly. “Thank you, Verity.”
Quiet descended after she left. It was the first time I’d been alone since this whole ordeal had begun. I went to stand before the trunk at the foot of my bed. I took another deep breath—how many had I consciously taken tonight, trying to center myself?—and laid an unsteady hand atop the trunk.
This was an adventure, I told myself. The type of experience I’d so often wished for amid my ordinary, uninteresting life.
And while I was afraid, I could not let that emotion rule me.
I was stronger than my fear, my uncertainty, my apprehension.
I would face this obstacle head-on, with all the dogged optimism I could muster. This was my chance to prove my mettle.
I spotted my reticule on the floor near the door.
I must have dropped it there when I’d entered earlier.
I bent to pick it up. Mr. Rawlings’s Bow Street stave was still inside.
I moved to my washbasin and tipped the open reticule so the stave slipped out into the water, splashing in the silence.
The crown was smeared with dried, rust-red blood.
Before I could grow too nauseated, I took a rag and scrubbed the stave clean, trying very hard not to think about the man I’d injured with this weapon.
When I finished, I dried it and placed it into the new reticule I’d be taking on tonight’s journey.
A manservant came to fetch my trunk. I donned my cloak and followed him downstairs, feeling an ache in my side from where Mr. Rawlings had pushed me out of harm’s way. How had that been only a few hours ago? It seemed my entire world had upended since then.
Everyone was waiting in the small entryway, conversing in quiet voices—Ginny and Jack, Verity and Mr. Denning, Mr. Drake.
And Mr. Rawlings.
He stood by the front door, apparently having finished meeting with Verity.
He spoke with Mr. Drake, their faces serious.
I had no doubt they were speaking of the case.
Mr. Rawlings obviously did not enjoy having his authority stripped away, but he had every reason—just as I did—to want this case solved as quickly as possible.
His white sling stood out in bright contrast against his clean clothing, nondescript and dark.
His hair was fixed again, back into that rigid style he wore.
The bruises around his eye and jaw had continued to darken, which only made him look that much more dangerous. Intimidating.
Ginny met me at the bottom of the stairs, hair coming loose from its pins, posture weary. She took my hands. “Please, be careful, Beatrice. No unnecessary risks. Bide your time, stay out of sight, and everything will be right in the end.”
I kissed her cheek. “I will. You must take care as well.”
She nodded, and there was so much more we could have said to each other, but we left it at that. With a quick embrace, she stepped back.
I turned to face the rest of the party—all watching me—but I fixed my attention on Mr. Rawlings. He waited beside the door, hat in hand, expression staid.
“Are you ready, Miss Lacey?” There was no warmth in that Highland lilt, no matter how it softened the edges of his words.
Every doubt returned with a vengeance, like glowing embers stoked back to life. Was I truly going to travel to an unknown location with a man I barely knew? Did I really trust that he would protect me?
I dragged a deep, cold breath into my lungs, then released it. I had to have faith. Pushing away the battering thoughts, I nodded. “I am ready.”
With one last glance back at Ginny, standing with her arm through Jack’s, I followed Mr. Rawlings out the door and down the front steps.
He stopped beside the coach and held out his good hand to me. I hesitated, then took it. Through our gloves, the steady press of his fingers sent a bolt of awareness through me—the touch of this man I barely knew. He helped me inside with no sign of aggravation from his injury.
I seated myself on the forward-facing bench, while he sat across from me. Wonderful. We’d have to stare at each other for hours on end. But then I imagined him sitting beside me, bumping into me with every turn in the road, and decided his choice was the preferable option.
I met his eyes, and I could read nothing in those dark depths, no hint of emotion in his features.
He set his mouth in a serious line, then knocked on the roof. “Drive on,” he commanded.