Chapter 11 #3
The sound of china clattering almost drowned out the sound of Della’s cry of horror, but not quite. Angel bit her lip, looking from the dowager’s wicked expression to Della’s one of undisguised horror, and dissolved into laughter.
Little Valentine, 25th January 1816
Izzy hurried back down to the town later that day, relieved to discover the blacksmith’s shop was open and no one was about.
It was a low-roofed, sturdy stone building with a wide, open doorway.
A huge water trough sat at the right of the door and, as Izzy approached, she could smell the smoke and the immediate change in temperature.
Inside the light was dim, though she could see the earth floor was scattered with ash and metal filings.
Izzy trod carefully, trying not to touch anything, the atmosphere becoming increasingly thick with the stench of the fire and hot metal as she got farther inside.
Tools hung everywhere and were strewn over every blackened surface.
Eddie looked up from the forge as she entered, setting down the leather bellows he’d been plying.
He was a great ox of a man, with huge shoulders and powerful arms. Sweat glistened over his soot-grimed skin and, as she got closer, the heat of the fire intensified, the contrast to the cold outside extreme.
Eddie nodded at her, his expression grave but reassuring. “Don’t fret, miss. We got him away safely.”
Izzy let out a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. He’s a long way from healed and in a great deal of pain. I hope he’s not travelling too far today?”
He got a cautious look in his eyes. “He’ll be taken care of, miss.”
There was an awkward silence as Izzy gathered her nerve.
She wondered what Eddie thought of her, if he had any idea what had happened with Boreas.
Would Boreas tell anyone? No. She realised that, even when she had thought him a brute, she had not feared that.
He was not the kind to tattle and brag about his conquests.
Eddie shifted uneasily, obviously eager for her to be gone, but she reached into her pocket, withdrawing the letter she had written. “Please, would you pass this one for me?”
To her dismay, he shook his head, not meeting her eye. “Can’t. Sorry, miss.”
She stared at him in confusion. “There’s no rush. It doesn’t matter if you won’t see him for a while. It’s just that—”
“No!” The harsh rejection made Izzy jump, and she stared at him in shock. There was an apologetic, almost hangdog look to the man as he explained. “He told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to accept letters from you.”
Izzy just stared at him, knowing she was making the poor man uncomfortable, for the confusion she felt, the hurt, must be obvious.
Eddie hesitated, picking up a hammer and putting it down again. “He ain’t coming back.”
“Not coming back?” Izzy repeated the words unsteadily, not wanting to understand them. “Never?”
Eddie shook his head.
“Then what will he do, where will he go?”
“Ain’t my business,” Eddie said, turning his back on her and taking a metal rod out of the flames. The tip glowed white hot. “I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, miss.”
Izzy leapt as the hammer came down, striking the metal with an ear-piercing clang as sparks flew in all directions.
Stunned, she left the blacksmith’s, wandering around the town until she found herself back at the seafront.
The weather had closed in, black clouds threatening rain, and the sea lashed at the shore, throwing itself down in a fit of temper, like a furious two-year-old.
Izzy sympathised. She did not doubt Boreas was being honourable, trying to protect her from himself, from his life.
Yet, what was the point in showing himself to be not such a villain and—damn him!
For a long moment she stood gazing out to sea, seething with frustration combined with a profound sense of loss that made her want to weep.
Overwhelmed with disappointment, Izzy strode back to the smithy, intending to wheedle, beg, or blackmail until she had convinced Eddie to take the blasted letter and hand it over. She stalked up to the opening and then paused as she heard voices from the dim interior.
“—he’ll be fit enough?”
“Aye, he’s going to hole up for a few weeks, and then he’s going to London. Say’s it’s the only way to smoke the villain out.”
“Bloody hell. I don’t like it. He’s not lived in that world for years. Never in England. What if he don’t fit in? What if he’s recognised?”
Izzy strained to hear, not recognising the second voice. She moved farther inside as Eddie spoke again, his tone scathing.
“You want to tell him that, do you? I tried, and he nearly took my bleedin’ head off. Boreas will do as he pleases. There’s no point telling him he’ll get himself in up to his neck, he won’t listen.”
Izzy tried to get closer, so intent she did not watch her footing.
Outside the door were piled bits of metalwork and broken tools.
Her toe touched a stack of worn horseshoes and the top one clattered to the floor.
Catching her breath, she darted away, hurrying around the corner and darting into the nearest shop.
She waited for a few moments, relieved the shop keeper was occupied with another client, before slipping out and heading for home.
So, Boreas was going to London, was he? To do what, she could not fathom, but she would find out.
Though she knew London was a vast city, and finding one man in it was probably nigh on impossible, she had to try.
It was her only chance of seeing him again.
So she hurried home, already composing the letter she would write when she got there, but this time it would be addressed to her sister, the Countess of Beaumarsh.