Chapter 16 #2
She squeezed her eyes closed on a memory of Archie, half reclining in bed, his blond hair limp and dirty, his skin yellow, his nightshirt open to reveal a haggard, bony chest. He’d been a shockingly handsome young man, an Adonis, but no more.
“By then, he was slurring his words and telling me I would be taken care of. He passed out before he explained more.”
A handkerchief appeared in her free hand. She took in a long breath and composed herself before going on.
“Archie did not show me the will. Later, though, after his death, Mr. Stockwell, one of the solicitor’s clerks and I made an effort in good faith to find it before Mr. Fleming proceeded with matters.
We searched high and low for it. Everywhere, to no avail.
That was before Lord Diddenton instructed your father to repeat the search. ”
Jarrow ignored her insulting tone and went on. “Did you see Lord Vernon or Sir Morris the day of the signing?” He asked, his voice gentle.
Like a gentle hound mouthing his prey before chomping down on it. He would be a far more formidable magistrate than his father had been.
“I was told that Lord Vernon had left the day before, and that Sir Morris had been there and departed before I arrived. So no, I spoke with neither man.”
“So, you did not see Sir Morris’s accident?”
“No.”
She hadn’t seen the curricle as it toppled. That was true enough.
“I returned to Bluebelle Lodge. It was snowing quite heavily and I wanted to get home. We received news of the accident later.”
Graeme held tightly onto her hand, though he itched to set his arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She’d begun, unawares, to tremble under the weight of trying to respond without outright lying. He knew what she was about, and in truth, he was impressed.
“I’ll go and visit this woman,” Jarrow said. “You are right, Lady Chilcombe, that she’ll probably offer it to Diddenton. The gossips might make much of him paying for a stolen will, but it still might hold up in the consistory court.”
A knock at the door brought Adwick, before one of the Runners rushed past him and a boy followed behind ; Blythe’s errand boy.
“What is it, Burrows?” Morley asked.
“Bobby,” Blythe cried.
The Runner had the lad by the collar. “This lad—”
“Lord V,” Bobby cried. “Just saw him on Bridie Lane.”
Graeme stood, pulling Blythe up beside him. “Adwick, send someone for a hack.”
They all moved to the hall while servants brought their hats. Morley told the Runner to remain at Chilcombe House and keep watch on the ladies and children.
“I’m going as well,” Blythe said, accepting the bonnet and spencer that Radley had come running with.
Graeme opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. He ushered her out of the door and they all squeezed into the hired carriage.
They had the driver set them down outside the narrow alley that was Bridie Lane. Blythe stepped out briskly for number thirteen before Graeme pulled her back.
“I should go in first,” she said. “I’ll be expected.”
The thought of her walking in on that cur and the vile woman set his blood boiling. “No, we’ll go together.”
“I have a better idea,” Jarrow said. “Let’s see if we can listen to their conversation. He might say or do something incriminating.”
“There’s a way in through the back,” Bobby said. “I can climb up and—”
“I’ll go with Bobby,” Morley said. “The three of you go in through the front door. Lady Chilcombe is right, she may be allowed in faster than the men. See if you can provoke Lord Vernon, my lady. Chilcombe and Jarrow can both be nearby.”
She nodded and set off again.
“Damn you, Morley,” Graeme muttered, hurrying after her with Jarrow close behind.
The door creaked as Blythe opened it and advanced toward the ground floor door off the hall where the yellow haired woman had appeared.
Graeme pulled her back and framed her face with his hands. “Do nothing rash,” he said. “I can’t lose you again.”
Her mouth dropped open and she quickly closed it, nodded, and then reached for the doorknob.
Muffled cries came to them, a woman and a man arguing.
Blythe froze.
“Upstairs,” Jarrow said and bounded for the staircase.
“Wait.” Blythe tugged Graeme back, her head cocked, listening intently. “It may not be them.”
Graeme heard it then—the cockney accent, the deep bellow. Those were not the sneering whiny tones of Lord Vernon. A loud thud and a woman’s scream were followed by the sound of splintering wood.
Graeme squeezed her shoulder. “Jarrow might need help. Wait for me here. Don’t go in there alone.”
He found Jarrow bent over the body of a scrawny fellow in threadbare coats, a thin woman standing over him, weeping.
“Passed out, I’d say,” Jarrow said.
“Ye broke me door,” the woman said. “How’m I to pay for it? Mrs. Thornsby’ll have me out on the street.”
“She’ll have you out on the street for disturbing the peace fighting with your man,” Jarrow said.
The woman scoffed. “She does worse, her and that woman who lives with her and that baby crying night and day.”
“Is Thornsby the yellow-haired woman on the ground floor?” Graeme asked.
The woman swept a gaze over him head to foot and then back up again. He’d worn his best coats for the morning meeting and hadn’t had time to change.
He pulled a half crown from his pocket and held it up for her.
“Yes,” she said, holding out her hand.
“And the woman who lives with her?”
She scoffed again. “Calls herself Lunetta. Now…” She extended her hand further, and Graeme dropped the coin into her palm.
“That’s not enough to fix the door,” the woman said.
“Who visits Mrs. Thornsby?” Jarrow asked, holding up another coin.
“No one that I know. Just the two of them and that squalling brat. She goes away, Thornsby does, from time to time. Doesn’t have a man if that’s what ye’re asking.”
“What is her business?”
“She’s a whore as far as I know. Not one as brings her business here, otherwise we wouldn’t be living here. My man has a stall at the fish market.”
Downstairs, a door slammed. Graeme stepped around the man on the floor.
“There was a man here this morning. Saw him through the window going in just now.”
Graeme hurried past the splintered door and rushed down the stairs.
Blythe was gone.
As Graeme hurried up the stairs to help Jarrow, Blythe edged closer to the door and bent her ear to the panel.
The thick door obscured words but she heard the unmistakable tenor of a man’s voice. A chill went through her, a chill that told her it was Diddenton’s vile spawn conversing with Madame. Perhaps they were planning to ruin some other lady’s life.
Anger coursed through her and a thirst for revenge.
But she wasn’t a fool. Though she’d been weakened by a drug and concern for her babe during her last encounter with the woman, she still might not be a match for the two of them, who were both so skilled at wielding a whip.
Mr. Morley might be close at hand but that was uncertain. She’d wait for Graeme, at least a few more minutes.
She was counting out seconds when the door opened and the clawlike tentacles of Madame closed on her forearm and pulled her in, slamming the door behind her.