Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
When Keriah and Mr. Verling returned to Ruby’s house, thunder rained down upon them both from Lady Wynwood and Mr. Drydale.
Keriah hastily told them about the information and the herbs she had acquired—about how Phoebe’s arrow had been left at the burned factory, about how Jack had been released from the Ramparts prison.
Upon hearing that, Mr. Drydale seemed to be on the verge of forgiving them, but a freezing glare from her ladyship caused him to harrumph and attempt to continue to speak sternly.
Their scolding was interrupted by a knock at the morning room door.
Phoebe’s head peered around the door. “Are you finished raking them over the coals, Aunt Laura? Mr. Coulton-Jones has returned. He knocked at the servants’ entrance, and the butler was about to send him away when I happened to hear his voice and recognized him. ”
“Thank you, Phoebe,” her ladyship said. She turned a stern eye toward her niece. “And I would have had no need to rake them over the coals if you had stopped Keriah from her reckless plans before they left the house. You are not blameless simply because you were left behind.”
While Phoebe normally had excellent control over her face (to Keriah’s everlasting envy), she was helpless against her aunt. Her cheeks and ears turned red, and she dropped her eyes as she curtsied. “Yes, Aunt Laura.”
They all followed Lady Wynwood into the entrance hall, where Ruby had come to greet Mr. Coulton-Jones. He was laughing at something she had said.
Keriah noted that both Phoebe’s and Mr. Verling’s expressions grew wooden at the sight.
Mr. Coulton-Jones was being the usual charming rascal he presented to society, while Ruby was almost a different person from how she was when she spoke to Phoebe and Keriah.
Now she was arch and teasing, with a smile that deepened her beauty in a bewitching way.
She was like a fairy of the old tales, leading men astray from the mortal world.
But Keriah could see their masks in place, like pieces of paper that couldn’t quite conceal the writing on the pages beneath it. Yet Phoebe and Mr. Verling apparently did not realize the shallowness of the facades worn by the two in conversation.
Mr. Coulton-Jones’s smile faded and his expression grew serious as he turned and bowed to Mr. Drydale and Lady Wynwood, but when his gaze fell upon Phoebe, there was a strange intensity at the back of his eyes, hidden by his words and his serenity.
Despite his beautiful hostess, despite Lady Wynwood’s elegance and Mr. Drydale’s authority, Phoebe alone moved him.
Phoebe had not told Keriah of anything that had occurred between them lately. But his reaction now was novel, as if Mr. Coulton-Jones had been a cold, dark grate, and now there were bright embers banked beneath the ashes.
And yet, Keriah’s heart broke for both of them. What future did they have, with both of their lives limited by the Goldensuit?
No, she would not allow that. She would find a way to free them.
Ruby turned to Mr. Drydale. “You will likely need to speak with Mr. Coulton-Jones, but I regret I cannot show you proper hospitality and allow you to use the drawing room. Lord Treme mentioned he might stop by before dinner.”
Her voice was cool, and while it was not clear to Keriah if she disliked her paramour, it was obvious that she did not like him, either. She could not imagine a life such as Ruby’s, to trade the intimacy of her bedchamber for the funds to survive in London.
“We anticipated we would have need of your attic,” Mr. Drydale said. “Laura and I have been clearing out the space.” His mild tone and face was the picture of innocence, as if he and Lady Wynwood had not been having a proper row only a few hours ago in that very same attic.
He led the way up the stairs, but Ruby remained in the entrance hall, making no move to join them. Phoebe held her hand out to her. “Join us, Ruby.”
“You are not obligated to inform me of everything,” she said. “It might be best if there are things of which I remain ignorant.”
But it was Mr. Drydale who answered her. “I believe it is necessary for you to become aware of all the dangers, in the event they encroach upon your household.”
Ruby’s lips tightened. It was apparent she cared a great deal about her servants, Clifton and Jessica. She gave a slight nod and ascended the stairs behind them all. (Keriah could not help but feel like a clumping child next to her graceful steps.)
The attic had indeed been transformed. The empty cots were piled one on top of the other against the wall, and the rest of the space had been cleared, leaving enough room for a round table surrounded by mismatched chairs.
An extra chair had already been placed for Ruby, and Mr. Coulton-Jones easily lifted a sturdy high-backed oak chair from a pile of discarded furniture and placed it at the table for himself.
“Agent—” Mr. Drydale began, but then he grimaced and instead said, “Mr. Coulton-Jones, please report.”
In that moment, Keriah fully realized that they no longer belonged to the Ramparts.
While the agents had treated her poorly, she could not deny that she had benefited greatly from her training in fisticuffs and knife fighting from Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Ackerman, and Sir Derrick had always given her any samples of the Root potion he acquired as soon as he was able, although at times he was obliged to yield to competing interests within the department.
Mr. Drydale, also, had relied upon the assistance of the Ramparts, and that aid was now lost to them.
“On the way to your cottage,” Mr. Coulton-Jones said, “Isabella had Thorne hire a horse and ride to Wittenden, before our journey took us too far away. She wrote a note for Mr. Neybridge to explain our situation, in addition to the note you had entrusted to him.”
Mr. Drydale nodded. “She made a wise decision to send him.”
“My mother was quite distraught about the events, as you can imagine.” Mr. Coulton-Jones’s eyes looked pained. “She is … a trifle disappointed with the accommodations.”
Mr. Drydale surprised them with a short bark of laughter. At Lady Wynwood’s questioning glance, he said, “While I am sure Mr. Coulton-Jones described the cottage as a most lavish residence, it is remarkably similar to your Aunt Millicent’s home in Northumberland.”
Keriah seemed to remember Phoebe telling her that her Great-Aunt Millicent’s home had been in a bad way and Lady Wynwood had needed to take things in hand to ensure repairs were made properly.
“Sol, for shame!” her ladyship scolded him, but there was a reluctant smile tugging on the corners of her mouth that belied her stern admonishment.
“Indeed, Mr. Drydale’s cottage is by far the safest place for my mother,” Mr. Coulton-Jones insisted. “It is distant from any neighbors, and the work to repair and furnish the place will keep her occupied. It is not so terribly uncomfortable as her complaints may make it appear.”
“Well, I’m certain it is helpful that your mother is, by nature, very industrious,” Lady Wynwood said. “Will that not make it difficult for her to remain hidden away?”
“The two servants sent by the Senhora were already waiting at the cottage when we arrived,” Mr. Coulton-Jones said. “They shall go to the village to do the shopping, and the grounds are extensive enough that she may go for walks unobserved, so that she need not be confined to the house.”
“How long must she remain there, Sol?” her ladyship asked.
Before he could answer, Mr. Coulton-Jones removed a note from his coat pocket. “Sir, before I left the cottage, Thorne returned from Wittenden with a message from Mr. Neybridge. Its contents may be of assistance as you determine your next course.”
As Mr. Drydale took the letter from him, Mr. Coulton-Jones added, “My mother was quite distraught, and so my sister agreed to remain one or two days more before returning to Wittenden.”
Mr. Drydale nodded, then opened the note and skimmed its contents.
“Neybridge believes that Miss Chapman is the woman whom Maxham sent to Wittenden, but they have not been able to determine her purpose there. So far, she has inserted herself into the neighborhood, and she appears to have set her cap for Mr. Vipond—the same young man from Miss Penrose’s past.”
“That cannot be a coincidence,” Lady Wynwood said. “Perhaps she intends harm to Miss Penrose?”
“There is apparently some mystery surrounding Mr. Vipond’s missing mother,” Mr. Drydale said, even as he continued reading the letter.
“We already looked into the Viponds weeks ago when Neybridge wrote to me, but perhaps we ought to dig deeper. Also, Neybridge asks us to discover if there is a connection between Miss Penrose and Dinorah Seiles, who is posing as Miss Chapman.”
“But Miss Penrose has enemies of her own, unrelated to the mission, does she not?” Lady Wynwood asked. “Our inquiries must be discreet, lest they hear that we are asking about her.”
“Are her enemies as dangerous as that?” Keriah asked. “Who is she, exactly?”
Mr. Drydale shook his head. “I am bound to secrecy. I shall undertake this investigation alone.”
“Surely there is some way in which we might help,” Phoebe said.
Mr. Drydale looked thoughtful. “Perhaps there is. Neybridge mentioned that this Mr. Oaksley acted to protect Miss Penrose by starting a rumor about a widow named Mrs. Ivers in another town.” He looked at Phoebe. “This may be the perfect opportunity to transform the rumor into truth.”
Phoebe smiled widely. “So I’ll be posing as a widow, then?”
“I feel more comfortable sending you upon this mission, for I know that you can protect yourself. And moreover, no one could sneak up upon you, whether they be a normal man or one of Jack’s men.”
“Jack’s men?” Ruby asked.
“We discovered from Lady Nola that Jack has escaped—or been released—from the Ramparts prison,” Keriah replied.
“Sol, while I admit that Phoebe is quite capable,” her ladyship said tartly, “I still hope you will not be sending her alone.”
“Mr. Verling shall accompany her as her butler.”
“Perhaps it might be useful to travel first to the cottage where I sent my servants and ask some of them if they might be willing to join you,” her ladyship said. “The twins and Mrs. Rook are easily overlooked but quite skilled with blades.”
“That is an excellent thought.” Mr. Drydale glanced at Phoebe and Mr. Verling. “The two of you should leave at once.”
“It will be remarked upon if she travels without a maid,” Lady Wynwood pointed out. “I shall send Aya with her to the servants’ cottage, and Jane can act as her lady’s maid from there. Aya can return to us by the mail coach.”
“We have found little information about Mr. Oaksley,” Mr. Verling reminded him. “Shall we leave that task unfinished?”
“I have written letters to my acquaintance, and Sol posted them for me today,” Lady Wynwood said. “Now, we need only wait for the replies.”
“Where will replies be sent?” Phoebe asked.
“To my townhouse,” Lady Wynwood said. “When I am not in town, the postman leaves my letters with the butler of my neighbour, Admiral Blore. The admiral’s servants know Aya, and she shall call there to collect them.”
“Tomorrow, I should like to call upon the Chinese apothecaries Lady Nola mentioned,” Keriah said.
“I shall accompany you,” Mr. Coulton-Jones said, “for I am certain that such apothecaries do not work out of Mayfair.”
“I shall be grateful for your company,” she said.
“If that is all we have to discuss, Phoebe and Mr. Verling should prepare to leave at once,” Mr. Drydale said.
“First, let us pray for protection over all of you,” Lady Wynwood said.
Her ladyship had often prayed for them at the close of meetings at Stapytton House, and in time, Keriah had grown less uneasy with it.
She prayed for the safety of each of them, as well as success in each of their tasks, then closed with, “Keep us, O Lord, from the hands of the wicked, and preserve us from the violent man who hath purposed to overthrow our goings. All which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Keriah didn’t understand how, but the words somehow soothed a bone-deep ache inside of her, an old wound that throbbed occasionally and had been with her since her sister died.
Keriah felt the wisp of a powerful presence that seemed to know everything about the pain she had suffered and her grief, even though none of those things had been mentioned in the prayer.
How strange that she should feel this way. It was almost as if …
But then they were all rising to their feet, and the thought went away.