Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Harris felt a poke.
“Arthur, wake up.”
He groaned into his pillow. “Blast it, woman, I were finally asleep.” He was exhausted from a night of restless tossing, thoughts of Jasper again being tortured at Finch’s hand making him sick to his gills. “Why pester me now, when—”
“Arthur, I do not wish to wait.”
He cracked open an eye. “Wait t’ rescue Jasp?”
“To … you know.” She poked him again.
“Stop pokin’!” He felt cross. “An’ tell me straight what you’re so eager to—”
She met his eyes with determination.
“Oh no.” He shook his head, furious she was still worrying this bone. “Nope, I won’t. I gave me word, Bella. And naught will make me—”
Only her hand landed where it shouldn’t, where it gripped his morning arousal.
“I’m yer husband in name only, miss.” He leapt from the bed to hastily don his clothes. “An’ of all times t’ ask…” He shook his head at her, disgusted.
Annabelle’s demeanor and tone shifted fast. “Forgive me, Mr. Harris. I did not mean to offend.” She, too, slipped from the bed, turning her back to him to dress.
“Y’ didn’t offend, ’tis only—”
“No, I offended your honor and must beg your apology. I am clearly not myself.” He thought he heard her sniff. “It shan’t happen again.”
“Sweetheart.” He reached to touch her shoulder.
“Don’t!” She pulled away. “Please do not pretend affection. You are right, of course. I should never have asked, not with all that has happened.”
“Bella, luv…”
But she rushed from his room, making Harris wish to punch something, hard. He should have handled her better, but his nerves were as taut as gut strings on a fiddle.
And why ask now to be debauched? Did their scheme scare her too?
Bella was right to fear Finch, and fear the role she’d offered to play.
Which is why he wouldn’t let her. He’d take a small band of men straight into Finch’s hell and wage battle instead, rather than send his wife into that snake pit with her sister.
He was still angry at Li for encouraging Annabelle’s half-baked idea.
Nor would Jasp stand for such madness either.
No matter how convincing Bella was as Bartholomew Brown, she was but a slip of a girl beneath men’s clothes, with not nearly the brawn needed to throw a fellow should she get jumped.
Both she and her sister would be quickly overpowered if it came to a brawl, which it likely would.
They’d have only their wits, and he’d lived enough to know wits were never enough.
Instead, Harris would strike early. Having grown his beard on the journey to Gretna, he was now grateful he’d kept it.
That and a bit of dye to darken the blond should prove disguise enough.
His plan removed Annabelle and Lady Milton from the equation entirely.
And he’d put that plan in motion this very night while Bella paid her father a long-overdue visit.
Perhaps it was best they’d quarreled. He’d get Janie to color his hair right now.
Elizabeth paced her husband’s study and fretted, because there was the plot hatched in her husband’s parlor—with Gerald, Harris, and Li—and there was the plot she’d hatched in private, after, with Annabelle.
She and Bella would implement their plan a full day prior.
Namely, tonight. They would not wait for Harris to ‘gather more men’ or for Li to ‘send a girl in to spy.’ Time was of the essence.
Elizabeth knew their plan might not work, but the other plan might not work either.
Surprise was their best weapon; every story she’d ever read confirmed this.
Odysseus, after all, had conquered an entire city with his Trojan horse.
Instinct told her Finch’s greed was the proper bait—greed for power and wealth.
And the fewer known actors the better, lest God forbid the fiend sniff out a rat.
The sole other person Elizabeth would apprise was her husband’s man, Marty, whom she’d see when they dined this evening with Papa.
Harris could not forbid Annabelle from visiting Father now that she was back in London, and Marty should know their scheme in the event things went terribly awry.
Which they wouldn’t, Elizabeth told her worried self, because she could not bear the thought of Jasper suffering a second longer in that evil man’s grasp.
She gulped, knowing full well the danger she and Bella faced, yet Finch could not marry Annabelle now that she was legally wed to Harris. And Elizabeth was a lady, after all, not a foreigner like Li or a servant like Ginny. Surely, if discovered, Finch would treat her differently.
Mutton’s thumping tail beat in time to her nervous pacing.
Heartsick for his master, the hound now followed her everywhere about the house.
Elizabeth, too, felt sick at heart. She’d taken to sleeping nights in Jasper’s bed, Mutton curled at her feet, because the sheets still smelled faintly of her husband.
She rued that day she’d made light with Bella and envisioned herself a widow enjoying the Baron’s riches, for here she was, on the brink of just such future, wishing the very opposite.
She longed for Milton to be home. Or was it but concern for his well-being?
Oh, she no longer knew what she felt for Jasper Audrey!
“Ma’am?” Gerald appeared from out of nowhere. “Mary Audrey’s takin’ tea with Murdoch in the kitchen, should y’ wish t’ join ’em.”
“Is she? Thank you, Gerald. I shall.”
He turned to leave.
“Gerald?”
“Ma’am?”
“Do you think our plan will work?” Elizabeth did not know why she asked. It was a futile question when the plan the butler knew was not the plan she and Annabelle would follow.
“I should hope.” He met her gaze. “But only God knows fer certain. Though if anyone can bring Jasp home, ’tis you, ma’am. He misses you somethin’ fierce, I’m sure.”
“I cannot tell, Gerald, if the Baron loves or loathes me.”
“I’ve known Jasp fer years, ma’am, an’ what that man loathes more’n anythin’ is weakness in his self. And you are Jasp’s great weakness, along with Mutton here.” He bent to scratch the wolfhound’s head.
Elizabeth did not believe the butler, because her husband did not allow himself to be weak. He may be as vulnerable as the next, but he did not show it. Ever.
She followed Gerald out, Mutton close on her heels, and forced a smile as she entered the kitchen. “Madam Audrey, it is so good of you to—” Yet one look at her mother-in-law’s distraught face made Elizabeth cross the room and envelop her in an embrace.
“I am so sorry,” Elizabeth whispered into Mary’s ear. “I am doing everything in my power to secure Jasper’s safe return.”
Mary brushed tears aside as she pulled away. “I’ve no doubt you are, Elizabeth, but this plan of yours, as Li tells it, is sheer insanity.”
Elizabeth’s hopes plummeted. She crumpled into the nearest seat as Murdoch quietly left the kitchen.
“I lived under Finch’s thumb, Elizabeth, and if he truly does have Jasper, he will use him to extort both favors and funds from you. And that will only be the beginning.”
Elizabeth willed herself to have faith. “With all due respect, Mary, no plan is foolproof. We’ve no choice but to try.” She steadied her shaking hands. “Jasper would do as much for any of us; you will not scare me off.”
A faint smile crossed Mary Audrey’s face. “Indeed, Lizzie. You make your husband proud.” Her smile grew. “I did not come to warn you off your scheme, dear, merely to warn you of the holes in that scheme.”
Relief washed over Elizabeth.
“Listen to what I share, then bring my boy back to me.”
And Elizabeth did listen, intently, even as she quietly turned her and Annabelle’s plan over in her mind. Finch was less protected than assumed; he kept but one man at his side, meaning Annabelle’s retrieval of a few choice ingredients from Mr. Harris’s larder might just do the trick.
Her sister had learned a thing or two on her journey to Gretna which should prove useful to them now. At least, Elizabeth prayed it would.
Hours later, however, she was not thinking of their plan, Elizabeth was contemplating wringing her father’s neck.
“Lizzie.” Annabelle shot her a warning glance. “Do not berate Papa so. It is Mr. Finch who deserves our wrath, not Father.”
They were sitting in their father’s drawing room, visiting with him, only Elizabeth had failed, again, to temper her anger—anger which felt more justified than ever.
Her husband’s very life was threatened, for God’s sake, while Papa remained insufferably unaffected by anything but his own blasted concerns.
Cook had reported she’d heard him weeping nights, the recent upset with the house too much for him to bear.
Not Annabelle’s kidnapping to Gretna, mind.
Not the Baron’s disappearance. The man’s blasted house.
Or perhaps Father worried his debt to Finch would not get settled now that Milton was missing? Well he ought to worry. He ought to—
Papa dramatically dabbed a kerchief to his brow. “If your dear, sweet mothers could only see the two of you, married.” He loudly blew his nose.
“You leave our mothers out of this,” Elizabeth’s ire only increased. “For you to invoke their names, after such shabby treatment of both—”
“Lizzie,” Annabelle hissed. “We did not come to rile Papa, but to show him we are well, to ensure he is well, and to get on with our lives, forgiving and forgetting.” She pinned Elizabeth with her gaze. “We mustn’t let other frustrations affect current feelings.”
Elizabeth slowed her breathing. Annabelle was right, of course.
Fear was getting the better of her. She yearned for her husband’s firm presence—and even firmer hand.
His palm on her backside would have helped clear her head.
A quick spanking, absurd as that thought was, had curative properties she desperately now craved.
“Forgive me, Father. My nerves are overwrought.” She inhaled a breath. “And you are right, Bella, the past matters little anymore. In fact, we shall stay the night, for old times’ sake, and join you for dinner. What say you, Papa?
Winthrop looked from one daughter to the next.
“’Tis true I am so lonesome of late I don’t know what to do with myself.
The house is much too quiet with the two of you now gone.
Do you think I ought to marry again? I hear one is never too old to take a wife.
After all, a kind and loving widow with means may just put my heart to ease again. ”
Elizabeth resisted the overwhelming urge to throttle him.
Instead, she placed a hand on his arm. “I should like nothing better than to discuss the idea over dinner, Papa. I’ll have Cook set the table for three.
Bella, why don’t you peek at Father’s accounts before we dine. To make sure all is in order.”
No doubt he was up to his tricks. Again.
Once the house fell silent, they slipped out, Elizabeth in half-blind state led by Bartholomew Brown’s steadying arm. She’d stashed her spectacles in her skirt pocket rather than risk being found out, for she could see enough to get by; the world would simply blur.
Annabelle had given Elizabeth a dress gaudy enough to look the part. She’d also dusted off an old powdered wig to hide Elizabeth’s black hair, turning her into a painted catin de la révolution named Babette. Bette would hang on Bart’s arm—both trollop and good luck piece to his card sharp.
Elizabeth prayed their ruse would hold, for tonight all childhood playacting skills would be put to test. Annabelle, at least, was a good actress.
She gripped her sister’s hand inside the hansom Bart had hailed. “Bella, I must thank you for coming to Milton’s aid. I did not think I’d grow to care for him, yet—”
“You have,” Bella finished. “And he for you, Lizzie. My day spent shopping with your husband proved he cares for you a great deal. You could have done worse than marry Baron of Milton.”
“Like marry Arthur Harris?”
“Well, t’ be sure, he’s less catch than yer fine Baron.” Bella slipped into character. “Though you’re a sweet skirt, Bette.” Bart coughed his voice lower. “I may just marry you meself!”
“Ooh, Monsieur Brown.” Elizabeth played coy with an affected French accent. “You win well enough at zee tables, sir, and I may just accept.”
“You’ll bed me first, Bette.” Bella’s words shocked. “For only if y’ please me twixt th’ sheets will I—”
“Annabelle.” Elizabeth fast dropped her act. “Wherever did you learn such coarse language?”
“Why, from my husband, sister. You should hear Arthur speak. More tricks up that man’s sleeve than—”
“Bella.” Elizabeth grew serious. “Have you developed feelings for Mr. Harris? Because the way you—”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bella’s voice hardened once more into Bart’s. “He’s naught t’ me but a means to an end, as is th’ game we play t’night.”
Elizabeth did not believe her.
“We must focus on finding Milton, Lizzie. On getting him out. I shan’t allow distraction to cloud my mind, and neither should you.”
Elizabeth hardened her resolve. “Agreed. Once we have Finch’s attention—and gain his master key—we find and free Jasper.”
Bella patted her suitcoat’s breast pocket, making Elizabeth instinctively reach for the beribboned locket that collared her throat. Annabelle had prepped two handkerchiefs, and Elizabeth wore arsenic about her neck.
They were as ready as they’d ever be.