Chapter 28 #2
By the time they reached Tunbridge Wells, everyone was out of sorts.
It was to be expected. Save for the animals, Henry doubted any of them had truly rested when they’d stopped last night …
and that was eleven hours ago. He’d snapped at his father when they changed horses.
Parker had grown powerfully taciturn, his usual quips nonexistent.
Not even Henry dared poke that bear. His father had nearly rubbed his temples raw from frustration.
And then there was Juliet … sweet, beautiful woman—stubborn as a field of thistles.
Despite his coaxing, she’d barely eaten two bites the entire journey, and she was already painfully thin from her stint in the Bedford gaol.
Yet he appreciated that determination of hers as she entwined her fingers through his on their march to the front door of Mrs. Bellamy’s Private Home for Rest and Recuperation.
It was an unassuming building, the kind that might house a dowager keen on living the rest of her days in Kent’s pastoral countryside.
Wisteria vines hugged the stone walls, nothing but the most stalwart of leaves clinging to them this late in the season.
White lace curtains hung in every window, and a sculpted boxwood sat on each side of the front entrance.
His father heaved a sigh as he pulled alongside. “At least it is a respectable place, so there’s that.”
“I don’t like it. Feels too quiet.” Parker rolled his cane between his palms. “Either they don’t expect trouble, or they’re ready for it. And there is only one way to find out.” He reached for the brass knocker.
Henry beat him to it, restraining himself from banging a hole through the door.
Juliet squeezed his hand, peering up at him with a sad smile. “This will soon be over,” she whispered.
Before he could answer, the door flew open to a bulgy-eyed matron, a scowl pulling her brows into an ominous dark line. “May I help you?”
It was more an accusation than a question.
Henry stepped forwards, ready for battle. “We are looking for Miss Charity Russell and request that you take us to her at once.”
The woman’s lips pursed, making several dark whiskers stand out at the sides of her mouth. After thinking a moment, she shook her head. “I am sorry to disappoint, but there is no Miss Russell in residence here.”
“Please.” Juliet stepped up beside him. “If you would but look at your records. Miss Russell would have arrived yesterday with an attending nurse. She is my height but with golden hair and blue eyes.”
The woman pressed her fingers against her ample belly, pulling her shoulders back.
“As I said, there is no record of a Miss Russell—or an attending nurse—on the books. And I should know, as I am Mrs. Bellamy. I oversee all those who are admitted.”
No. Unacceptable. If Charity were not here, then not only had they wasted all this time, he had no idea where to look next. She had to be inside.
And just like that, the last of his patience snapped like an overdrawn bowstring. “Blast your books, madam! Let us in at once.”
A firm hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back, steady and unyielding. His father’s voice followed, cold yet calm, as quietly threatening as a knife pulled from its sheath.
“Pardon my son,” he said evenly, his unrelenting stare sizing up the woman. “We are all a bit overwrought, but this is an urgent situation. My daughter is missing, and we have cause to believe she is here. Now, if you would please step aside.”
He stopped right there, omitting a threat if she did not comply. But he needn’t elaborate. His father might be in his sunset years, but there was no denying the power in his stance.
Mrs. Bellamy’s chin quivered slightly, a hint of sympathy wavering on her lips.
But then she drew herself up, smoothing her hands along her black skirts as if brushing away any soft emotions.
“I am sorry to hear of your distress, sir. I would like to help you, but I cannot. Bellamy House policies allow for no strangers to be admitted under any circumstances. The convalescents residing here require perfect peace and quiet.”
Once again she reached for the doorknob. “I wish you all the best in your search for this Miss Russell of yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to attend.”
She swung the door.
Parker swung his cane, catching the space between wood and frame.
Then pried it open wide to a mottle-faced Mrs. Bellamy.
“As a former officer,” he began with the smoothest of tones, “I understand your concern for those beneath your care. In fact, I recuperated in just such a residence as this, and many of my fellow soldiers can even name this establishment as their first step towards recovery. While I respect your discretion, I know from experience that not every patient is admitted by choice. Some arrive unconscious. Some drugged. And some, I daresay, are delivered under questionable circumstances. I would hate to see Bellamy House associated with such a scandal. If word got out”—his tone dropped to a dangerous growl—“and I assure you, it will, then those government contracts you rely on for your income would vanish overnight.”
Her nostrils flared. For the first time she looked truly rattled. Henry drew a deep breath, thanking God for Parker’s military connections.
But then, just as suddenly, Mrs. Bellamy’s face hardened to granite. “By all means, sir, fetch a constable. I shall have the lot of you arrested for trespassing!”
She gave his cane a swift kick and slammed the door shut.
Parker wobbled.
Henry grabbed his arm, shoring him up while exchanging a knowing look with the man. Good. Judging by the fire in his dark eyes, they were on the same page.
“So.” He let go of Parker’s sleeve. “On three, I ram it open with my shoulder, and you employ that blade of yours?” He nodded towards Parker’s cane.
Parker bobbed his head, a rakish tilt to his lips. “She can’t say we didn’t give her a chance. One. Two.”
“Wait!” Juliet dashed to the door to stand spread-eagle in front of it. “You are not seriously considering such a move, are you?”
His father advanced, hand stretched out to her. “This time, Miss Finch, I am inclined to agree with such a foolhardy measure. Come. Let us step back.”
“No.” She shook her head, eyes wide. “I learned long ago the only way to capture the prey you are after is to take it slow and quiet. A bull in a china shop only alerts every teacup to its doom.”
Henry exhaled sharply through his nose. “Clever words will not find my sister.”
She met his gaze, calm and unwavering. “And neither will charging in blind. Give me five minutes. Let me circle the grounds—see if I can spot where they’re keeping her. Then you’ll have direction instead of guesses.”
Henry bristled, jaw tight. Everything in him screamed to act, to crash through that door and shake answers from the walls.
But her words struck true. Charging in blind could cost them everything.
He looked at her—really looked—and saw no fear, only focus.
Determination. She’d faced worse than this.
She’d survived worse than this. And she wasn’t asking to do this for glory.
She was asking because she knew how.
His hand came up, raking the back of his neck as if he could scrub the fight out of his spine. His gut twisted, every instinct at war.
And then—he stepped back.
“If the room’s upstairs,” he muttered, “you’ll break your neck.”
Juliet arched a brow. “Then I suppose I’ll aim for a soft landing.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. She slipped away without another word.
And he let her go. Not because he was helpless.
But because, at last, he wasn’t.