Chapter 17
Cynthia summoned a footman and asked him to ready the carriage. Before he returned, Mrs Higgins knocked on the door, carrying a folded piece of parchment holding George Lippert’s address and a letter.
‘This just arrived, my lady. Wild weather we’re having. Best take your coat with you if you’re going out. There’s no telling if it’s summer, winter, or something in between.’
Cynthia pocketed the address and picked up the letter to inspect the seal.
‘Very true, Mrs Higgins. Ah. My dear friend, the Duchess of Devon has no doubt written to extend her condolences. Can you put this in my room? I shall read it later. Helena and I have several pressing errands to run. We’ll be gone most of the afternoon.
But never fear. We shall both bring our coats. ’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Higgins retrieved the letter, bobbed a curtsey, and left as quietly as she arrived.
Fifteen minutes later, Cynthia was sitting next to Helena in her landau as they bumped along an increasingly rutted street on their way to Cheapside.
The day had turned uncommonly hot, making their coats comically unnecessary.
London summers could become rather stuffy in the heart of the city, and the air in the carriage felt heavy.
She could have sat on the bench opposite Helena. Or shifted further to the edge of the squabs. But she did not. She pressed the length of her leg against Helena’s. Helena’s pinkie brushed against her black silk skirt. A secret thrill ran through her.
‘We should devise some kind of strategy when we arrive.’ Helena’s low voice soothed nerves that were beginning to stretch and fray the closer they came to George Lippert’s house.
Cynthia tapped her chin. ‘Yes, excellent idea.’ Creating a plan would help her feel less anxious. ‘I have wanted to apologise to Lily for Hubert’s abrupt and unwarranted dismissal. Perhaps that could be our reason for visiting?’
Helena nodded. She lifted her pinkie up and down over the silk. The smallest whisper of friction tickled Cynthia’s thigh, creating a wave of sensation. Her thoughts scattered. It took her a moment to gather them back.
‘I also hope to provide poor Lily with letters of recommendation if she needs them, regardless.’ Her voice had become decidedly husky.
And why was her corset so damnably tight?
‘Regardless of what her father might have done, she deserves every chance of a bright future. That is another reason for us to visit.’
Helena raised a copper brow, her finger pausing. ‘You would still offer to help her, knowing her father murdered your husband?’
Hamlet had curled up on the opposite bench. At Helena’s question, he lifted his own copper brows, his golden eyes glowing as he carefully watched Cynthia.
‘Of course. Her father’s choices are hardly her burden to bear.’ A new thought occurred. One Cynthia should have come to much sooner. ‘Dear God. What shall we do if we discover he really is guilty of murdering Hubert? Surely he will react poorly when he realises his ruse has been discovered.’
Helena shook her head. ‘We won’t let him know we are aware of his crimes.
We are simply gathering information. Once we have some firm evidence, we can take that to Uncle Lachlan and let Scotland Yard confront him.
Or we can turn the carriage around and go to Uncle Lachlan now with George Lippert’s address. ’
Cynthia scrunched her nose and shook her head.
While she respected Superintendent MacDougal, she knew they had a better chance of learning the truth without his presence.
He would barge in with bluster and brawn when they needed a gentler hand to uncover whatever secrets George Lippert was keeping.
Besides, Helena was right. They were in no danger so long as George Lippert didn’t suspect they knew the truth.
‘I have the utmost faith in our abilities. He can’t possibly be any more frightening than Mr Sinclair. And I have a witch to protect me; what could possibly go wrong?’ She snapped her mouth shut, regretting her last words. She had no wish to tempt fate.
‘Many things.’ Helena’s grey eyes lightened a shade as she carefully watched her.
Cynthia could easily become lost in the subtle changes of Helena’s irises from grey to silver, like watching water crystalise one moment at a time.
‘Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in all my days.’
I shouldn’t have said that.
But it was impossible not to appreciate Helena’s many attractions.
Helena blinked. A small smile creased the edges of her mouth. She shifted her hand so it rested fully on Cynthia’s leg. Her finger dug into Cynthia’s thigh, just above her knee, as she squeezed gently.
‘Not nearly as stunning as yours. Do you know, when I first met you and looked into eyes so like the forest, I knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘That you would be trouble.’
Cynthia couldn’t stop the giggle. Or the rush of pleasure Helena’s words caused.
‘You like trouble.’
Helena shook her head. ‘I find I like trouble far too much for my own good.’
Before Cynthia could process her words, the carriage turned down a narrow street where the houses slumped against each other like drunk men trying to stumble home. They were getting close to Lippert’s address.
A group of children spilled from one of the doorways into the street.
The heat was amplified by the brick buildings absorbing the sun and reflecting it back onto broken cobblestones.
A slow-moving river of putrid sludge added to the foul scent created when people were forced to live crammed together in a sea of stone.
It rather distracted Cynthia from the lovely tension building between them.
She wasn’t ignorant of her fortune, even if she was bound by golden chains.
But as she took her coachman’s hand and descended, it was impossible not to acknowledge how vastly different her circumstances were from the hard-working people of Cheapside.
They were just as trapped as Cynthia within society’s rules, and their cages were far less comfortable.
As Helena exited the carriage, a stray dog caught sight of Hamlet poking his copper nose out of the door.
Cynthia heard the growl and scratching claws on cobblestones a moment before she saw dirty grey fur streak past her towards the fox. Hamlet had no escape as the much larger, much fiercer dog bunched his muscles to leap into the carriage.
‘Stop!’ Cynthia screamed, throwing her hand out towards the dog.
A snap of energy flew from her palm to the dog.
He jerked back, caught on an invisible tether.
His muscles quivered, and his lip snarled, showing sharp white teeth.
He couldn’t break free as he strained against what held him.
An invisible leash she controlled by some miracle.
Or magic.
But that is impossible. Unless I’m somehow stealing power from Helena.
Helena’s grey eyes lightened to silver as rushing water pooled around the animal’s feet, forcing him to lose his ground and be swept several feet away from the carriage door.
The coachman who had helped Helena from the carriage looked wide-eyed at the dog, then Helena, then Cynthia.
A strange calm flooded Cynthia, sweeping away her questions and filling her with confidence. She knew what needed to be done.
‘Go home.’ Her voice resonated with command. There was no question in her mind that the dog would follow her orders.
He stood, soaking wet and trembling, several feet away from them. His growls turned into confused whining as he cocked his head at Cynthia.
‘Now.’ She pointed away from the carriage.
Shaking himself, he yipped at Cynthia before turning to follow her finger down a darkened alleyway. As soon as the dog disappeared, so did her confidence.
What the bloody hell just happened? What did I just do? And how in blazes did I do it?
‘Such strange weather we’re having today.’ Helena spoke to the coachman as though nothing untoward had taken place. Her painfully bright smile made the man wince. He dipped his head in a jerky nod.
‘Yes, Miss Blair. Awful odd weather the last few days.’
Helena turned to Cynthia. ‘I think it might be wise for Hamlet to stay in the carriage while we visit with Lily.’ Her silver eyes slowly darkened back to grey. The message in her gaze was impossible to miss.
Act normal.
‘Capital plan.’ Cynthia tried to keep her voice steady. She could hardly fall apart in front of her coachman and all of Cheapside.
Later.
She would question her sanity after she interviewed a potential killer.
Like a sensible person.
She stepped closer to Helena and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You’ll have to explain what just happened when we’re alone.’
Helena could have been plumbing the depths of Cynthia’s soul with the intensity of her stare. ‘I think it’s best you come to Blair House tonight. We can talk about it there.’
Nerves threatened to choke her. Helena looked very serious.
What if Cynthia’s suspicions were correct and she was stealing Helena’s powers somehow?
Is that how she stopped the dog? Or why the weather was behaving so strangely?
Or the reason every time she touched Helena, she felt a jolt of power running through her?
Hellfire.
Stealing a witch’s power could only bode ill.
Cynthia remembered what it felt like to inadvertently break society’s protocols for behaviour.
Governess Smithers had taught her well with her biting birch stick.
But Cynthia had no idea what was expected in this new world.
She had likely committed a faux pas within the witchy rules of social interactions.
She must ask forgiveness. And learn this new set of policies immediately.
Her head spun. Magic felt a little like madness.
She would simply explain that whatever she was doing was unintentional.
Perhaps they could bespell her to stop stealing Helena’s magic.
A part of her ached at the thought. The rush was intoxicating.
She would miss feeling the pulse of power.
But she would miss Helena more, and she couldn’t imagine the woman remaining friends with Cynthia if she kept robbing her gifts.
‘All right, I’ll come, and we’ll sort things out.’
‘Good.’
Cynthia tried to refocus on their mission.
She might not be able to control what was happening every time she was near Helena, but she could help find Hubert’s killer.
‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’ She strode over the filthy cobblestones, ducked under a slouching stoop, and knocked on a sagging planked door.
The sounds of voices – one male and several female – came from the opposite side of the door before it slowly creaked open.
A large man with impressive hair that crept from his head down his cheeks and onto his chin rubbed his hand over his belly as the light from the street turned his blue eyes watery. ‘Who are ye?’
Behind him, Cynthia heard a gasp.
‘Lady Burrows? Wha’ are ye doin’ here?’ Lily brushed a wisp of blonde hair from her forehead as she came from the darkened room beyond the door.
‘Oh my,’ Cynthia whispered.
‘Damnation,’ Helena cursed.
Lily’s hastily altered dress couldn’t hide a painfully obvious swelling.
That is why Hubert fired her. Because she is with child.
Suspicion slithered in Cynthia’s mind like a poisonous snake. Because she knew exactly who sired the babe.
Hubert, you bastard.
Nausea washed through her.