Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Catherine had heard nothing from James.
Yesterday had been the opening of the Exhibition.
No note came. And he himself did not come to her.
He must have failed to get the painting and was reluctant to tell her.
She thought of sending someone—maybe Wright—to the Exhibition and having the maid report back if the painting was there and what people were saying about it. And about her. But she didn’t.
At midnight, as she sat in the dark morning room, writing letters by candlelight, adding things to her lists, making plans for her future and for Arabella’s, she finally realized why she might not have heard from James.
“You bloody fool!”
She had told him to steal the painting if it came to that.
She had told James, her Jamie, to commit a crime.
Was she mad? Anything could have happened.
He could have been arrested and been put in gaol.
Or he could have had violence used against him.
He could have been stabbed or shot. She had been so stupidly selfish.
She rang for Chelsom. She went and got a pair of boots and put them on. Her butler appeared in his dressing gown and slippers.
“Chelsom, I have to find the Duke of Middlewich. He may be arrested or injured. I want you to go to Tothill Fields gaol and look for him. If he’s there, find out the bond and pay it. If he’s not there, you must start going to hospitals and infirmaries and looking for injured men.”
“Why Tothill Fields and not Newgate, Mrs. Lovelock?”
She went to the front door and opened it. “Because Somerset House is in Westminster, not the City, Chelsom. Can’t you think?”
She ran down her own front steps and onto the dark pavement. It was only a few streets from her home to the Cavendish family town house. She banged on the door. After a great deal of time, a footman came.
No, the duke was not at home.
Catherine attempted to calm herself. She knew she appeared wild, and the hour was late. Did the footman know if the duke was at his rooms near the Burlington Arcade?
A nightshirted Enfield appeared at the door. “Mrs. Lovelock.” He shouldered the footman out of the way.
“Enfield.” She wrung her hands. “The duke, where is he? Why are you not with him?”
Enfield leaned forward and said quietly, “He sent me away, Mrs. Lovelock. He did not say why, but I think he was waiting for you. He’s in his rooms.”
“He’s there? He’s safe?”
Enfield smiled. “He was safe as can be when I brought him his dinner this evening.”
Catherine stood on her booted toes and kissed Enfield’s cheek. “Thank you, Enfield. Thank you.”
She dashed down the steps and away, south, to Piccadilly, to the Burlington Arcade.
The windows of his rooms were dark. The door to the building was open, and, when she reached the door to James’ rooms, she found that door ajar as well. Perhaps Enfield was right, and he really had been waiting for her, leaving the door open like this.
But why should he have expected her when he had sent her no word? Was she to be a mind reader?
She took a deep breath, reminding herself only minutes ago she had been crazed with fear over his safety. He was safe, that was all that mattered. He was safe.
She entered his rooms and realized she was wrong. He was not safe. Light spilled into the drawing room through the little passage to the bedchamber. In the time since she had entered the building, someone had lit a candle or a lamp in James’ bedchamber.
Roger’s voice. She could hear him say if he fired the pistol, it would be murder.
Roger was here. And he had a pistol.
The drawing room itself was dark. She stumbled on something. She stopped moving, but the voices in the other room continued. She got down on the floor and felt around. There. She had tripped over something long. It had a handle. It was a sword, a fencing sword.
It must belong to James. She had not known he fenced. In so many ways, she knew very little about him.
Carefully, quietly, she took the foil from its sheath. She touched the blade very lightly. It was sharp. The tip was not blunted.
The light was stronger now, coming through the little hallway into the drawing room, and she could see a naked James holding a lamp and a framed painting, and there was a smash and the floor was on fire and the very loud crack of a shot rent the night and James was down on the floor.