Chapter 27 #2
Nell didn’t trust herself to look at her husband. She knew full well why Silas had been beaten. And it wasn’t because of what he’d done to Miss Brent or Mr. Cowgill. It was because of what he’d done to her. “What about Mrs. Pritchard?” she asked.
“I trust you’ve arrested her as well,” Miles said. “She’s as guilty as he is.”
“Guiltier,” Nell said. “It was she who drugged Miss Brent and took her from the railway platform.”
“Quite right.” Inspector Garrick’s mouth set in a bleak line.
“That’s the bad news I alluded to. On arriving at the brothel yesterday with my officers, we discovered that Mrs. Pritchard had already fled.
Our subsequent efforts at finding her have so far proved fruitless. She’s either very well hidden, or…”
“Or what?” Miles asked.
Garrick gave them an apologetic grimace. “Or she’s no longer in London.”
· · · · ·
Miles paced the hall, stopping intermittently to check the time on his pocket watch. Their bags had already been packed and secured atop the carriage. All that was missing was Nell.
It wasn’t like her to be late. As a former schoolteacher, she was typically a pattern card of promptness. Miles would have expected her to be even more so today. Their train was leaving Euston Station at half past ten. They had to be on it if they were to reach Northwick Hall before one.
He was about to go to her room to see what was taking her so long when Nell appeared at the top of the stairs.
At least, he believed it was Nell.
Miles stared up at her, rendered temporarily speechless.
She looked very different from her usual self. And her usual self was quite breathtakingly lovely. The heavy artillery, he’d called her when she was wearing lusterless black bombazine. But this…
This was an entirely different degree of lethalness.
She stood on the landing, clad in a golden-yellow carriage dress that had been cut with an elegance that bordered on the divine.
The close-fitting bodice hugged her figure, accentuating every voluptuous dip and curve, and the full skirts swept over her hips in a swell of voluminous fabric that terminated in a delicately pleated hem.
The ensemble was completed by crisp muslin undersleeves, a slim belt with a gilded buckle, and a little scrap of a straw hat with an upturned brim.
Miles swallowed, and swallowed again. His mouth seemed to have gone completely dry.
Nell straightened her skirts, settling the folds gracefully over her crinoline. The gown’s color lent a striking luminance to her complexion. The effect was aided by the golden net that bound her fair hair. “Well?” she asked.
“I don’t know what to say,” he replied.
“But you do like it?”
He cleared his throat. “Like seems an inadequate word in the circumstances.”
Her mouth tipped at one corner. “It was you who purchased it for me,” she said. “And this is only a day dress. Wait until you see my evening gowns.”
“If they enhance your charms any more effectively than this one,” Miles replied gravely, “I fear my constitution may not be up to the experience.”
Her dimple appeared. She slowly began to descend the steps, a pronounced hitch in her gait. She wasn’t using her cane. She wasn’t yet strong enough to wield it with her right hand.
Miles bounded up the stairs to offer her his arm. When she took it, he felt, rather foolishly, like the luckiest man in the world. It was boyish. Ridiculous. She was his wife, not some untouchable stranger. All the same…
His heart thudded heavily.
“You must lean on me in the absence of your cane,” he said.
Her smile softened. “You may believe that I shall.”
Miles gazed down at her, his chest gone tight. “I’d have it no other way.”
· · · · ·
They arrived at Euston Station a short while later, with just enough time left to entrust their luggage to a porter before their train was due to arrive.
After a hurried walk through the crowded terminus and a brief stop at the ticket office, Miles and Nell joined the other passengers on the platform.
It wasn’t the busiest time of day at Euston, but Euston was, at any hour, one of the busier stations in London.
Ladies and gentlemen with their families and servants milled about amid the smoke and steam, along with less salubrious individuals traveling alone.
It was noisy and chaotic, with people calling out to each other, and porters racing by with their luggage carts.
Miles kept Nell close at his side. He couldn’t fail to notice the reactions she engendered. The pointed, and sometimes stunned, looks from men and women alike. It provoked a fierce protectiveness in him.
“You don’t enjoy traveling?” Nell asked him.
He flashed her a distracted glance. “Don’t I?”
“You’re scowling dreadfully,” she said.
Miles inwardly grimaced. Was it that obvious? “They’re staring at you,” he said.
“Are they?” She sounded entirely unaware. “It’s my gown, I daresay.”
“It’s not the gown,” he grumbled. “It’s you in it.”
“That’s very flattering. But wouldn’t our time here be better spent looking out for Mrs. Pritchard rather than glaring at admiring strangers?”
“I’m capable of both.”
A faint smile touched Nell’s lips. She was amused by his primitive behavior, he didn’t doubt. “Do you think she might be here?” she asked.
“If she’s smart, she’ll have gone to France,” Miles answered.
“And leave behind the empire she was building?”
Miles made a derisive sound. “An empire, was it? That foul establishment of hers in Whitechapel?”
“From her perspective. She had five thousand pounds to refurbish her premises, and was offering the prettiest girls, newly luxurious surroundings, and absolute discretion for her gentlemen clientele. She was plainly on her way to having the most prestigious brothel in town. I don’t see her giving that up to go on the run. ”
“It was either that or meet the hangman.”
“But would she have been hanged? Inspector Garrick hasn’t yet been able to prove that she and Silas murdered Mr. Cowgill. As yet, they’re only being charged with the abduction of Miss Brent.”
“They could still face the noose,” Miles said. “More likely, they’ll be transported. Either way, Mrs. Pritchard was wise to run.”
Nell’s expression sobered. “Perhaps she has. Still…I can’t rid myself of the uneasy feeling that she’s here somewhere, watching us. Plotting her revenge.” She scanned the platform as she spoke, as though she might find the runaway madam among the gathering crowd.
When her hand tightened spasmodically on his arm, Miles feared for an instant that she had. But when he followed Nell’s frozen stare through the billowing smoke from the arriving train, it wasn’t Mrs. Pritchard he beheld waiting on the platform with her maid and footman in attendance.
It was Lady Belwood.