Chapter 25
To Sophia’s amazement, and possibly with help from Vishnu, Allah, or the Christian God she’d been raised to believe in, the horses ran.
It was entirely possible that they were too spooked to do anything but run, but they stayed on the path and Rachael, through much straining of muscles and a few words that would have made Jack blush, guided them back to the mansion.
The sight that greeted them was an uproar that rivaled the storm breaking outside.
Lady Pilkington directed the Seadons, a few Fleet ladies, and Corporal Mailor with his entourage to the drawing room.
She assured the small crowd that all would be well, that her husband and the brave men of the military would save the day and prevent heinous things from occurring at the palace.
Sophia, Rachael, and Charity stood just inside the doorway, looking numbly on the scene. Sophia refused to think about what they had witnessed. It would have to wait until later when she had time and privacy. There were too many things still unsettled.
Lady Pilkington turned and caught sight of them.
Without taking her attention from them, she directed the staff to gather toweling and blankets, and then sent instructions to the kitchen to prepare more tea.
She approached, finally, wringing her hands.
Sophia stepped forward and figured she should say something, but she struggled to find anything useful.
“Oh, my dears,” Lady Pilkington said, and her eyes filled. She stepped closer to Sophia and whispered, “Did you see . . . Did the men arrive in time to stop it?”
Sophia shook her head, her throat tight. There wasn’t time, she did not have time to dwell on it yet.
“And Miss Denney?”
Sophia slowly exhaled a trembling breath. “We did not see her.”
Himmat arrived with an armful of blankets, and she gratefully accepted one. She wrapped it about her shoulders. “Will you tell us how things stand?” she asked the butler and Lady Pilkington. “The men are riding to the palace?”
Himmat nodded. “They gathered reinforcements from the neighboring infantry division and likely have arrived by now. I had hoped they would be in time—but at any rate, Mr. Darzi is safe and with them.”
“Beatrice is in the palace,” Charity murmured, her brow creased. “We must notify them.”
“They will find her.” Rachael held her own blanket around her shoulders with one hand and snugged Charity’s closer about her chin. “They will find her and bring her home.”
“Oh, my dear,” Lady Pilkington said, “your father was here earlier, and your mother is here now.” She paused and pursed her lips, looking at Charity as though weighing a decision. “Whatever has happened, please know that you have a home here.”
Charity frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“He left a note for you and Beatrice. Himmat, do you have it on your person?”
The butler nodded and reached into his pocket. He handed Charity a folded paper, and the girl stared at it as though she couldn’t comprehend what it was.
Sophia moved to her side. “Shall I help you?”
Charity handed her the letter. Sophia unfolded it and held it so Charity could read it.
There is still time, but if I fail, I should rather my own flesh and blood have access to these documents than another.
All I have done, I have done for my family.
To my daughters: live respectably and beware of vices and temptations of the devil.
When you were small, frolicking in the heart of the orchid was appropriate, and although I have forbidden it for some time, I tell you now there are still treasures to be found there.
Conduct yourselves with temperance and circumspection.
If you are submissive and respectful to your husbands, as your mother has been to me, you will find favor in Heaven.
Only once have I been forced to discipline her, and it pained me to do so.
Since Eve led Adam astray, however, man has been compelled to set the world to rights.
Charity looked at Sophia, her head tilted, her expressive eyes showing confusion. “What on earth does he mean?” She read the letter again, and Sophia held her tongue, wanting to proceed carefully.
“Charity, I fear . . .” She trailed off. How much could the poor girl handle in one night?
“What? Is my father in danger? What has happened? What has he done? And my mother?” Charity shook her head, her brow drawn.
Sophia found it infuriating that the man would blame his wife for his behavior. The man was delusional. He committed murder for greed yet didn’t acknowledge his culpability or express remorse.
“My dear, I am afraid your father may have had a hand in Captain Miller’s demise.” Sophia wished more than anything she could spare her the news.
Charity’s mouth dropped open. “Why would you say such a horrible thing to me?” She looked at Rachael and back again at Sophia. Lady Pilkington and Himmat were awkwardly silent. “I thought you were my friend. Why, how . . . why?”
Lady Pilkington lifted a hand to the girl and then let it fall back to her side. “Charity, your mother is upstairs in one of the guest rooms.” Her voice was hushed, pained. “Dear, she has confirmed it. I am so sorry.”
Charity stared at the woman, her eyes luminous, the bright blue of them intensified by the moisture that gathered there.
Lady Pilkington moved forward and placed a hand on Charity’s arm.
“Sweetheart, look at Sophia. She is scratched and bruised, her dress is torn—she looks a right mess. She risked her life for you, for Beatrice.” She paused, adding gently, “You were all in more danger than you could have imagined in the jungle. Sophia and Miss Scarsdale, I, myself—none of us have anything to gain by being cruel or telling you lies. Your father has made some choices that have not been wise.”
Charity dropped her arms and her blanket fell to the floor. She gestured with the letter as she spoke. “You are telling me, then, that my father, a man of the cloth, killed a man?”
“His intentions may not have been so drastic in the beginning.” Sophia took a breath. “I am surmising, but I believe your father wanted something that Captain Miller had. Perhaps they had entered a partnership, but they must have argued, and in the end, the captain died and your father—”
Charity narrowed her eyes and looked again at the letter in her hands.
Her mouth fell open and she drew a shaky breath.
“I know where he is. Dear heaven, I know where he is.” She looked up at Sophia.
“I must talk to him, stop him! He doesn’t know Beatrice is at the palace.
He doesn’t know she and Mr. Darzi are in danger—”
Sophia pitied the girl with her whole heart. Beatrice’s safety was probably Denney’s last concern. “I will get word to Major Stuart. He and his men can locate your father. They will—”
“They will kill him!” Charity’s face was ghostly pale. She may have lost her innocence with all she’d witnessed tonight; she might never again bounce or blurt secrets or read lurid novels.
“Where do you believe he is, dearest? I shall speak personally with Lord Wilshire. He is kind and good, as is Major Stuart. They will not kill your father in cold blood.”
Charity blinked and tears fell fresh. “He is at the place where we frolicked with our mother when we were small. It is the heart of the orchid.”
The ruins. Of course.
“The courtyard, then?”
Charity shook her head. “The central building—the one we avoid.” Her voice broke.
“We called it ‘the heart’ because it seemed to be the center of the ruins to us. But we never went in there because it was dangerous.” The tears continued.
“He will be bitten by a snake or eaten by a bear. He is not . . .” She paused.
“He is not a loving father, but he still is my father.”
Lady Pilkington put an arm around Charity’s shoulders, surprising Sophia. The woman wasn’t running from the sadness this time. “Come to the drawing room. I shall fix you tea, and then we will see your mother. The bedchamber next to hers is empty, and I shall have it readied for you.”
Charity moved with Lady Pilkington as though in a trance. Sophia looked at Rachael with true regret. “I wish we could have spared her that. Earlier—everything.”
Rachael raised a brow at her. “I wish we could have spared ourselves that. I fear it is an image that will never fade.”
“Perhaps it was quick. Perhaps the widow was not conscious before the flames—” Sophia gagged and tried to disguise it with a cough. “Himmat,” she managed, “we are not finished yet, unfortunately. Please tell me there is a man in this house who is proficient with a firearm.”
“I can shoot a gun,” Rachael said wearily.
Sophia turned slowly to her. “Why on earth can you shoot a gun?”
“I was raised in the country with brothers. You’re a city girl, Sophia. Why do you need someone who can shoot?”
“As it happens, miss,” Himmat said, “Abdullah is here, and he is quite proficient.”
Sophia frowned. “He is so young, Himmat. I would hate for him to come to harm.”
“We are not in our dotage, you know.” Rachael eyed her flatly. “Abdullah is quite competent. He can accompany us, at least—”
Lady Pilkington rushed to the foyer, her face red. “She is gone. I cannot find her anywhere!” She wrung her hands. “Why do people go missing so much lately?”
Sophia’s heart sank. “Charity?”
“Yes! I left her in the drawing room, went to instruct a maid to open a room for her, and she is gone! One of the servants saw her slipping out of the servants’ entrance.”
Sophia sighed. “Do you have a firearm, Rachael?”
“Not with me.”
Lady Pilkington cleared her throat. “I have a gun.”
Sophia and Rachael turned to face her.
She lifted a shoulder. “Well, it is my husband’s. I shall retrieve it.”
The lady rushed off, and Sophia unwound the blanket from her shoulders, immediately feeling a chill. She folded it neatly and handed it to Himmat with a weary smile. “I suspect we shall need these again later.”
“Where are we going?” Rachael asked, folding her blanket.
“The ruins.”
Lady Pilkington returned presently with a flintlock pistol, and Sophia eyed it dubiously. “Will that work?”
Rachael took it comfortably into her hand and Sophia shrugged.
“Perhaps we shall only need it as a deterrent. Lady Pilkington, I do not know how long the men will be occupied at the palace, but should any of them return before we do, please send them to the ruins. My aim is not to waylay Mr. Denney, I want to retrieve Charity.”
And that blasted document.