Chapter Twenty-one
Twenty-one
THURSDAY
At one o’clock in the morning, during a rousing rendition of Strauss’s Du und du, Lady Ingram left her overcrowded house via the back service door.
That exact moment, in the carriage alley behind the house, an unmarked brougham drew up, unmarked, that is, except for a piece of paper stuck to the inside of the window, with a drawing of a bird.
Not just any bird, a finch.
Her heart quickened. She got into the carriage, hoping to find him inside. But it was empty. Instead, there was an envelope on the seat, with a number on the front, and a key inside.
The carriage took her to a hotel that catered to country squires and their lady wives who wanted to stay in London for the Season but didn’t want the fuss of hiring a house.
It offered large suites of rooms with front doors on the street, so that one could enter and leave as if from a private residence.
The carriage stopped right in front of the door the number of which was on the envelope. Her heart pounding, her bad back forgotten, she ran up the few steps that led up to the small porch and eagerly inserted the key into the lock.
All the lights in the suite seemed to be on, every room brightly illuminated—and every room, from the vestibule inward, empty. Alone in the drawing room, one hand braced on the mantel, the other against the spot in her back that was throbbing again, she frowned.
Just then the front door opened. She spun around and smiled at the man who entered.
Her smile froze.
Not him but her husband.
“What are you doing here?”
He, like her, was still in his evening finery. His expression made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end: She’d never seen such a look on him before, not vacant, not blank, only . . . empty.
“I’m here to say good-bye.”
“What good-bye?” Her voice was rising—she couldn’t control the volume of her speech. “Are you going somewhere?”
“No, you are.” He dropped a velvet pouch on the console table just inside the door. “I brought your jewelry.”
Through her stupefaction, understanding was beginning to seep through. He knew. He knew everything. It was all over. “How did you know?”
“You haven’t been as careful as you should have,” he said blandly. “You thought I would never suspect you.”
“How long? How long have you suspected me?”
Her voice was still rising, while his remained quiet and even. She hated that almost as much as she hated being found out.
“Does it matter? I know the truth. At least three people are dead because of you.”
She heard herself laugh. “They’re dead because they chose to do dangerous things. And people who choose to do dangerous things sometimes don’t come home.”
He sat down stiffly, as if his back, too, bothered him. “Several times when I was abroad, I almost didn’t come back. Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”
“Does it matter now?”
A trace of sadness shadowed his eyes. “No, you are right. It doesn’t matter now. Just go.”
Just go? Did he not know her at all? She pulled out the pistol she’d brought in her handbag. “If I leave, you’ll never let me see my children again. Better I kill you and carry on as a grieving widow.”
He seemed neither surprised nor discomfited at the sight of a firearm aimed at his forehead.
“Nobody will believe you a grieving widow. Also, should a gunshot ring out, you’ll never leave this place except in custody.
There are men stationed both on the street and on the other side of the door leading into the hotel.
There are no other exits. You kill me, and our children lose both parents. ”
She chewed the inside of her lip.
“Not to mention that Bancroft is on his way. You fall into his hands and there will be no public murder trial for you—you will only wish you had one. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste a moment.”
The pistol shook. Was this really the end?
Had she worked so hard and endured so much for this?
“I have despised you for a long time. Everybody else understands a Society marriage for what it is. But you, nothing less than true love would do for you, would it? Well, I’ve had enough of your ‘gentlemanly’ reproach. Long may you rot in hell.”
“The carriage outside is at your disposal,” he said, his tone as mild as ever. “I wouldn’t, however, try to go home and abduct the children. They are already elsewhere.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger, the last bit of metal resistance giving away.
He moved not a muscle. “Remember Bancroft. This is your only chance to flee. Once he has you, I will not be able to intercede on your behalf.”
Her entire arm trembled. It would be beautiful, the sight of a bullet shattering that thick skull. What wouldn’t she give to see it.
A scream left her lips.
He only stared at her.
She shoved the gun back into her handbag, grabbed the pouch of jewels, and ran out. She couldn’t allow herself to fall into Bancroft’s hands. She couldn’t. That would truly be the end of everything. As long as she still had her freedom, this would prove to be only a temporary setback.
A minor defeat before the major victory to come.
Lord Ingram slowly unclenched his hand from the revolver in his pocket.
He, too, was now shaking.
The children had been removed from the town house, that was true. But there were no men outside ready to leap to his assistance, and he would not inform Bancroft of her departure until twenty-four hours had passed.
He owed her this much, the mother of his children.