Chapter 20 #2
Abigail was sitting on a wooden settle near the fire with two women still in their service dresses. The maid slipped them both a coin and they left without a murmur.
Emma slid onto the settle opposite Abigail. “Thank heavens you found the tricorn.” She kept her tone friendly, though this woman was as sly as a fox. “You should have brought it to The Sentinel.”
“I couldn’t get away, miss. I only slipped out tonight because Mr Colworth is out of town again and the mistress went to bed early.”
Emma looked at the tricorn on the table. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble for a hat.”
“You were desperate for it, miss, and I’ve got other important news to tell you. It will change everything.”
“What news?” She would make Abigail feel at ease before bombarding her with questions.
“A solicitor came to the house. A Birmingham manufacturer wants to buy the patent for one of your father’s inventions—those glass jars with the locking clamp and seal.” Abigail was so excited she could hardly draw breath.
Emma sat back, stunned. “The pickle jars?”
Abigail nodded as if it were her windfall. “They believe households everywhere will use them, and they’re offering a great deal of money for the rights. You’ll get half.”
“Likely enough to buy a new bonnet.”
“No. Your sister fainted when she heard. A few thousand each, the man said. Mr Colworth won’t have to go begging for funds from that tight-fisted brother of his.”
Something Abigail had said gave her pause.
Why would Thomas go begging to his brother when he had a yearly income of his own? It was the first she’d heard.
“Aren’t you happy?” Abigail said. “I thought you’d be jumping for joy. You don’t need to pretend you’re married to Mr Stanton no more. You can buy a house of your own.”
A house of her own had once been the goal. Now the thought of living in it without Hugh felt like a punishment.
“I can’t help thinking this is another ploy.”
Abigail blinked. “Ploy, miss?”
“You’re doing everything in your power to control me. First, you take the hat. Then you harass Mr Stanton’s maid and bribe her into scaring me. Now we have a tale about a sudden inheritance.”
“I swear it, miss. It’s true.”
“You’ve not even mentioned Lord Howden’s death.
I know news has reached town. And you expect me to trust your word?
” Emma grabbed the maid’s hand across the table and squeezed.
“You’ve been gossiping, Abigail. Telling my family all my secrets.
You bribed Mr Stanton’s maid because Melinda told you to. ”
“Ow. You’re hurting me, miss.”
No one heard her above the din.
“I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t tell me the truth. I’m tired of playing these games.” Her sister had orchestrated every move, using Abigail as one more piece on the board.
“He’s afraid for you, miss, worrying himself night and day about the terrible things he’s heard about Mr Stanton.” Abigail’s breath hitched. “He hopes a month in Yorkshire will bring you back to your senses.”
“Who hopes? Thomas?”
“He was beside himself when he learnt Mr Stanton didn’t get a licence from the bishop. He doesn’t know how else to help you. And Mrs Colworth has barely got out of bed this last week.”
“You’re sure he’s not beside himself with grief?”
“He drank a whole bottle of brandy last night.”
Living with Melinda, that was to be expected.
“Thomas blames Mr Stanton for writing that story about Lord Howden’s father.
” Abigail leant across the table. “He says that’s why Lord Howden tried to throw himself down the mineshaft.
” Tears welled in her eyes, and she pressed her lips together.
“His friend has died, and the mistress refuses to visit the nursery. He needs you, miss, now more than ever.”
Emma sat back. It was cleverly done. Sympathy was harder to resist than threats. But she refused to feel guilty for leaving.
“Am I supposed to accompany you home?”
Abigail averted her gaze.
“Abigail?”
“He’s not away like I said. He’s waiting in the carriage by the church. He wanted me to remind you that there’s nothing more important than family and beg you to come home.”
Hugh was her family now.
And home was wherever he laid his head.
He would come for her. If Thomas meant to take her to Ripon, they wouldn’t get past the first turnpike.
She didn’t glance at the merrymakers. Hugh was watching her. She could feel his gaze, just as she had that night at the Adelphi.
“Very well. Take me to Thomas.”
Mr Stroud would complain about wasted resources, and Saint-Clair had risked his life coming to town for no reason at all.
Abigail’s shoulders sagged. “He’ll be glad he sent me. No more worrying. No more sleepless nights on that lumpy mattress.”
The maid was prattling now. No doubt she’d earned herself an extra half day for her trouble.
Emma snatched the tricorn off the table and stood. Hugh would get the hat back if it killed her.
She pushed through the rowdy punters and followed Abigail out into Rose Street. A thin fog had settled, blurring the single lamp above the tavern.
“You won’t regret this, miss. The money from the patent will help to buy a new house, so Mr Colworth won’t have to rely on his tight-fisted family no more.”
Abigail seemed to know a lot about Thomas and the household finances. And she’d forgotten her place and called him by his given name in the tavern. Emma had never heard him complain of a lumpy bed, though she had seen Abigail enter his room with the laundry and take half an hour folding it away.
“I pray you’re being careful, Abigail.”
“Careful, miss?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
Emma continued along King Street towards Bedford Street and the shadowed carriage parked near the rear entrance of the church. She had nothing to fear, yet the hairs on her arms rose.
Abigail played the obedient servant and opened the carriage door. Thomas was inside, dressed in black, strain etched across his features.
“Thank heavens.” He sat forward, hands on his knees, the tension in every muscle belying his relief. “I hoped you’d listen to Abigail and realise your reckless actions had been a mistake.”
She glanced at the lowered steps, and every voice in her head told her not to climb in.
“You have the gall to say I’m reckless. How long has Abigail been warming your bed?” No wonder he made sure Melinda had her laudanum. “It seems I’ve been living with a hypocrite.”
“I never told her,” Abigail blurted.
“You just did,” she said.
Thomas slapped his thigh. “You know how impossible it is at home.” There was a fire in his voice she’d not heard before. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“And yet you’re desperate for me to return.”
“Climb inside, and we’ll talk about this at home.”
“I’d prefer to talk about it now.”
She turned on her heel and entered the churchyard. The yew trees stood black against the sky, their branches unnaturally still. Weathered gravestones leant at crooked angles, offering places to hide. She noted the two exits.
She heard his footsteps on the gravel behind her, and for the first time, she was truly afraid. Abigail’s confession had changed everything. Those nights she’d found Thomas drowning his sorrows had been a lie. His quiet obedience was a lie, too.
She turned.
He looked taller in the dark.
“Abigail told you about the hat and waistcoat I brought home. You had her take them and bribe Hugh’s maid to make that effigy. You ransacked his apartment and slashed the painting, probably to make him send me away. I imagine I’ll find black wax and the axe seal in your drawer.”
Part of her hoped he would deny it.
“We have a reputation to uphold. If my brother learnt of your antics, he would see it as a stain on our family name.”
Ah, the pious Viscount Wrenfield. “Abigail said you planned to use the money from Father’s patent to purchase a house in your own name.”
He took one step closer, squeezing the breath from her lungs. “A family home for us all, Emma, where I’m not at my brother’s beck and call.”
Where he would share a bed with the maid and Melinda would be too drugged to notice.
“I’m marrying Mr Stanton.”
The love of her life. The only man she trusted.
“No, you’re not.”
He’d never sounded so cold. Or so certain. And she was suddenly afraid for Hugh.
“I can hardly marry Lord Howden. Did you know he killed his father because he was worried about his inheritance? Bow Street will tear his house apart looking for evidence.”
His silence proved unnerving.
“Sarah Carson has agreed to give us a statement,” she said. “We’re meeting her tomorrow with the new magistrate. I wonder what your dear brother will say when he learns you were friends with a murderer.”
She wasn’t sure why she lied, only that a false statement might smoke out the truth. It certainly drained the blood from his face.
“Mr Stroud will want to question you. He knows you spoke to Lord Howden about the mine and the Bellinghams.”
She’d heard them whispering in the study.
“I’m not giving evidence against a friend,” he snapped. “Any accusations aimed at him are mere speculation. The man is dead. Lord knows there’s every chance it all became too much.”
Lord Howden tried to throw himself down the mineshaft.
Abigail’s words came back to her. The coroner’s report had said only that Lord Howden died at the mine. Nothing about the shaft. Nothing about an attempt to throw himself down it.
Emma’s blood ran cold.
The only person who could know about the shaft cover was the person who moved it and broke the lord’s neck.
Two drunken men stumbled past the churchyard gate, one propping up the other as they staggered along Bedford Street.
Except she recognised those beards.
It took effort not to sag with relief.
There was every chance Thomas had murdered his friend. But why? And what about Mr Bellingham?
“Do you know why I came tonight?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. Another lie might force the truth from him. “Because I saw you that night in the graveyard, minutes before Mr Bellingham took his last breath. And yet I refused to believe it until now.”
Thomas stood rigid as stone.
The blankness in his face confirmed her fear.