Chapter 21 Kitty
His lamp shines upon my head,
and by His light I go through darkness.
JOHN BUNYAN, THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS
Later that evening, after most of the household went to bed, I still hid in my room. My plate of unfinished supper had long since grown cold. Freddy joined me by the small fireplace—too restless to sleep. On the desk next to my stuffed chair lay my abandoned telescope.
But I had lost all desire to find a veranda or balcony and lose myself in the heavens. Any light within me felt snuffed out, stealing even the simplest things that once brought me joy.
“’Twas a quiet affair this evening at dinner, which you missed,” my friend began tentatively. “Before leaving for Parliament, Mr. Sinclair asked again after you.”
Despite my resolve to show no emotion, I straightened in the chair. “Oh?”
My heart beat faster at the news. Sebastian had inquired twice?
But he had defended the Company that had ruined my life.
Freddy shot me a keen glance. “He mentioned something to Edward about purchasing passage to India. Only the colonel, your aunt, and I met for dinner.”
A shudder rippled through me at the reminder of the chasm looming between Sebastian and me. I had been a fool to consider him—even briefly.
No doubt, at long last, he had finally given up on me as well. I had warned him that I would prove difficult. No man would stay by the side of a woman dragged through the gossip rags. Not now. And me? How could I possibly join with a Company man?
Yet Sebastian had also shown mercy when dealing with Lord Chudley.
A cruel realization dawned upon me, swift and icy, like winter’s breath. I had never been a woman who gave mercy to others when I judged them lacking.
“I have news,” Fredericka began tentatively as she reached for a sewing basket.
“I didn’t want to burden you, but I fear I must share it sooner rather than later.
I have taken a position in London as a governess.
I will stay with you until the colonel leaves for Seven Oakes within the week, and then I will take my position with the Ashley family.
The colonel said over dinner that he cannot bear to stay in London any longer. ”
I heaved a ragged breath as we sat by the crackling fireplace.
I had hoped Edward would show more interest in my friend during her stay.
Chilled, I pulled my shawl tighter across my shoulders, wondering if she felt as numb as I did by the sudden change of events that had driven us to such uncertain futures.
“I wish circumstances for both of us were different,” I answered. “I will miss you, Freddy. Perhaps Grandfather might consider you as a companion for Aunt and me?”
But I caught the sparkle of tears welling in her eyes. “And I will miss you. But I’ve found that I have a hankering for children, even if they will not be my own. Besides, I agreed to the position a week ago. I cannot go back on my word now.”
Of course, Fredericka wouldn’t go back on her word. One reason I loved her so dearly.
“I suppose I shall be dragged back to Seven Oakes,” I admitted with a sigh. “You will remain in London. I shall be very lonely without you and Edward.”
“Kit, I must tell you—Mr. Sinclair appeared most distraught when I refused to let him see you. Oh, do meet with the man.”
I lifted my head.
She might have said more, but a knock rattled the door. To our surprise, a maid entered with her mobcap askew.
“Please, miss . . . Something dreadful has occurred, and the colonel isn’t in tonight to tell us what to do.”
Grandfather was not in the townhome? I rose, as did Freddy.
“It’s the young Mr. Grenville, miss. Someone shot him.”
We ran to the kitchen, my heart pounding as dread clawed its way through me. When we reached the doorway, the sight before me made my stomach lurch.
Edward’s form lay slumped over the scratched wooden table, his head resting at an unnatural angle. A pool of blood spread beneath him, dark and viscous, staining the worn grain of the wood and dripping onto the floor with a slow, sickening rhythm.
“Send Hitchens for the physician,” I brusquely ordered the maid. “And tell the footman to make haste for Mr. Sinclair and the colonel, if they have not returned.”
Perhaps I shouldn’t bother Sebastian at this hour, but his name immediately came to mind.
The maid nodded, the frill of her cap bopping before she darted out of the kitchen. Freddy, at least, had brought a candlestick. She brushed past me and set it on the table with a clatter.
“Edward . . . can you hear us? It is me, Freddy.”
A low moan answered my friend, and she locked a terrified gaze on me. “We must remove his coat.”
Grasping the lapel, I did my best to tug his arm free, wincing when he released an inarticulate cry.
“Wake up, Edward,” I demanded, frightened by his unearthly pallor. “We cannot get this coat off you if you do not help us.”
He braced his palms against the table edge and pushed back, allowing us to ease the coat from his shoulders. It was not his usual attire—I had never seen my impeccably dressed brother in such a disheveled, motley garment.
But his waistcoat—a fine gray damask—was ruined. A dark stain had spread across his back, the rich fabric saturated with blood.
So much blood.
“Kit,” he grated, his voice so weak it sounded foreign. “It’s . . . not as bad as it looks.”
I knelt beside him. “You’re bleeding.”
Freddy tugged the candlestick closer, the light illuminating his shaking form. Then she set it down and moved to unbutton his waistcoat, her hands fumbling and slow.
“Let me,” I managed, though my words were barely above a whisper. I tugged the dampened fabric aside, and there it was—a gaping wound on the right, just beneath the ribs. My stomach twisted, and bile threatened my throat.
Freddy gasped. “We must stop the bleeding.”
He tried to sit up, wincing as the effort sent a shudder through his body. “It’s shallow . . . a graze, I think.”
“Edward, you’re not in a position to judge that,” I snapped, the sharpness of my tone fueled by fear. “Freddy, fetch the cleanest linens you can find. We’ll need bandages.”
She ran off without hesitation, leaving me alone with him. His head lolled back against the chair, his eyes glassy but focused on me.
“Kit . . . listen,” he mumbled.
“No,” I said firmly, tearing strips from my underskirt to press against the wound. “You’ll listen to me for once. You must not move. You’ve lost too much blood—”
“They’ll know . . . They’ll know you’re my sister,” he interrupted, his words slurred yet insistent. “I overheard something at White’s. About a shipment. Bribes, Kit. The Company’s dirtier than anyone knows.”
“Edward,” I said, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “You’re not making sense.”
“I went to Limehouse,” he continued, ignoring me. His hand fluttered toward mine, grasping at the bloodied fabric I pressed to his side. “Saw the crates. They’re hiding something big, Kit. Wilberforce—he needs to know the truth.”
Freddy returned with the linens, her face wan as she knelt beside me. Together, we pressed the cloth to Edward’s wound, and he hissed sharply, his body curling away from the pressure.
“It started at White’s. I was sitting near a group of men, pretending to play faro. Chudley was there—and East India Company sorts, from the sound of them. They didn’t see me, and their conversation . . . Well, they spoke too freely. Something about a shipment, and how the governor mustn’t know.”
My stomach twisted at the news, including Lord Chudley’s name. “What shipment? What did they mean?”
He shook his head, wincing at the movement. “I didn’t know. I followed the trail. Limehouse seemed the place to start.”
“You went there? Alone?” Freddy’s voice rose to an unnatural pitch.
Edward’s lips curved despite the pallor of his skin.
“It didn’t seem so risky at first. But when I got to the docks, I saw them—men loading crates onto a small vessel.
Armed men, not dockworkers. The crates bore company markings, but something was off.
They moved too quickly, as though afraid of being caught. ”
“What was in the crates?” I asked, dread coiling around my chest.
“I couldn’t get close enough to see.” His voice faded to a whisper. “I tried to slip away. One of them fired. I heard my name called. Someone recognized me.”
Lord Chudley?
Freddy let out a small cry, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Edward . . .”
I reached out, gripping his arm. “Did you see enough to stop them?”
His bloodshot eyes met mine. “Not yet. If I can gather more evidence . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head as though the very idea exhausted him.
“Evidence?” I demanded. “Edward, you’ve nearly been killed. Isn’t this enough?”
His head drooped forward. “Why do you think I’ve left the townhome night after night? For pleasure? No, I’ve hunted the worst sorts of creatures on behalf of the Clapham Sect. Tell Wilberforce I saw the stamp of a tiger. The tiger, Kit.”
Then his eyes rolled back, and I knew he had fainted, no doubt from the loss of blood.
“If only Grandfather were here. He would know what to do,” I muttered as I braced Edward’s shoulder, fearing if I let go, he would tumble to the flagstone. “Freddy, I cannot move or lift Edward to his room and we must stem the bleeding.”
With our butler and footman gone, I had only a frightened staff, Freddy, and Aunt to assist me.
And I had no intention of calling for Aunt.
Grandfather did not return—at least not to my knowledge. The cook started a fire in the kitchen fireplace despite dropping the tinder and flint with his shaking hands while Edward remained slumped against the table.
We did what we could to stem the bleeding from the gaping wound.
I jumped all the same when footsteps clattered against the stone floor and there stood Sebastian.
Relief swept through me, swift and disarming.
The chaos no longer felt insurmountable, not with him here.
Some part of me, foolish or not, believed that as long as Sebastian was here, Edward might yet be saved.
Beside Sebastian stood a short, disheveled physician, his cravat missing and eyes bleary as he clutched a black leather bag.