Severin tensed. “A month ago? Erlenmeyer told me that Smith—or Becker—was a long-time patient. That this was not the only instance when she’d had delusions and attacked an innocent bystander.”
“That is an odd discrepancy from the attendant’s report,” Ambrose Kent said, frowning.
“What I find equally odd,” Harry mused, “is that a man with Erlenmeyer’s history of inhumane and failed treatments was able to secure a position as the head of a private asylum.”
“I was curious about that as well,” his brother replied. “Thus, I did some digging into the financials behind Brookfield and discovered that most of the funding comes from a group of wealthy patrons. One of the patrons is Lord Snowden, whose wife happens to be a friend of my wife, Marianne. Marianne got me in to see Snowden, and he told me in private that he is no fan of Dr. Erlenmeyer…that, indeed, several of the patrons questioned the fellow’s practices. But apparently Erlenmeyer has the backing of the most influential donor.”
“Who is that?” Severin demanded.
“Princess Adelaide. She is the sister of the King of—”
“Hessenstein.” Severin didn’t like the coincidence of Princess Adelaide, who’d befriended Fancy, being involved in this tangled web. “Why would she back an Austrian mad-doctor?”
“Erlenmeyer is not Austrian by birth; he was born in the Principality of Hessenstein. It is apparently a custom of Hessenstein royalty to become patrons of commoners, a practice that has led to some scandal.”
“Scandal?”
“Snowden mentioned that the reason Princess Adelaide resides in London is because she fell out of favor with her brother Ernst, the King of Hessenstein. King Ernst apparently broke royal protocol by falling in love with a commoner he was sponsoring. She was a dressmaker or something along those lines. Anyway, the king married the woman, against the wishes of his royal family—especially Princess Adelaide, who made her feelings known. He brought his new wife to London whilst she was carrying their first child, but something went wrong, and she and the child perished. Grief-stricken, King Ernst went back to Hessenstein, but Princess Adelaide stayed in London—some say because her brother forbade her return. Her son, Ruprecht, lives with the king as he is now the heir apparent to the throne.”
With thundering dread, Severin asked, “How long ago did this happen?”
Kent consulted his notes. “Some twenty-three years ago… What is the matter, Your Grace?”
Panic had propelled Severin to his feet. “I think my wife may be the heir to the Hessenstein crown—which means she’s in grave danger. I have to find her, and I need your help.”
“Whatever you need,” Harry said.
“I want eyes on Adelaide and Erlenmeyer straightaway. Find them and don’t let either of them out of your sight. My men can go with you—”
“I’ve got it. And I’ll get additional reinforcements.” Harry gave a grim nod. “Go to Fancy.”
Severin was already racing out the door.
39
Awakening from a nightmare, Fancy blinked groggily. Had she been sleepwalking? She didn’t recognize the dimly lit room with it sagging ceiling and wilting wallpaper. The light was coming in from—she squinted—a boarded-up window. Footsteps sounded, and she whipped her head in that direction, a door opening…
“You are awake.” Princess Adelaide entered. “That took longer than I anticipated.”
Floorboards creaked as the princess, wearing a military-inspired dress, marched toward her.
“Your H-highness?” Fancy stammered. “What are you…wh-where am I?”
She tried to move; to her shock, she found that she was bound to a chair. Rope circled her arms and legs, securing her to the wooden frame. Her gaze flew to Princess Adelaide, who seated herself at a nearby table.
“You are my guest, Francesca,” she said silkily. “Or should I say Princess Francesca.”
Fancy stared at the princess’s hooded black eyes. Was the woman mad? Then the princess’s words touched a nerve of memory. Anna Smith had said, Your Highness…I must speak to you.
“I don’t understand.” Fancy shook her head, willing herself to wake up from this terrible dream. “None of this makes sense.”
“Since we are waiting for my final guest to arrive, I see no harm in elucidating you, my dear.” Princess Adelaide fixed a predatory gaze upon her. “You are my niece. The daughter of my brother, King Ernst III of Hessenstein.”
Shock saturated Fancy. “How is that possible?”
“Through betrayal.” Adelaide shook her head, looking disappointed. “I had a perfect plan, and it was foiled by a mere servant.”
“I don’t understand—”
“If you shut up and listen, you will.” Adelaide’s eyes slitted, her tone dripping with venom.
She’s mad…and she hates me. I shouldn’t rile her up more.
Tamping down her fear, Fancy nodded, playing along.
“It all began when my brother was seduced by a woman named Louisa. It is a custom of the Royal House of Hessenstein to give promising commoners our patronage, and Ernst chose Louisa, an apprentice dressmaker, out of the pool that year. The stupid fool lost his head and fell in love with her,” Adelaide said with disgust. “If he had just kept her as his mistress, then everything would have been fine, but he got it into his head that he wanted to marry her. Nothing I—or any of his court advisors—said could sway him. He was bound and determined to wed for love. Three hundred years of noble lineage destroyed because he had to wed that nobody. Mere months later, she was with child.”
Despite the danger, Fancy’s heart gave a small flutter at the romantic story.
“We were scheduled to visit London that summer,” Adelaide went on. “The goal was to strengthen ties with our distant cousin, the King of England. But Louisa managed to ruin that important political mission with her miserable pregnancy. She was constantly ill, unable to make any official appearances, and my milksop of a brother insisted on remaining by her side instead of paying court to the king as was his duty. I was beside myself, watching the fortunes of my beloved country disintegrate because of that whore. I knew I had to do something.”
Trepidation slithered through Fancy. “What did you do?”
“I obtained some herbs from the midwife and put them in Louisa’s tea.” Adelaide’s mouth took on a crafty curve. “That night, Louisa went into premature labor and gave birth to a stillborn boy. I thought my mission was accomplished. Imagine my shock when, as she lay there, her life draining out of her, she delivered yet another babe. Worst of all, this tiny, fragile creature was breathing…and the only thing standing between my son and the throne of Hessenstein. In my country, female descendants can inherit the throne, and you would precede my son in the line of succession. I knew what I had to do.
“I instructed the midwife to get rid of you. She was supposed to smother you, dispose of your body as if you never existed. In the meantime, I consoled my brother over his dead son and his dead wife. Little did I know that the midwife betrayed me.”
Fancy could barely speak through her horror. Adelaide showed no remorse as she spoke of her crimes, the blood stained upon her hands. Anger rose in a silent tide, clearing Fancy’s head. Adelaide had murdered her mother and twin brother; she would not be a third victim. She had to buy time, keep Adelaide talking, for surely Knight would be searching for her by now.
“The midwife…was she Anna Smith?” Fancy asked calmly.
“Very good,” Adelaide said. “Her real name is Rosamund Becker. She travelled with us from Hessenstein and was the one who gave me the herbs. I told her it was for one of my maids who’d found herself in an unfortunate way. When Rosamund realized that the herbs had found their way into the queen’s tea, she was horrified. I told her that if she didn’t do my bidding and get rid of the remaining twin, I would tell my brother that she was responsible for Louisa and his heir’s death. I thought I had her under my thumb, especially since I believed she’d killed you too. Then I saw you
that day at Madame Rousseau’s and thought you were a ghost: that is how much you resemble Louisa, down to that wanton beauty mark above your lip.”
Masking her fury, Fancy said, “You were certain that I was the babe you’d had murdered?”
“When you told me you were a foundling, I had no doubt. Just in case, I hunted down Rosamund. She had changed her name to Anna Smith and was living in this hovel on the outskirts of Camden Town. She broke down, confirming that she’d left you in a field. I would have killed her but my instincts told me to keep her alive. I realized that she might have other uses, particularly after your “accidental” death by bricks didn’t work out as planned. Rosamund became a guest at the asylum run by Dr. Erlenmeyer, a protégé of mine, but then the wily bitch escaped. Dr. Erlenmeyer caught her just in time and put into play my final stratagem.”
“You’re going to blame her for my death,” Fancy reasoned.
“You really are cleverer than you look.” Adelaide’s smile was as thin as a razor. “Your husband believes that Anna Smith has already tried to kill you once. How difficult will it be to convince him that she succeeded the second time?”
“Knight is going to find me,” Fancy said fiercely. “Then you will pay.”
“I don’t think so, my dear. Dusk is falling, and Dr. Erlenmeyer will soon arrive with Rosamund. When your husband finds you, you will be dead in her old cottage, the pistol that killed you in her hand. He will find Anna Smith’s crazed note, which will detail how she had completed her last mission: to assassinate you.” Princess Adelaide’s eyes glinted with terrifying satisfaction. “And since she, too, will be dead, the truth will die with her.”
“You are sure Erlenmeyer is in there?” Severin said tightly.
Through a crack in the carriage curtains, he watched the back gates of Brookfield Asylum. Harry Kent had joined him in his carriage; Tessa Kent, Garrity, and Ransom were monitoring the other exits of the building.
“I’m certain,” Kent said. “I went in there and asked for him.”
“That didn’t tip him off?”
“I had a convincing cover. Told him my father-in-law had bats in his belfry and I needed a place to put him. Erlenmeyer gave me a tour; he was quite proud of his treatment devices.” Kent shuddered. “The bastard has a screw loose, that’s for certain.”
“Just as long as he has sufficient wits to lead me to Fancy,” Severin said starkly.
His gut churned with fear, had been doing so since he’d discovered Fancy missing. According to her maid Gemma, she’d gone out for a walk alone and hadn’t returned…which didn’t make sense. Panic had swamped him, a certainty that something had befallen his wife.
Then he’d received the message from Kent, who had enlisted their other friends to help. Ransom and his wife Maggie had called upon Adelaide on the pretense of making a social call. The princess’s butler had informed the duke and duchess that his mistress was not at home. During this distraction, one of Kent’s men had gone in the back, verifying that the princess’s carriage was indeed gone.
Severin had men combing the city now for Fancy and Princess Adelaide, his search abetted by Kent and Garrity’s forces. Yet his instincts told him that his best chances of locating his wife now lay with Erlenmeyer. At first, he’d wanted to charge in and beat the truth out of the doctor, but Kent and Garrity had convinced him to bide his time and wait for Erlenmeyer to make a move. They’d reasoned that they had no solid proof of the doctor’s complicity. If Erlenmeyer refused to talk—and his close relationship with Adelaide made that a high probability—then they would be wasting precious time with Fancy’s life hanging in the balance.
Moreover, the waiting horse and wagon they had found tied up just beyond the back gates suggested that a journey would be made soon. Severin’s knuckles cracked beneath their covering of dark leather. If that bastard Erlenmeyer didn’t show himself within a few minutes, Severin was going to charge in and do whatever was necessary to make the man talk.
The back gate opened. The last rays of daylight revealed that it was Erlenmeyer. The doctor was pushing a patient in a wheeled chair: Anna Smith, her lolling head betraying her drugged state. Erlenmeyer heaved Smith into the back of the waiting wagon as if she were a sack of bricks, throwing a cover over her.
Then he climbed onto the driver’s seat, and the wagon began to move.
Severin sent a man to alert the other teams.
“Follow him at a distance,” Severin instructed his driver. “Don’t let that wagon out of your sight.”
Adelaide left Fancy in the room, her voice carrying clearly from outside the door.
“If she makes any trouble, kill her.”
A chilled droplet slid down Fancy’s spine as she heard the affirmative replies of the princess’s guards. One false move and she knew the men would not hesitate to snuff her out like a candle.
Which means…I cannot make a false move.
Her heart pounding in her ears, she pulled on her bonds. It was no use; her arms were tied to the arms of the chair and her torso was secured to the chair’s back. If she tipped herself backward and landed hard enough, she might be able to crack the wood and break free…but the noise would alert the guards.
Think, Fancy. This is a problem like any other. How do you fix it?
What she needed was…a friend.
A tinker’s friend.
She jiggled her leg—and her heart thumped with relief when she felt the reassuring bump of the tool against her right thigh. The width and layers of her skirts had hidden it from Princess Adelaide. She began wriggling her right leg. As she strained against the bonds, she realized that the tightness was around her ankle, over her half-boots. If she could just slip her foot out of the boot…
Gritting her teeth, she twisted her foot this way and that, and finally it popped free. Trying not to make noise, she lifted her freed leg, trying to get it to her bound right hand. She strained her hip to the side until she could grab hold of her skirts.
Almost there.
She inched her fingers closer and closer toward the hidden pocket. She got her hand into the pocket, but the tinker’s friend was too deep inside. Sweating, she raised her leg upward as far as she could, felt the shifting gravity of the tool sliding down, down…
It hit her palm, and she closed her fingers around it.
Thank you, Da, for giving me a tinker’s best friend.
She managed to open the knife, orienting the blade against her bonds. She shifted her hand back and forth, rubbing the rope against the sharp edge, sawing through the rough fibers. When the rope split, she grabbed the tool with her freed hand and dispensed with the rest of her restraints.
Her triumph was measured: she still had to escape her prison. She couldn’t get past the guards shuffling outside the door. The only other way out was the boarded-up window.
Taking off her other boot, she carried her footwear with her to minimize any noise. A floorboard creaked, shooting her heart into her throat, but when no guard came charging in, she exhaled, continuing on. The distance to the window felt like a mile. Arriving, she examined the barrier to her escape.
Six boards were nailed into the windowpane, two nails on each side of the board. It would take a while to remove the nails…and even longer to do it quietly. What other choice did she have? Using her tinker’s friend, she set to work prying the metal pegs free. The boards were thinner than she expected, the nails coming out easily. She popped them out one by one, catching them soundlessly in her sweaty palm.
When the last nail was out of the first board, she lowered it a fraction and peered out into the starlit darkness. It appeared that this was the back of the cottage and, luckily, she saw no guards. A dark shape loomed in the distance…a fence? Once she got out of the house, she would scale it and run for help.
Precious minutes passed as she removed two more boards. The opening she’d made was tight, but she could squeeze through if she shed her outer garments. With a silent apology to Amelie Rousseau, she ruthlessly
cut off her clothes, layer after layer of fabric whispering to the ground. Clad in a corset, shift, and drawers, she put her boots back on and launched herself through the opening.
It was a tight fit, but survival was the ultimate motivator. Clenching her jaw, she ignored the harsh scrape of wood against her bare arms and pushed herself through, dropping to the ground on the other side. She got up, and an arm hooked her around the waist, pulling her back against a wall of muscle, a hand muffling her scream.
40
“Fancy, it’s me.”
Hearing Knight’s voice, she felt relief pour through her. He turned her to face him, scanning her with fierce eyes.
“Are you all right, love?” His gaze dropped to her undergarments, ripped during her hasty exit out the window, and rage flared in those grey depths. “If they laid a finger on you—”
“They didn’t,” she said in hushed tones. “I took off my clothes so that I could fit through the window. No one hurt me. Well, except Adelaide. She drugged me and carted me off. How did you find me?”
Knight had taken off his jacket and was wrapping it around her shoulders. “Time for that later. For now, I want you to go with Garrity while I take care of Adelaide.”
It was only then that Fancy noticed the group standing behind her husband. The shadowy figures included Mr. Garrity, Mr. Kent, Ransom, and a small army of guards.
She nodded at the men, then said anxiously to Knight, “Be careful. She has armed men.”
He took out a pistol, holding it with lethal confidence. “I’ll be right back. And Fancy?”
“Yes?”
His eyes blazed brighter than the stars. “I love you. More than anything.”
“I love you,” she whispered back, but he was already leading the charge, the others fanning out behind him.
The Return of the Duke Page 31
