Raven: Gentlemen of the Order - Book 2

by Clee, Adele

  A curt nod was his only reply.

  Sophia tried to piece together what she knew of his marriage. Hannah was the ward of his father’s friend, a quiet country girl who was said to be kind of heart and spirit. Hannah’s vibrant red hair and slender frame were her defining features. By all accounts, she was thrilled to marry Finlay Cole, although Sophia had lacked the strength to attend the wedding. Finlay courted privacy, avoided society, and so her knowledge was limited to those simple facts.

  “But she wasn’t ill when you married her.” Sophia experienced the usual stab in her heart when she imagined him exchanging vows, promising to love and cherish another, of his passionate wedding night. Hers had been a hurried coupling, bereft of genuine affection.

  “The signs were there. I ignored them.”

  “Because you loved her?” Sophia stroked his arm, desperate to maintain contact. Oh, how she wanted to draw him into an embrace and simply hold him, love him.

  Finlay looked her keenly in the eye, his dark gaze berating her for asking the question. “I cared for Hannah. I doubt I shall ever meet such a gentle soul again.”

  She knew him well enough to know he had not married out of vengeance. He had married hoping to heal his heart. And yet these past three years she had never seen him so bitter and tormented.

  “Was she like Jessica? Prone to bouts of melancholy? Pensive and restless?”

  “Most of the time she was consumed by a dreadful sadness.” His expression turned sorrowful, a reflection of what he must have faced at home. “I have no desire to discuss it further.” His tone changed from brittle to blunt. He stepped back, and her hand slipped to her side. “The point is, tinctures and anodynes cloud the mind.”

  Oh, Finlay!

  Did he not know that suppressing the pain delayed his recovery? Although in the three years since his wife’s death, this was the most he had ever said about his marriage. Still, she would not press him further.

  “Then what do you suggest we do?” She would look to him for guidance. He was right. The usual methods had failed to reap results.

  “About Jessica?”

  “Yes, about Jessica.”

  “We reduce her medication. We take her out into the woods and gently coax her memory. We treat her like an important member of the household, not like a madwoman who should be watched night and day. We give her responsibilities to restore her self-worth.”

  “And did those things work for Hannah?” she dared to ask.

  “No.” Finlay firmed his jaw. “Like you, I trusted those I presumed knew better.”

  “I trust you over Dr Goodwin.” She would trust him with her life. The only reason she hadn’t told him about Jessica previously was to save him more heartache. “He may take umbrage and leave, but I’m prepared to take the risk.”

  “He won’t leave.” Finlay sounded confident in his assertion. “Dr Goodwin wouldn’t travel all this way if he didn’t have other motives for being here.”

  “He is always quick to take payment,” she agreed but could think of no other reason for his faithful service other than his loyalty to Mr Archer.

  “Then if he wishes to continue treating Jessica, he will need to be more accommodating.”

  Dr Goodwin was used to taking charge and would offer some resistance. She scanned the breadth of Finlay’s chest, considered his resolute jaw. The doctor lacked Finlay’s strength and determination and would eventually comply.

  “After Dr Goodwin’s session, Jessica becomes anxious. He sedates her with laudanum to ensure she has a good night’s sleep. It’s usually the next day that she disappears into the woods.”

  Finlay pursed his lips while considering the information. “And she’s only started venturing to the woods recently,” he confirmed.

  “Yes, but I cannot think what sparked her sudden interest.”

  The sly smile playing on Finlay’s lips failed to reach his eyes, but anything was better than the permanent frown. “Then we shall leave the doctor to conduct his session privately. We will insist he stays the night, insist he refrains from giving Jessica medicine to aid her sleep.”

  Finlay’s distrust of the doctor roused Sophia’s suspicions, too. What had Dr Goodwin put in his paregoric vial? Was he responsible for the sudden change in her sister’s behaviour? His persistence in moving Jessica to a hospital near Oxford might have prompted the man to act recklessly and take matters into his own hands.

  “Without the usual dose of laudanum, do you think Jessica will sleepwalk tonight?”

  Finlay shrugged. “Who can say? But it’s likely. I suggest you sleep for a few hours this afternoon. Tonight, we shall keep vigil. With luck, we shall discover what Jessica finds so intriguing about Blackborne Wood.”

  Chapter 6

  “How long are we supposed to wait here?” Dr Goodwin complained. “It must be close to one o’clock in the morning. Miss Draper is asleep in bed and has no intention of fleeing to the woods.”

  “Hush.” Finlay glared at the doctor who was pacing before the fire in the grand bedchamber, casting a monstrous shadow on the wall. “You will wake Lady Adair.”

  One glance at Sophia sleeping peacefully in his bed sparked the usual ache. She lay snuggled under his greatcoat, the garment swamping her body as he longed to do.

  “I have other patients to see tomorrow,” the doctor whispered. “Surely you don’t expect to keep vigil all night.”

  Finlay ignored the doctor’s whining and scanned the courtyard for the umpteenth time. One would struggle to see a figure moving through the darkness and so he had opened the window in the hope of hearing footsteps crunching on the gravel. If Anne was true to her word, she would alert them the minute Jessica left the house, unless the maid had fallen asleep on her truckle bed.

  They waited.

  Sophia’s sweet moan disturbed the silence. She stretched her arms above her head in the sensual way women did when anticipating pleasure, but did not open her eyes.

  The muscles in Finlay’s abdomen tightened. He knew her intimately, had made her climax with the skilled strum of his fingers while frolicking in the hay barn. They might have made love there, all those years ago, and he almost wished they had. Perhaps the yearning wouldn’t be so intense.

  “When you were sitting with Jessica earlier, I heard you discuss Mr Archer at length,” Finlay said to distract his mind from thoughts of loving Sophia. Although he’d given the doctor privacy, he had listened at the door and tried to follow their discourse. “Are all your methods based on delving into the past?”

  “Wallner’s theory on memory manipulation states I must take the patient back to the moment before they experienced trauma.”

  Finlay knew of Hans Wallner’s work. “You mean you re-imprint the memory. You have the patient create another outcome in the hope of freeing them from their mental cage.”

  “Precisely.” Dr Goodwin seemed surprised at the depth of Finlay’s knowledge.

  “And you do not consider that dangerous?”

  “Dangerous?” Goodwin snorted.

  Meddling with people’s minds.

  Playing God.

  Playing judge and jury.

  “Altering Jessica’s perception of reality. No doubt you cast Mr Archer as the hero of the tale, not a scoundrel who couldn’t keep his cock in his breeches.”

  Goodwin’s mouth dropped open. Clearly, he was unused to plain speaking. “Healing the mind is the priority,” the doctor said. “What would—”

  The sudden pounding of footsteps on the landing brought the conversation to an abrupt end. Finlay charged to the door and flung it open just as the maid raised her hand to knock. One look at the woman’s eyes, wide and full of panic, told him all he needed to know.

  “Miss Draper has left the house,” Finlay stated, yet he had not heard the boards creak or heard her padding downstairs. “How long ago?”

  Anne took to fidgeting and fumbling with her fingers. “I’m unsure, s-sir.”

  “You fell asleep?” He could hardly r
ant at Anne’s incompetence. Caring for Jessica had left the poor woman exhausted. “Do you remember the last time you heard the clock chime?”

  “I—I heard the stroke of midnight, sir.”

  So, Jessica had at least a half an hour start. That said, he imagined her wandering aimlessly, not racing towards the woods with purpose.

  He turned to Dr Goodwin. “Fetch Blent and help him with the hounds. But he is not to approach her. Is that clear? We need to know what draws her outside.”

  “You expect me to traipse outdoors at night?” Goodwin’s grimace spoke of cowardice.

  “Don’t you want to cure your patient?”

  The doctor sighed but continued muttering his complaint as he pushed past the maid and stomped downstairs.

  Finlay focused on Anne, her trembling bottom lip rousing suspicion. “What is it, Anne? You’ve something else to tell me.”

  Anne scrunched her nose. “It’s about Miss Draper, sir. The door to the back stairs was wide open. She … she might have taken the servants’ exit.”

  Damnation! “I told you to lock that door.”

  “I did, sir.” She tugged the string around her neck and pulled the key from inside the bodice of her brown twill dress. “I don’t know how Miss Draper opened the door, but she didn’t use my key.”

  Finlay didn’t have time to examine the matter further. “We’ll discuss this later. You’re to wait here. Ring the church bell if Miss Draper arrives home before we do.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Anne took the lit oil lamp from the console table on the landing and hurried downstairs.

  Despite the commotion, Sophia didn’t stir. Weeks of sleepless nights had taken their toll. He considered letting her rest, but if she woke to discover Jessica was missing, she would be furious.

  “Sophia,” he said, stepping closer to the bed. “Sophia.”

  For an indulgent few seconds, he watched the rise and fall of her chest, listened to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. Although his heart was buried beneath the weight of past pain, he still felt a profound affection. He might have sat there for hours, watching her, allowing himself to experience that excruciating tug, had they not a pressing matter requiring their attention.

  “Sophia.”

  With reluctance he reached out, touched her shoulder and rocked her from her slumber. The merest touch sent a jolt of pleasure shooting up his arm. He had forgotten what it was like to feel one’s life-force pulsing wildly. He’d never forgotten the all-consuming power of her magnetic pull.

  Sophia’s eyes flickered open. Her dreamy gaze caressed his face. “Finlay,” she whispered. “You’re home.”

  Being with her was like being home.

  “You’ve come back to me.” She sighed with contentment before closing her eyes. “How I’ve missed your smile, missed your touch.”

  The muscles in his abdomen twisted with longing, with regret. “Sophia, wake up.” Cursed saints! This woman was a skilled tormentor. “Jessica has left the house. We need to find her. Sophia!”

  She woke again with a start. “What?” She shot to a sitting position, though it took her a moment to gather her wits.

  “Jessica has wandered out into the woods. I can go alone if you would rather wait here.”

  “No!” Sophia yanked back the coat she’d been using as a blanket and swung her legs out of bed. “Quick. We need Blent to fetch the hounds.”

  “I’ve sent Dr Goodwin to alert him. Where are your boots?” He didn’t wait for a reply but found them near the night table. Without thought, he dropped to his knees, captured each ankle in turn and helped her slip into her footwear.

  Sophia studied him intently as he tied the laces and drew her to her feet. “I thought we weren’t supposed to touch one another,” she said, moving to snatch her thick woollen cloak from the chair. She fastened it around her shoulders with haste. “You’ve kept to that rule for years, and yet you’ve broken it a handful of times today.”

  “It’s impossible to work together and not have some physical contact.”

  It was why he’d initially refused to take the case. And yet he couldn’t lie. He welcomed the deep awareness coursing through his veins whenever Sophia was close. He welcomed the connection that banished the loneliness temporarily.

  “Come,” he said, shrugging into his greatcoat. “We should follow the path to the deadwood. According to Blent, it’s Jessica’s preferred destination.”

  Finlay escorted Sophia out of the house. She came to an abrupt halt in the porch, her frantic gaze scanning the tiled floor. “Where’s the lantern? We leave a lantern and a tinderbox here every night.”

  Finlay shrugged. “Dr Goodwin must have taken it. It’s only a five-minute walk if we cross the bridge over the moat and follow the path down to the road.” He glanced at her bare hands. “It’s cold tonight. Where are your gloves?”

  “I’ve left them upstairs. No matter. Come, we must hurry.”

  Sophia raised her skirts and rushed towards the gatehouse.

  As they crossed the bridge and hastened along the weed-infested drive, he couldn’t help but draw comparisons to the night he’d spent searching for Hannah in Rectory Wood. Echoes of the past seemed to find their way into the present. Perhaps it was the Lord’s way of forcing a man to face his fears. To own his mistakes.

  “Tomorrow morning we need to interview the servants,” he said, slowing to enable Sophia to keep pace. He revealed what Anne had told him about the door to the servants’ staircase. “One of them assisted Jessica in her escape.”

  “Why would they encourage her to come to the woods? It makes no sense.”

  “Why would a woman who’s desperate to keep the demons from her door leave the house in the dead of night?” That made no sense, either. But those with a disordered mind behaved irrationally. And he suspected the excessive doses of medicine accounted for Jessica’s sleepwalking and bouts of delirium.

  At the end of the drive, the wrought-iron gates were locked, fastened with a heavy chain. The entrance to Newgate wasn’t as secure. Sophia approached the small sandstone building to the left. She reached up into the low portico, ran her fingers along the white wooden ledge and found a key. After slipping briefly into the gatekeeper’s lodge, she returned with an iron key.

  “This way.” She drew him to the wooden door in the boundary wall.

  They exited onto the main road, a coaching route that began at Hyde Park Corner and stretched to Land’s End. In bygone times, it was a road frequented by highwaymen. Indeed, it was the road where D’Angelo witnessed the murder of his parents when he was but a boy.

  The narrow path through the woods started at a rickety stile. Finlay climbed over first before helping Sophia navigate the unstable structure. He had no choice but to settle his hands on her waist and lower her down to the ground. For a few seconds, their bodies were but inches apart, their misty white breath mingling, making love in the gloom.

  “Thank you.” She placed a steadying hand on his chest, covering his heart.

  Her pale skin looked translucent beneath the faint sheen of moonlight. The sight of her parted lips, moist and full of promise, tugged at his core. Were they not hunting for Jessica, he feared his traitorous body might betray him.

  “We should hurry,” she said in a tone full of uncertainty, an echo of his internal struggle. “You must take my hand, Finlay. This way is less trodden. The exposed roots are a danger in the dark.”

  His reluctance to touch her waned by the day, the hour, the minute. Besides, what choice did he have but to capture her hand and lead her onto the overgrown path? Though the intimate action warmed his soul, the ancient wood wielded an incomprehensible power. As their boots squelched in the sodden earth and the trees loomed large, he was overcome by a sudden morbidness.

  Perhaps his mood reflected the horror of that day in the Sonian Forest—these woods felt like enemy territory, too. Perhaps his mood reflected the horror of the night he’d argued with Hannah and she’d raced into Rectory Wood
during a heavy downpour. Like Jessica, she often went missing, rarely remembered where she had been, didn’t care if she caught a chill.

  “Hannah!” The involuntary call left his lips, a cry in the darkness.

  Beside him, Sophia inhaled sharply.

  “Forgive me.” He mumbled a curse but gave no further explanation.

  They continued in silence but for the hypnotic whispers of the trees in the night breeze. Mist and moonlight filtered through the overhead canopy, the hazy veil reducing visibility on an already uncertain path.

  “Miss Draper!”

  The doctor’s distant call reached Finlay’s ears.

  Could the fool not follow instructions?

  “Miss Draper!”

  Sophia gripped his hand as they ploughed through muddy puddles. “What if this is the night I lose her forever?”

  Having asked himself the same question in the past, he tried to ease her anxiety. “We won’t stop looking until we find her.” Aware of a light ahead and hearing the hounds bark, he said, “Look. Blent is approaching the deadwood.”

  The deadwood posed a powerful presence in the dark. To the naked eye, the circle of seven leafless trees looked healthy and robust. One might be fooled into thinking they were deciduous trees standing dormant in the depths of winter, but autumn was still weeks away. But for the charred logs and powdery ash of the burnout campfire, the ground was a barren wasteland.

  Blent entered the clearing, whistling and calling to the white and tan dogs who had their noses pressed to the ground, sniffing for Jessica’s scent. Dr Goodwin stumbled behind, holding the lantern aloft and complaining about the state of his expensive Hessians.

  “Any sign of her?” Finlay asked, releasing Sophia’s hand.

  “No, sir.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Dr Goodwin groaned as his boots squelched in the mud. “Why the devil would Miss Draper wander out here in the dead of night?”

  It was an odd thing to say. As Jessica’s physician, he knew her fragile mind made her behave irrationally. Surely he had questioned her about the night she met the nameless figure in the woods. And what of her sleepwalking? Wasn’t that part of the problem?