“While never seen on the streets, Mrs. Victoria Carson is whispered to be the soul and driving force of the suffragette movement sweeping through the elite of London.”
He laid down the article. “This was printed on the tenth of March.”
Alice pressed her hands to her fluttering chest. “Dear God! That was the day she had planned to come to Litchfield. She never showed, and when I sent a servant to ensure she was well, Mr. Carson said Mother had gone to Sicily for the sun. But he lied. I just received verification from Julia Bainsworth. My mother is not in Italy.”
Vic wrote on his tablet and then looked at Alice. “How angry might Mr. Carson become upon discovering his wife was involved in the suffragette movement?”
She bit her lower lip. “I dread to think. While I constantly rebelled against him, my mother seemed so peacefully compliant. I imagine he would consider it a great betrayal.”
“Would he kill over it?”
Alice shook her head. “My mother is not dead, Victor. She is alive. I feel it! He has put her somewhere, so he can punish her for this betrayal, and yet have no one speak ill of his behavior.”
Vic nodded. “You may be correct. I remember Aunt Maddy once saying the man was a puppet to the opinion of society. The embarrassment of his wife being a driving force behind the New Woman movement would require punishment before death.”
Alice gasped at Victor’s words. He had just verbalized her worst fears. “Then you think my mother’s life remains in danger.”
Vic stared intensely at her. “I am certain of it. We must find her as soon as possible. Time is not on our side.”
“Then you’ll talk to Mr. Thorn, convince him to take the case?”
“Mr. Thorn is away. You will have to settle for his partner.”
“Oh.” Her dismay was evident even to her ears, and one glance at Victor confirmed he had heard the same. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Davy arrived with the tea, but Vic waved him away. “Never mind, Davy, Miss Collins is leaving now.” Vic gave her a stern glare. “Where are you staying?”
Alice’s cheeks burned with shame with the favor she must ask after insulting him so. “I hoped to impose on you and Claire.”
“Of course, you did. Well, you know how to get there. My sister will no doubt be thrilled to see you. You’ll return home tomorrow?”
“Yes. I do not dare stay in London long.” She turned to leave, but stopped at the door and looked at Victor. “I expressed myself poorly, Vic. I have every confidence you can find my mother.”
Vic continued writing notes and refused to look up. “Hopefully while she lives. We will discourse by messenger from herewith. You should remain on your estate where you are safe. I hope you remember how to shoot your gun.”
She sighed at the surliness in his voice. She had hurt him to the core by doubting his ability. “Yes, I practice weekly.”
“Good then. Go straight to Claire and do not leave the house until you depart for home tomorrow morning.”
“Right.”
“Claire will try and sway you to stay longer, but I would prefer she not be involved in this matter. She will only muck the waters up.”
Alice smiled. “I will remind her I have an estate to run.”
“Good then, off you go. I have a missing person to find.”
His words gave her hope. He said it with such conviction; hope blossomed in Alice’s chest. Victor would find her mother and bring her home safely. “Thank you, Vic.”
***
After a night at the Hamiltons, Alice returned home early the next morning. Flaunting propriety, she offered to share her carriage with her servants riding above in the cold. After the shock of her suggestion wore off, they each declined.
The journey back was long and tedious, but she at least knew something was being done to find her mother. Victor not only believed she had reason to worry about her mother’s disappearance but felt it urgent to find her soon. Had she gone to Scotland Yard they would have dismissed her out of hand. Even Mr. Thorn might have done so. She had no proof Mr. Carson would harm her mother. All she had were the ugly scars across her back, but they only proved he hated his stepdaughter, not his wife.
Fortunately, Vic not only believed her, but also uncovered the probable trigger causing her mother’s disappearance. Mr. Carson was the antithesis of all the suffragettes wanted. He believed women were little more than dressed up livestock put on Earth to pleasure men. He applauded the Australian Aborigines for their beliefs that only men possessed souls and females were simply animals to bear their males.
She could not imagine the rage Mr. Carson had felt when he’d read his meek and passive wife was “the soul of the suffragette movement.”
Touching the ruby pendant her mother had given her when she turned fifteen and took her first season in London, she whispered, “We will find you, Mother. Just hold on.”
If only she could have stayed in London and assisted Vic in his search, but she did not dare. If her stepfather knew she was here, he would likely abduct her and take control of her estate.
Besides, Vic had made it quite plain he did not want to speak to her further after her thoughtless insult. She could not imagine his response if she were to offer to help him in his search for her mother.
The horses picked up their speed. She looked out the window, fearing trouble. If Mr. Carson had heard she was in London, he might have sent men to waylay her on the return. She breathed out at the sight of Litchfield on the horizon. No danger—her horses simply wished to be home as much as she did.
As the carriage rolled across the miles of her land, tenant farmers working the fields stopped and waved, welcoming her back. She smiled and waved in return. God, she loved these good, honest, hardworking people. They put the London gentry to shame.
A mere second after the carriage pulled to a halt, Thomas opened its door. “Were you successful?” His brow wrinkled in worry and his eyes looked heavy, as if he had not slept an hour since she had left.
“Yes. Mother’s case is his top priority.” She didn’t say exactly who ‘he’ was, because Thomas would be upset if he knew Victor, rather than Xavier Thorn, searched for her mother.
***
She stepped inside her library, glad to be home and far away from her horrid past. The wall-to-wall cherry wood bookshelves reached all the way to the ceiling, requiring a rolling ladder to access the upper books. The matching cherry wood desk was both elegant and utilitarian‒much like her father, who had bought it, a practical man of taste and elegance.
He had been forty-five years older than her mother and advised her to re-marry upon his death. However, he clearly did not presume her next husband would love and provide properly for his only child. Instead, he’d taken advantage of the recently changed inheritance laws and left Litchfield Estate to Alice, to be managed by men of his solicitor’s choosing until Alice married or turned twenty-one.
She remained grateful for her father’s foresight. Without it, her life would have been insupportable. She’d endured the years of abuse and shame, knowing, when she turned twenty-one, Litchfield Estate would be hers and Mr. Carson could never touch her again.
She returned her gun to the safe. Dare he try.
Pushing her hatred away, she sat down at the desk. Her only clear memory of her father was in this room. She had been no more than four, sitting in his lap as he wrote in ledgers. Even now, she could recall her immense sense of well-being and happiness. She had felt loved and protected when her father lived.
She attended the two-inch stack of letters awaiting her attention. As she responded to a question from her trader at the New Royal Exchange in London, Thomas knocked softly and then poked his head in. “Robert Carns to see you, Miss.”
She smiled and set down her quill. “Send him in.” She blew on her page and then set it aside.
An older, but still handsome man entered the room. She was accustomed to seeing him in white shirts, tan pants and suspenders, but toda
y he wore a suit and looked most uncomfortable.
“Where are you off to, dressed up like a peacock?” she teased.
Instead of laughing, his brow furrowed.
She stood. “Rob, I apologize. I seem to be saying the wrong thing more often than not these days. Perhaps I should just remain mute.”
He smiled and stepped forward. “That would be the last thing any of us would want. I only frowned because I do feel like a dressed-up peacock and the sensation does not set well.”
“Then take off the coat and breathe a moment. Your secret will be safe with me.”
He removed the jacket. Underneath was his standard white shirt and suspenders. “Thank you for preferring the real me.”
A warning alarm, honed from countless unwanted beaus, went off in Alice’s head. Oh God, was the owner of her mill about to propose?
Robert fussed with the hat he held in his lap. After a few seconds, he found his voice. “We were all worried when you up and ran off to London without a word. Some of the ladies were certain you had decided to take a season.”
“Never. I’ve had seasons and courtships to last me a lifetime. No. I intend to be the spinster estate manager of Litchfield until I die of old age.” She hoped that declaration would convince him to withhold any proposal.
He frowned and leaned forward. “But what is to happen when you die? Without children to carry on, what will become of Litchfield?”
His question shocked her. She had never considered that far ahead. Without providing an heir, she endangered the well-being and continuity of the entire community. “Perhaps I will adopt a child.”
“Speaking for the town, we would prefer an heir of your blood. Your father was a good manager, and you are even better. As any farmer will tell you, you gather your planting seed from the best plants. You, Miss Collins, are the best of the best. Your seed will grow straight and tall.”
Alice did not like the direction he was going and decided to use humor to distract him. “I’m not exactly comfortable discussing my seed with a man who grinds wheat into flour.”
Rob shook his head and smiled. “I apologize if I have embarrassed you. It is only that your people are worried about their futures. They fear you will marry a gentleman from town and return to London, or you will not marry at all, and leave us with no future. So they sent me to speak to you.”
“About?”
“About marrying the right type of fellow. I know you are a fine lady, but it seems to me you don’t particularly care for the ‘fine’ gentlemen, at least not the one you nearly drowned two years ago.”
Alice laughed in outrage. “I did not drown him. I simply turned over the boat to see whom he would save, himself or me. When he clung to the boat and left me to sink or swim, I swam to shore‒end of story.”
“He remained out there for several hours, bleating like a frightened lamb.”
Alice realized Rob’s house was on the other side of the lake. “I apologize if he upset your sheep.”
“You laugh, but my sheep were unsettled for a week from the noise.” Rob sobered. “If you don’t care for the gents, might you consider someone a bit humbler in birth, but stronger in character? I think character is what you find missing among the gentry. You deserve a man who thinks of you first, who steps forward when danger approaches and would face death to keep you safe.”
His words shocked her, as did her heart’s reaction to them. Dear God, he voiced exactly what she wanted.
She stood. “I will give your advice further consideration, however, please understand in the end, I control my life and will make all decisions concerning it.”
Rob grabbed his coat and rose. “Of course, I never meant to suggest differently. I apologize if I’ve insulted you. That was far from my intent.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “I am not angry, nor insulted. You raised some important points.” She sighed and looked up into his worried eyes. “However much as this community may wish it, I cannot fall in love on command and I will never marry for anything other than love. My mother made such a mistake the second time around.” She stopped herself. Her mother would not wish her mistakes discussed with the owner of the local mill. “I misspoke just then. Please, do not repeat what I said about Mother. I had no right…”
His hand covered hers. “It shall go no further. It would have been better if one of the ladies had spoken to you, but—”
The man grimaced, as if he wished his words erased.
“But what?”
He sighed. “Everyone here admires you, Miss Collins, and is thankful you have taken over management of the estate. We have never prospered half so well.”
“But…” Alice said, determined to unearth the buried thought.
“The ladies are in too much awe to have the courage to speak. So they chose me, because I am brave and fearless, or so they say.”
Alice now understood. The women in town were not in the least bit afraid of her. They just put Rob up to this mission, hoping to spark a flame. She wished it were that simple, but if sparks were meant to fly between her and Rob, they would have done so long ago. “I see. Well, you have done your brave duty and can go back to work now. And tell my awed sisters that I will consider their advice, and will solve the problem of continuity before I die of old age.”
He smiled. “I will do so.”
Once he was gone, Alice returned to her desk. She hoped Rob left without a broken heart, but with the understanding he would not be her husband. He was a good man, but he was nearly thirty years her senior, and she had no intention of re-living her mother’s life.
If she married, it would be for love and to a man closer to her age. A brave man, one who stepped forward at the first sign of danger, determined to protect her. A man unlike any she had yet to meet or ever would meet, because he did not exist, except in the pages of romance novels.
Chapter 2
Jacko, proprietor of JB Goodnow, marked with precision on the London street map every shop that would sell a bloke a weapon, assuming he had the shillings. The small letters identified the type of weapons they sold.
He laughed as he wondered if Scotland Yard might pay him not to make this map.
The bell on his office door jingled. He set aside his work and stepped into the front room. The towhead boy from his boarding rooms waited impatiently on the other side.
Jacko unlocked the door and opened it.
The boy thrust out a sheet of paper. “Message. Bloke said it was urgent and couldn’t wait ‘til tonight.”
Jacko opened the letter and saw it was from his friend, Davy. That didn’t bode well.
Realizing the boy remained, he frowned. “Get on now. Davy probably gave you five shillings to deliver this note.”
The boy opened his mouth in outrage. “He didn’t give me a farthing! This is the last time I’ll bring your messages if you cheat me now.”
Jacko grabbed the boy by his collar and pinned him to the wall. “This is the last time I’ll use your services if I can’t trust you. Now do you want to turn out your pockets and prove you’ve not been paid, or would you like a moment to recall…”
The boy scratched his head. “You know, now you mentioned it, he may have slipped a coin or two in me pocket. Let me see…”
The boy pulled out the coins. “Well, I’ll be, five shillings just like you ‘spected. Should’ve never doubted you, sir. Should’ve known a man with such nice offices wouldn’t send a starving boy off without a farthing.”
Jacko released him. “You’re on notice, Elwood. Lie to me again, and I’ll find another boy.”
Elwood scrunched his face. “Sorry, sir, won’t happen again.”
The boy scampered out, and Jacko closed and relocked the door. He then focused on the letter, this time reading its content.
Jacko,
We need your help at once. Vic is over his head and Xavier is gone. I fear the worse if you don’t come.
Davy
Jacko frowned at the dire tone of the n
ote. Davy had spent much of his life in prison and was not a man prone to dramatics. Moreover, Xavier’s partner was all too adept at finding trouble, so his worries were more than likely warranted.
Returning to the map, he carefully rolled it up with plans to finish it tomorrow. He didn’t dare put off discovering whatever Vic was up to. He’d promised Xavier to keep the pup safe.
Jacko locked his office and hurried downstairs to the open square in the middle of the New Royal Exchange building. He pushed past the merchants and traders, through the vestibule and down the long run of steps.
Whistling at the first cabbie he recognized, he declared his destination and jumped inside. Tired of his pretense of being a gentleman, Jacko pulled off his jacket, revealing his crimson silk shirt beneath. The billowy cut was wrinkled from being smashed, but it would lose the unwanted pressing soon enough on this damp spring day.
He shifted his many gold chains from beneath his shirt to the outside and added a bright red scarf around his waist to distract the eye from the knife pouch looped in his belt and the dual shoulder holsters with guns beneath his black vest.
Jacko glared at his fine wool garment tossed on the other seat. He’d never paid so much for an item of clothing, nor hated a garment more.
Xavier assured him he’d grow accustomed to gentleman’s wear, but he didn’t see how. The constriction of his arm movements severely reduced his fighting skills. How could he ever grow accustomed to losing half his ability to fight?
In the jacket’s favor, the boiled-twice wool was amazingly sturdy. Last week, a knife slash, which he blocked with his arm, hadn’t reached his skin. Between the attacker’s dull blade and the wool’s surprising resistance, he’d been spared an ugly gash. However, if he hadn’t been wearing the damn thing, he was certain the fight would have ended long before Dog ever got in his lucky swipe.
When the carriage pulled up at Thorn’s office, he hopped out and tossed the driver double the fee. The man stared at the coins and smiled.
Jacko knew very well how a few shillings could make a big difference in a man’s day. While he disliked much of his life of newfound wealth, he enjoyed his ability to improve a hardworking bloke’s day with a few extra coins.
A Right to Love: Romantic Spinoff From The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 2.5 Page 2
