by Sahara Kelly
“I’m to believe that?” The officer laughed. “According to the warrant, that is a commissioned miniature of Lady Mabel at her debut. It was executed by Mr. Richard Cosway.” He paused. “It is estimated to be worth twenty-five thousand pounds.”
Amelia stumbled, falling against Ian. “It can’t be true. He gave it to me, Ian, I swear. That day you found me crying in the park. He gave it to me…”
“I believe you, love. We’ll clear this up, I promise.” He looked at the officer. “I understand you have to do your duty. But may I accompany my wife? I can assure you that Bow Street will vouch for me.”
The man shook his head. “Order are orders, sir. Mine are to escort the lady in this here carriage back to London. Alone. Our stops are already planned. She’s to eat and tend to her needs, of course, but we have to deliver her as scheduled.”
“Oh God,” she slumped. “Oh God.”
Ian gripped her hand. “I can follow though, without causing anyone difficulties?”
“We can’t stop you from doing that, sir.” The officer sounded apologetic. “And I must now do this, Ma’am.” He removed the pin from her jacket and tucked it away in an inner pocket of his uniform.
Ian turned to Amelia. “I’ll be right behind you, love. I’ll not let you go, do you understand me?”
She nodded, her mind whirling, her throat choked. “Yes,” she whispered. “I love you, Ian.”
He kissed her quick and hard. “I love you too.”
“This way, Ma’am.” The officer took her arm and led her to the carriage, helping her inside and then fastening a metal shackle to one wrist. The other end linked to a hook securely attached to the side of the vehicle.
She looked at him. “Is this necessary?”
“Sorry, Ma’am, but yes.” He exited, shutting the door firmly behind him and then sliding a bolt home on the outside.
She let out the sob she’d held back.
Ian yelled for his horse as they moved off—it was a small comfort to hear his voice—and within moments she was on the road south, alone, in a dark locked carriage, chained to the wall.
She was under arrest.
Chapter Eighteen
Ian fought back panic and did his best to slip into his official Bow Street mode as he took off after the carriage that held his wife.
This was a trumped-up charge at best; a malicious attempt to ruin Amelia at worst. He believed her about the miniature, since she’d barely mentioned it other than to tell him the same story she had just told the arresting officers.
Someone—an elderly gentleman, she said—had given it to her after seeing her sadness.
He’d very much like to know exactly who that “someone” was.
They held to a steady pace, not as fast as they could have, but then again, the government wasn’t inclined to spend large amounts of money on the finest horses.
So he knew he could stay close to Amelia over the next arduous day or so of their journey. If he was right, they’d stop after several hours, refresh themselves, then travel on until dark or the nearest inn. He’d made the trip himself once on official business, and had a pretty good sense of where such stops would be made.
They were all well-travelled inns, and most were happy to serve as stops for official business. The income was welcome and it was customary to give the lads in uniform a free pint of ale as a thank you for their bravery.
Not that it required bravery to arrest Amelia, although Ian amended that thought. When he’d first met her, she’d have carved up anyone who dared put her in such a situation.
He managed a tiny grin. She’d learned so much in such a short time, and he hoped she felt the better for it. Certainly she smiled more these days and it was a real smile, not the cool twist of the lips which had passed for a smile in London.
Damn it all to hell. Just when everything was falling into place, this had to happen.
After the first stop, when he got chance to wave to Amelia and give her a thumbs-up sign. It made her smile and that warmed Ian’s heart. She was all right, and would be all right once this mess was sorted out. She had been quickly hustled into the back of the inn—a room reserved for official business.
He hadn’t had chance to speak with her or ask her so many of the questions thundering inside his head.
What did she recall about the elderly man who gave her the pin? Was he well-dressed? Well-spoken? What exactly had he said?
This line of inquiry could be so valuable in tracking down whoever orchestrated this outrageous accusation, and also perhaps offer a motive of some kind.
They finally stopped for the night at a busy posting house, but Ian would’ve slept in the stables if he had to, just to stay close to Amelia. Luckily he didn’t need to make that sacrifice, since there were several small rooms still available.
He tipped a young groom and asked him to be sure and wake him as soon as those uniformed gentlemen rose. He told them he was escorting them, which was almost the truth, impressed the young lad, and ensured that Amelia wouldn’t leave without him.
And then he tried to sleep.
But still the questions circled his tired mind.
He couldn’t avoid the largest one—was this all part of a scheme created by whoever stole Amelia’s ruby?
And if so, why?
He tried to see a connection, some kind of logic that might result in both these actions. But try as he might, no answers flashed through the murk to illuminate his thinking.
None of it made sense.
But it had to make sense, because somebody had done it. Somebody had stolen her ruby, which was more understandable. But then an elderly man had given her a stolen brooch. Did he know it was stolen? Or perhaps he was as innocent as Amelia in this debacle.
Ian had a headache by the time he finally sank into a restless sleep, and when he awoke to the groom’s quiet knock, he felt as tired as he had the night before. But the journey would go on, and so must he.
Fortunately, he had time to pen several notes and put them in the hands of two people he knew at the inn…fellow Bow Street Runners who had just finished up a case.
He begged them to deliver the letters at the earliest possible moment, and they assured him they would. They were travelling solo, and eager to get back to town, so Ian hoped they would arrive a day or so before Amelia.
It might do no good, but at this point he wanted to make sure he explored every possible avenue.
As he mounted his horse for another day’s travel, he was very aware of one inescapable fact.
Someone was trying to harm Amelia. And what harmed her, harmed her husband as well.
That was not to be tolerated.
He squared his shoulders, set his boots firmly in his stirrups and clicked up the horse. The person or persons behind all this were in for a heap of trouble. He’d see to it. Personally.
*~~*~~*
Amelia had ample time to do her own thinking and worrying. Catching glimpses of Ian reassured her that at least she had one person on her side in all this chaos.
The journey was hard, long and lonely, but she resolved to not waste it by crying. Even though she wanted to and the tears were too close to the surface for comfort.
She closed her eyes, ignored the bumpy ride of the poorly sprung carriage, and went back in her mind to that moment when the elderly man had walked up to her—and set this abysmal plan in motion.
“You remind me of my daughter.”
He’d said those words before giving her the pin. They came back to her quite clearly.
So he was a man who had lost his daughter.
That set her brain to work, thinking over her acquaintances, the people she’d met regularly as she circulated through Season after Season.
Did she know of any woman, around her age, who had passed away? That was a question that kept her occupied for quite some time.
She recalled a young lady who had just returned from a trip to Europe…what was her name? Miranda. Miranda Slocombe. Yes, Miss Sl
ocombe had passed away, about a year or so ago. But then she remembered that it was apparently from a fever she had contracted while away. So it was unlikely that anyone related to her would feel angry enough to want to punish Amelia. She’d never been to Europe, or had any kind of foreign ailment.
A large bump jolted her out of her contemplation and she realized they were slowing. Happy for a respite, she made a mental note to let Ian know what she had been thinking about, if she could get a word with him.
She prayed, meaningless words that couldn’t express how much she wanted to see her husband.
The carriage lurched, bumped and pulled to a halt. There were voices outside, but she couldn’t see who was talking or where they were. The leather curtains were tightly fastened, blocking out the light. They also blocked the dust, since there was no glass in the doors, so it was a mixed blessing. But even so, she felt grubby and then blinked and squinted as the door opened.
“Come, love.”
It was Ian.
He was holding out his and and hers shook as she reached for him. Then the manacle stopped her. “I can’t…this thing…” She rattled it in frustration.
“Let me, Ma’am.” An officer stepped in and unlocked the shackle. “Your husband is very persuasive. You may have an hour with him. Lunch. And one of us will be in the room at all times.”
“Oh thank you.” She could have kissed him. “I am very appreciative of your kindness, sir.”
The man blushed as he helped her out and handed her over to her husband. “Just an hour now, mind.”
“Indeed. An hour will be wonderful.” She gave him her biggest and best smile, dazzling him into clumsy awkwardness.
He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat. “Well then.”
Ian walked up. “Thanks Stedman. I mean it. We owe you and we remember our debts.” He shook the man’s hand. “Now dear wife. Let’s get some food in you and share what few moments we have.”
She slipped her arm through his, a restrained movement when what she really wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and kiss him silly.
“Are you all right, lass?”
She shuddered at the words. “Yes. Hearing your voice, having you next to me, your arm in mine…yes. I’m all right.”
“That’s my girl.” He squeezed her forearm tightly with his and led her into the inn. “We’re to dine in the ladies’ snug. It’s been cleared for us I hear.” He nodded to a small door at the back. “Over here.”
They sat at a small table and ate, although Amelia couldn’t for the life of her remember what. The food was unimportant. What mattered was that Ian was there, near her, keeping his promise to stay with her.
Had she worried perhaps that he might not follow? Maybe. Maybe somewhere in the vestiges of the old Amelia was the whispered thought that she wasn’t worth the trouble.
But that last doubt disappeared over a simple lunch in a tiny room at the back of an inn.
“I’ve been turning this over in my mind, love.” Ian took her hand as she pushed her plate aside. “Someone has set a careful plan in motion to cause you trouble.”
“And it’s worked,” she agreed. “I’ve had time to think as well. And I cannot connect the theft of the ruby with this accusation, no matter how much I turn it over in my mind.”
He smiled. “We’re of like minds in this. I canna link those two acts either. If one person is responsible, then he’s got a mind so twisted I could not begin to fathom it.”
“So let’s work on the idea that there are two villains out there. My necklace – well, that was a major troublemaker for me, but I would sooner accept that it was done out of greed, given the price of the damn thing.”
She found herself thinking aloud, Ian’s eyes on her as she put her thoughts into words.
“That means that this warrant, and my arrest, has come from someone else. That elderly gentleman.”
Ian nodded. “Yes. Tell me what you recall, Amelia. Every tiny detail. Even the smallest thing could help.”
She closed her eyes and tried to recreate those moments in the park. She narrated the incident for Ian, answering his questions as best she could. Yes, he was well spoken and well dressed. He wore a quiet jacket, brown, and trousers, as if he was going to his club, perhaps. Smart but not overly fashionable.
His cravat. “He wore a deep blue cravat with some kind of emblem pattern.”
“Can you describe it?” Ian leaned forward.
She focused, feeling the sadness that had overwhelmed her. She had reached for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes…and that’s when he’d spoken to her.
“Green. Green and gold. Like a shield sort of shape. A crest? It was worked into the fabric. A weave.”
“Good girl.” He reached up, pulled her head close and gave her a quick hard kiss. “God, I can’t do that again. I want you too much.”
Her throat closed on a clog of emotion and she simply leaned against his shoulder for a few moments to collect herself. Then she coughed a little and straightened. “We have our lives ahead of us, Ian. I won’t let this—this annoyance interfere with that.”
“Agreed.” He sighed. “So that cravat might lead us to something useful. A club, perhaps. Or some kind of organization.”
“I also tried to think of anyone I knew who had passed away during my Seasons in London. Someone about my age.” She frowned. “But the only one I could remember succumbed to a fever she picked up somewhere in Europe. And I refuse to take the blame for that.”
He chuckled. “I agree on that as well.”
“But as of this moment, I have not been able to recall anyone else. And that annoys me because it’s important. He said his daughter had died.”
“Yes, but the miniature was of Lady Mabel somebody. And it sounded as if she’d lived to old age.”
Frustrated, Amelia clenched her teeth. “I feel so damn helpless.”
“Ma’am? Sir? It’s time.” Stedman came up to them. “We must be on our way.”
Ian sighed. “I know, lad. And we both appreciate your consideration.” He stood and went around behind Amelia’s chair, helping her rise. “Not much longer, love. Once we get to London we’ll sort this out.”
“I hope so.”
She dreaded getting back into that dark and uncomfortable little prison, but the knowledge that Ian would always be just a little way behind helped her rally her nerve.
She kissed him briefly, a butterfly touch of her lips to his cheek. “I love you, husband. Thank you.”
Then she walked away, not daring to turn back and look at his dear face lest she lose the tiny shreds of control that kept her from breaking down in front of everyone.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
Chapter Nineteen
The long journey to the metropolis was accomplished in the usual efficient way preferred by the authorities. Ian thought about that as he slowed the third hired horse and prepared to dismount in front of the Westminster Magistrate’s office.
The carriage had driven up to, and then around, the building, where Amelia would be allowed to get out. Then they would walk her into a holding area that Ian knew could be completely empty, or busy with other people arrested recently.
All would wait for the Magistrate, and the lucky ones had a lawyer to assist them in navigating the complicated waters of the English judicial system.
Ian himself had already planned to be with his wife when she faced Sir Percy Gardner. He’d had dealings with the man before, and knew him as stern, abrupt and occasionally rude, but fair. The two of them had dealt well together, overall. Ian was counting on that, because he intended that Amelia should come home with him to his modest flat this very night. And it might take a wee bit of persuasion to bring Sir Percy around to that way of thinking.
He looped the reins through the ring on the hitching post and tossed a coin to one of the many small boys lingering hopefully outside. “Watch this one and there’ll be another when I come out, all right?”
“Yes sir,” the lad touched his cap. “I’ll take care of ‘er, sir.”
“Good lad.”
Walking inside, out of the light rain that had been falling steadily for the entire day, Ian struggled out of his great coat and shook the rain off as best he could. There was a rack on one side of the foyer for outer garments and he availed himself of a hook, knowing that if ever a coat was safe from theft, this was the place.
He made his way to the outer office of the Magistrate. “Is Sir Percy in, Mortimer?”
“Good heavens, Mr. McPherson. We haven’t seen you in quite some time.” The clerk beamed at him.
“It’s been a while. I’ve been home in Scotland.”
“How nice. I was telling the wife the other day that we should visit beyond the border. I hear it’s lovely at this time of year.”
“At any time, Mortimer. And yes, I think you’d both enjoy it.” Ian kept his patience. “But just at this moment I’m worrying about my wife.”
Mortimer’s jaw dropped. “You’re wed, sir? Well ‘t’is good news indeed. Congratulations. Who is the lucky lady? Is she with you?” He looked around.
“In a way. She’s in your holding cell in the back.”
“What?” The man’s eyes bulged and he gripped the front of his coat as if his heart was about to burst out of it.
Ian nodded. “My wife was placed under arrest at Kilmalochan. Someone has charged her with stealing a valuable piece of jewelry. She was given this piece by a stranger, so clearly there is some misunderstanding, but I’m not one to interfere with the process of law. I just want to ask permission to have her given over into my custody when she’s finished here this afternoon.”
Mortimer had paled at this revelation. “My God, sir. I will of course see what can be done.”
“Do you have the paperwork, by any chance?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ian. No, the papers are already in Sir Percy’s chambers.”
“So you don’t recall anything about the case against Amelia DeVere?”
Mortimer blinked. “Uh…the Amelia DeVere?” He gulped. “Your wife is…the Amelia DeVere?”
