by Lara Temple
She nodded, her eyes lighting. He hated giving her false hope, but if he was going to pursue this phantom conspiracy of hers he might as well do it thoroughly. Besides, he wanted to know more about the man she so blatantly adored. Not clever, but there it was.
Chapter Twelve
‘Is this where he lives?’ Olivia asked, her breath a puff of silvery smoke in the freezing air. She gathered her cloak more closely about her as Lucas helped her alight from the carriage and he tucked her hand against his arm.
‘Not quite. At least I hope not. These are St Stephen’s burial grounds. I am still not quite certain it was a good idea for you to come with me, but since you appear to enjoy visiting consecrated locations, I thought you would enjoy the excursion.’
‘To a cemetery?’ She wrinkled her nose, but he could see the sparkle of interest in her eyes.
‘I am introducing variety. The church itself is just beyond those walls and the building just at the end is where Reverend Eldritch works and lives with his father. He might be disconcerted if we confront him together and therefore more likely to be revealing, but you may wait in the carriage if you are uncomfortable.’
‘I most certainly shall not. I agree confronting him together is an excellent idea, Lord Sinclair.’
‘You are too kind, Miss Silverdale. Where are you going?’
‘I wonder if we can find the third Eldritch’s grave. I am curious.’
He sighed and followed her. The ground was hard and crisp beneath his boots and by the low-hanging clouds, they might see snow soon. He looked around the tumbled, mossy headstones. Some had been gathered and piled against the walls like slate for roofing. The chances of finding anyone’s particular grave in this chaos was slim. He wondered if the families of those people whose tombstones were being set aside so brutally knew of their fate. He hoped not.
‘What fascinating stories must be buried here,’ she murmured as she bent over a cracked tombstone.
‘I would much rather pursue less fascinating stories in more comfortable venues,’ he replied. ‘I suggest we arrange our next meeting at Vauxhall or somewhere equally bright and garish.’
‘Vauxhall.’ She turned, her eyes lighting, and he couldn’t stop his reflexive smile.
‘It is too early in the year, but you might convince your chaperon to organise a party there come summer.’
She shook her head. ‘I cannot imagine still being in London by then.’
‘If it is left to your cousin, you will be wed by then.’
‘My cousin is a sensible woman and, though she may hope I shall wake up one day biddable and sheared of my oddities, she probably knows I am not likely to fulfil her fantasies.’
Again he heard the echo of something in her voice and pressed back at his curiosity. The girl’s fault lines were not his business.
‘You should perhaps adopt some of her faith. London is large enough to accommodate like-minded oddities. There are benefits to size.’
She was peering at a badly chipped tombstone, but she turned at that, her elfin smile flashing. ‘My brothers would make a lewd comment here, but I shall refrain. And may I inform you that no chivalrous man would agree I am odd.’
‘No chivalrous man would agree to be alone with you in a graveyard. I thought my usefulness hinged precisely on my lack of chivalry.’
‘That is a good point.’ She planted her hands on her hips and surveyed the graves around them. ‘I don’t know if we shall find Eldritch’s grave in this chaos. What if his tombstone is one of those uprooted ones?’
‘Well, he died three years ago. Take a look at the newer stones. Over there. See?’
He indicated the far end of the burial ground next to a row of bare plane trees where the stones were still grey and relatively intact.
‘Sound thinking, Lord Sinclair. I shall take the left side, you take the right.’
He ignored her directive and followed her. It was foolish, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her on her own, even if she was in plain sight. She frowned at him, but didn’t comment as she began her search.
Halfway up the row she stopped. ‘There are too many children. This is horrible.’
He took her hand without thinking. ‘This is life.’
‘Then life is horrible. Look—this tombstone is for five children from one family. Not one of them is older than three years old. How could their mother bear it, Lucas?’
‘What choice did she have?’
She didn’t answer, her hand stiff in his. She had not noticed her use of his name, but he had. He placed his other hand over hers and a snowflake settled on the back of his glove. She touched it with her free hand.
‘It is snowing.’
‘Are you cold?’ He tightened his hands as hers shifted in his. He didn’t want her to pull away, not yet, but he let go none the less.
‘A little. Are you?’
‘A little,’ he lied. ‘But after spending the past few winters in Russia, this is very mild. I doubt this snow will settle. Come, let us go find Reverend Eldritch and put this issue to rest and then I will return you to the warmth of Brook Street so you can thaw out ahead of whatever entertainment your cousin has in store.’
‘She doesn’t, not today at least. Tomorrow Elspeth and Lady Barnstable have arranged a party to visit Bullock’s Museum in Piccadilly to view Napoleon’s travelling carriage and the preserved animals. Lord Barnstable is an avid student of zoology, apparently.’
‘Scintillating.’
‘There is no need to mock him. He is a very worthy young man and I am looking forward to something other than morning calls. I have always wanted to visit the museums and see the antiquities. I cannot imagine why I did not ask Elspeth to go with me sooner.’
‘Possibly because you were obsessed with your conspiracies?’
‘Possibly. What were you doing in Russia, by the way?’
What would she do if he told her the truth? If he laid himself bare and told her all about being Oswald’s errand boy and ferreter of political secrets? It was so tempting, just to see how she reacted. Most upright women of his acquaintance would react either with shock and distaste that he actually engaged in what they might term ‘trade’ or indulge in titillated excitement that he lay outside the pale. He didn’t want Olivia to react as those other women might.
‘I was running errands.’ He chafed her hands, but she didn’t appear to notice. Her eyes narrowed.
‘Does this have something to do with your uncle?’
‘My uncle?’ He tried to recall precisely what he’d mentioned regarding Oswald.
‘Mercer told me you are related to Sir Oswald Sinclair.’
‘Did he?’
‘He did. Mr Mercer is often very useful. He says Sir Oswald holds no official capacity, but that Canning is completely dependent on him on foreign affairs. Is it true?’
He turned over her gloved hands, catching two snowflakes on her palms, but they melted almost immediately, leaving faint damp spots on the pale-yellow kid gloves.
‘We should continue before we freeze to death.’
‘I see.’
She canted her head to one side and drew her hands from his, proceeding to the next tombstone. He resisted the urge to recapture her hand, feeling a little foolish. He couldn’t remember ever having an urge to walk hand in hand with someone. It was childish.
He glanced up at the bare trees, all knotty and patched with damp. ‘Shall we proceed?’
‘I dare say we... Oh!’ She paused in front of a headstone. ‘Well. You must at least admit it was worth the trip, Lord Sinclair. Arthur Septimus Eldritch. That answers one question and raises quite a few others. I doubt Septimus is a common name, so what is the chance that there is no connection with the Septimus mentioned by my godfather? Now we must see Reverend Eldritch.’
He sighed and cursed the fates. ‘I hope he is in because
I’m dam...dashed if I’m going to drive out to this depressing part of town again any time soon.’
She turned at the gate leading out of the burial grounds and smiled up at him. ‘Are you annoyed I was right? Or annoyed at yourself for not doing a better job investigating the Eldritches?’
‘Neither. I am cold and hungry and I doubt your Reverend Eldritch will be in the mood to offer us sustenance when we come enquiring about a man’s death and accusing him of colluding with a doxy. In fact, perhaps I should wait in the carriage while you charm him.’
‘I don’t think I am very good at charming anyone.’
‘You could badger him into revealing the truth, then. I can attest to your skills on that front.’
‘Again, a chivalrous man would have disclaimed my self-deprecating comment, you know.’
‘I dare say he would. Here, have a sip of this before you beard the lion in his den.’
She eyed the flask he extracted from his coat pocket. ‘Brandy?’
‘Much worse. Try it.’
She sniffed it, wrinkling her nose. ‘It smells like horse ointment.’
‘It tastes worse, but it will warm you. Be adventurous.’
She took a careful sip and her grimace gave way to a gasp. ‘Oh, lord, it burns!’ She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove.
He laughed and took the flask. ‘Tell me you aren’t warmer now.’
‘I’m on fire! It is awful. My God, do people actually like this?’
‘A whole nation of them. It is vodka, a Russian specialty and an acquired taste. Very useful when you are lost in the snow.’
‘I am not lost and a few flakes do not merit the name snow, and certainly not such an abuse of my palate.’ She wiped her brow, setting her bonnet askew and allowing some coppery curls to escape its confines. ‘Do you like it?’
He put it back into the pocket of his greatcoat and reached up to straighten her bonnet. ‘Not in the least. I never managed to acquire a taste for it beyond its survival value, but I keep a flask in the carriage and I thought it might be useful in this frozen wasteland.’
‘Then why on earth give it to me? Are you punishing me for dragging you here?’
He crossed his arms and smiled as she fanned herself with her muff, setting the escaped curls fluttering. Damn, he wished she would take the bonnet off; he wanted to see those curls freed, tumbling over her shoulders. He wanted to gather them in his hands, pull her to him, feel them brush against him as he...
‘Lucas? You aren’t truly angry at me, are you?’
‘I am not angry.’
‘You look angry. Well, tense.’
‘Does it never occur to you that the greatest risks you incur are in my company, not out of it?’
The muff stopped its fanning.
‘I know you will not do anything to actively harm me.’
‘How the devil do you know that? Sometimes I think you must be the most naïve person I have ever encountered. You are alone with me in a graveyard halfway across London. I could do whatever I wanted and you would have no recourse.’
She considered him, two lines forming between her brows as they did when she was concentrating on her lists.
‘Whatever you think, I am not a complete fool, Lucas. It is a little late in the day to convince me I should be afraid of you. Any risk I run by being in your company is because of who and what you are, not what you might do to me. You might not like my saying this, but I trust you.’
‘Blast you, Olivia.’
Her smile twisted. ‘I knew you wouldn’t like it, but there it is.’
There it is. He should do something to prove her wrong. Force her out of her complacency... Damn her. It was futile. He could no more act against her trust than he could kick a puppy. Her trust should at least be an antidote to desire, but it had the opposite effect. He hadn’t drunk any of the vodka, but his body was humming with heat and need and frustration. Any more of this and he would...he had no idea what he would do. He was completely outside familiar territory. He might as well have been sent on a mission to the moon. He had no idea what to do to keep her in her place and keep his own rebellious desires in theirs. If he had an ounce of sense he would stay away from her and wait for rationality to reassert itself.
He took her arm and led her out of the graveyard and towards the grey building at the end of a narrow alley.
‘Let me do the talking, Olivia. I doubt the Reverend Eldritch will appreciate your style of interrogation.’
In the end his strictures were unnecessary. The housekeeper, a short, round and cheerful woman, informed them that Mr Eldritch, Reverend Eldritch’s father, passed just last week and his son was honouring his request to have his body buried in Cumbria where they originated and was not expected to return before month’s end. Lucas felt Olivia’s disappointment in every line of her body.
‘Were you acquainted with Mr Eldritch’s brother?’
‘Not well, sir. He and his wife were not frequent visitors to the vicarage. Well, Mrs Eldritch did visit not a few weeks ago, but that was the first time in many a year.’
‘Mrs Arthur Septimus Eldritch?’ Olivia asked.
‘That’s right, miss. Poor soul. All alone in the world now but for her little dog. Such a pity there were no children. I have six myself and, though they run you ragged, they fill you from within is what I always say.’
‘Do you know where she resides?’
The housekeeper showed the first signs of suspicion. ‘No, miss. I never asked. Now I really must be on my way. The man taking Mr Eldritch’s place is sadly scatter-brained and we are woefully behind on parish duties. If you have anything else you would like to ask, you may return tomorrow and speak with him yourselves, not that he knows much about the Eldritches. He’s from Sussex!’
With that condemnatory statement she bobbed a curtsy and went to the door, ushering them out into the cold air.
They hurried back through the graveyard, eyes narrowed and heads lowered against the rising wind.
‘My feet are frozen,’ Olivia said as they climbed into the carriage. ‘I need my moor-walking boots.’
‘No, you need to forget about your plotting and stay inside where it is warm. And so do I.’
‘Will you find her or shall I ask Mr Mercer to do so?’ Olivia asked and he didn’t even bother objecting.
‘I will find her. But not now. It is time to take you back to Brook Street, it is beginning to rain.’
She glanced out the carriage window and sighed. ‘I knew it wouldn’t really snow. I wish it had, though. I think London would look much nicer under a layer of snow. Gillingham certainly does.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘I miss walking on the moors. I miss my brothers.’
Again there was that undercurrent in her voice, a tension that spoke either of pain or anger or both. It wasn’t his concern, but against his better judgement he shifted across the carriage to sit by her.
‘It is cold,’ he said and she nodded and picked up the edge of the rug covering her legs, rearranging it to cover his as if he was no more than a child. He took her gloved hand and held it, waiting out the wave of pressure in his chest. Under the cover of the blanket he could feel the warmth of her thigh just an inch away from his. For once it wasn’t lust that was torturing him at her unconscious acceptance of his proximity, but an equally fierce need to encompass her, hold her to him and tell her everything would be well in the end. Whatever it took to chase away the melancholy tension in the droop of her mouth.
She was so full of life, she should be smiling, laughing, even crying...feeling...not gathered in and preparing herself to be immured again. She deserved more from life. Certainly better than anything he himself could give her. But life didn’t deliver on what one deserved.
‘I will find Mrs Eldritch. If we are in luck she lives somewhere in Lo
ndon. Don’t expect any grand revelations, though.’
‘I don’t. Thank you, Lucas.’
‘And don’t thank me, either. I am between...occupations at the moment. This is keeping me out of trouble.’
She turned and smiled at him, but there was still sadness in her eyes and the ache just went deeper.
‘You remind me of the Big Bad Bogus Wolf,’ she said.
‘The what?’
‘Have you heard the morality tale of a young girl who foolishly listens to a strange wolf and she and her grandmama end up as his dinner? Well, in Guy’s version the grandmama tells the wolf sad tales of how badly she and the girl are treated by the hunters merely because they are women living alone and so instead of eating them, the Big Bad Bogus Wolf befriends them and they protect each other from the hunters and live together in harmony.’
Lucas thought of the wolf statuette that once stood in the entrance hallway at the Mausoleum. When he asked his parents about it, his father told him how wolves were hunted to the last one in England, leaving him to wonder whether that last wolf had any awareness of its species’ fate or had merely gone about its solitary business, a little lonelier each day. He liked her brother’s version better. He didn’t even mind the implied insult.
‘Your brother sounds like a good man.’
She pressed her hand to her eyes. ‘He is. The very best. He will be angry with me when he discovers what I am doing.’
‘Will you tell him?’
‘Of course. Eventually. Poor Guy, we tell him everything. Well, almost everything. It is hardly surprising he doesn’t wish to marry; he had to care for other people most of his life and he only tasted freedom for the first time when Jack and I came of age.’
Lucas wondered suddenly what Sam was doing. He was due to go to Sinclair Hall before he left for St Petersburg. Except he didn’t want to go anywhere; he wanted to stay right here. In a freezing carriage sharing a rug with the most unpredictable female he had ever lusted after.
Chapter Thirteen
‘He coming today as well?’ Nora asked, placing the newly baked cake on the kitchen table with a grunt of satisfaction at her creation. Nora might not approve of Lucas’s presence, but she was certainly outdoing herself since he had become a frequent visitor to Spinner Street, and the tang of citrus wafted throughout the house above the earthier scent of cinnamon.
