It felt like the longest night of Blake's life as he and Dr. Herriot tried to save the girl's life. She did not have the acute stomach pains associated with the ingestion of the poison, but her kidneys had already started to fail, and thus her heart and lungs.
Poor Molly had eventually shouted and begged and sworn herself hoarse. It was only as she began to weaken from all the poisons in her system that she calmed down.
"Who did this to you! Who did this?" Blake asked her for the hundredth time.
At last her wild-eyed look calmed for a moment and she began to register some sense. "A man, tall, dark, like you. Only thinner. Meaner. Younger," she croaked.
"Where did he pick you up? Bethnal Green?"
She nodded weakly.
"Eyes, what color? His clothes, a name, anything."
At her look of alarm, Blake said quietly, "I know you don't want to speak for fear of the police. But the time for you to worry about that is long past. You're dying, child. You need to help me get whoever did this, and stop him from doing it to anyone again."
"I never saw his eyes. Dark, I think. Clothes were evening ones. Black. One thing, though. He couldn't manage. You know. Like he was an old bloke or something."
"Then what did he-"
She gestured a couple of times.
Dr. Herriot began to gag and fled the room.
Blake gulped and shook his head. "My God." He looked at her again. "Did anyone else see him, any of your friends?"
"It was a cold evening, funny time of day," she rasped. "About four, it was. Not too many of us working yet. I don't think anyone else saw him. You'll go see my sisters, won't you?"
She gave him her address. "Tell them I loved them. Make sure they don't end up Haymarket ware like me, eh? The youngest is only five. One bloke tried to buy her off me for his new virgin house the other week. It's terrible, sir."
He shuddered in horror. "I promise. I'll find them. They won't be bought or sold. I swear it," he vowed.
She lapsed back on the pillows in exhaustion.
Blake went for pen, ink and paper, and wrote down all she had told him while it was still fresh in his mind. Then he sent for the Bow Street Runners.
Molly was terrified as soon as she saw them.
Blake eventually persuaded her to talk to them, while he sent out one of the nurses to go find the children and bring them to see their sister one last time.
A heavy coating of face powder covered up her bruises somewhat, though it was marred by the tears which streaked down the girl's cheeks.
"This is a bad business, a bloody bad business," Blake said to the constables.
"It is. And it doesn't look like the first time either. Found a couple of similar looking women in alleys in the last couple of weeks. All dead, though. Do you know where she was found exactly?"
"You would need to ask my colleague Dr. Herriot. I've been at home all day and then at a soiree. I got here long after she had been brought in. I only wish I'd got here sooner."
"And what of the children? Will you be able to look after them?"
"The Duke of Ellesmere's wife will see to it they're looked after properly. Would you like to take them over to the townhouse now, with a note from me?"
"It would appear to be best, sir."
He scribbled a quick note for Charlotte and handed it to the constable. "Take my nurse with you so they won't be frightened. And catch the bastard who did this."
Little Molly died at one o'clock that afternoon.
Blake, in a fit of remorse for having not been there when he was really needed, stayed at the clinic all day and a second night, taking on more than his fair share of the work and patients.
He also asked the constables for a list of the dates and times the other women had been found, the locations. Maybe one of the other girls working the area would remember something?
There was a rush of patients on at about three, and again at about six. Each time Blake was all set to write a note to Arabella, he had to put it to one side.
Finally, it was so late in the evening that there seemed little point in sending her a message that he was still at the clinic, for it would only disturb her if she was having an early night.
He sighed. He had not seen her since he'd left the ball, only twenty-four hours ago, but already it seemed like a lifetime. Little Molly had been her age…
What sort of monster would do such a thing? He couldn't wait to get home and Arabella her again. Reassure himself that she was all right, take comfort from her soothing gentle presence.
When he looked at her, all of his troubles seem to fade away into nothing. Little did he know, they had only just begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Arabella had not slept all night. As the hours had ticked past, with still no sign of Blake since the night before when he had left her at the ball with the Elthams, she had retired to her room, prostrate herself on the bed, and shed a few bitter tears, wondering where she had gone wrong. Two whole nights with that horrible woman…
Well, he had been quite restrained thus far, what with him having been away and then having had to chaperone her all over the place. He had taken his obligations as guardian seriously, that was for certain. He had been more than kind considering he had never asked to be saddled with a ward.
But a man was a man, with certain needs, as Blake had said. How could she blame him for doing what he needed to do? It was as natural as breathing, was it not?
But Leonore… And not her... When she loved him so?
Arabella gave up trying to sleep at four, and went down to her sitting room, where she had left her book and her embroidery hoop. She was just about to go upstairs when she heard the key scrape in the lock.
Blake stepped into the foyer. She had never seen him looking so tired. And was he drunk? For after looking at her, he went straight into his own sitting room and tossed back a glass of brandy.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine," he said shortly. "Go back to bed."
Shock caused her to use his first name. "Blake, what is it?"
"I can't even begin to talk about it. Go back to bed."
She saw his hand was shaking. Despite her anger with him and her fear over the strange way he was acting, she stepped up to him and encircled his waist with her slender arms.
He groaned as if in agony and clung to her. "Sometimes I think you're the only decent thing that's ever happened in my life," he whispered against her hair.
She would have raised her lips to his for a kiss, but he was so tired he could barely stand. She helped him onto the sofa, and threw over him one of the crocheted afghans she had made for the house.
"God, I'm so tired," he groaned. "Sick at heart. We need to get out of here. Get out of London. Somewhere where the air is fresh and clean and the sun shines."
Arabella knelt to take off his shoes and tucked the afghan up to his neck. She sat down on the edge of the sofa, in the corner, and lifted his head onto her lap. She stroked back his hair from his brow and felt it. It was warm to the touch, not feverish, but he did not look at all well. "Rest now. Things will look much better when you've had some sleep."
"I know how Michael feels, you know," he confided.
"Michael?"
"Avenel. My friend from the Army. Whenever I close my eyes, I see the most dreadful things too. From the war, from my job…"
He sighed heavily. "You're a good woman, Arabella. The best I've ever known. I want to believe you can stay that way, despite what I've done. I'm afraid your being here with me is only going to pollute you, damage you in some way.
"That's why we have to go to Somerset. I'm not sending you away, for the Lord knows how much I would miss your peaceful presence. Peter had a notion you would be good for me as my ward, and he was right. But I need to think about what's best for you. Being in my clinic and in this den of debauchery is not it."
"I would rather know of the world and avoid its pitfalls than not know of them and be ensnared," she said honestly
.
"I know." He took her hand and kissed it. "But we need to go in any event. Sarah Deveril's baby will be coming soon, and the Jeromes are expecting me to visit. You won't mind staying with the Elthams at the Castle, will you?"
"No, not at all. I would be delighted."
"And a couple of days with the Stones?" he asked.
"It would be fine. I'm content here, though."
"No, I've told you. I'm sick of London. Sick even of the clinic, for once in my life."
"Has something happened?" she dared to ask.
"Not exactly, no. Can you be ready at the end of the week?"
She nodded. "Tomorrow if you like."
"No, I have a few things to take care of. I'll make a list in a minute." He sighed and closed his eyes again.
"No you won't," she said in a firm tone. "You'll go upstairs and get a decent rest. Things will look much better when you're able to think clearly again. You're exhausted."
"All right. Just another minute here." His even breathing a moment later told her he was sound asleep.
Arabella knew the servants would come in eventually, but for now she would just sit and admire his handsome face.
A face that belonged to someone else, she reminded herself bitterly. For he had been with Leonore. Though she knew they had fought on New Year's Eve, she was sure he had looked more than amiable toward her the other night, and they had left the soiree together. She had seen it with her own eyes. As would have anyone else who had been watching him depart.
Blake had made no secret of the liaison with Leonore Ross. She should not be upset, just accept that it was a fact of his life. He had a mistress like many another man, and that was all there was to it.
There was no sense in hoping for him to change his mind. To break his word suddenly and try to form an attachment with her. The danger they had been in, the intimacy of having shared a bed for a night, had skewed his judgment when they had first met. Thus he had made a mistake.
He had said he was sorry, and there was an end to it. If he had not been appointed her guardian, he would never have seen her again.
She had to get over it. But it was so hard… And with him in her arms and her lap like this now, it could only get more difficult. Every day Arabella knew she loved Blake more.
No, if he had another person in his life, then she had to find someone as well.
It was not as if she didn't have plenty of choices: her two cousins, Lady Pemberton's dashing nephew Matthew, even staid Alistair Grant if she offered him some encouragement.
Not to mention the handsome if unusual Philip Marshall, who she was sure she still had not even scratched the surface of yet. Everyone said he was a rake, like Matthew Dane and Randall Avenel, but the difference between the three men was like night and day.
She sighed. There would be other beaux, of course. Once she went down to Somerset, there would be more interesting people for her to meet now that she was in such a lively and friendly set as the Rakehells. But for the moment, Adam and Oliver were worth cultivating, and Philip, if she could ever get him to open up to her about himself. He was still so much of an unknown quantity.
As for Lady Pemberton's nephew Matthew, he might have been useful to make Blake jealous, had her guardian been the jealous type. But he had quite happily handed her over to man after man to dance and talk with, so that wasn't going to work.
Randall? Far too flighty, with something hidden and dark under the surface that she couldn't quite make out. And she would never dream of risking her reputation to discover what lurked beneath his Devil-may-care facade.
Alistair? Far too staid and serious, prematurely grey though his face was as boyish as a youth's. With the respectable barrister, it would be marriage or nothing, of that she was sure. No chance of him ever doing anything improper.
No, it was evident from the parade of swains trooping past in an attempt to win her hand that Blake didn't care for her one bit. She just had to accept it and find a man she could like, even if she could never give him her love.
Blake was dreaming again. It was the same dream he had had ever since he had met Arabella. Of a bright and shining radiance when he was with her, inside her, loving her.
He kissed her rosy lips, stroked her petal soft cheek and melted into her, until he at last knew the meaning of one flesh…
Only this time the dream did not have a happy ending. He saw white and gold and then black and red. A dark shadow fell across them as they rolled in the newly mown hay field and laughed and loved.
He could feel a freezing chill, and her being ripped out of his arms. He could hear her screaming and crying in terror. Yet he was paralyzed. Powerless to help her.
"Arabella! Belle!" he shouted, sitting bolt upright.
"It's all right, I'm here, I'm right here," she reassured him, one arm around his neck.
Blake was so relieved he didn't even kiss her. He grasped her around the waist and buried his head in her lap, smelling her wonderful fragrance, which was both incredibly alluring and a balm to his soul.
She was startled, but immediately put her arm on his shoulder and stroked his hair with both hands. "It's all right, I'm here. What did you need?"
"You're right, Arabella," he said, sitting up quickly before he did anything else to disgrace himself. "Pack up your bags. We're leaving today. Timothy and Betsey will come with us."
He bent to pull on his shoes to hide his moist eyes, and began to head for the front door.
"But Blake, it's so late. Or early! Where are you going?"
He spoke with his back to her, cuffing the tears away. "To the clinic for a few minutes to leave instructions, and to perform a couple of other errands around town."
"What about breakfast?"
"I'll eat before we leave. I can sleep in the carriage," he said, anticipating her next objection. "Send a note round to Mrs. Evans, and one to Thomas telling them we're leaving. We'll stay with Michael Avenel and call at your house, look in on the Deverils to see how Sarah is, and then see what happens after that."
"Of course, whatever you like."
He was about to step out the door when he paused, too struck by her beauty not to touch her once. He took a deep breath and stepped back. He chucked her under the chin and toyed with one glossy jet ringlet. "Try not to look so worried. All will be well. And don't forget to check your stocks and shares. The clinic is counting on both of us."
"And yet we're leaving?" she asked in a surprised tone.
He heaved a huge sigh. "I'm not God, Arabella. I'm tired. Dashed tired. I came back from the being away at war for nearly six years, nearly eighteen hours a day, more when a battle was on, with hardly any leaves of absence. I've been working like a madman ever since I came home. I need to get my own life in order. Then perhaps the rest of it will fall into place. Marriage, family…"
He stopped before he said anything more that might betray his feelings for her. He did not dare linger to speak with her in the mood he was in. "I'll be back about eleven."
"I'll be ready," she promised, though her heart was sinking into her boots. He was going to marry Leonore?
Blake headed straight for Bethnal Green, where some bedraggled and freezing women were hoping for a bit of last-minute trade. He explained to them what had happened to Molly, and told them to be on the alert for a man matching the description he had been given, or anyone with some strange blackish powder.
"Get anyone you suspect might be exposed to it to my clinic straight away. You know where it is."
He handed them all the money he had in his pockets, though it was little enough.
"Make sure you come in to be checked, and get something decent to eat. We're going to be starting a little school soon, too, if you want to learn reading and sums."
"Bless you sir, thank you."
"Don't thank me, thank my wa- Wife," he amended suddenly, though he could not have said why.
"She's a lucky woman, sir."
"I'm a lucky man. Or will be soon, I hope."
/>
He went to the clinic and consulted with Dr. Herriot, who was just getting in, and surprised to see him back for another shift.
"No, I'm not here to work. I'm sorry to be leaving you like this, Antony, but that girl Molly was the last straw for me. I'm going to come back to London one day. At the moment I'm all in turmoil. I can't see my way clear of the darkness I feel all around me. I need to sort our some personal matters. Then I can come back in a better frame of mind."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 81
