The Woodfords had been the same—a middling position in society before everything had started to slide. Now they were on the fringes, only solidly part of society by appearance—and her hard work.
"Welcome to Foxerly," Mr. Partington said. "We are well pleased to make your acquaintance." They introduced themselves and invited the guests into their home—which was lovely. It wasn't fine by any stretch, but a decent home with papered walls and carpets on the floors. A bright home, and Serephina could imagine that the occupants were happy there. They looked happy in each other's company. "If you are not too weary from your trip, Major Heresworth has invited us all for supper tonight."
"That would be nice," Millie said before anyone could argue.
The Heresworth's house was very nice—three stories, built in light brown stone with numerous large windows. A lovely garden surrounded the house. Serephina could see Millie taking everything in as they were invited into the house and the parlor. This would be her future—the house her would-be husband would inherit when the time came.
Waiting patiently, Captain Heresworth came forward as they entered and took Millie's hands while kissing her on the cheek. It was such a sweet gesture; he looked like he truly was in love with her. Serephina's heart twisted in happiness.
The father came forward, introducing himself and his wife, looking slightly awkward, but also proud of the things he had. He was an older and broader version of his son, but still trim for an older man.
They all sat and were given refreshments, exchanging slightly uneven banter as often occurred when strangers first met. Smiling brightly, Serephina ignored the hungry grumbling of her stomach. Proprieties had to be seen to, particularly with an important introduction like this.
The walls had portraits of prominent family members, and other paintings of landscapes—even a few from India. Apparently the Heresworths were a military family, but Serephina had few military connections to boast about, which seemed to disappoint Major Heresworth.
They dined on sole at a brightly lit dining table covered in silver. The major was generous with the wine and it was a lovely evening. Mrs. Heresworth said very little, but she smiled congenially.
"It must be difficult having to head a household being a young lady like yourself," the major said to Serephina.
More than you'll ever understand, she thought. "Luckily, it is a small and well-behaved household, which makes it much easier." A gentle laugh broke out across the dining table.
"One that will shortly become smaller," he pointed out. "But gaining a broader family." He raised his glass for a toast. "To family and the honor of having yours join with our." Along with everyone else, she raised her glass, happy that they were being received so kindly.
The dinner finished, having continued in the same fashion, with light, slightly awkward comments. Captain Heresworth's younger brother, on leave from Oxford, told them of the distinction of the district and any important features.
They returned to the parlor for further refreshment, and Serephina accepted the sherry presented to her. Mrs. Rushmore was starting to relax as she didn't normally consume as many alcohol beverages as she had tonight. She and Mrs. Heresworth started playing cards, while Serephina walked around the room, studying the paintings.
"That is my great grandfather," the major said, joining her. Gray speckled the side of his head.
"He was a military man as well?"
"He was. Served in India, and China before that. He built this house."
"It is a very handsome house."
"It has kept this family well over the last century, as has the estate that goes with it. We were hoping Charles' marriage would be more bountiful, but he insisted on the match."
Serephina gritted her teeth, although she shouldn't be surprised. It was how society functioned—marriages were for betterment of the family and a person's value was based on the wealth they brought. She wished it wasn't so, but it was true and there was no other option. Poverty and misery was the only alternative—and the ubiquitous, pressing fear that went with it.
"I am sorry Millie's dowry is not as large as you would like."
"No matter," he said after a while. "Charles is too taken by her to care, and she is a lovely girl."
"Yes, she is." Serephina couldn't help but feel like she was bargaining with her sister, selling her like a cow at market. Charles’ affection against the meagre size of Millie's dowry. The major had it in his power to stop it—well, maybe. It depended on the affection of the Captain and the degree to which the major wanted to keep him as his heir. Millie's dowry was barely tolerable to the Major, even as hard as Serephina had worked to accumulate it.
"I suppose it could be worse," he said lightly, making the whole conversation appear much lighter than it actually was. "She is of good breeding."
Serephina smiled tightly, even though she wanted to rail at this man for his shallow sentiment and regard. Not to mention to everyone of his ilk for what she'd had to do to support her sister and to get Millie to this point where she could marry the man she cared about. Things shouldn't be this hard, but they were—and that was the world she lived in. "I am sure she will be very happy with Captain Heresworth," she said.
"I dare say."
The conversation finished and Serephina wondered if the point had been to inform her how lucky she was to achieve such a match for her sister. As much she hated it, the major was only being practical—just as she had been when she’d set her mind on achieving this. Somehow, she suspected Mr. Cox didn't appreciate the practicality of what she was doing.
Rowan arrived at her house and there was no sign of life. It even took a moment for the boy to find him.
"They left," the boy said.
"Where?"
The boy shrugged. "Don't know, but they had trunks."
Frowning, Rowan looked back at the house. Maybe she had fled. He couldn't blame her if she did, but it felt like something unfinished had been cut off. If she didn't come back, she would never pay for her crimes—he had nothing on her.
After paying the boy his due, Rowan walked back toward Charing Cross, feeling a bit stunned. She had taken on such a presence in his mind, it was hard to conceive it would just cut off and end.
He returned to his desk, because he didn't know what else to do. Sitting down, he crossed his arms, feeling lost as he didn't know enough about her to judge what was happening. Perhaps she had accumulated the money she needed to retire and leave. A flow of anger surged through his veins. She could not get away unpunished to start a new life somewhere. There was no justice in that outcome.
Darkly, he considered whether he would continue to pursue her, wherever she went. Something in him itched to, rather than face that he'd been outwitted and defeated.
Chapter 19:
* * *
Early in the morning, Rowan walked through the docks in the East End. The place was busy and crowded on this chilly spring morning. A whole week went by with Rowan not knowing anything, although all sorts of possibilities went through his mind. In the meantime, he'd reviewed all his notes on the Allerson case as there was nothing else for him to do and was about to follow up on some enquiries about a supposed new acquaintance that no one seemed to know any more about.
The sense of being denied stuck with him. It wouldn't do his career any good if this thief disappeared without the case being solved—made worse by the fact that the thief was known and had run circles around him. This would stick with him forever if it wasn't resolved. It may stick even if it was, he wanted to say to himself, but pushed the thought away. He was not responsible for her actions; she was.
Feeling unease run along his spine, he stepped around a descending pallet and continued down the edge of the river until he reached the coffee house down a side alley that was frequented by clerks from the customhouse.
Questioning the owner, he got a description of the man Mr. Allerson had been seen with, who was apparently young and impeccably dressed. So far, Rowan had been unable t
o identify this man, which made him nervous. In his experience, people who were elusive often turned out to have bad intentions. With this one exception, young Mr. Allerson was an open book—a bachelor who had worked in the Customs Office for three years, trying to save up enough money to marry a Miss Clarke, who worked in at a milliner's store. They had known each other since childhood and there was nothing unusual about Mr. Allerson's personal life.
Rowan had a feeling that when he established the nature of this ghostly new acquaintance, he would have a much better idea of the kind of trouble Mr. Allerson had gotten himself into.
His commissioned boy was waiting outside the building when he returned to the station, standing around uneasily, adjusting his neckerchief.
"What is it, Jared?"
"They're back, sir. Came during the evening or night. I wasn't watching then, but they're there now."
Rowan absorbed the news. She was back. The game was on. He smiled. "Good that you came and told me. Keep an eye on the house." He gave the boy some coins and watched him run off into the crowd.
Retreating to his office, Rowan sat down feeling lighter and more animated than he had all week. She was back and she would strike soon, likely after the next event she attended. Perhaps it was the thrill of it that kept her going—there were people like that, who feed on the thrill of committing crime. But then her sister was getting married, which she had said was the purpose. The thoughts rattled through his mind—it meant that she might stop when this marriage went ahead. He had very little time then—a month, maybe two. Letting someone purposely go unpunished was a line he wouldn't cross—not if he could help it. Crime was crime.
He had to get Mr. Alstrom to identify which event she would be attending next to ensure Lord Stansom was there to watch her. Rowan felt fire rush through his veins—he was closing in on her. Often, there was some dread involved when chasing down a criminal as they could be irrational and panicked toward the end—bent on destruction. The worst was when they hurt someone innocent from the time they had been identified to when they were found and arrested—that was the most awful feeling, knowing it was such a waste of a life. But those types of feelings were absent with her as this was a simpler game—more innocent. It was simply her pitted against him, and only one of them would win.
Serephina snuck into a darkened room, having bent the clasp that kept the window closed. It was an emerald broach she was after tonight, from a woman who had apparently cut off her daughter because she'd refused marriage to an elderly earl—and it wasn't as if the family didn't have sufficient resources; they didn't need the alignment with the Earl's estate. Some people's greed just never stopped. It had been quite a scandal, but the woman had refused to be swayed and accept her daughter back. Luckily the father's family had agreed to take the girl in while the father stood by, unable to stand up to his wife. This woman deserved to lose some of her jewelry. Serephina wished she could clear out the whole house, but this was the small means in which she operated. Targeting the guilty made her feel less guilty, but she knew that was an illusion.
The house was empty and the servants huddled around the warmth of the kitchen fire, leaving the upper floors to Serephina's perusal. The house was very grand—gilt-framed paintings, rich carpets and French furnishings. It might be the grandest house Serephina had been in so far.
Quietly sneaking into the lady's bedroom, she found the brooch easily. It was on the dresser, as if it was waiting for her. Serephina slid it into her pocket. She wouldn't dawdle—one of her rules that kept her safe.
Climbing out of the window again, she returned it to its closed position, but a noise made her freeze. Someone was there. Setting off, she ran in the other direction, leaping over a raised partition wall. Without turning, she knew someone was running behind her; she could hear their footfalls on the roof tiles. It could only be one person—he'd found her.
She hit a flat patch, which served him better. He was a better runner, while she was lighter and more nimble over uneven surfaces. Pushing her legs as fast as they would go, she sprinted across the roof, while a drop was coming up. It was only one floor so it was manageable. She leapt high into the air, crossing an alley division. It wasn't too far for him to jump, so it wouldn't prove a great obstacle. Then another climb and she leaped up, to a leverage point, pushing herself over the ledge to the next roof. She could hear him gaining on her, so she pushed as hard as she could go. Luckily, she reached a gabled roof, where she climbed across the seam, balancing as she quickly put one foot in front of the other.
"Stop, Miss Woodford," he stated. "I have the place surrounded; you can't get away."
She refused to listen, even as she heard the calls of the police whistles down below. Frantically, she tried to think through the roofline in this area and to navigate herself to safety, refusing to give up. If he thought she'd give up so lightly, he really didn't know her. She was faster across this uneven surface and she scurried along.
"There is no point continuing," he called, still coming toward her. His breath was heavy with the exertion. Didn't he ever give up, she thought. She couldn't afford to, having the damned brooch in her pocket. Even if she threw it now, he would see and he would find it as he could have every constable in the city go over this roof and the surrounding gardens. It would be sufficient proof to convict her. The better option was to persevere and escape.
A roof tile slid under her foot, making her loose her balance and she continued sliding to the edge, seemingly unstoppable. Reaching out, she tried to grab onto something, but her fingers didn't grasp anything but smooth tile. The edge of the roof was getting closer and closer, and there was nothing but a sheer drop past it.
"No," she heard him yell. In an instance her legs were over the edge, but she finally found purchase along the drainpipe, feeling it groan under her weight as she hung meters in the air. "Hold on," she heard him say. "Don't move. I'm coming."
Desperately calming her panic, she couldn't believe her luck, both horrible and great. Her feet were dangling off the ground three stories up, and he was coming. He had her, and it would derail all her hard work. The ground was a long way down, but she still refused to give in, hearing him approach on the tiles above. After searching for a window to reach, she saw there were none, but there was a small roof of the entrance porch way below her to the left and she swung her body, letting go as soon as he reached for her. Flying through the air, she landed with a thud, hurting her side and her wrist.
"You're fucking mad," he yelled above her, but she wasn't about to wait around to have an argument with him. Swinging herself over the edge, her feet reached the railing below and she jumped down onto the street. Policemen were running toward her and she sprinted into a pitch-black mews across the street, running as fast as she could, hopefully losing herself in the shadows.
Her heart was beating in her throat and her lungs burned with fear, exertion and shock. Reaching a small park, she decided to slip into a cluster of bushes and crouch down. She had to calm and think. Taking the brooch out, she buried it next the small trunks of one of the bushes, being much better off without it on her person. Mr. Cox would head straight for her house. One option would be to wait here all night, but she suspected he would wait all night as well.
He'd seen her come out of the residence, which would be enough to convict her, but then it had been very dark and she'd never spoken. He could not identify her with complete certainty, having seen little more than a figure running across the roofline, then fall. Her gut twisted with the thought of the fall. It could have gone so differently; she could be lying in a broken heap on the ground, dying. It was amazing that she had kept her wits about her after that. Aiming for the small entrance roof had been a risk, but it had paid off and she had gotten away because of it.
Crouching down further, she listened as the policemen came running around the park, through its center and kept going. Exhaling a shuddering sigh of relief she took in the silence of their absence as they continued running after t
heir elusive prey.
She’d almost died tonight; she'd almost been caught. Waiting another ten minutes, she emerged from her hiding place and softly ran down a side street, away from where the policemen went. She wanted to stop, but there was danger being out on the streets dressed as she was when a great many policemen were looking for her—one ready to cut her off.
Turning the corner of her street, she saw him waiting. He didn't move, but he was watching her. There was the possibility that he would drag her in, but he still didn't have any solid proof. Breathing calmly like he'd stood there all night, he didn't move as she approached. His arms were crossed over his chest and his jacket lay across the fence. The night's activities must have heated him. She could see the corded muscles of his arms as he stood there, solid and unmoving. He looked very angry. There was no way of circumventing him and being caught sneaking into her own home just like exiting another would only provide circumstantial evidence—better this way.
When she approached, his hand shot up to her neck, giving her a shock. "You could have died. You can't take risks like that. What the hell were you thinking?"
She couldn't say anything—it would be comparable to admission. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Cox." His palm was still on her neck, not hard, but steady and firm.
"I saw you go over the edge. I thought you were dead."
Stubbornly, she remained silent. He still looked so very angry; his eyes flashed in the darkness, just catching the distant gaslight. His lips were drawn into a stern line. What she refused to admit was how she'd for a moment looked to him to save her; how she wanted him to pull her up into his strong arms. The temptation had been so very great and she would have paid dearly for it. That made him more dangerous than any height she'd faced so far, even the one dangling under her feet three floors up.
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