by Candace Camp
While Charity put on her bonnet, Chaney went looking for Patrick. Chaney himself opened the door for Charity, saying as she stepped outside, “And who is my lady visiting with this afternoon, if I may ask?”
Charity cast him a quizzical look. “Another thing that will keep Lord Dure from having your heads?”
“Yes, my lady, I am afraid so.”
“Well, it’s a widow. Mrs. Graves. Mrs. Theodora Graves.”
Charity swept down the steps and out to the carriage without a backward glance, leaving Chaney at the door, gaping after her.
The coachman, who had climbed down in order to assist her, looked surprised at Patrick’s presence, but he stepped back as Patrick helped Charity up into the coach. He and Patrick climbed up to the high coachman’s seat while Charity settled in across from Theodora. The carriage took off, leaving Chaney behind, stupefied.
“I am so glad you came,” Theodora said, a little pitifully. “I was afraid you would not.”
Charity, looking across at her, thought that Mrs. Graves’s problems must indeed be wearing on her. Her color was unusually high, and her eyes were very bright. Her hands clutched a carriage robe, though in Charity’s opinion it seemed unseasonably warm for her to require a blanket.
“Are you feeling ill?” Charity inquired gently.
To her surprise, Theodora giggled. “Ill? No. In fact, right now I think I feel better than I have in months.”
The look on Theodora’s face made Charity uneasy. It was somehow odd and unnatural. Charity shifted in her seat and glanced away, wondering if Mrs. Grave’s problems had unbalanced her mind slightly. She found herself wishing that she had not agreed to come. She had no idea what to do if Theodora should have hysterics or some such thing.
“What can I do to help you?” Charity asked finally.
Again Theodora chuckled. “Why, nothing, my lady. Absolutely nothing. You already have.”
Charity looked back up at her, startled by the woman’s strangely sarcastic tone, and saw that Theodora Graves had a small silver gun in her hand, and was pointing it straight at her.
For a long moment Charity could only stare at Mrs. Graves in astonishment. Theodora laughed again; it was almost a cackle this time.
“Even now you don’t understand, do you?” she asked. “How could he have married you? A country girl! No sophistication, no charms. A complete ninny, always so bright and smiling and full of good cheer, as if the world were your play yard.” Theodora’s features grew tighter and more twisted as she talked, until she was snarling. “I’m sure he regrets it now. He couldn’t get any joy out your childish charms in bed. No, I’m sure he regrets marrying you now!”
“Simon!” Charity asked in amazement. “You are doing this because of Simon?”
“Yes! You little fool! Don’t you realize that he was in love with me? He would have married me, too, if you hadn’t come along.”
Charity gazed at her, trying to assimilate the other woman’s words. Finally she asked, “Are you saying that Simon is your nobleman?”
“Yes!” Theodora hissed, her eyes narrowed almost to slits. “He loved me. He panted after me. Then you came along and ruined it!”
“Don’t be absurd,” Charity said crisply. Anger flickered up in her, sweeping away her momentary paralysis of fear and astonishment. “Simon would not have treated a woman the way you said your lover had. He told me straight out that he had had mistresses, and I am sure that that is what you were. I would say it is much more likely that you were a very ‘available’ widow, not an innocent, grief-stricken one, and he was attracted by your quite obvious charms.”
Theodora actually preened at Charity’s words, raising her chin a little so that it showed the white column of her throat to its best advantage. “He worshiped at my feet.”
Charity let out a dry chuckle. “I seriously doubt that. Simon does not worship at one’s feet. Knowing him, I am sure he was quite generous and fair with you. No doubt he paid for your clothes, your carriage, your servants….”
“Of course.” Pride still covered Theodora’s face.
“And no doubt he considered it a business arrangement, not a love affair. He paid you for what you offered him, and that was all it was. He didn’t love you. He told me he loved no one. He certainly would not have ruined his family name by marrying a woman of the streets.”
Color flooded Theodora’s face. “I was not a whore! I was a respectable widow. And he loved me. He did! He would have married me!”
“You must be mad!”
“Mad!” Theodora’s face turned almost purple with rage, and she shook the little gun wildly at Charity. “I’m mad? You think a mad person could have planned this? You think a bedlamite could have thought of all the other things? You little fool! You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The other things?” Complete understanding dawned on Charity at last. “You mean, the monkey?”
“That bloody animal! And Hubbell couldn’t return to do it again.”
“And—and Mr. Reed?” Charity almost stopped breathing as she asked the question. Could this madwoman actually have killed someone?
“Yes, of course Mr. Reed. That worm—trying to back out of our deal. The blasted coward.”
“The deal?”
“I was going to stop the marriage, you see, and Faraday agreed to help me. He had always hated Simon. He was eager to despoil Simon’s future bride.”
“Despoil—” Charity felt a blush spreading across her face. “Do you mean he always intended to rape me?”
Theodora grimaced. “No, the stupid man thought that you would fall into his arms instead of Simon’s. But if that didn’t work, yes, he intended to force you. It didn’t matter, as long as you were soiled, a scandal.”
Cold spread through Charity at the thought of this woman’s icy indifference to her pain and humiliation. She wanted to turn away from Mrs. Graves, to retreat into silence. However, she realized that the best thing to do now, the only thing she could do, really, was to keep Theodora talking. Otherwise the woman might decide to shoot her. Obviously Theodora had no qualms about killing. But as long as Theodora was talking, at least Charity could try to think of a way to escape.
Charity searched her brain for something else to say. “Was it you, too, who sent the notes to me?”
Theodora smiled, as if Charity had complimented her. “Yes. When they didn’t work, Faraday thought he could use them to worm his way into your friendship. But then he was too much of a coward to continue.” She sneered. “He told me he was even afraid of you.”
“So you shot him?” Charity tried to keep all blame out of her voice.
Theodora shrugged. “We argued. He was being most unreasonable. Finally he began to threaten me. Me!” The idea clearly amazed Theodora. “We struggled and…well, I had to shoot him.”
“But what about the handkerchief? How did that get there?”
Theodora smiled, pleased at her cleverness. “After he died, I ran away. I was terribly frightened, but then I remembered that I still had one of Simon’s handkerchiefs, one he had left at my house on a ‘visit.’ So I got it and returned to Reed’s. Fortunately, no one had come into the room and found him. I could see into the room through the side window. The window was open, so I tossed the handkerchief in. No one saw me leave the house or return.”
“But if you wanted to marry Simon, why did you leave his handkerchief there? I thought you loved him.”
“Love him? Did I say that? I would not say it is love, no. I wanted to marry him, that’s all.” She shrugged again. “He is a pleasant lover, much better than so many men, who only want to grab and paw and get their own satisfaction as soon as they can. It would not be so bad to have him in my bed. And he is wealthy. If he married me, I would have whatever I wanted. I would be a respected member of society.”
“But it’s rather hard to marry someone who is in jail for murder, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think his handkerchief is enough to hang him. I mean, here he is
, many weeks later, and nothing has happened to him. I did not want him arrested. Mostly, I wanted to cast suspicion away from me. I had, after all, been seen with Faraday rather often recently. I hoped merely that it would implicate Simon enough that you would call off the engagement.”
Theodora frowned at Charity, adding in irritation, “Why didn’t you? I was sure that the scandal would frighten your ever-so-noble family. I thought Simon would be too much of a gentleman to keep you to your word, either. I was counting on it.” She looked downcast and puzzled.
Charity shifted; she didn’t want to give Theodora any time to think. “So then, the poison—it was to get rid of me, so that Simon would be free to marry you?”
“Of course. It would have worked, too, if it hadn’t been for that damned monkey.” She glared at Charity. “Why would you have such a silly animal in the house, anyway?”
“I—I’m not sure. It was quite cute.” Charity didn’t know what to say. She felt as if she were in some mad world where all the normal values and rules were turned upside down. What did one say to keep calm a woman who had killed, who saw human lives only as obstacles in her way?
Charity rubbed her palms down her skirt to dry them. It was hot and stuffy in the carriage. She didn’t know how her head could feel so hot and her stomach so cold. She wished she had some idea what to do to stop Theodora. She had never faced a person with a gun before; it frightened her far more than Reed’s clumsy attack in the garden. She could not leap at Theodora and try to take the gun away, because Theodora would be able to shoot her before she reached her. Charity contemplated the idea of jumping out of the carriage; she was willing to risk the injury when she hit the ground, but, again, it was all too likely that she would be shot before she reached the door latch. But Charity was not about to wait passively for Theodora to kill her when and where she chose.
She wondered if Theodora had seen Patrick outside when he helped her up into the carriage. If she had not, then Charity had a surprise weapon. Patrick would try to save her when they stepped out of the carriage.
“Would you mind if I raised the curtain?” Charity asked, reaching toward the heavy curtain that obscured the windows. At least she could find out where she was.
“No!” Theodora’s gun hand had drooped a little, but at Charity’s movement, it snapped back up and she pointed the gun squarely at Charity’s chest again. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“I only want to get a little fresh air. It’s terribly hot in here.”
“I will not let you be seen in my carriage. I will not allow you to call for help.”
A thought popped into Charity’s head suddenly, and she smiled. “But I told Chaney who you were. I said your name. They will notice that I am missing.”
“You’re lying!”
“Am I?” Charity smiled and leaned back, crossing her arms. “Can you risk it? Everyone will know that you killed me. You will be hanged. I’m sure you would not like that. It makes you terribly ugly, I’ve heard. Your face turns purple, and your eyes bulge out.”
“Shut up!” Theodora screeched. “Shut up!”
The gun wavered dangerously in her hand, and Charity wisely decided to be quiet. For a few moments there was silence in the vehicle, except for the rumble of the wheels as it rolled over the cobblestones. The carriage jiggled and bounced, and Charity eyed the gun nervously as it bobbed in Theodora’s hand. What if it went off accidentally when they hit a bump?
Theodora was much too nervous; her fingers trembled on the gun. Charity thought that almost any bump or anything that startled Theodora might cause enough of an extra jerk to make her pull the trigger. Sweat trickled down Charity’s sides in the stuffy carriage; she hoped her incipient panic didn’t show on her face. Fear, she thought, might incite Theodora to violence.
“Ah…where are we going?” Charity asked, almost as much to take her mind off the shaking gun as to lull her captor with conversation.
“Someplace you wouldn’t know,” Theodora said with a sneer. “It’s among the common folk, the sort of place you’ve never been in your life.”
The carriage had slowed almost to a stop, and their path seemed to twist and turn. The sudden strong stench of an open sewer made Charity almost gag, and she quickly put one hand over her mouth and nose.
Theodora, watching her, chuckled. “You see? You would never have soiled your pretty little feet by walking in here—not that you would have made it out unharmed if you had.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the sort of place where a gun can go off and no one will pay the slightest attention. No one will rouse Scotland Yard or admit to seeing anything. It’s perfect for disposing of unwanted things.”
Charity could think of nothing to say to that, and she lapsed into silence.
The carriage rumbled to a stop. Charity heard the sound of the two men climbing down from the carriage. Theodora moved quickly to Charity’s side. Grasping the younger woman’s elbow with one hand, Theodora pressed the snout of her stubby gun to Charity temple. A moment later the door to the carriage opened. Theodora’s coachman stood outside, at the foot of the steps he’d let down. Behind him stood Patrick, looking puzzled, worried and angry all at once. He glanced around him uneasily.
Theodora pulled on Charity’s elbow, propelling her out the door, with Theodora as close to her as a second skin, the snub-nosed pistol still tight against Charity’s head. Patrick’s mouth dropped open when he saw them, and his face drained of all color. Charity realized that Theodora had been expecting this; that was why she had moved over and put the gun to her head before the door opened. She had known about Patrick all along.
Red rushed back into Patrick’s cheeks, and he took a step forward, reaching out toward Charity.
“Stay back!” Theodora barked, grinding her gun against Charity’s temple so hard that tears came to Charity’s eyes.
“’ere!” the coachman said, pushing Patrick back. “’ave some sense, will ye? Ye try to take that popgun away from ’er, and yer fine lady’ll be dead ‘fore you can even touch ’er.”
“He’s right,” Theodora said. Charity could hear the sound of Theodora’s rapid breathing, and though she could not turn to see because of the gun pressed hard against her head, she suspected that Theodora’s face was flushed and her eyes were wild. “The only thing you can do to keep her from dying is to walk along quietly with us. Say nothing to anyone, and do not try to signal for help. Do you understand?”
Patrick swallowed hard and nodded.
“Right, then, let’s go,” the coachman said.
He reached out and grabbed Patrick’s arm, swiveling him about and shoving him forward. Theodora removed the gun from Charity’s temple and stuck it in her side. They fell in behind the two men. It was evening, but it was far darker here than normal, even for this time of day. A jumble of ramshackle buildings rose up all around them, blocking out all light, and there were no gas lamps anywhere to add even a small glow. They walked along a path far too narrow for the carriage. The place stank of sweat and sewage and mildew. A skinny, half-naked child stared at them dully, his finger in his mouth, and behind him a woman sat against a wall in a stupor, mumbling to herself.
A man with blackened teeth lurched out of a low doorway and peered after them. An unkempt urchin on crutches hobbled after them, begging for coins. Charity twisted to look at the child.
“The poor thing,” she murmured.
Theodora jabbed the gun deeper into Charity’s side. “You’re in worse danger than that cripple.”
“Couldn’t I give him just a few coins?”
“Are you daft?” Theodora came to a standstill, gaping at her.
“Please?” Charity looked at her pleadingly and reached down into her pocket.
Theodora narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you have in there?”
“I don’t normally carry a weapon about,” Charity retorted crisply. “Will you not allow me to do a final good deed?”
She gazed steadily
at Theodora, willing all the power of the centuries of privilege and entitlement that lay behind her into her eyes.
“All right,” Theodora agreed grudgingly. “But do it slowly. I’ll shoot you if you pull out anything but coins.”
Charity nodded and slowly took out her small coin purse. She held it out to the boy and smiled. He moved forward as quickly as he could and stretched out his hand. Charity tossed the soft leather purse into his hand, then turned, as regally as a queen going to the block, and followed the path the coachman and Patrick had taken.
Behind her, she heard the boy let out a soft breath of discovery. Her coin purse, she knew, had a guinea in it, as well as several shillings. She was sure it was more money than the lad had ever seen in his life. He would be sure to remember the two women who had passed his way this day—if only Simon could track her this far.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AS CHARITY WALKED slowly along, she clasped her hands together and surreptitiously pulled off the large square-cut emerald ring that Simon had given her when they became engaged. Then, just as secretively, she slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand, next to the much smaller amethyst that had been given her by her grandmother. The emerald ring was too small for the finger, of course, but she shoved it as far down on her knuckle as it would go. The two rings combined would inflict far more pain if she was able to swing at anyone.
Ahead of them, the coachman and Patrick stood waiting in front of a door, the coachman behind Patrick and with a heavy hand encircling his arm. As they neared the small door where the men stood, Charity slowed her steps, trying to show panic developing on her face.
“No,” she said softly. “Please, Mrs. Graves…Theodora…I never meant you any harm. Isn’t there some other way?”
“Oh, so now you start to beg,” Theodora said with a smirk. “Not so full of yourself now, are you?”
Theodora motioned to the coachman, who opened the door and shoved Patrick inside. Theodora steered Charity in after them. They were in a small, dim, squalid room. The smell was so rank that Charity could barely breathe.
