by Candace Camp
“Why—why have you brought us here?” Charity asked, stalling for time, though it was clear to her that Theodora had brought her to kill her.
Theodora chuckled. “Why? I should think it’s clear. At first I thought I’d have Hubbell here drop you into the river with a stone tied to your hands, but then I realized that if you simply disappeared, Simon would not be free to marry again. I have to let them discover your body. I was planning on shooting you and leaving you here. Then your footman’s presence gave me a better idea.”
Theodora smiled archly and leaned close to Charity, saying, “I’ll make it look like a lover’s quarrel, as if you and he were having an assignation in this squalid place. But you argued, and he shot you, then turned the gun on himself. Yes, that will do very nicely. It will explain your death to everyone’s satisfaction. And it will guarantee that Simon won’t grieve for his bride. He will know that his suitable wife was a whore at heart, that she betrayed him. In his rage, of course, he will come back to me.”
“He will not!” Charity cried, too furious to worry about spurring Theodora into shooting her immediately. “Simon wouldn’t go to you. He loves me. He knows me far too well to believe that I had a lover.”
Theodora’s brows drew together menacingly. “He does not. He couldn’t love you.”
In truth, Charity was not at all sure whether Simon loved her or not. He had called her his love a few times, but that was a fairly common endearment. It could mean no more than that he was fond of her. But she wasn’t about to admit her uncertainty to Theodora. However, neither could she argue with her; Theodora was too obviously unstable. She might pull the trigger on the little gun just because Charity dared to dispute what she said. So Charity kept her lips clamped shut.
Theodora nodded her head, as if Charity’s silence were her vindication. She turned to Patrick and said, “Now, you, take off your clothes.”
The young man’s eyes bulged, and his face turned a bright crimson. “Wot?” he yelped, forgetting the distinguished accent he had worked so hard to develop the past few years.
“You heard me. Take off your clothes—unless you want your lady shot right in front of you.”
“But—But—That’s indecent!” Patrick looked far more outraged than he had at any time since he and Charity had been in Mrs. Graves’s power. At any other time Charity would have laughed at his expression. Now she could only think of whether his protests would distract Theodora enough for Charity to make her move.
“I’m sure that Lord Dure will appreciate your nicety very much,” Theodora snapped, “when his wife is bleeding on the floor because of it.”
Patrick gulped, glanced at Charity, then at Theodora again. He shrugged out of his elegant jacket and took off his shoes, taking his time about it. When there was no sign of mercy from Theodora, he turned away from the women and began to unbutton his shirt.
“Must you humiliate him?” Charity hissed.
“It’s essential,” Theodora answered softly, amusement in her voice. “Otherwise my plan wouldn’t work. Lovers don’t tryst fully clothed, now, do they?”
Charity sucked in her breath sharply, her eyes widening with shock. She had been sure that Simon would not believe that she had been unfaithful, but if she and Patrick were found in such an incriminating way, then he might. Would she not only die but leave Simon cursing her memory, as well? Her name would be a scandal in everyone’s mouth. Pure, scalding anger poured through her.
Theodora laughed. “Ah, I can see that knocked some of that famous courage out of you. You’re right to be afraid. There’s nothing you can do.”
Charity turned her face aside, glad that Theodora had mistaken her stunned silence for fear. She must not let Theodora catch sight of the fury that she knew must be blazing in her eyes. She needed to trick Theodora into believing that she was weak and scared; otherwise Theodora would never be fooled by the case of hysterics Charity hoped to throw at the right opportunity.
“Please,” Charity said, still looking away, “please, there’s no need for this. If you will let us go, I won’t tell anyone, and neither will Patrick. I shall guarantee it. I won’t tell even Simon.”
“What good will that do me?” Theodora sneered. “I wouldn’t have Simon—and after all this effort, too. I’m certainly not about to give up now.”
Finally poor Patrick was down to his unmentionables, and he stopped, looking back pleadingly at Theodora. Theodora simply said in a steely voice, “The rest of it, too.”
Patrick’s hands clenched, and he started toward Theodora, but the woman brought her gun up to Charity’s temple again, reminding him of what would happen to her if he did not cooperate. The footman stopped and set his jaw, then began to unbutton his underclothes with short, jerky movements, all the time staring at Theodora as if he would gladly murder her.
Charity felt sorry for him and turned her face aside, giving him at least a modicum of privacy. Theodora watched, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“A well-set-up young man,” she murmured archly. “It’s rather too bad to do away with one like that.”
“Have you no shame?” Charity cried out, putting a sob in her voice. She brought her hands up to her face.
“Oh, am I too low for my lady’s fine tastes?” Theodora sneered, then called to her henchman, “All right, Hubbell, tie him up now.”
Charity peeked through her fingers and saw that Hubbell had picked up a rope and was now tying it around Patrick’s wrists, pulling his hands behind his back. When Patrick’s hands were tied, Hubbell made the footman lie down, and he looped the rope around his feet as well.
“Will you—You aren’t going to make me…do that, as well…?” Charity said, and the tremor in her voice wasn’t entirely for effect. “I mean, take off my clothes.”
Theodora grinned evilly and said, “Yes, and more. That’s one of Hubbell’s rewards for doing this. He gets to undress you and make sure that it’s obvious you’ve had a man.”
The blood drained from Charity’s face, and for a moment she feared that she might actually faint. “No! You wouldn’t—you wouldn’t allow him to do that.”
“Why not? It’s something I’ve had to do for years. Do you think you’re too fine to have some sweaty, grunting man on top of you, taking what he wants with never a thought to you?”
Charity could do nothing but stare at her.
“All right, Hubbell, she’s yours now,” Theodora said, stepping back from Charity.
The coachman strode toward Charity, a gleam in his eye. Theodora moved away, still keeping the gun trained on her. Charity knew that this was her one chance.
She threw her hands out pleadingly toward Theodora and began to wail, “No, please, please, don’t do this! You can’t do this to me!”
Theodora stopped to watch her, a little smile of satisfaction playing about her mouth. Charity could see that behind her, Patrick, though lying tied and almost helpless on the floor, was inching his way painfully toward Theodora. Charity didn’t know exactly how he could help, but she knew she had to stretch the time out.
Charity shrieked and wailed and flung her arms about, throwing a perfect fit of hysteria. She begged and pleaded with Theodora, punctuating her words with sobs and moans. Hubbell hesitated, looking back at his employer, and Theodora impatiently motioned to him to go on.
Hubbell reached out to take Charity’s arm, and she shrank back. “Don’t touch me!”
“Bloody hell!” Theodora cursed. “Hubbell, just slap her and stop that caterwauling.”
“No!” Charity shrieked, and sank artfully to the floor, curling over as if too overcome with fear even to stand and face him.
“Go ahead, Hubbell, shut her up. We can’t stay here all day.”
Charity peeped between her fingers, looking through Hubbell’s legs across the room. Patrick still had not reached Theodora, but at least Theodora had lowered her gun while she watched Charity’s display of hysterics. Charity knew she could wait no longer. She curled her right hand
into a fist, the stones of the two rings sticking out.
As Hubbell bent over to pull her up, Charity jumped up, her arm thrusting directly into Hubbell’s face. She meant to hit his eye, but she missed slightly, and the force of her blow struck his cheek, the jewels razoring jaggedly along his cheekbone.
The man howled in pain, staggering back and clutching his cheek. Charity streaked toward the door. Theodora raised the gun and fired.
Simon was in a fine mood when he stepped out of the carriage in front of his house. He no longer had to worry that Venetia might be the one who had killed Faraday Reed and, far worse, tried to kill Charity. Charity was still in danger, but he planned to keep an eye on her every minute of every day until he figured out who had really murdered Reed. Now, at least, he would be able to work on that problem with a clear conscience, no longer half fearing that it was his beloved sister whose name would turn up if he investigated. It would be no small task, of course, to keep Charity from jumping into the middle of the investigation and putting herself in danger, but Simon had discovered that anything he did with Charity, even trying to convince her of something, had its pleasures.
He hurried toward the house, eager to see Charity again. It had been only a little over a day since he had been with her, but even that period of time was enough to make him feel as if a part of him were missing. He wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to celebrate with her that Venetia was no longer a suspect, to plan how he would smoke out the killer…to take her in his arms and kiss her, the way he had been wanting to do all the way back from Ashford Court.
The door flew open so hard that it crashed against the wall, and Chaney ran out, a look of panic on his face such as Simon had never seen. “My lord! My lord! Thank God!” He turned toward the carriage, which was just pulling away from the curb on the way to the mews, and waved his arms frantically. “Wait! Botkins, stop!”
“Chaney, what the devil is going on?” Simon gripped the butler’s arm, icy fear forming in the pit of his stomach. He was sure that there was only one thing that could bring the staid butler to this state: Charity. “Has something happened to her?”
“Yes, my lord. I mean, I’m not sure. I don’t know.”
“Damn it, man, out with it! Stop dithering about. What happened to her?”
The youngest of the footmen came pelting out the door, too, his neat white powdered wig absurdly askew and his elegant frogged coat abandoned. Sweat stained the front of his shirt, and his chest was heaving, as if he had run a race.
“I followed her, my lord. Or, at least, most of the way.”
“Followed her! Where the devil is she?” Simon’s brows drew together thunderously, and he swung back to Chaney. “Blast it, man, you said you would take care of her while I was gone. It was only a day.”
“Yes, my lord. It is my fault, my lord. I shall never be able to live with myself if anything happens to her. But at least it’s a woman. Surely she isn’t the one who tried—”
“It? What is it? Who is it?” Simon barely resisted the urge to grab the older man’s shoulders and shake him. It wouldn’t help his obviously befuddled thoughts.
“Mrs. Graves!”
“Theodora!” Simon stared at him, stunned. “Lady Dure is with Theodora Graves?”
Chaney nodded.
“How in the name of all that’s holy does Charity know Theodora?” He stopped and shook his head. “No, that’s a foolish thing to ask. She could know the king of Siam and it would not be astonishing.”
“Lady Dure said a friend, a widow, was waiting outside in a carriage for her. I brought her a note. Lady Dure said she had to talk to her, and that there would be a coachman to protect them. She agreed to take Patrick with her.”
Simon relaxed a little. “Good. Then she at least had protection.” Now all he needed to worry about was whatever Theodora might be filling Charity’s head with. He groaned inwardly. Charity was likely to come home hating him. No young wife would like to meet her husband’s former mistress.
Chaney nodded. “Yes, but as she was leaving, sir, she told me the widow’s name. Of course, I, uh, recognized it.”
Simon nodded and said dryly, “Of course.”
“I couldn’t imagine why she was meeting her, or where they were going, but I didn’t think you would like it, sir. So I sent Thomas here after them. And…and…” he began to wring his hands “…and that’s what is troubling, my lord. They went, well, into St. Giles.”
“St. Giles!” Simon straightened, whatever peace of mind he had felt fleeing instantly at the mention of the most notorious slum in London. “What the devil were they doing there?” He fixed the footman with a hard stare. “Are you sure that’s where they went?”
“Yes, my lord. I swear to you,” Thomas assured him, nodding vigorously. “I caught a hack and followed them. I’m certain it were the same carriage, my lord, on account of this little gold stripe all around the top and along the doors. Right smart little thing, it was.”
Simon felt sick. “Yes, that’s Mrs. Graves’s carriage.”
“It went into the East End, my lord, and after it reached St. Giles, the hack wouldn’t take me further. He made me get out, and I couldn’t get him to change his noggin for nothin’. So I had to leave, ya see, or I woulda lost sight of ’em altogether. So I run after it. Lucky they had to move kinda slow like, or I’d of never kept up at all.”
He stopped, and Simon prodded, “Well, man? Where did they go?”
Thomas looked away shamefacedly. “I lost ’em, my lord. In this rookery. A woman carryin’ two great pails of water got in my way, and they was way ahead of me. When I got around her and down to the street where they’d turned, there weren’t no sight of ’em at all.”
“Sweet Jesus.” In his mind, Simon saw Theodora’s face, contorted with fury when he had said he was about to wed another. Her eyes had looked capable of shooting darts into him. She had shrieked that he had been about to marry her, and he had wondered how she could have thought something so unlikely. Suddenly, sickeningly, he was certain of one thing: Theodora Graves hated Charity. She might just be insane enough to kill her. Poison, he recalled, was reputed to be a woman’s weapon.
Simon turned away. The world was crumbling under his feet. “Come with me,” he said hoarsely to Thomas. “You can show me where you lost them.”
He walked rapidly toward the carriage, Thomas on his heels. Thomas climbed on top of the carriage to give the coachman directions, and Simon swung inside, saying, “Go wherever he says, and drive like the devil himself was on your tail.”
Behind them, Lucky came bounding out of the house and across the small yard, jumping over the fence with ease and leaping up into the carriage. Simon did not even reprimand the dog. He simply leaned down and sank his hand into the animal’s fur, saying softly, “Pray God you live up to your name.”
The carriage rattled through the streets of London, at first dashing along faster than Simon had ever ridden in town. But as they reached the narrower streets of the city, they had to slow down. They twisted and turned, and Simon’s nerves were shredded by their slow pace. At last the carriage came to a stop, and as Simon opened the door, Thomas hopped down.
“This is it, my lord. This is where I lost ’em. I ain’t sure where they went from ’ere.”
“Then we shall have to ask.”
They questioned everyone they met along the streets. Some shied away; others eyed them in suspicious silence. But now and then a man or woman would answer, pointing the way they had seen a carriage go. Simon would toss them a coin and follow their directions, hoping that they were not simply lying, or too drunk to be sure what they had seen and where it had gone. The streets grew too narrow to drive the coach, and Thomas and Simon walked the rest of the way, leaving the coachman behind to guard the carriage. Lucky, of course, padded along beside Simon, his tail up and his ears on alert, pleased with this latest adventure.
Simon’s stomach was knotted with fear. He knew that Theodora could have brought
Charity here with no other purpose than to kill her. He hated Theodora, and he hated himself for ever having been involved with her. Why had he not sensed the madness that must have been lurking beneath her provocative exterior?
If he did not reach Charity in time, she would be killed, and it would be his fault, he knew. Simon did not know how he could live if that happened. He could no longer imagine life without Charity. She had become the sun around which his world revolved. He tightened his grip on the gun in his pocket and kept on walking.
There was a movement off to his right, and he turned his head sharply. A boy’s head pulled back into the shadows.
“Here! Lad! Come out!”
Slowly the boy limped out, moving on crutches, and looked warily at Simon, then at the dog. “Wotcher want?”
“A lady. I’m looking for a lady. Have you seen one with another woman?”
“A lady wot looks like a angel?” the lad asked.
“Yes!” Hope surged in Simon’s chest. “Blond hair, beautiful. And the other one has black hair, very curvaceous.” He made a movement with his hands, as if drawing a voluptuous figure.
The boy nodded his head sharply. “She were nice, the angel lady. She give me money. Ye aren’t goin’ to take it back now, are ye?”
“No. The money is yours. If she was kind to you, tell me where she went. She is in grave danger.”
The boy shook his head. “Aye, she is. T’other one, the she-devil, ’ad a gun in ’er side, she did.” He turned and pointed down the street. “There were two men, too, and they all went down there.” He pointed down a narrow lane that branched off from the street they were on. Buildings rose up darkly on either side. “They went up them steps and into that building.”
“Thank you.” Simon reached in his pocket and pulled out several coins and threw them to the lad. Then he wheeled and started quickly toward the dim doorway the boy had indicated.
At that moment, a shot rang out. Simon began to run, and Lucky lunged forward, barking ferociously.
Theodora’s shot went wide, smacking into the wall. But Hubbell, cheek bleeding and one eye closed, staggered to his feet and charged after Charity. He threw himself upon her just as she reached the door, and they crashed to the ground. Hubbell landed on top of Charity, knocking the breath out of her. Behind them, Theodora struggled to reload the small single-shot weapon. Patrick gave up stealth and all thought of personal safety and rolled violently forward. He hit Theodora in the back of her legs, knocking them out from under her, and she fell heavily, the gun flying from her hand.
