by Cheryl Holt
“I want to talk to Rose,” Amelia boldly declared.
“That won’t be possible,” Seymour tightly responded.
“You’re the cruelest person I’ve ever met,” Amelia charged. “I’m going to find Captain Odell and tell him how you treated us.”
“He already knows,” Seymour fibbed. “Weren’t you aware? This was his decision. He was tired of supporting you.”
“You are such a liar!” Amelia spun and stomped out.
In light of Amelia’s youth and friendship with Rose, Seymour’s remark was particularly vicious. What was the woman’s problem? Her behavior enraged Clarinda as nothing had in ages.
Helen followed Amelia out, but Clarinda dawdled until she and Seymour were alone.
“Who are you,” Seymour snapped, “and why are you in my home?”
In reply, Clarinda mumbled a mouthful of gibberish, a nonsensical mixture of Latin and French that seemed important and grave and scary.
“What are you saying?” Seymour scowled, looking a tad unsettled. “Speak English—if you know any of the language.”
Clarinda held out her index and pinkie fingers, a pair of horns, indicating the sign of the devil. Seymour recognized it and stumbled back.
“I am a white witch,” Clarinda boasted.
“There’s no such thing,” Seymour countered, but her alarm was obvious.
“Isn’t there?”
“No.”
“Occasionally, I dabble in the black arts.” Clarinda uttered more rubbish, then clapped her hands three times, the sound echoing off the high ceiling, giving it an extremely portentous flair.
Seymour jumped. “Stop that!”
“It’s too late,” Clarinda hissed.
“Too late for what?”
“Too late for you.”
“What are you blathering about?”
“I’ve cursed you. It’s already taking effect.”
“Are you insane? You can’t just come into a woman’s residence and ... and ... curse her.”
“I can, and I have. Beware.”
“Beware! Of what?”
“There’s been wicked business carried out this day.”
“The only wicked business is my listening to you. Get out!”
She hurried over and flung the door wide, pointing to the street.
Clarinda studied her, then she approached until they were toe-to-toe. Seymour was trying to stand firm and not retreat, but she was superstitious, and thus, very afraid.
“Whatever plans you have for yourself,” Clarinda warned, “or for your daughter, they will never come to fruition.”
“Be silent.”
“Your fate has been altered. I can’t stop it now; it’s out of my hands.”
Seymour pushed her outside and slammed the door, the key spinning in the lock. Clarinda chuckled and went to join Helen.
“What did you say to her?” Helen asked.
“I put a curse on her.”
“You didn’t!”
“I died.”
Clarinda hadn’t actually done anything, but Seymour thought she had, and that’s what mattered. In the future, whenever Seymour suffered the slightest mishap, she’d remember Clarinda and wonder if the curse was working. The more she fretted, the more her troubles would increase.
“Thank you,” Helen said.
“You’re welcome. I’ll avenge you in other ways, too. I just need some time to ponder my retribution.”
From above them, a window was thrown open, and Rose called, “Amelia, up here! It’s me!”
They all glanced at her, and Amelia waved and jumped up and down.
“I asked to say good-bye,” Amelia told her, “but Mrs. Seymour wouldn’t let me.”
“She wouldn’t let me, either. When I tried to come downstairs, she locked me in my room!”
“She didn’t!”
“Just wait till my brother gets back and discovers what she—”
She was grabbed from behind and yanked inside, the window banged shut, and she appeared to be wrestling with someone, but they were powerless to intervene. None of them was related to Lady Rose, and they had no authority to defy Seymour. Clarinda hoped that Odell wasn’t in Scotland too awfully long, that Rose wouldn’t be imprisoned for months.
“Can’t we help her, Helen?” Amelia pleaded. “There must be something we can do.”
“There’s nothing, Amelia. It’s not our business anymore. Let’s go.”
Helen herded them into the rented hackney, with Amelia balking and Helen having to lift her in. As they settled on the hard seat, they were a sullen, depressed group.
“At least we have some money,” Clarinda mentioned.
“It’s more than I had when I arrived,” Helen responded.
The driver stuck his head in. “Where to, ladies?”
Helen was at a loss, and Clarinda offered, “I know of a lodging house, out on the edge of the city. It’s clean and affordable.”
“Fine,” Helen murmured.
Clarinda gave him the directions, and he climbed onto the box and clicked the reins. They started off, and as they rattled away, Jane was the only one who gazed out at the mansion.
“I can’t believe it’s ending this way,” she said. “I can’t believe he did this to me.”
“Let it be a lesson to you,” Clarinda counseled. “You should be wary of men and their promises.”
“I thought he was different,” Jane insisted.
“He wasn’t.”
Helen snorted but didn’t remark.
They rode along, miserable and brooding, when suddenly, the carriage slowed and was eased off to the side of the street.
“What is it?” Helen asked.
Amelia peeked out. “Some men are talking to the driver.”
The door was yanked open, and a burly fellow loomed in. He was blond and tough-looking, dressed in a gentleman’s coat and trousers, but he exuded menace. He might have been a pugilist or a criminal.
“Are you Helen Hamilton?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“You’re Jane Hamilton?”
“Yes.”
The two sisters frowned with concern.
“Would you step out, please?”
“Why?” Helen demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“Get out, ma’am.”
“Who are you,” Clarinda asked, “and what do you want with us?”
“I am Mr. Mick Rafferty. Who are you?”
“I am a friend of the family.”
“And I am not. I must speak with the Misses Hamilton on a rather delicate matter. If you’ll humor me for a moment... ?”
He gestured for them to debark, his demeanor indicating that refusal was not an option. If they didn’t comply of their own volition, would he drag them out?
Helen scowled at Clarinda, then shrugged.
She went first, Mr. Rafferty assisting her as if he was a gallant. Jane and Amelia came next, with Clarinda bringing up the rear.
“Miss Hamilton,” he said to Helen, “were you previously employed by Michael Seymour, Lord Hastings?”
“I was.”
“Is it true you recently left under less than satisfactory circumstances?”
“You could say so.”
From behind the hackney, a man called, “I’ve got it. It’s here.”
Clarinda shifted over to see that another ruffian had been searching Helen’s trunks. Clothes and shoes were scattered on the cobbles. A crowd had gathered to watch, and people parted as the oaf pushed toward Rafferty.
He brandished a gold ring with a large emerald in the center, waving it like a prize.
“Look at this beauty!” he exclaimed as he placed it in Rafferty’s palm.
“Would you like to explain this?” Rafferty asked Helen.
“I can’t.”
“Is it your contention that you have no idea whose it is?”
“Yes, that’s exactly my contention.”
“And I suppose you haven’t a clue why it�
�s in your luggage.”
“Not”
“A likely story,” a bystander muttered.
Jane neared to get a better view. “It’s the betrothal ring Lord Hastings gave to Miriam.”
“So you admit it!” Rafferty crowed.
“It certainly seems to be the same one,” Jane affirmed.
“May I see your purse, Miss Hamilton?” he said to Helen.
“No, you may not”
Rafferty’s accomplice, the swine who’d riffled through their trunks, stepped in so that Helen was trapped between the two men. Rafferty plucked the purse from her grasp, and though she lunged to retrieve it, his partner clutched her arms and restrained her.
Rafferty opened her bag and removed the pouch that Maud Seymour had given to Helen—almost as if he knew it would be there. He loosened the string and dumped out the contents. A pile of shiny gold coins clinked out.
The spectators gasped.
“Miss Helen Hamilton,” Rafferty announced with great formality, “and Miss Jane Hamilton, I arrest you for committing grand theft against Lord Hastings.”
“You’re mad!” Helen fumed. “Mrs. Seymour paid me that money herself!”
“I’ll just bet she did,” Rafferty sneered.
“She did!” Helen insisted, but denial was pointless.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”
“I won’t!”
Helen tried to walk away, but she was immediately seized. Jane tried to flee, too, but she met the same fate.
Clarinda had observed the encounter with a horrid fascination, and as she saw where the cards were falling, she let herself be swallowed by the mob of passersby. She had a tight grip on Amelia, and she pulled her away. Amelia frowned at Clarinda, but Clarinda motioned for silence.
Helen’s and Jane’s hands were being bound with ropes, the onlookers mesmerized by the spectacle, as Rafferty said, “Where’s the little one?”
“She was here a minute ago,” his companion answered.
“We’ve got to locate her. We were supposed to nab all three.”
At hearing the threat, Amelia and Clarinda ran. There were too many people blocking Rafferty’s path, so he couldn’t chase after them. Plus, he didn’t dare abandon Helen and Jane, for they would be unguarded if he and his minion raced off.
Clarinda and Amelia wound through the streets, and once Clarinda deemed it safe to stop, they huddled together in an alley.
“Who was that man?” Amelia queried.
“He’s a criminal,” Clarinda replied. “Now, listen to me. I need you to be very brave. Can you be?”
“Yes, I’m very brave.”
Clarinda drew out some cash and gave it to her.
“What’s this for?” Amelia inquired.
“I may be gone for a day or two.”
“Gone!”
“Use it to eat”
“All right,” she hesitantly agreed.
“Can you find your way back to the earl’s house?”
“I think so.”
“Wait till dark, then sneak in, so you can tell Rose what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“Mrs. Seymour is pretending Helen and Jane stole that ring.”
“The money, too?”
“Yes.”
“Ooh, that lying witch!”
“Your sisters are in terrible trouble. We have to help them.”
“I will do anything!” Amelia vowed.
“Rose must inform Captain Odell about Mrs. Seymour—the instant he returns from Scotland.”
“It might be ages!”
“I know, but at the moment I can’t figure out what else to do. After you speak with her, you must hide yourself somewhere nearby.”
“For how long?”
“Until I come for you.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’m going to follow Mr. Rafferty. We have to learn where he’s taking them. The second I find out, I’ll be back.”
Amelia gazed at her. “I’m scared.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t be. There’s no time. Helen and Jane are counting on you.”
Clarinda shoved her toward the street, but Amelia wouldn’t budge.
“Are you sure this is the only way?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“But... but...”
“Amelia, please. I have to get back to Rafferty before he leaves. If he’s already gone, we might never locate them.”
The prospect galvanized Amelia, and she nodded.
“Swear that you’ll come for me,” she begged.
“I swear.”
“I don’t know how to live on my own. I don’t know how to take care of myself.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
Amelia chewed on her bottom lip, about to burst into tears, but she took a deep breath, and she straightened.
“I’m Harry Hamilton’s daughter,” she firmly said, brimming with ire, “and I’ve had about all of this I can stand.”
“That’s the spirit”
“I’ll see you very soon.”
“Yes, you will. I promise.”
Amelia reached out and squeezed Clarinda’s hands, as if sealing the pledge. Then she raced off in one direction, and Clarinda raced off in the other.
“WHAT is this one called?”
“Passion’s Flower.”
“What does it do?”
“It brings on amour—when the gentleman in question is disinterested.”
Phillip smiled at his female customer. With her big blue eyes and delectable curves, she was lovely. Usually, he enjoyed chatting with a pretty girl, but he was worried about Clarinda.
When he’d awakened, she’d been gone, and he’d told himself that she was at Hastings Manor, delivering tonics, but she hadn’t returned.
Where was the blasted woman?
“Mr. Dubois?”
From what seemed a long distance, he realized that his customer was talking.
“What did you ask me, Mademoiselle Lambert?”
“What is this?”
“It is my famous elixir, Woman’s Daily Remedy. It calms body and soul, being especially beneficial when you are distressed.”
She pulled the cork and sniffed the contents.
“May I have a little taste?”
“Certainement.”
She took a sip, but as the intoxicating brew slid down her throat, she coughed and coughed.
“Oh my,” she sputtered. “It’s quite potent.”
“It definitely is.”
“With where I’m going, though, it might be just what I need.”
“Are you off on a journey, cherie?”
“To Scotland—as companion to the two most horrid twins you’ve ever met.” She paused, chagrined. “I can’t believe I said that. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“I am the very model of discretion.”
“Good, because my employer is a beast. If he learned that I was complaining, I’d be fired before I ever started working.”
“No one will hear a word from me, mademoiselle.”
She pointed to the label on the bottle, which included a picture of a lily. “I think it’s my destiny to purchase this.”
“Why?”
“My Christian name is Lily. Lily Lambert.”
“Then by all means, you must have it.”
Pert dimples creased her cheeks. “Yes, I must.”
She gave him her money, and he gave her the remedy.
“Would you like to take two?” he suggested. “If the trip turns out to be as bad as you imagine, you might go through the first one rather fast.”
“I might indeed. I’d better have another.”
She put both bottles into her bag, then examined more of his merchandise. A curious sort, she liked to smell and touch and feel, and she actually had cash to spend. At any other time, he would have been ecstatic, but where the hell was Clarinda?
“Mr. Dubois
! I swear you’re woolgathering.”
“Pardon, cherie. You are correct. I am concerned about my sister. She’s off on an errand, and she is late in coming home.”
“Your anxiety is understandable.” She held up a vial. “What’s this?”
“Ah ...”—he had to force himself to focus—“it is my biggest seller, my Spinster’s Cure.”
“It cures spinsters? Of what?”
“If you swallow it while staring at the man you hope to marry, you will be wed within the month.”
She chuckled. “You’re joking.”
“Je suis serieux!”
“You seem like such a sane fellow. Surely you’re not claiming it has magical powers?”
He raised a finger in the air, trying to look stern and wise. “You have heard of the great lord Viscount Redvers. Non?”
“No.”
“His bride, Mary, was a spinster, but she drank the tonic as I instructed, and voila, she is now Viscountess Redvers and happily wed to the infamous nobleman.”
“Well, then, if it worked for her, who am I to quibble? I should have my own supply.”
She was smart and pragmatic, so she found him to be hilarious, deeming his assertions to be nonsense, but he didn’t particularly care if she believed or not.
Still, he said, “You laugh at me.”
“I laugh with you. I’m having fun.”
“You suppose my medicine is faux—false—but you will see.”
“I’m certain I will.”
“My Spinster’s Cure will aid you in fulfilling your wish to be married. You crave a husband, yes?”
“Of course. How did you know?”
“It is my job to know. You would like to have a home of your own, a cozy cottage in the country, with dogs and cats and three”—he halted and studied her—“no, four children.”
“You are absolutely amazing.”
“Aren’t I, though?”
“I’ll take two vials.”
“A prudent choice. A double dose can never hurt.”
He knelt under the shelf to retrieve a second vial when, to his surprise, he discovered a folded piece of paper stuffed between the jars. His name was on it, Clarinda’s handwriting clearly visible.
“What the devil?” he muttered.
He grabbed it and stood, banging his head as he rose.
“Ouch,” Miss Lambert commiserated, but he ignored her.
He ripped open the note, and as he read it, his temper flared.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it on the ground. “She is out of her bloody mind.”
