by Selina Kray
Though grateful for this show of respect, he suddenly rued having imposed such restrictions on Kip. He longed for Kip to unleash himself on his person, to give over to his artful lovemaking. But Rebecca Northcote, like Pandora before her, understood the consequences of such revelations, the lure of an unopened box. That certain secrets held more power in being hinted at than revealed.
“What’s troubling you, my lovely?” Kip redoubled his efforts to stroke Hiero into a submissive puddle. “No evasions or digressions. I’ve seen the flicker of something like fear shadow your face too often of late.”
Hiero cursed in seven languages under his breath. “I’m not afraid. For myself.”
“Say the word, and we’ll escape Calliope and Miss Kala from Castleside.”
“Not for them. Or Lillian. Or anyone at all.”
Kip huffed out a very unconvinced sigh.
“The past is the past,” Hiero insisted.
“Unless something in your past has bearing on your present situation.” Kip stroked a persuasive set of knuckles down Hiero’s cheek. He swallowed back his instinctive purr. “It’s not my intention to mine your history for nuggets of insight. And I’m well-versed in your reasons for secrecy. But I see you suffering, and it maddens me that I can do nothing to alleviate it.” He dropped a crown of kisses to Hiero’s brow, each one more tender than the last. “Sometimes I wonder which of us is the greater fool.”
Hiero stilled. “How so?”
“Myself, for caring for someone who will forever remain elusive, or yourself, who dallies with a lover who will never cease his questions. And inferences.”
“‘Inferences’?”
“One of the consequences of bedding a detective.” Kip slid his hand down to massage Hiero’s neck. Then lower, under his collar, to the ridge of scar tissue that prevented him from feeling anything at all. On his back, at any rate. He tensed, fighting the urge to rip away, to flee into the night. “We intuit patterns. If we’ve observed a certain behavior before, seeing it again in someone new will trigger our instincts. We can’t help but notice everything. Especially in those who seek to hide.”
“How long have you known?”
“I know nothing. I’ve suspected. Not the details of your story, but the outline.” He withdrew his hand and resumed his caresses, drawing Hiero into an embrace so strong, so heartfelt, he wanted to claw his way out. “A familiar one to anyone with our inclinations.”
With the fortitude of a man who had reinvented himself after countless hardships, Hiero held fast to his resolve.
“Has it never occurred, Detective Inspector, that I am the man I was always meant to be? That there’s no great mystery? This history of mine was an act of becoming. I may have had other names. I may have lived other lives. But I have always been Hieronymus Bash.”
Kip fell silent. He continued to run those consoling fingers over every approved area of Hiero’s upper body, letting their fevers cool. Every brush of his hand repeated what Kip left unsaid: his devotion, his affection, his care. Why couldn’t Hiero give in? What possible harm did he think would come to him if he shared a small part of himself with his lover? But everything in him screamed against it.
“My dear, dear Hieronymus. I don’t want you to be anything other than the man I adore. But the past will out. I cannot protect you if I don’t know where you’re vulnerable.”
“Protect me?” Hiero scoffed, but not even he believed this show of disdain. “Are you in the business of chasing specters?”
“The effects of this case appear quite real. And there’s no telling what the newspapers or a motivated enemy might dredge up.”
“And you would defend me?”
“With everything in me.”
If he’d been looking Kip in the face, Hiero wouldn’t have been able to trust himself after such a declaration. As it was, he bit the edge of his tongue bloody keeping himself in check. He dug deep into his arsenal of dismissiveness and flippancy for just the right weapon. Then he remembered: when in doubt, mock.
“But what would your hallowed superiors think of such a maneuver? Wouldn’t you be duty bound to turn me in? What of your indefatigable sense of honor?”
“You are a good man. Is there no honor in defending a good man?”
Another volley deflected. Would he never draw blood? Hiero attempted to appeal to Kip’s innate sense of justice.
“You would not judge me so softly if you knew what I’d done.”
Kip had the gall to laugh. “Ah, yes. Playing the part of the scoundrel yet again. Tell me, without revealing any incriminating details, have you ever... plotted against the crown?”
“Only Her Majesty’s dressmakers.”
“Committed a treasonous act?”
“Every second Wednesday.”
“Forced yourself on someone?”
“Certainly not.” Hiero shuddered. “I go only where invited, especially in matters of the flesh.”
“Hurt or maimed a child?”
“My dear Kip, what do you take me for?”
“Have you... killed a man?”
“A thousand with my eyes.” Hiero sighed, wishing he could somehow convey to Kip the complex circumstances of his origins... without reveling anything about those origins.
“I preferred to use my fists.”
Hiero’s racing thoughts stopped cold at that declaration. He flipped around to confront Kip, who wore a self-satisfied smirk. Hiero might have slapped him had he not been so curious.
“You mean all this time I’ve been the one bedding a murderer?”
“Surprise.” Kip chuckled but didn’t hesitate to explain. “My first year as a constable, the Yard was on the hunt for an arsonist. Chap had a bad habit of setting fire to the houses of royal mistresses.”
“A radical firebug?”
“Something of the kind. They received information that he would strike in my division. They enlisted the entire station house. Being the newest, I was assigned a partner and positioned on the route he was least likely to escape from. Which, of course, he proceeded to take once the deed was done. He gave us quite the chase, all the way to the river. He tried to jump the rail. We caught him in time, dragged him off, but he gave us a fight. He had the strength of desperation—we struggled with him for what seemed an eternity. Finally I got a solid punch in. He spun, tripped, and cracked his skull on the guard rail. Stone dead by the time he hit the ground.”
“Were you reprimanded?”
“Worse. Promoted.” Kip nodded at Hiero’s look of distaste. “It brought me to the attention of Sir Hugh Winterbourne, then a mere superintendent—”
“—now the commissioner. A useful friend to have.”
Kip nodded. “Saved me from ruin twice now. In this affair and our business last autumn.” His eyes turned inward. “I owe him not just my career, but my freedom. And there’s only one person in this world I would defy him for.”
Hiero inhaled a shaky breath, heart in his throat. He met Kip’s tender, inquisitive gaze when it shined his way, let his giving arms hug him close. Accepted his Kip’s confession.
But still could not find the words to make his own.
“I should away.” He gentled a kiss to Kip’s lips before he could protest. “Before the walls grow ears.”
“If you must.”
Hiero tried and failed to ignore the sadness in Kip’s tone. He almost choked on the shame that filled him. He busied himself with rising, righting his clothes.
“Best we’d not give Mrs. Fitzgibbons further cause for resentment.”
“Quite so.” Linking their arms in a streak of possessiveness Hiero might earlier have appreciated, Kip escorted him to the door. “Still, I hope she won’t deter you from a repeat engagement.”
“Never.” Hiero felt Kip’s sigh of relief, despised himself all the more.
“Then we’ll rendezvous at the compound once I’ve consulted with my client.”
“Goodness. You’ve been summoned?”
“Yes. S
till with nothing to show.”
“Tell him...” Hiero thought better of his initial, more flippant counsel. “... to have faith. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that.”
A trace of a smile twisted his lips. “I’ll omit the fact the advice came from you, a godless thespian.”
“Prudent.”
Hiero lingered in the entranceway, desperate to be away but unable to bring himself to depart. Kip, melancholy but patient, stood fast beside him.
“Kip, I...”
“Good night,” Kip hushed him, pulling him down for a farewell kiss.
He held the door as Hiero segued into the corridor. The click of the lock echoed through him, beckoning him back inside. But he could only move forward, out into a bleak and sleepless night.
Chapter 14
Callie suppressed a shudder as she peeked through a seam in the infirmary window’s blind. The few visible beds were occupied by convalescing novitiates, their mountain range of bellies snowcapped by blue-tinted sheets in the eerie cast of the moonlight. Some slept with funereal stillness. Some stared at the gray void of the ceiling, eyes skull-like in shadow.
No candle or attendant that Callie could see through her sliver of perspective. No door leading to an office either. Only an audience to their nighttime skulking. Unless they’d all been sedated, any one of the novitiates could sound the alarm when she and Miss Kala infiltrated Sister Zanna’s office. Presuming they could find it.
She crouched back down, crawled over to the next window. Same room, different perspective. Sister Zanna had a full house. Callie wondered if she locked them in; she didn’t see any restraints. Silent as statues, no aches, no moans of discomfort. Not a single one clutching breasts swollen with milk. Some unknown influence scared them into compliance, of this she was certain. As outraged as she was, her mission was elsewhere.
A cry split the air. Callie turned in time to see a light dawn in the next window. No blind shuttered it. She crept under its sill, then eased her head up into the lower far corner until one eye peered inside. Six cots, at least one occupied, if the ear-shredding wails were anything to go by. One of the Daughters hurried to scoop the little one up and carried the babe over to a rocking chair, behind which loomed a door with a name plate that read, Midwife.
Then a second babe tested the power of its newborn lungs. Callie also wanted to scream.
With extra care, she made her way back to the outskirts of the conservatory, where Miss Kala hid amongst the shrubbery. Only once they were concealed did she let out a sigh.
“It’s blocked,” Callie whispered. “The only way in is through the infirmary and the nursery.”
“Where the babes are sleeping?”
“Not sleeping, rather. And they’ve a nurse.”
“Blimey. That’s bad luck.”
“I’m afraid we must abort the mission.”
“Can’t see why. More than one way to get in there.”
Callie couldn’t plot her way past a room full of crying babies. But then Miss Kala’s wiles had proven their worth. “What are you thinking?”
“Of a diversion.” She gestured toward a stick and patch of fresh soil. “Draw it for me.”
As Callie dug a rough sketch of the layout, she set her mind to enumerating obstacles, ever the devil’s advocate. She wouldn’t act unless their success was guaranteed.
“Was the window bolted?” Miss Kala asked.
“Unlocked. But it’ll rattle and rail, as ours does.”
She bit her lip, considering. “Might work to our advantage to wake the babes. If there’s a ruckus outside, they’ll be expecting their cries.”
“We must have time to search.” Callie examined her crude drawing. “If their nurse is called away, one of the novitiates might steal the chance to see their child.”
“And you think she’d lag on us?”
“I can hardly say what she’d do. They appeared drugged or... lifeless.”
“Even the Daughters aren’t crazy enough to kill new mothers.” A spark fired her eyes. “But we might be.”
“What?”
“A wolf in the henhouse. That would rile them up. Have the nurse racing to be rid of it and calm them down. Wouldn’t be able to go for help until she did.”
“Interesting. But what would do it? A rock through the window?”
Miss Kala shook her head. “Think high drama, Mr. Bash style.”
“Pity he’s not here.” Callie felt a pang in her chest as she spoke the words. She’d missed Hiero’s unbalancing influence these past few days. She never realized how serious the business of chaos-making could be. “A flaming rock?”
“Near babes? Bit too murderous.”
“That’s the flaw,” Callie sighed. “Anything dangerous risks the children, and anything not is too tame.”
“Quick to surrender, aren’t you?”
“I will admit to not being terribly adept at improvisation. A trick like this would normally take at least an afternoon to plan.”
Miss Kala shrugged. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Which gives the murderer another reprieve from discovery. Not to mention another day in which my mother remains lost, and we remain trapped here.” Callie poked her head above the shrubbery line, scrutinized their surroundings. “We must act now.”
“What about the tallywag in your thatched cottage?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know,” Miss Kala appeared to snicker, “the ploughshare in your Miss Laycock.”
“Are you speaking in tongues?”
“The trouser serpent in your fruitful vine.”
“Speak plain,” Callie groused. “I don’t care to be mocked.”
“Your pistol,” Miss Kala whispered, pointing at Callie’s trouser leg, where the outline of the MAS revolver was indeed visible.
Callie cursed under her breath.
“I thought we’d agreed no one would come to any harm.”
“No one should, unless you’re a naff shot.”
Shooting her a withering look, Callie explained, “Glass won’t stop the trajectory of a bullet. Even should I aim at the ceiling, it might hit someone above or ricochet. And Standish is my last resort.”
Miss Kala cackled. “Standish? You named your pistol Standish?”
“Shh! You’ll give the game away before we can have any fun.” Callie wished she could snuff the flush that reddened her cheeks. “And he’s a revolver, if you must know.”
“Of intimate acquaintance, are you?”
She blushed so fiercely her skin steamed. “Perhaps if you focused your mind on the task at hand and not the gutter, we’d both be in far less trouble.” She glared at Miss Kala’s abdomen to underscore her point.
Which only made her laugh harder.
“I breathe trouble, or so my pops always says.” Miss Kala wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“Then turn yourself to mischief not at my expense. Or do you require discipline for inspiration to strike?”
She chuckled into her arm, pretending to cough. “Figured you for one of that persuasion.”
“Is there a dictionary in which I can reference these allusions of yours?”
“No one’s ever bothered setting them to paper. Too busy practicing, ain’t they?”
Callie let out a long sigh. “I surrender.” She waved a hand in the direction of the infirmary. “Problem. Solve it.”
Tempering her grin, Miss Kala glanced about, muttering, “A wolf, a wolf, my kingdom for a wolf...”
Inspiration struck just as Callie opened her mouth to complain.
“Not just a wolf...” She nudged Miss Kala’s arm, directing her attention to the garden wall across the lawn. “A henhouse.”
Callie relished the thought of recounting the tale to Hiero later as she watched Miss Kala sneak into the chicken coop. After defeating the gate locks with ease, they’d scurried down the garden path, grateful for the silvery moonwash on the pebbles. The untamed half of the garden loomed like a black maw
in the distance. The closer they got, the more Callie envisioned being swallowed up by some invisible predator. She normally didn’t entertain such cut-rate fears, but something unnatural queered the air beyond the brook. She heard the rustle of leaves on a windless night, smelt the undercurrent of death beneath all this fecundity. Had another victim been buried under the tree? If so, the poor soul would have to wait till light of day.
Miss Kala emerged with a burly rooster, his beak clamped in her fist.
“Should we chance taking another?” Callie asked.
“Grab a hen if you’d like. It’s your barmy plan.” Miss Kala wrestled the bird as she slipped through the fence. “But I wouldn’t want to risk her getting hurt. This one’ll kick up enough of a fuss for five, I reckon.”
“They won’t want to harm him. He’s too valuable,” Callie reassured her.
“Likely not, but accidents happen.” Another shrug. “It’s a sound plan and the least dangerous of the lot.”
“Then let’s away.”
They hurried to retrace their steps along the shimmering path. Once through the gate, Miss Kala hugged the wall while Callie fiddled with the locks. Not wanting to risk a sprint across the lawn, they detoured down the width of the garden to the outer wall, then followed it until they could cross to the conservatory without being seen. The light in the nursery had been extinguished, but Callie knew that had no bearing on whether the nurse was still about. Any sane person would kip in the rocking chair between disturbances, but then the Daughters had their peculiar ways.
She caught up to Miss Kala at the shrubs. For long minutes they listened, checking for any reason they should not proceed. Callie pet the rooster’s fiery plumage, marveling at the thunderous beat of its heart. A yellow eye stabbed out through Miss Kala’s brown fingers. Not afraid; furious. He would do.
