The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 69
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“What’cha doing ‘ere, Mrs. A? I ‘ear you married a right nob and live in a palace now.”
“News travels fast.”
“What d’you expect? An interesting bit of gab like that goes ‘round.” She winked at Daniel. “Did ye bring ‘im so I could make a man of ‘im?”
Daniel went beet red. “You watch your tongue.”
“Ooh, ye scare me, little boy, ye truly do.”
Beth stepped between them. “Daniel, hush. He’s protecting me, Molly. The streets are dangerous.”^ “Are they now? I’m all amazed. So why’d ye come?” “To ask you something.”
Beth drew Molly a little way away from Daniel and Katie. She pressed a few coins into Molly’s palm and asked her questions.
“I don’t know much,” Molly said. “Too la-di-da for me. But I have a pal I can ask. She married one of her flats and is rich and cushy now. She’s a bit la-di-da, herself, but not a bad sort.”
Beth brought out more coins and told Molly what she needed to know. Molly listened, then winked. “Right you are, missus.” She tucked the money firmly into her corset. “You leave it to me.”
The train down to London took far too long. Ian paced the length of it, unable to sit. Cameron hunkered into a corner of their train carriage, read sporting newspapers, and smoked cigars. Ian found the smoke cloying and spent considerable time on the back platform with one of the conductors. He watched the track unfold behind them, but the evenness of the ties and the smooth curve of the rail didn’t soothe his mood.
When the train at last pulled into Euston Station, Ian leapt off and shouldered his way through the crowd and whistled for a hansom cab. He waited inside it for Cameron and Curry, closing the curtains against eyes that watched him. He directed the coach to Belgrave Square, knowing Beth would have returned there. Mrs. Barrington’s house had been a haven for her once, and Beth liked havens. Fog swirled into the city as they reached the elegant square, dirty fog that brought darkness early. Ian had grown used to the light days of the Scottish summer, and the fog felt oily and heavy.
He pounded on the front door with gloved fists, not waiting for Curry to ring the bell. He pounded until an ancient specimen of a butler opened the door a crack and creakily asked his business.
Ian shoved the door open and strode inside. “Where is she?”
The butler shrank back. “Out. May I inquire who is calling?” Cameron caught the door before the butler could shut it, and Curry followed with the bags.
“This is her husband,” Cameron said. “Where is she out?” The old man had to crank his head back to gaze up at them. “I heard her say the East End. There’s thieves and murderers there, my lord, and she only took the lad with her.” “Daniel?” Cameron barked a laugh. “Poor woman. We’d best find her.”
Ian had already left the house. Another hansom pulled up behind the one that had brought him, and before it stopped, Daniel’s long body slid out of it. His narrow face took on a look of dismay when he saw Ian.
Ian pushed past him and reached into the cab for Beth. He heard her words, saying something about paying the fare, but Curry could do that. He lifted Beth out, not liking how the fog tried to snake its way around her. “Ian,” she began. “What will the neighbors say?” Ian didn’t give a damn what the neighbors said. He clamped one arm around her waist and took her inside. Mrs. Barrington’s house smelled old and musty and airless. The close odors tried to swallow Beth’s lavender like scent, as though the house wanted to squeeze her back into the drudgery from which she’d come.
“If you are dragging me off to my bedroom,” Beth said as they reached the top of the stairs, “perhaps you should ask me which one it is.”
Ian didn’t care which was hers, but he let her lead him. The bedchamber she took him to was small and papered in a hideous print of gigantic pansies. It had a large four-poster bed, a dresser near the window, and a wooden chair.. The drapes hid any light the London day might produce. The hiss of gas lamps and their fusty odor completed the drab picture. “This is a servant’s room,” Ian growled.
“I was a servant. A companion occupies a gray area, like a governess. Not quite a menial, not quite one of the family.” Ian lost the thread of her words. He turned the key beneath the porcelain doorknob and came to her. “The butler said you went to the East End.”
“I did. I was making inquiries.”
“About what?”
“About what do you think, my dear Ian?” Beth unwound the silk scarf she’d worn against the fog and stripped off her gloves.
“You sent a telegram to Fellows.”
Her color rose. “Yes, I—“
“I told you to leave it. He can’t be trusted.”
“I wanted to know everything he knew. Perhaps he’d found something out you hadn’t.”
Ian’s rage tasted like dust. “So you saw him. You met him.”
“Yes, he came here.”
“He came here.”
“You refused to tell me anything. What could I do?” “Don’t you understand? If you find out too much, I can’t protect you. You could be transported, or hanged, if you know too much.”
“Why on earth would I be transported because your brother’s friend Stephenson or his mistress Mrs. Palmer murdered a . . . “ She trailed off, her face going still.
“News travels fast.”
“What d’you expect? An interesting bit of gab like that goes ‘round.” She winked at Daniel. “Did ye bring ‘im so I could make a man of ‘im?”
Daniel went beet red. “You watch your tongue.”
“Ooh, ye scare me, little boy, ye truly do.”
Beth stepped between them. “Daniel, hush. He’s protecting me, Molly. The streets are dangerous.”^ “Are they now? I’m all amazed. So why’d ye come?” “To ask you something.”
Beth drew Molly a little way away from Daniel and Katie. She pressed a few coins into Molly’s palm and asked her questions.
“I don’t know much,” Molly said. “Too la-di-da for me. But I have a pal I can ask. She married one of her flats and is rich and cushy now. She’s a bit la-di-da, herself, but not a bad sort.”
Beth brought out more coins and told Molly what she needed to know. Molly listened, then winked. “Right you are, missus.” She tucked the money firmly into her corset. “You leave it to me.”
The train down to London took far too long. Ian paced the length of it, unable to sit. Cameron hunkered into a corner of their train carriage, read sporting newspapers, and smoked cigars. Ian found the smoke cloying and spent considerable time on the back platform with one of the conductors. He watched the track unfold behind them, but the evenness of the ties and the smooth curve of the rail didn’t soothe his mood.
When the train at last pulled into Euston Station, Ian leapt off and shouldered his way through the crowd and whistled for a hansom cab. He waited inside it for Cameron and Curry, closing the curtains against eyes that watched him. He directed the coach to Belgrave Square, knowing Beth would have returned there. Mrs. Barrington’s house had been a haven for her once, and Beth liked havens. Fog swirled into the city as they reached the elegant square, dirty fog that brought darkness early. Ian had grown used to the light days of the Scottish summer, and the fog felt oily and heavy.
He pounded on the front door with gloved fists, not waiting for Curry to ring the bell. He pounded until an ancient specimen of a butler opened the door a crack and creakily asked his business.
Ian shoved the door open and strode inside. “Where is she?”
The butler shrank back. “Out. May I inquire who is calling?” Cameron caught the door before the butler could shut it, and Curry followed with the bags.
“This is her husband,” Cameron said. “Where is she out?” The old man had to crank his head back to gaze up at them. “I heard her say the East End. There’s thieves and murderers there, my lord, and she only took the lad with her.” “Daniel?” Cameron barked a laugh. “Poor woman. We’d best find her.”
Ian had already left the house. Another hansom pulled up behind the one that had brought him, and before it stopped, Daniel’s long body slid out of it. His narrow face took on a look of dismay when he saw Ian.
Ian pushed past him and reached into the cab for Beth. He heard her words, saying something about paying the fare, but Curry could do that. He lifted Beth out, not liking how the fog tried to snake its way around her. “Ian,” she began. “What will the neighbors say?” Ian didn’t give a damn what the neighbors said. He clamped one arm around her waist and took her inside. Mrs. Barrington’s house smelled old and musty and airless. The close odors tried to swallow Beth’s lavender like scent, as though the house wanted to squeeze her back into the drudgery from which she’d come.
“If you are dragging me off to my bedroom,” Beth said as they reached the top of the stairs, “perhaps you should ask me which one it is.”
Ian didn’t care which was hers, but he let her lead him. The bedchamber she took him to was small and papered in a hideous print of gigantic pansies. It had a large four-poster bed, a dresser near the window, and a wooden chair.. The drapes hid any light the London day might produce. The hiss of gas lamps and their fusty odor completed the drab picture. “This is a servant’s room,” Ian growled.
“I was a servant. A companion occupies a gray area, like a governess. Not quite a menial, not quite one of the family.” Ian lost the thread of her words. He turned the key beneath the porcelain doorknob and came to her. “The butler said you went to the East End.”
“I did. I was making inquiries.”
“About what?”
“About what do you think, my dear Ian?” Beth unwound the silk scarf she’d worn against the fog and stripped off her gloves.
“You sent a telegram to Fellows.”
Her color rose. “Yes, I—“
“I told you to leave it. He can’t be trusted.”
“I wanted to know everything he knew. Perhaps he’d found something out you hadn’t.”
Ian’s rage tasted like dust. “So you saw him. You met him.”
“Yes, he came here.”
“He came here.”
“You refused to tell me anything. What could I do?” “Don’t you understand? If you find out too much, I can’t protect you. You could be transported, or hanged, if you know too much.”
“Why on earth would I be transported because your brother’s friend Stephenson or his mistress Mrs. Palmer murdered a . . . “ She trailed off, her face going still.
