A Lady in the Smoke (26 page)

“I never meant to.” I drew back from her embrace. “How did they found out I wasn't at Anne's?”

“One of the grooms at Reynolds Hall saw the horse and gig at the station, m'lady. And then he saw you, dressed peculiar.”

I tugged at the fastening of my cloak and dropped it on a chair. “And so of course he had to announce it to the world.”

Sally said nothing, only sighed and began to help me with my dress.

I woke to the sound of knocking.

As I sat up, the door opened to reveal my aunt. “Good morning, Elizabeth.” Her voice was quiet and controlled.

“Good morning, Aunt.”

“Your uncle and I are leaving for London shortly, and we need to speak with you before we go. I'll send Sally to help you dress.”

She did not wait for me to respond but merely closed the door behind her with a click. I pushed the bedclothes aside and went to the dressing table to brush out my hair. With dismay, I stared at my reflection. James had said last night that I wasn't acting myself; but I didn't look myself either. I had dark circles under my eyes, as if I'd been ill; my cheeks were pasty; my lips pale. With a sigh, I turned away and went to the armoire to choose a dress.

Another knock at the door and Sally entered, looking apologetic. “Beg pardon, m'lady. Your aunt sent me.”

“It's all right, Sally. Is she in the breakfast room?”

“No, m'lady. In the parlor.” I'd already donned my dress; Sally's hands did up the back buttons with her usual gentle efficiency. “And your uncle's with her.”

I understood as well as she did what that meant. The breakfast room had an open lattice vent into the kitchen; the parlor did not. My aunt anticipated a conversation with me that she did not want servants to overhear. And though my uncle was kind, he'd side with my aunt in whatever she said.

When I reached the parlor, they were already seated beside each other on the couch. My uncle looked sober and overtly uncomfortable, whereas my aunt appeared outwardly calm, but the lines around her mouth were strained.

“Good morning,” I said as I shut the door.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” my uncle said.

My aunt gestured toward the chair opposite. “Please sit down.”

I did.

My aunt laid her hands deliberately on the chair arms and began. “James has impressed upon us the fact that you didn't go to London frivolously. You went because you thought you could help him and Mr. Wilcox.”

I felt some gratitude toward my cousin for trying to shield me. “Is James still here?”

“No. He took the first train down,” my uncle said.

“But,”
my aunt continued, “that doesn't change the fact that you lied to me about being at Anne's. And that you went somewhere very dangerous.”

I fixed my eyes on the rose scrolls in the rug. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“Frankly, Elizabeth, I'm very concerned about you—and not just because of last night.” She spoke without anger, and I looked up to find her brow furrowed with what seemed to be genuine concern. “I had a letter from Lady Thurling, and she said that you were quite the subject of gossip at the Travers Inn after the accident.”

I stared. “How could she know anything about that?”

“Her maidservant was on the train. She was taken to the Travers Inn, just like you were.” She gave a deprecatory shrug. “Now, I know that Lady Thurling is a horrible gossip, and she loves to make things sound worse than they are, but when I asked Jane about your conduct in Travers, even she admitted that you behaved strangely. And ever since you've come home, you seem to be growing more reckless. First you went riding Athena into the back of beyond for hours—in the rain, no less—and no one had any idea where you'd gone, not even Martin. And last night, you ran off to London disguised as a servant-girl!” She leaned forward. “Honestly, doesn't this all sound peculiar to you? Don't you think it shows a want of discretion and—and—self-possession—and common sense?”

I felt my cheeks grow hot. “But there were legitimate reasons for all of it! And you're not remembering the times I behaved prudently. I'm the one who pulled Mama out of a train wreck and took care of her until Jane arrived. What does that demonstrate, if not common sense and self-possession? If I've behaved peculiarly these past few weeks, it was in the name of helping people—of trying to do some
good
—”

“But there are ways to do some good without causing detriment to yourself,” she broke in. “If James hadn't found you last night, what would have happened?”

“I'd have taken the train home, just as easily as I took it there,” I retorted.

“Taken the train home, alone, arriving the following day?” She looked horrified. “Good lord, Elizabeth! A month ago, I would have sworn that you'd never do such a thing. But now, I begin to wonder—given the chance—what
would
you do?”

My uncle made a small movement, and I caught his eye. He was telegraphing a message:
Keep still
.
If you argue, it'll be worse.

I bit my lip and remained quiet.

My aunt continued in a calmer tone. “We have to leave for London this morning, and we'll be away until late tomorrow evening or first thing Friday. You will stay here, quietly, at Kellham Park, until we return. Then we will talk about where you might go.”

“Where I might go?” I repeated, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean?”

Two spots of red appeared in my uncle's cheeks, and he fidgeted with the gold chain on his pocket watch.

My aunt answered, “We are thinking that it would be best for you to travel.”

“Just for a while,” my uncle muttered, giving me a sideways glance.

My heart thumped. “Travel where?”

“Well, the Lowells are taking a trip to the Lake Country—” my uncle began.

“We're not sure yet,” my aunt interrupted. “Somewhere you can clear your head, calm your nerves, and recover your equilibrium.”

“It needn't be for long,” my uncle said. “Just to give you a change of scenery.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “You think that shuffling me off somewhere is the solution?”

“Elizabeth!” My aunt's voice rose again.

I clamped my mouth closed.

My uncle leaned forward, his expression earnest. “You understand the seriousness of what you did, don't you? That we're only trying to help?”

I forced the words from my mouth: “Yes, Uncle.”

My aunt's fingers twitched at her skirt. “Now, can you promise us that you will stay here at Kellham Park for the next forty-eight hours, so we needn't worry about you?”

I met her gaze. “Yes, Aunt. I promise.”

She looked relieved.

“May I ride?” I tried to make my voice polite, but the request came out stiffly. “Even James told me he thought it would be a wise idea to spend time with Athena.”

“Not until we get back,” my aunt replied.

I felt a rising desperation. “May I walk out of doors?”

“Of course you may.” My aunt grimaced as she stood up. “We're not imprisoning you; don't turn this into some sort of evil fairy tale. I'd like you to remember that it's your behavior that has led us here.”

My uncle laid a hand on my shoulder on his way to the door. At the threshold, my aunt turned back. Her face was more sorry than angry, and the furrow appeared again between her brows. “Elizabeth, it gives me no pleasure to do this. But I'm worried for you.”

Her words struck me as honest, and they struck home. I felt a lump forming in my throat.

I'm worried for me, too,
I thought. My lips parted to confess it out loud.

But before I could reply, they were gone, and I was left alone.

The next morning, Mr. Flynn came to Kellham Park.

I went to the parlor to find him standing at the window, staring out, his hands in the pockets of his coat. He looked very much the way he had that day in Travers, when he'd come to ask me about my father being on the board of the London-Redfield.

How much had happened since then.

“Mr. Flynn.”

He turned and nodded a greeting. “James told me that you're not allowed to come to Travers anymore.”

“No, I'm not,” I said shortly.

He merely gave me a look. “Be sensible. I had to let him know, and you had to go home. But for what it's worth, you've been a tremendous help to me—and to Paul—the last few weeks.”

Surprised and somewhat mollified, I gestured to a chair. “Please sit down,” I said. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

He shook his head. “I haven't time. I'm on my way to Travers, but I have something to tell you—and something to ask you.”

I saw from his manner that he wouldn't sit, but I did. “All right. But first, were you able to find any of the railway listings?”

“No”—flatly. “But I found out that as of two days ago, Hayes's companies own something upward of forty-six percent of the Great Southeastern stock.”

I gasped and sat back in the chair, my mind reeling. “So Paul was right! They're going to try to take it over. Like the Great Southeastern took over the London-Redfield.”

He nodded. “Once they own it, they can do all sorts of things—change out the board members, modernize it, issue stock, add branch lines…”

“No wonder they need a lawyer.”

“Yes, I'm sure Poole's been advising them the whole time.” He gave a look of disgust, not for Hayes and the rest, but for himself. “I can't believe it took me so long to realize what they were doing. I simply didn't think one man could accumulate all those shares without the board members realizing it. But I should've known. Hayes hid his name, and when he met with resistance, he found ways to convince them to sell.”

“What sorts of ways?”

“His usual. Blackmail, influence, bribes.” His voice was bitter. “Nothing anyone will admit to openly, of course.”

If he were anyone else, I'd have tried to say something comforting. But the set of his jaw warned me that it would only annoy him. Instead, I asked, “Will Hayes control more than fifty percent of the stock by next Friday, when Parliament is making their decision?”

“I'm guessing he already does.” He came to the chair opposite mine and sat down. “But—well, there's something else. And you're not going to like it.”

I held my breath and waited for him to continue.

“I have it on good authority,” he said slowly, “that Lord Shaw is involved in the takeover—and not in a small way. He and Hayes have been in it together, maybe even from the very beginning.”

My visit to Shadwell Manor—Lord Shaw's civility, even friendliness—flashed through my mind, and when I replied, my voice was faint. “Are you certain?”

He nodded. “And the rumors about your fortune that were circulating? He may have had something to do with them too.”

I stared, openmouthed.

“Apparently he mentioned you over a game of whist at White's.” He paused. “That's his club.”

“Yes, I know,” I whispered. White's, the oldest club in London, for aristocrats only, had been my father's club as well.

He leaned forward. “I've heard that your father and Lord Shaw fought about the railway, and that Lord Shaw was ousted from the board, probably under your father's guidance. But do you know of any other reason Lord Shaw would have resented him?”

My heart gave a thud, and for a moment, it felt as if the whole silent room—the paintings, the chairs, the volumes on the shelves—was waiting for my answer.

“You can't use this,” I said softly.

He shook his head. “I swear, I won't.”

I took a breath. “After my younger brother died, back in '58, Lord Shaw was away in Scotland a good deal, and…and my father began having relations with Lady Shaw. I don't know if Lord Shaw knows. But if he does…”

A look of comprehension tinged with disgust spread over his face, and he took a deep breath in. “I see.”

Mortified, I looked away, feeling my cheeks grow hotter with each passing second.

“Is there any other reason you can think of?” he asked.

My eyes jerked back to him. “For god's sake, isn't that one enough?”

“Hm.” He chewed at his lip. “Now I want you to tell me as much as you can remember about your conversation with Lord Shaw. Every word, every gesture.”

I gave a hollow little laugh. “I'm not sure it'll be much use. He was deceiving me the entire time.”

“Still, people reveal things without meaning to. You know that. It's my guess he's angry enough that something must have slipped out. Did he say
anything
that struck you as peculiar, or that seemed to have too much feeling behind it—or not enough?”

I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. “I don't know. I was feeling so guilty because of what my father had done to him, and so grateful that he was being civil, that I probably misread everything.” I put my head up. “Why on earth didn't he simply tell his butler he wasn't home?”

“Because he had a reason to see you,” Mr. Flynn replied.

“Do you mean curiosity?”

“I think he saw an opportunity to find out what you knew.”

Cringing at the thought, I put myself back in Lord Shaw's parlor, tried to recall our exact words and Lord Shaw's expressions, and relayed them to Mr. Flynn as well as I could. I concluded: “The last thing he said was that he didn't pay much attention to the railway question but that Parliament should do everything they could to stop accidents. Then he told me he had an appointment, walked me to the door, and asked me to give my mother his best. And I left.”

He sat silently, turning it all over in his head. Finally, he said, “When you first told me about visiting Lord Shaw, you mentioned that bit about the marshland. So I looked into it.”

“Oh?”

“It was his.” He jerked his head toward the window. “He owns a large parcel of land about sixty miles south of here, right where the River Lyle cuts to the west. The railway had two choices for laying the track at that point: they could either buy the marshland from Lord Shaw and fill it in, or they could buy Foxe's land and build a bridge. They bought Foxe's land—even though it was almost fifty percent more expensive. Your father steered that purchase, and Lord Shaw took out a second mortgage on his Scotland estate three days later.”

“Oh.” The monosyllable came out in a gasp. “So my father directed the railway money away from Lord Shaw just when he desperately needed it.”

He nodded. “I think so.”

So I hadn't misremembered their mutual animosity, after all. Lord Shaw must have hated my father as much as my father hated him. Even if Lord Shaw never knew about my father making love to his wife, each man felt the other had injured him terribly.

After a moment, Mr. Flynn put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to standing. “Be careful, all right? I've no idea if Lord Shaw could—or would—do anything to hurt you, but my guess is that he still bears a grudge.”

I grimaced. “You be careful, too—just in case he was paying attention when I mentioned the newspaperman at Travers, and they found out who you were.”

He gave a shrug. “I think it's safe to assume they did.”

I stared up at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Threatening letters at the
Falcon.
And some strange men lurking near my door the last two nights. I've been staying somewhere else.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Oh, god. I'm sorry.”

“It's no matter. I'm fine.” His expression turned bleak. “But Paul's trial is on Monday, and I just don't know what else I can do.”

His hopelessness pained me. And I came closer to blurting out what I knew about Felix Benedict's opium addiction than I'd ever come before.

But I bit my lower lip and kept silent.

And after a moment, he gave a sigh and walked out of the room.