Patricia Rice (33 page)

A cynical smile crossed Morgan’s lips as he watched
the approach of a stout man in feathered hat and gold braid. He knew who
the man was; his brief time in gaol had taught him that. The fact that
the man had set his beady eyes on Morgan did not bode well, but he could
always kill the bloody rogue if he didn’t like what he said. If rumor
held fact, the feathered macaroni had his hands on the biggest crime
network in the history of London. What interest could he find in a lone
Irish highwayman?

He was not to hear immediately. James O’Neill was
summoned to the bench, and the guard jerked Morgan’s chains, shoving him
toward the stairs. His time had come.

***

“There ’e is, that one talking to the bloke in the
feathery ’at. Fine figure of a man, must ’ave paid well to keep that
fancy shirt on his back. Look at ’im! Mean as any they come, I’d say.
Want me to fetch ’im for ye?”

Edward grimaced in distaste at the sidewalk urchin.
“Scarcely. Where’s your employer? Why isn’t Watson here? And why in
bloody hell is that bastard out on the street? Shouldn’t he be in
chains?”

The grimy boy shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Don’t
keep up with Watson. Now, the bloke on the rattlin’ lay, he’s out on the
street ’cause some fancy man got ’im off. I wouldn’t mind workin’ for
the likes o’ ’im. Bejesus iffen ’e don’t seem fine. There’s coins there,
mind you. And if ’es’s paired up with the thief-taker general, then
there’s accountin’ for the coin.”

Edward let this idle blather pass on by, not caring
to decipher the cant. The highwayman was out on the street and not in
chains, and Watson was nowhere to be seen. His choler rose to
detrimental proportions, but there was one chance left. Pulling a coin
from his purse, he held it out to the ragged urchin. “Here, boy. There’s
more where this came from if you follow the highwayman and report back
to me. Find out where he stays, whom he meets with. Do you understand?”

The boy’s eyes grew round at the sight of the coin.
Everyone knew where the general went. And the highwayman was walking off
in his company now. The boy bobbed his head, grabbed the coin, and took
off at a run.

* * *

Miles Golden waited in a fury for his client to come
out of the meeting with the biggest piece of scum to walk the face of
London. When Morgan finally appeared, cordially shaking hands with the
oily scoundrel, Miles had half a mind to walk off and leave him there.
But there was the matter of a certain lady waiting in lonely rooms for
the cad’s arrival, and for her sake the attorney lingered.

“What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
Miles spat out as Morgan sauntered over. “The general has his hand in
every scam and shady undertaking in the city. They say he trains
children to steal from the time they’re old enough to walk. And any who
dare try to escape his hold end up on the gallows. I get you out of
Newgate to let you fall into the hands of scum like that?”

Morgan began striding toward a well-lighted tavern
spilling drunken laughter and riotous music. “It is more a matter of the
other way around, if the truth be told, but you needn’t concern
yourself. I owe you a tidy sum for whatever you did to buy off that
Runner. Reckon my accounts, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cold fury got the better of him. and Miles grabbed
Morgan’s coat sleeve and jerked him around. “Aren’t you forgetting
something?”

Morgan raised a black eyebrow. “Am I?”

Now Miles understood how Faith had felt when she
punched the bastard in the stomach. The urge was great, but Miles had
learned patience the hard way, and he exerted it now. “You have a wife
waiting to hear how you fared. If you do not appear, she will think you
on the way to the gallows. And if I am not mistaken, you do not know
where to find her. Shouldn’t you let me take you there first?”

Morgan shook his arm free, and his gaze was fierce
as it focused on his attorney. “For her own good, let’s leave it that
way, shall we? Let her think me dead, if you wish. I’d advise her to
leave the city, if I were you. She has a curiosity about the colonies
that you might encourage. You haven’t touched her money in my affair,
have you?”

The week of tension finally erupted. Not a large man
or a strong one, Miles seldom engaged in fisticuffs, but words were
inadequate to express his rage. His awkward swing had only the advantage
of surprise. His fist connected sharply with Morgan’s jaw, but the
highwayman merely staggered backward.

“You may have your accounts in the morning, de Lacy,
and then you can go to hell.” Miles turned around and stalked away,
leaving the Irishman to stare after him, hand to jaw.

Faith nearly cried when the footsteps finally
sounded on the stairs below. She rushed to the narrow mirror to check
her hair, straightened her kerchief, and glanced around the room to be
certain all was in order. The two tiny rooms were scarcely large enough
to hold Morgan, but they were clean and fresh, and they would be here
only a little while. She tried not to look at the newly made bed. It was
small, but adequate for their means. She put her hands over the blush
that rose to her cheeks. She was a wife now. It was unseemly to blush.

She nearly danced to the door, throwing it open
before the footsteps reached the landing. That Miles came first
surprised her, but she gave him a smile and looked eagerly over his
shoulder for some sign of Morgan. The candle in her visitor’s hand
revealed only shadows, empty shadows. Faith died a little inside as she
turned her gaze slowly back to the solicitor.

Miles gestured for her to go back into the room, and
he followed with halting step. The room was illuminated by a lantern
and a branch of candles, and he rubbed his sore knuckles as he absorbed
the small signs of welcome she had prepared. A bouquet of marguerites
brightened the table under the window. Morgan’s clean clothing lay
pressed and ready on a chair. A few pieces of coal burned in the grate
to chase away the damp.

His gaze returned to the woman who had prepared all
this, and he could tell she had made no exception for herself. Her hair
gleamed with brushing, her kerchief and gown were spotless and arranged
just a little more provocatively than was her custom. The smile that had
been on her lips just a moment ago still strained to remain in place.
His heart ached in despair.

“Where is he?” Faith whispered.

“He’s not coming.” Miles’s voice was flat as he circled the room, locating a small decanter of wine and helping himself.

“Not coming?” She sounded weak and foolish even to herself, but she could think of no other words.

“He has some idea it would be better if you didn’t see him again.”

“Not see him again?” She was beginning to sound like
a parrot. Faith tried again. “He is free? He’s not in that terrible
place anymore? What happened?”

Miles took a drink and stared at the coals. “The
witness did not appear, and the judge let him go. All the fees have been
paid, and he is free. The last I saw of him, he was heading for a
tavern.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say to that. Faith
had known he had another life and that London was part of it. Morgan
might very well have a mistress here. He had never promised to be
faithful. He had not wanted their marriage. It had simply been an
expedient solution to a difficult problem.

He owed her nothing. Why had she thought that they
had something special? He had never said the words. He had just used her
because she was convenient, and offered to marry her to keep her happy.

She had known that. Why did she feel as if she were dead or dying and that the sun would never rise again?

“I see.” Faith picked up another wineglass and held
it out. Miles filled it for her, and she sipped at the rich liquid as
she tried to pull together her shattered illusions.

“Morgan wished me to look after you. He said
something about your wishing to go to the colonies. I can arrange that,
or if you prefer, I can make meet with your family and sound out their
intentions. Perhaps they are only interested in finding you for your
safety’s sake.”

Faith responded as if she hadn’t heard him. “Did you
know my father was shot? Miners can’t afford guns. I shouldn’t think
the squire or vicar or any of the shopkeepers would have been there at
dawn. Who do you think would want to shoot my father? He was harmless.
He never hurt anyone.”

Miles felt his stomach wrench. Cautiously he set her
glass aside and took her hands. “That was a long time ago, Faith. We
have to think about now. I hate to leave you alone like this. Shall I
call your landlady?”

Faith pulled free. “You have done what I asked of
you. You may go home now with an easy conscience. Have you seen Toby?
Will he come again?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I know what you plan. I
want to make arrangements to see you to safety. Perhaps you would like
to live in a village instead of London. I can have someone look for a
suitable house and arrange for your quarterly interest to be sent to
you. I’ll see to having your marriage annulled. I’m not certain of its
legality in any case. You can look about and find some suitable young
man. It would be better if you went about in society, but if you fear
your family...”

Faith wasn’t really listening. Her thoughts were in a
small cottage in a forest where she had known some of the happiest days
of her life. A poor life it must have been for those to be her happiest
days, but she had been content. Morgan had filled her with life and
love and laughter.

“If you can find Toby, I’d like to go home. I
suppose the mare has been sold. Is it possible to hire a horse? Or I
could walk. The days aren’t very chilly yet.”

Miles drained his glass. “I’ll send Toby to you as
soon as he appears. Get some sleep, and I’ll be back in the morning.
Perhaps Morgan will have come to his senses by then. I’ll have Mrs.
Thwaite send Mary up here.”

Faith scarcely noticed when he left. If Mary
arrived, she didn’t notice that either. She went into the bedroom and
closed the door. She lay down on the bed she had meant to share with
Morgan. And she stared at the ceiling until her eyes couldn’t stay open
any longer.

Then she slept like one of the dead until Toby pounded on the door the next morning.

She ignored Toby’s arguments. Nothing anyone
suggested felt right. She needed to go back to the cottage, back to the
place where she and Morgan had been happy. He
had
been happy, she knew it. He couldn’t find her here in London. If he changed his mind, he would look for her at the cottage.

Faith came out of her daze long enough to give Toby a
look of surprise at the mare he held for her when they came down to the
street. Morgan’s mare. Her lifted eyebrows spoke what her words did
not.

Toby shrugged with embarrassment. “I didn’t sell
her. Morgan didn’t ask. She’s a lovely thing. It seemed a shame to let
some big brute buy and ruin her.”

Faith ran her hand over Dolly’s high, arched neck
and mane, and the Arabian blew a soft breath and nuzzled her gently. Not
everything was black, then. With tears in her eyes, Faith accepted
Toby’s assistance and gained the animal’s back. If she could only hold
on to this one small part of Morgan, perhaps someday she would hold the
rest.

The notion of ever holding Morgan in her arms again
brought new tears, and she took the reins and hurriedly started down the
road. She would go mad to think like that.

She would have to take one day at a time. Staring at
the teeming multitude of people swarming the streets of London, Faith
wondered where in all this huge city Morgan was, but she refused to
wonder why he had done this to her. She understood what no one had said.
Morgan had gone back to a life of theft. He wouldn’t give up his
revenge for her.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I have done everything within
my power to find her, but every trace has disappeared. Even the Runner I
relied upon to help me in my search has failed me. The highwayman has
not led me to his wife, and certainly not to anyone who might be
George’s daughter.”

Edward didn’t mention the bank account that he and
Thomas had set up to entice either the highwayman or the heiress to
appear. The money was gone, spirited away by tribes of lawyers and legal
paperwork. He still had a solicitor following the paper trail, but he
already knew where the bank’s copies of the heiress’s papers had gone.
Or had a strong suspicion.

Lady Carlisle held up her chin and tapped her
fingers on her walking stick as she gazed in the direction of the draped
windows. “I thank you for your efforts, Edward. I’m not quite certain
how this highwayman became involved in your tale, but I’m certain you
meant well. I think your father might be right. We should begin in
Cornwall and trace her from there.”

In his high-backed chair in the corner, the marquess
gave a grunt and rubbed at his foot. “Wesley has been worse than
useless. None of his pious followers admit to having seen a hair of the
girl. We’d best start facing up to the facts, Lettice. She’s gone.
Wherever or however, she’s disappeared, and we’re not likely to find her
after all this time.”

The lady paled beneath her papery skin, but she
continued clinging to her walking stick. “I won’t give up, Harry. She’s
all I have left to live for. I will find her, if I must go to Cornwall
myself.”

For once, father and son exchanged mutual looks of
agreement. The marquess was the one to step forward and offer his hand
to the lady. “Lettice, you look tired. Why don’t you go home and get
some rest? You know we will let you know as soon as we have some news.”

Looking down her nose, Lady Carlisle disdained his
hand. “I am not an idiot, Harry. If someone has murdered my
granddaughter, I want to know. Just tell me the truth, and perhaps
someday I can get a little sleep.”