“He will search for four young women and their teacher.”
She studied him with renewed interest. “What do you intend, sir?”
“A feat of magic. Once in London you will all disappear.”
“What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
“I will explain in the morning.”
She hesitated. He knew that she was torn between bidding him good night and demanding an explanation.
“Good night, sir,” she said quietly. “I must thank you for your assistance. I am not at all certain that we could have escaped safely without you.”
“I do not doubt for a moment that you would have managed very well on your own, Miss Glade. We have not known each other more than a few hours, but I feel confident in saying that you are, without a doubt, the most resourceful woman I have ever met.”
She nodded, evidently unsure how to take the observation, and started up the steps. He heard a soft
thunk
when the hem of her skirt brushed against the first riser.
“Miss Glade, I cannot help but notice that you seem to clank a bit when you walk,” he said. “I noticed it earlier when your skirts brushed against the door frame. I must admit, I am curious. Is this some new fashion?”
She paused on the staircase and looked back over her shoulder. “Hardly, sir. I knew that once we were away from the castle we would require money to survive. Over the course of the past few weeks, I helped myself to some of the smaller pieces of silver and several other items that appeared to have some value. I sewed them into my skirts.”
He inclined his head, impressed. “A clever trick, Miss Glade. One that is much favored by pickpockets and streetwalkers, I believe.”
She bristled in outrage. “I assure you, I am no common thief, sir.”
What had possessed him to make such a stupid remark? He should
have realized that she would not take it as the compliment he had intended.
“I never meant to imply that you were a thief, Miss Glade,” he said.
But he knew it was too late. The damage had been done.
“I only did what I thought I had to do for the safety and security of my students. It was not as if I had a great deal of choice.”
“I am aware of that. My apologies, Miss Glade.”
“Good night, Mr. Wells.”
She stalked up the stairs, skirts clanking and thudding on every step, and vanished into the shadows.
He went back to the fire and stood looking into it for a long time.
It was plain that the teacher did not hold thieves in the highest regard.
Pity.
He was such a skilled one.
S
he went swiftly down the hall to the door of the inn room. So he considered her little better than a common street thief or a prostitute who robbed her customers. Why should she care what he thought of her? She and Ambrose Wells were two people thrown together by a strange twist of fate. When this situation had been sorted out they would go their separate ways and that would be the end of it.
Just as well, she told herself. If he considered her a thief simply because, under extraordinary circumstances, she had stolen some small items that did not belong to her, what would his opinion be if he were to learn of her unconventional past?
Try to maintain some perspective.
Petty thievery was the least of her sins tonight. She had killed a man.
Her mouth went dry. A vision of Rimpton lying facedown, blood leaking from the grievous wound, rose in front of her like a scene from a nightmare.
She pushed the image out of her mind. A suitable case of shattered
nerves would have to wait for a more convenient occasion. She had other, more important things to concern her now. She must concentrate on taking care of Phoebe, Hannah, Edwina and Theodora.
She entered the small chamber quietly, trying not to disturb Hannah and Phoebe, who shared the room with her.
“There you are, Miss Glade.” Phoebe sat up in the shadows, clutching the bedclothes to her throat. “Hannah and I were quite worried.”
“Yes.” On the other side of the bed, Hannah stirred and pushed herself up on one elbow. “Are you all right, Miss Glade?”
“I am perfectly well, thank you.” She lit the candle on the washstand and started removing the pins from her hair. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”
“Hannah said that Mr. Wells might try to take advantage of you,” Phoebe explained in her usual forthright manner.
“Take
advantage
of me.” Concordia swung around, wincing slightly when she heard her skirts clink against the side of the washstand. “Good heavens, Hannah, whatever were you thinking? I assure you, Mr. Wells was a perfect gentleman.” Aside from that odious remark comparing her cleverness to the tricks of pickpockets and prostitutes, she added silently. But perhaps she was a bit oversensitive tonight.
“Are you certain that he did not try to take any liberties?” Hannah asked anxiously.
“None whatsoever,” she assured her. And immediately wondered why she found that fact oddly depressing.
“Oh.” Hannah sank back against the pillows, evidently disappointed. “I was afraid that perhaps he might expect you to kiss him.”
“Why would he do that?” She unfastened the front hooks of her tight-waisted gown. “We are barely acquainted.”
“Hannah suggested that Mr. Wells might play on your gratitude to make you feel that you owed him a kiss,” Phoebe explained.
“I see.” Concordia stepped out of her gown, relieved to be free of the confining bodice and the weight of the items sewn into the skirts. “No need to concern yourself on that point, Hannah. I am quite certain that Mr. Wells is not the sort to attempt such an ungentlemanly tactic.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Hannah queried.
Concordia considered the question while she hung her gown on one of the hooks set into the wall. Why
was
she so certain that Ambrose Wells would not try to take advantage of a woman?
“For one thing, I doubt that he would find it necessary to impose himself on a lady,” she said eventually. “I cannot imagine that there is any shortage of females who would be more than willing to kiss him quite freely of their own accord.”
“Why would they do that?” Hannah sounded genuinely baffled. “He is not the least bit handsome. Quite fierce-looking, if you ask me. Like a lion or a wolf or some other dangerous beast.”
“And he is old,” Phoebe pointed out, matter-of-factly.
Concordia stared at their candlelit reflections in the mirror, momentarily bereft of speech. Were they talking about the same person? Ambrose Wells was far and away the most compelling man she had ever met in her life.
“Mr. Wells no doubt appears to be entering his dotage to you,
Phoebe, because you are only fifteen years old,” she said, striving to keep her tone light. “I assure you, he is not that much older than me.”
Only a few years at most, she added silently. It was that air of grim, worldly experience combined with cool self-mastery that added the age to his eyes, she thought.
Phoebe drew up her knees beneath the covers and wrapped her arms around them. “Perhaps. But I agree with Hannah. I cannot imagine ladies lining up to kiss him willingly.”
Concordia sat down at the foot of the bed and unlaced her scuffed ankle boots. “Wait until you are a few years older yourself. I have a feeling that you will discover that men like Mr. Wells are not only quite attractive, they are also extremely rare.”
Phoebe’s mouth opened in astonishment. Then she burst into giggles. She clapped one hand across her lips to muffle the sound.
Concordia gave her a quelling glare. “And just what are you laughing at, young lady?”
“You
would
kiss Mr. Wells if he asked you, wouldn’t you?” Phoebe was barely able to contain herself. “I’ll wager you would be one of those ladies standing in line to let him embrace you.”
“Nonsense.” She blew out the candle. “I would not stand in a line to kiss any man, no matter how attractive he happened to be.”
“You really do think that Mr. Wells is handsome,” Hannah said, intrigued now.
“But what if there was no line?” Phoebe asked, methodical in her questioning, as usual. “What if you were the only lady Mr. Wells wished to kiss? Would you allow him to embrace you in that case?”
“Enough.” Concordia used the moonlight to guide her toward the bed. “I declare this ridiculous conversation to be at an end. I refuse to discuss the subject of kissing Mr. Wells any further. Good night, ladies.”
“Good night, Miss Glade,” Hannah whispered.
“Good night, Miss Glade.” Phoebe settled down onto the pillow.
Concordia reached out to pull the quilt aside and slid beneath the sheets.
She sensed the girls drift immediately into sleep. She envied them.
As she had taught herself to do long ago, she forced her thoughts away from the past and concentrated on the future. Circumstances had changed on her tonight. This was certainly not the first time in her life that such a thing had happened. She needed a new plan. As long as she had a plan, she could keep going forward.
But how was she supposed to incorporate Ambrose Wells into a new scheme? His knowledge of the mysterious Alexander Larkin could prove invaluable. It was clear that he had his own goals in this affair, however. What, exactly, did a private inquiry agent do? Who had hired him? Should she continue to entrust the safety of the girls to his care? And if so, for how long?
The soft, hoarse cry from the other side of the bed brought her out of her moonlit reverie.
Hannah sat up suddenly, gasping for air. “No. No, please don’t close the door. Please.”
Phoebe stirred sleepily. “Miss Glade?”
“It’s all right. I’m here.” Concordia was already out of bed.
She moved swiftly around to Hannah’s side, sat down and gathered the nightmare-shocked girl into her arms.
“Calm yourself, Hannah.”
“So dark,” Hannah whispered in the disoriented voice of one who is caught between the world of dreams and full wakefulness. “I’ll be good. Please don’t close the door.”
“Hannah, listen to me.” Concordia patted the girl’s trembling shoulders. “You are not inside the dark place. Look, you can see the moon. There is plenty of light. Shall I open the window?”
Hannah shuddered. “Miss Glade?”
“I am right here. So is Phoebe. All is well.”
“It was the dream,” Hannah mumbled.
“Yes, I know,” Concordia said. “I expect it was brought on by all the excitement tonight. But you are safe now.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Glade.” Hannah blotted her eyes with the edge of the sheet. “I didn’t mean to disturb you and Phoebe.”
“We understand. There is nothing to be concerned about.”
She continued to soothe and calm Hannah until the girl’s breathing returned to normal.
Eventually Hannah lay down on the pillows. Concordia rose and went back to the other side of the bed.
“Miss Glade?” Hannah whispered into the shadows.
“Yes, dear?”
“When we get to London, may I send a message to my friend Joan at the Winslow school? I am very concerned about her. She did not respond to any of the letters I wrote while we were at Aldwick Castle.”
Concordia hesitated, thinking of what Ambrose had said earlier concerning the murderous threat of Alexander Larkin.
“It may not be wise for any of us to contact anyone for a while, Hannah,” she said gently. “Don’t worry, as soon as it is safe to do so, you may contact Joan.”
Phoebe shifted on the pillows. “Are we still in great danger, Miss Glade?”
“We must be careful for a while,” Concordia said, choosing her words. “But we have the assistance of Mr. Wells now and he appears to be extremely competent at dealing with situations such as this.”
“What sort of situation is this, exactly, Miss Glade?” Phoebe asked, predictably curious.
I only wish I knew, Concordia thought. “It is somewhat complicated, Phoebe. But we will manage, never fear. Now try to get some sleep.”
She lay quietly for a long time, listening to the steady, quiet breathing of her companions. When she was certain that Hannah and Phoebe were both asleep again, she closed her eyes.
. . . And saw Rimpton on his knees, trying to get back to his feet. He still held the gun. There was something very wrong with the back of his head. . . .
She awakened with a start, aware that her pulse was pounding.
There was someone in the corridor outside the room. She was not certain what had alerted her, but she could feel the presence on the other side of the closed door.
Ambrose, she thought. It had to be him.
About time he came upstairs to bed, she thought. She hoped he had
not spent the past hour getting drunk on the innkeeper’s sherry. But even as the notion occurred to her, she set it aside. She had seen enough of him tonight to be quite certain that he was not so lacking in self-restraint. In any event, he had not had so much as a single glass of the stuff earlier when he had served it to her.
She waited for the opening and closing of his bedroom door, but there was only silence. What was he doing? Why didn’t he go into his room?
What if she was mistaken? Perhaps it was someone else hovering out there in the hall. Another guest? Edwina or Theodora?
Perhaps one of the men from the castle had managed to follow them, after all.
Fear knifed through her with the force of an electrical shock. She stared very hard at the razor-thin crack of grayish light beneath the door.
For a second or two she was frozen, unable to move or breathe.
With an effort of will she managed to slide out from under the quilts. Neither of the two sleeping girls stirred.
The room had grown very cold, but she could feel the icy trickle of perspiration under her arms. She found her eyeglasses and put them on. Then she made her way to her cloak and fumbled briefly in one of the pockets. Her fingers finally closed around the handle of Rimpton’s revolver. She withdrew it quietly.
When she reached the door, she paused again. Whoever he was, he was still there. She could literally feel his presence.
It had to be Ambrose, she thought. But she would not be able to relax until she made certain of it.
Easing the bolt aside, she opened the door a bare inch.