Susan Carroll (42 page)

“My cousin appears to have disordered your
reason, Sara. You sound ready to embrace his causes yourself.”

“No, I am only interested in embracing him.
That is the difficulty. Nick imagines me to be this respectable
widow, an angel of mercy to the poor and destitute, ready to march
at his side to right the wrongs of the world. And I will march if
he wants me to, but I live in dread of him finding out who and what
I really am.”

“And that is why you came to see me.”

Sara nodded. She reached out to clutch at
Mandell's arm. “I beg you, my lord. Maintain your silence. Don't
tell him anything you know of my past. Give me the chance to make
him happy.”

She spoke quietly, the strength of her plea
in the luminous depths of her eyes. Mandell hesitated and then
covered her hand with his own. “It is an odd thing, but I believe
you do love Drummond, that you will make him a good wife, far
better than any proper lady with only birth and breeding to
recommend her”

Sara gaped at him. “Did such a remark
actually come from you, my lord?”

“Astonishingly, it did.” Mandell gave her a
wry smile. He pressed Sara's hand and returned it to her. “Set
aside your fears. Drummond will never hear anything ill of you from
me. On the contrary, I wish you both great joy.”

“Are you sure you are feeling quite well,
Mandell? The most I had hoped for was an uneasy truce between us
for Nick's sake. I never imagined you would give me your
blessing.”

“My blessing would not be worth much, but I
will give you some advice. We were discreet, Sara, but this is
London, after all. Someone had to know of our previous connection,
some avid gossip who will take delight in whispering the tidings in
Nick's ear. You would be better off telling him yourself, along
with any other dark secrets you might harbor”

Sara said nothing. Mandell could tell she
found his advice most unpalatable, but before he could further urge
the wisdom of such a course, they were interrupted.

Sara started as the study door burst open and
Hastings rushed into the room. Mandell prepared to deliver a rebuke
until he noted how flushed the footman looked, panting as though he
had run a great way.

“My lord,” he gasped. “Your pardon. Something
d-dreadful.” He paused, clutching his side, struggling to get the
breath to continue.

“Calm yourself, Hastings. Unless the house is
afire, I can see no reason for you to—”

But Mandell's words were stayed by the
footman's vigorous headshake of denial.

“Another murder, my lord. Last night. Here on
Clarion Way.”

“Oh, no!” Sara gave a soft cry of dismay. She
pressed her hand to her mouth as though to quell any further
reaction.

But Mandell's attention was riveted on the
footman. “Take a deep breath, Hastings, and regain command of
yourself.”

Hastings nodded, struggling to obey.

“So the cursed Hook has struck again,”
Mandell said. Behind him, he heard Sara sink down upon one of the
chairs. “Who has been killed this time?”

“Sir Lucien Fairhaven,” the footman managed
to get out.

“Fairhaven?” Mandell frowned. His mind reeled
with this strange development. First the death of Bertie Glossop on
this same street. Next that Keeler boy behind the theatre. then the
attack on Briggs, with Fairhaven disappearing only to surface again
to be murdered. None of this affair made any more sense than it
ever did.

But he shrugged, saying, “It seems the Hook
may actually have performed a service this time—that is if his
victim was indeed Sir Lucien. Are you sure of your facts,
Hastings?”

Hastings nodded. “I heard about the murder
from the postboy. I thought your lordship would wish to know more,
so I took the liberty of running down to the Countess Sumner's to
see what I could discover.”

“The Countess Sumner's? What did you go there
for?”

“That's where Sir Lucien was killed, my lord.
In the garden. Near midnight.”

Mandell inhaled sharply. Sir Lucien murdered
by the Hook in Lily's garden, such a grisly thing taking place
within yards of the house that sheltered Anne and Norrie. Mandell
could well imagine the horror and, the distress Anne must be
feeling this morning. Even in death, Lucien Fairhaven had found a
way to cut at her peace. Mandell silently damned the man to
hell.

“Sir Lucien was supposed to be gone from
London,” he said. “What was that devil doing in the countess's
garden?'

“Getting himself killed, my lord,” Hastings
said glumly.

The first icy fingers of an inexplicable
dread stroked along Mandell's spine. He had the disquieting feeling
that there was something more that Hastings had not told him yet.
The young footman possessed a steady, unexcitable disposition. He
seemed unduly distressed for mere tidings of Sir Lucien's
murder.

“What else is amiss, John?” Mandell asked. He
could scarce bring himself to voice the question. “Is Lady
Fairhaven all right?'

Mandell's dread only increased when Hastings
avoided giving a direct answer. Instead he said, “They have
arrested someone for Sir Lucien's murder.”

“The Hook? They have captured the Hook?”

An odd, strangled sound escaped Sara, but
Mandell did not turn round. He fixed Hastings with his gaze, a gaze
that the footman no longer possessed the courage to meet.

“No, my lord,” he said. “There was no Hook.
Not this time. Sir Lucien was shot by your lady.” Hastings spoke
the last words so low, Mandell could hardly hear him.

“What!” He gripped Hastings shoulder so hard
the younger man winced. “Where did you hear such a damnable
tale?”

“From the countess's own butler, my lord. He
was that broken up about it, was Mr. Firken. But the servants at
Sumner House and the old watchman, they know. They heard the shot
and they saw Lady Fairhaven standing over Sir Lucien with the
pistol.”

“Those prating fools,” Mandell rasped. “Anne
couldn't. She can't even load a pistol properly.”

“Mr. Firken did say that her ladyship swears
there was someone else in the garden, a cloaked figure.”

“Then damn you, there was. The Hook. It must
have been.”

“But no one else saw him, my lord. And with
his dying breath, Sir Lucien accused Lady Fairhaven.”

“Lying bastard! If he was not already dead,
I'd cut out his tongue.” Mandell released Hastings, then stepped
back, his lips setting into a taut line. “I must go to Sumner House
and see Anne at once. I'll fast put a stop to all this
madness.”

“You don't understand, my lord,” Hastings
said miserably. “Your lady isn't there. They have already arrested
her, taken her to Newgate.”

Hastings's words slammed into Mandell's
consciousness with the force of an explosion. He felt the blood
drain from his face. The room seemed to rock, shift beneath his
feet, the present slipping away to melt with the past. The sunlight
was pouring through his window, his eyes were wide open, and yet he
could hear it. The pounding. The infernal pounding at the door.

“No!” He breathed harshly. The nightmare had
come again and this time there was no waking to escape it. He could
envision it so clearly, the rough hands seizing her, dragging her
off into the blackness of night, her face pale with tenor. But it
was not his mother's face he saw. It was Anne's.

The past shifted to the present and Mandell
shivered, sickened with a dread and fear that he had not known
since that long ago night. The pounding continued and he realized
it was his own heart.

“Mandell?” Sara's image drifted into his
view. He had all but forgotten her presence. “Mandell, you are
looking very queer. Are you all right?”

He managed to bring the room back into focus,
becoming aware of her troubled frown, of Hastings's anxious
concern. The footman was attempting to press a glass of brandy into
his hand.

“Here, my lord. Perhaps you had best drink
this.”

Mandell gulped down the contents of the
glass. The fiery liquid burned his throat and sent a rush of warmth
through his veins. The chilling terrors of the boy slowly dissolved
to become the anger and fire of the man.

Mandell thrust the empty glass back at
Hastings and said in an impassioned rush, “I have got to get Anne
out of that accursed place.”

“My lord?” Hasting's eyes widened in alarm,
but Mandell was already striding for the door.

It was Sara who caught him, blocking his way.
“Where are you going, Mandell?”

“To Newgate,” he snapped. “Don't you
understand what has happened?”

“Yes, this lady friend of yours has been
arrested, but it will do you no good charging off in this agitated
state.”

Hastings spoke up. “Indeed, my lord, I fear
Mrs. Drummond is right. Firken said that the countess had done all
that she could to secure her sister's release.”

“They do not let one leave Newgate for the
asking,” Sara said.

“I didn't say I was going to ask.” Mandell
started forward again, but Sara splayed her hands against his chest
to stop him. He tried to thrust her aside, but she clung to him
with a stubborn desperation.

“There will be nothing that you can do,
Mandell. It is not as if they will take this Anne out and hang her
at once. There will be inquiries, a trial.”

Mandell gave a harsh laugh. “And what sort of
trial will it be with a dozen servants being forced to say they saw
Anne standing over Lucien with a pistol? Or perhaps you think the
Hook will step gallantly forward and confess, place his own neck in
a noose to save her?”

His sardonic suggestion seemed to strike Sara
forcibly. The blood was driven from her cheeks. “No. That would be
most foolish of the Hook. And yet it is the sort of gesture a
certain gallant sort of rogue might make, a man bent on throwing
his life away.”

“The Hook is more interesting in taking
lives. But he'll not sacrifice Anne's.” Mandell shook her off
savagely. He did not bolt out the study door as he had intended,
realizing himself that he must strive for some measure of calm. He
would do Anne no good if he rushed out behaving like a madman.

He paced to the window, drawing in cleansing
breaths, struggling to find his customary cool logic. But he sought
in vain. Pressing his palm against the glass, he peered out into
the sun-dappled street and thought of the house at the end of the
square, of Norrie waking sobbing and frightened to find her mama
gone, of Anne cut off from the sunlight, thrust into some dank,
dark cell, prey to vermin, prison fever, and God knew what other
horrors. He thought of Anne wrenched out of that same cell, only to
be displayed in the dock, his Lady Sorrow exposed to the rabble's
pitiless gaze. And the most dread thought of all, he imagined a
rough hemp rope being fitted about her slender neck, over that warm
delicate pulse he had so often placed his lips against when making
love.

No! He could not even imagine such a thing,
or he would go mad. If Anne were to die, he would die as well. Even
if he continued to draw breath, his heart and soul would be lost.
Because his heart was lost already. He had left it in Anne's gentle
hands last night when he had bid good-bye to her. That thought
stunned him with a truth he had been afraid to acknowledge for so
long, even to himself. He stepped back from the window, shrinking
from the sunlight as he suddenly realized just how much of a fool
he had been.

Yet he felt strangely calmer as he turned to
face Sara and Hastings. With an iron edge in his voice he said, “I
will have Anne out of Newgate by sunset today, no matter what it
takes. Bullying, bribery, even if I have to break down the
gates.”

“Perhaps you had better get dressed first,”
Sara said drily.

Mandell flushed, but before he could do
anything, Sara sprang into action and began issuing commands to the
footman.

“Tell the marquis's valet to lay out his most
expensive and ostentatious suit of clothes. His lordship will also
need a small pistol, and then, Hastings, you must go to Newgate and
make some subtle inquiries. Find out exactly where Lady Fairhaven
is being kept. Given her rank, she will likely be held in the
prison portion of the warder's own residence. If she has not been
shackled, getting her out could prove easier than you would
suppose.”

Hastings nodded in eager agreement. But
recollecting himself, he turned toward Mandell, as if questioning
whether Sara's commands were to be obeyed. Mandell frowned at
Sara.

“What do you think you are doing?” he
demanded.

“Helping you,” Sara said calmly. “I have
decided you are right. It is best that you fetch Lady Fairhaven out
of prison as soon as possible. Newgate is not impregnable. Escapes
are arranged all the time. The trick is to know the way to go about
escaping and to keep from being recaptured once you have done
so.”

“If I find the way to get Anne out of that
accursed hellhole,” Mandell said fiercely, “I shall permit no one
to drag her back again.”

“I believe I can show you the way, if you
have the boldness to carry out my plan, which no doubt you do.”

“You possess some passing strange knowledge
for a respectable widow from Yorkshire, Mrs. Drummond.”

“I am acquainted with some passing strange
people,” Sara murmured.

Mandell folded his arms across his chest, not
certain he trusted her, this sudden eagerness to come to his aide.
“Why would you offer to help?” he asked.

“It holds no risk for me. I don't intend to
assist you in the actual escape attempt, only give you my expert
advice on the best means of rescuing this lady.”

“But Anne is nothing to you. You don't even
know her.”

“Perhaps I have a curiosity to meet the woman
who could inspire the haughty marquis of Mandell into storming
Newgate clad in little more than his dressing gown.”