When We Touch (23 page)

And in the marriage, he had become free from debt, free from the threat of debtor's prison, and he was even in position again to take charge of his own finances—and make something of his life. Perhaps that was it.

He had gone through the proper training to acquire a military position, and he had served for a few years. But the greatest action he had seen had been that of controlling a riot in Trafalgar Square when the insurgents had protested factory conditions. He had served a requisite time, and left the military. And since then . . .

He'd gambled away the estates his father had left him.

Lord Charles's death had left him feeling that his own life was quite a waste. His sister had come this far in his behalf, and asked only that he find the right girl, marry—and keep the family title from Angus and their cousins. Fine. He had simply not found the right girl. Never, in all the whirl of teas and hunts and balls had he found that one person who . . .

But actually, he had. Glaring at the flames, he remembered how he had come across the girl of his dreams in this very house. Hair like India ink. Skin as fair as snow. Eyes dark, lips so sweetly, and yet lusciously, red. The servant girl who had helped him adjust his cravat . . .

He'd not seen her since.

He heard the front door open and close. He turned, striding toward the entry. “Mireau?”

But no one had left the house; someone had arrived. It was Lord Charles's daughter, dressed—as had become her constant apparel—in a barrage of black attire that would shame the eternally mourning Queen. From head to toe, she was swathed, veil so thick it was a wonder that she hadn't tripped over her feet a dozen times, crashed into furniture, or, at the least, her fellow mourners.

“Good evening, Lady Arianna,” he said gravely.

She lifted a black gloved hand. Justin realized that he blocked the stairway.

“You've been out and about alone? That's dangerous, these days. The bloke is attacking women of the poorest stature, but, still . . . my Gods, the murders going on these days! The papers are full of it all, you know. But then, I'm sure you'd never venture into the East End?”

The woman shook her head.

She didn't speak.

Suddenly, Justin wondered if he hadn't been tricked the day of his sister's wedding. He had heard Maggie complain about Arianna often enough. The girl loathed her, despised her, and accused her of murder still, no matter what the autopsy report showed.

Had he perhaps encountered the young lady of the house on the day of the wedding? Was this then the beauty he had met?

He walked toward her, suddenly determined that he would find out.

“Ah, my poor lady! It's quite understandable that your mourning is so deep. What a truly fine man your father was. We all miss him gravely.”

Still, standing before him, she did not reply.

But Justin was determined. He blocked the stairway so that she couldn't run around him. He shook his head with sympathy, and then, with a flash of smooth speed, he reached out, lifting the veil that covered her face.

Disappointment filled him in the brief second before she rescued her cover.

She was not hideous by any means.

Neither was she the incredible stunning beauty who had so seared his sense upon the fateful day of the wedding.

Her hair was a simple brown. Flesh far from perfect. Lips narrow, and colorless. Indeed, she had a pleasant enough look about her, but she wasn't the little breath of perfection who had spoken with him on the day of the wedding, and she did not in the least resemble Lord Charles.

“Forgive me,” he said, and stepped back awkwardly. “I shouldn't have intruded.

She didn't chastise him, or really, respond in any way at all. Veil back in place, she sped on up the stairs, nearly crashing into Mireau, who was then coming down.

“Your pardon, my lady!” Mireau said.

And received no reply.

As he reached Justin, he shook his head sadly. “Women!”

“Yes, it seems there will be quite some difficulty getting Lady Arianna to accept her father's death.”

“Then there's your sister,” Mireau said.

“Now? What has Maggie done now?”

“I'm heartily worried about her. She just isn't acting like Maggie.”

“She won't speak with you, either, eh?”

“Told me to go on with you. If she could but leave herself, she'd be happy to do so. Shouldn't you be here for that meeting with the solicitors?”

“I've kept mum about it,” Justin said. “I'm meeting Angus at the club for breakfast tomorrow, and therefore, I'll be keeping him away.”

“It's not his place. It's yours.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that.” He sighed. “Ah, Mireau. What a strange turn of events. Here, I worry about my sister. And I worry about myself. And time seems to stretch ahead with no great purpose.”

“Perhaps you should make your first purpose in life a firm stand against Angus.”

“You're right, my friend, you're right,” Justin agreed. “For now . . . I'm ready to depart this place of death. When Maggie decides that it is time she can leave, we will come back for her.”

They started to exit the manor house. At the door, Justin turned back. The disappointment he felt was monumental.

Where was the girl? Who was she?

And he wondered if he would ever find her again.

* * *

Arianna paced nervously back and forth in her room, waiting.

A moment later, the door burst open. “Well, what have you found out?” she demanded.

The girl in the black veil pulled it from her head, staring at Arianna in a tempest. “What have I found out! I was nearly caught. The man in the hallway . . . your stepmother's brother! He lifted the veil on me, and he saw my face!”

Arianna shook her head. “My stepmother's brother. . .”

“We can't keep doing this. I will wind up in the streets. Without references! In fact, if your stepmother were to pass along awful things regarding me—that I was a sneak and a cheat, say!—I might never find work!” her stand-in cried worriedly.

Arianna waved a hand in the air. “I've never met my stepmother's brother, so you're completely in the clear. What do you care what my stepmother says? When I get my story to the right people, she will be an absolute pariah if some honest man out there doesn't discover a way to get her in jail. You'll work for me, and you'll be fine.”

Fiona stared angrily at Arianna. “Arianna, you are a dear lady, and a good friend to me, but you are not the head of the household.”

“I inherit a third of my father's estate,” Arianna reminded her.

“You haven't yet reached your majority. We've a few months to go—if you recall. And speaking of jail, I could wind up in jail for the things you have me doing.”

“No . . . don't be ridiculous. Even if we are caught, I will say that I was in such a state that I couldn't attend the services for my father. I was prone with grief. There is no way that you will suffer for any of this.”

“Hmmf! So far, Lady Maggie has obliged my urging to take laudanum, and thus she has not noticed that I'm not there to serve her when I should be. But what if she decides that it's time to be fully awake and aware, no matter how painful.”

“I'll be out of the house completely soon, and you'll not have to worry,” Arianna assured her. “Now, please, tell me what you've found out!”

Fiona sighed, taking a seat at the foot of Maggie's bed as she undid the hooks on the encompassing black cape she wore. “Very little. Yes, Maggie is known at St. Mary's, and even at other parish churches. And she's loved, Arianna. Loved. She's contributed to the people with not just money, but her time, as well. She's rolled up her sleeves, as they say, and doled out food. And do you know, if you gave yourself a moment to get to know her—”

“Get to know her? Are you daft? She plotted this all out, and it's so obvious that I can't believe the world isn't screaming for her head! She married my father. The prenuptial contracts gave her brother a tidy sum to clear up his finances. The Graham solicitors were clever, or my father was entirely besotted, because none of that was due back,
even if she opted out of the marriage!
Now she stands to inherit a fortune as her widow's portion of my father's estate. And yet! How bizarrely convenient for her! He up and dies on their wedding night.”

Fiona was silent for a minute, looking at Arianna in a way she didn't like. “Arianna, has it occurred to you that your father simply had a heart attack?”

“She planned it! I am not a fool, a child, nor so protected from the world as my father would have liked to believe. Maggie is a widow. Widow. Married to a young man she loved. She is surely very worldly. She knew what to do to my father to excite him to such an extreme that he . . . She did it on purpose, I tell you, and that is murder.”

Fiona shook her head. “Arianna, I love you dearly, and I want to help you, but I can't help thinking that you are wrong, very wrong. I have seen her in the greatest distress!”

“Of course she's distressed! She may yet be caught—and hanged!”

Fiona sighed. “I must change and get to her.”

She started to rise, but Arianna caught her arm. “You must have heard more, out in the streets.”

“Yes, I did. The East End is in a terrible panic. Women have been horribly butchered. There's a maniac loose. They're calling him Leather Apron, and the entire city of London and the outskirts are all in a dither. Naturally! Imagine that! People are concerned about a
known
murderer who mutilates those he kills.”

“He is killing common prostitutes,” Arianna said.

“How kind of you to notice!” Fiona said.

Arianna flushed, and shook her head. “I'm sorry, I was making no dispersion on commoners. I'm merely suggesting that there would be no reason for you to be afraid. I sent you out for information, not to walk the streets for business. Of course, I'm concerned. It's terrible, what's happening. But perhaps, if these women didn't drink themselves silly and solicit men for more money to drink themselves sillier, this wouldn't be happening to them.”

Fiona sat stiffly. “And perhaps, if money weren't spent on massive jubilees and extravagant luxuries, more of it could find its way to areas where people have no hope—leaving them no choice but to drink and seek prostitution as a means to eat.”

“Most of them drink!” Arianna reminded her.

“Arianna! What would you do if you had nothing, nothing but the clothes on your back, not a room, not even a bed . . . unless you came up with the few pennies you needed!”

Arianna buried her face in her hands. “I'm sorry. So sorry. But I loved my father, so much. And he was such a good man, always sharing his wealth with the poor.”

Fiona relented. “Of course, your pain is very deep. But honestly, I went to St. Mary's, where you suggested I might learn about her. And I met Father Vickers, and he glowed when he spoke about your stepmother. He had but one area of concern.”

“And that was?” Arianna demanded, quickly jumping at Fiona's slip.

“She has a hatred for mesmerists.”

“Mesmerists?”

“You know . . . hypnotists. And spiritualists. Those people who think that they can bring back the dead. Or pretend they can bring back the dead. If you had just come to the wake and the funeral, instead of sending me, you'd have heard Lady Marian talking about her ‘dreadful' experiences. Apparently, there are all manner of people out there who believe that they have special powers. The Lord knows, maybe they do. But some of them are out to find silly old rich fools like the Duchess—and take them for all that they are worth. Anyway, the Duchess is always trying to talk to the late Duke. She went to a séance and in the middle of it, a woman reached out, breaking the ‘circle.' If I have the story right, the man—the medium—had said that her husband wanted to touch her one last time, and a hand had appeared. But this other woman at the table leapt up and grabbed the hand—and it was fake! The fellow and his cohorts tried to kill them, then, but there were others at the séance, and they fought back. Apparently, one man was killed, a man and a woman are to stand trial for attempted murder among other things, and one man escaped. Lady Marian talks about little else. She had me cornered for a half hour at the funeral, and I couldn't escape, of course, because she knows you, so I didn't dare talk and excuse myself!”

“There were others in the room?” Arianna said curiously.

“Not the Lady Maggie—surely the Duchess would have said so.”

Arianna studied Fiona. “Why? The Duchess didn't recognize that you weren't me! So far, no one has.”

“That will change, I tell you! I was terrified when Lord Graham lifted my veil this evening.”

“Lord Graham! Why should we care about him in the least? He won't be around anymore. I believe that there is a meeting with my father's solicitors tomorrow morning, and then Lady Maggie will be out of the house, and her brother won't be around anymore. And I don't even know him, so there's nothing for you to worry about!”

“Arianna, I tell you that this game of yours is dangerous.”

Arianna shook her head miserably, and despite herself, she felt tears flood to her eyes once again. “Fiona, I loved him. I'm not playing a game, I'm desperate that there should be justice for him.”

Fiona sighed. “Well, I'm sorry. I haven't found out anything at all that Lady Maggie has done that was illegal or immoral or even bad. She married for love, and so became a disgrace to her family. I'm afraid that I find that to be rather romantic. And surely, no matter how wealthy she is—and perhaps even overly impressed with her place in society—you must believe as well that she shouldn't be fleeced out of her riches!”