Nothing made sense.
Not Agnes Simpson. Not the senseless lies. Not Helen and the river and the threat against his children. Not Ruth dead in the cabin.
God, You should not have taken her.He stood and paced the room, dragging his hand along the jagged stones, blinking against tears even though he knew no one was here to see them.I needed her.Moisture brimmed his eyes.My children needed her.
Somehow, he would resolve this. He would resolve everything. He would find the men responsible for unleashing murderers. He would be the voice Helen lost courage to speak. He would see justice meted out to every filthy beast involved.
All his life, he had searched for purpose. Something that would make a difference. A pulse that would thump in the pit of his soul, as he lay dying, with the powerful assurance he haddonesomething.
Now he knew what that something was.
He prayed to heaven he was able to fulfill his purpose before someone had him killed.
Or hung.
Moonbeams slanted between the trees, casting the worn forest path in silvery light. Georgina twisted in her saddle.
The children still plodded onward behind her. Atop the black-dappled horse, John handled the reins with ease while Mercy hugged her brother’s back, both as quiet as the forest.
They were frightened too.
Words bound to her throat, a hundred soft assurances, but all of them dissolved before shattering the silence. What could she possibly say?
She had no more answers than they did.
Ahead, the pine-strewn path widened into a clearing. The cottage awaited, smaller than she had imagined, tucked between bushes and two giant pine trees. “We are here.” She led them closer, then swung from her saddle.
John had already done the same. He pulled Mercy down next, along with the rifle nearly as tall as he was.
“Come along.” Georgina eased the two knapsacks over her shoulder, secured both horses’ reins to a tree, then stepped into the deep shadow of the cottage. She hesitated at the door. Courage reared, then fled.
As if sensing her trepidation, John squeezed past her and tried the knob. When it would not budge, he lunged his shoulder into the wood. The door crashed open.
A musty, stale odor slapped Georgina in the face, a distasteful contrast to the damp, mossy scents of the forest. They trekked into the blackness. Cobwebs stuck to her face, and somewhere in the dirt-floored room, the low squeak of a rat or mouse caused a shiver to crawl through her.
“Just a moment.” Feeling her way to the window, she pulled the brass tinderbox from her knapsack and fumbled to nurse a flame. She lit a candle, then two more. The soft glow dispelled the blackness.
In one sweeping glance, she surveyed the cottage. One bed frame without linens or a mattress tick. A blackened hearth. An overturned cauldron. A busted window with glass fragments littering the sod floor.
Her unease soared. “I am sorry.” The only thing she could think to say.
The children stood rigid in the center of the room, clasping each other’s hands, as lost and tiny as anything she’d ever seen.
“Me want Papa.”
“Shhh, Mercy.” John pulled her closer, brandishing the gun as if he would have few qualms in using the weapon. His eyes leveled on Georgina. “Why did Papa tell you to bring us here?”
She wanted to weep. “I do not know.”
“Well, at least you were incarcerated in presentable attire.” Sir Walter banged the cell door behind him, the echo as booming as his voice. “Though it does appear as if the clothes have dried to your back.”
“Then you know.”
“About the river?” The barrister shrugged. “A dead body in the Thames is just the sort of news that finds its way to Gray’s Inn every time. Imagine my astonishment to hear your name intertwined in yet another scandal.” A patronizing grin formed. “Interesting, I admit, but certainly a conversation for another time. I fear we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Such as Agnes Simpson.” Simon rubbed the back of his neck, the tiny bumps itching from more bites than he could count. “What happens next?”
“You eat.” The barrister handed over a warm, linen-wrapped loaf. “I already paid a turnkey to keep you isolated instead of throwing you beneath the gate or with the others in the common wards. Thus, the reason you are still wearing your clothing.”
