“Very well, Elizabeth, I shall see what arrangements can be. But I cannot promise we will be given permission.”
“We?”
“You cannot imagine I would allow you near Newgate without my accompanying you?”
One of Elizabeth’s hands rose to cup Darcy’s cheek, her thumb gently caressing it. “No, dearest Fitzwilliam. I never doubted you for a moment.”
Richard had friends in interesting places. Between himself and Darcy, they called in some favours and paid off a few people. Everything was swiftly arranged.
The ride in the carriage was tense, and no one spoke. Darcy’s face was like granite. Elizabeth prayed he understood why she needed to do this.
As they pulled up to a gate, Darcy asked her one last time. “You are sure about this, Elizabeth?”
Although pale, her jaw was set with stubborn composure. “Yes.”
“Very well. Let us get this over with. Elizabeth kindly do me the favour of pulling your shawl up over your bonnet. There is too much in here I would wish you to remain ignorant of.”
In agreement she hurried to do as he asked. She had dressed in full mourning that day and raising the shawl hid more of her beauty from inquisitive eyes.
After handing her down Darcy looped her hand through his arm, holding her close. His instructions were concise, “Do not lookleft or right. We will be taken to an anteroom where you may speak to Frank Atkins and then we will waste no time leaving.”
Elizabeth kept her head down. Her only purpose was confronting the man who dared to order her son murdered. She felt no compunction to see more of the misery residing there.
At length they were shown into a small room with a square table and a couple of chairs. A guard stood watch in one corner. Drawing a breath, she raised her head to see one of the chairs was already occupied.
Seated in it was a man in irons. He was older than her father, thin, nearly gaunt. His hair and beard were long and ungroomed, but what caught her attention were his eyes. They never rested, constantly roaming the room not settling on a single place before flickering off again.
Richard stood in front of the door with his arms folded over his chest.
Darcy still held on to her tightly, so she removed her hand and approached the second chair. Pulling it away from the table, the noise as it dragged on the floor caught the man’s attention.
Elizabeth sat. “Do you know who I am?” She would not honour him by saying his name.
“Visitor,” grunted Frank.
“I am Gregory Carrington’s widow. The mother of the last surviving Carrington.”
The curl of his lip at the name was immediate. “Carrington was the devil and those of his blood were, too. My Marjorie was beauty and light. He did not deserve her. He mistreated her unto death. He had to die. They all had to die!”
“And do you think she would have been proud of the man you have become? One who would order her grandson’s murder? A mere babe, an innocent?” Her voice gradually grew stronger, the last word echoing around the room.
He flinched. Shook his head. “Sorry, so sorry Marjorie. I could not save you.” He began rocking back and forth repeating “so sorry” as if in supplication.
Elizabeth waited but realised he was too disconnected to provide any answers. She stood. “I am ready to leave now.”
They departed, exiting in silence to where the coach waited.
Darcy stared at his betrothed in concern. He waited as long as he could before imploring, “Are you well, Elizabeth?” His voice was hoarse.
“I am. Thank you both for arranging this. I needed to see for myself.” She chewed on her lip. “I needed toknowit was over.
“It is over. I will never allow anyone to hurt you or Alex ever again. This I vow to you, Elizabeth.”
She gazed at him, tears a shimmering film over her eyes, but they could not blanket her adoring love for him.
Richard shared their carriage, but his attention stayed focused outside the window to afford them the pretence of privacy.
Elizabeth reached across to take Darcy’s hand. He raised it to his lips kissing the skin above her glove.
