Other than his eyes, nothing about him resembled the man in the portrait she carried in her locket, which was even now resting warm against her skin. The last twenty years had not been kind to him, not as kind as they’d been to her. He was all of forty-five, and yet he appeared more aged than his oldest brother, the Earl of Bellingham, at fifty-seven. His lopsided nose told her he’d been in more than one fight. In this lit room, she could see a small scar above his right brow, one that hadn’t been visible when he’d opened his door to her because the light hadn’t been able to reach all the way in.
Mrs. Mallard was perhaps even more horrified than Daisy by his declaration. With her arms folded across her chest, she stood a short distance away, staring at their captive, obviously wishing she had the power to disappear her forever. “How can you have a daughter?” she finally asked, sounding ill that the words had even formed in her mouth.
“If you don’t know the answer to that, m’dear, then I now understand why you and Mallard had no children during the eight years you were married,” Thanatos—no, Lionel Townsend—said drolly.
“I’m serious, Lionel. What are we going to do with her?”
“Take her with us.”
“I’ll fight you every step of the way,” Daisy vowed, her tone strong with conviction. She considered screaming for help, but she doubted her voice would reachthe sleeping quarters of the staff. Neither did she know how many servants were in residence. She’d seen only the butler, the coachman, a footman, and the two maids whom she’d spoken to earlier. Even if there were more, would any of them turn against their mistress? Would any of them believe Daisy? Would any of them choose to put their own lives at risk to save hers? She already knew that guilt at endangering them would eat at her. She couldn’t place them in harm’s way. She was on her own.
She was fairly certain that her father—she got light-headed remembering that word could be attributed to this man—wouldn’t take her life, but she had no guarantee he wouldn’t kill others who might try to help her. She was certain he had struck the fatal blow to Mallard’s skull. She was infinitely grateful that she’d snuck out of Bishop’s bedchamber so he had no idea where she’d gotten off to. No matter what happened to her, he would remain safe.
Her father chuckled low, darkly. “Damn, but how you remind me of your mother. So incredibly fearless. She cast off Society’s censure at our marriage as though the ugly words directed our way were naught but dandelion petals.”
“Yet, you led her to ruin, to her death.”
He narrowed his eyes and his jaw tautened. “Ava, darling, go pack a few things. We’ll go to my residence until morning, at which time we’ll visit the bank and close out your accounts. Afterward we’ll board a ship for foreign climes.”
“Thank God, thank God, we’re leaving.” She spun on her heel and dashed out of the parlor.
He walked over to a table, poured himself something dark, and then sauntered over to Daisy. He dropped into a chair, crossed one leg over the other, and lounged back. “She hasn’t your mother’s pluck. But she’ll do nicely for now. I’ll make her happy.”
“Until you have your hands on her money?”
“You judge me so harshly. Although I suppose I can’t blame you. You don’t know me. Charlotte made sure of that. My blasted sister. Spinster. Old maid. Couldn’t entice a man into loving her. Couldn’t make a man be willing to saddle himself—”
“Don’t speak of her like that. You left me to rot. She took me in.”
“I wanted you, Daisy, but they wouldn’t let me have you. My brother. My sister. The horrid witch couldn’t have children of her own, so she took mine. Still, I was surprised you didn’t recognize me when I opened my door to you. But it has been twenty years.” He rubbed his listing nose. “And I barely resemble the portraits of my youth.”
He took a sip of his drink, studying her over the rim of the tumbler, and she wondered if he saw any of her mother in her features. If he saw any of his own. She hoped not. She didn’t want any part of her to be like him. All the years she’d longed for him and her mother. All the hours she’d missed them. The tears she’d shed. For this diabolical bit of rubbish, who would conspire to have another blamed for his crime. “No one is going to believe Bishop guilty of murder.”
He arched that scarred brow. “If that were true, he’d not have had to hire you.” He winked at her. “He has a temper... like his father. I remember when his wife died, the speculation that perhaps he’d done it. The police go where they’re led. I’m going to lead themto Blackwood. Imagine my surprise, though, when I caught a glimpse of you working in his residence. As a servant. I knew you were up to no good, that you were an inquiry agent sniffing out something. I was very relieved to see you visit Parker. That confirmed your presence there had nothing to do with Ava. Therefore, I decided it was time to act.”
She remembered those times when the tiny hairs on the back of her neck had risen. “You’ve spied on me.”
“I’ve observed you from time to time. How could I not when you look so much like your mother?”
“Just like you killed Mallard, you killed her. Not with blunt force, but still you were responsible. You will pay for the lives you’ve ruined.”
His jaw tensed, and she saw a flash of frightening anger, before he regained an icy calm. “You know nothing of it, Daisy. I loved her, you know, your mother, desperately. However, our family—yours now and mine then—cared more about image, and blood, and proper lineages than the heart. But Genni and I were happy for a time in our small, simple corner of the world.”
He took another long swallow of his drink. “And then we had you. You should have made us joyous, should have made our world complete. But you were a difficult birth. She almost died then and there. Afterward, she was in so much pain. The physician gave her laudanum. It helped, but after a while, she couldn’t stop taking it, even as its power diminished. It was devastating to watch her suffer. I had to help her, no matter the cost. Because I loved her, you see. With all that I was, all that I would ever be. Therefore, I took her to an opium den. For the first time since you wereborn, she experienced no agony. She was at peace. But it was all temporary. And thus we returned, over and over and over. Until the smoky dragon became our god and we worshipped it for its kindness. Therefore, you see, my dear daughter, if you wish to lay the cause of her death at someone’s feet, perhaps you should lay it at your own.”
As the hansom drew to a halt near the Mallard residence, the doors immediately sprung open because Bishop had tossed enough coins the driver’s way before climbing into the vehicle to ensure no delay in disembarking once they arrived at their destination.
Bishop didn’t know if tonight was when the séance was planned. And it was possible that Marguerite was at the townhome of Thanatos, but his gut had told him to come here. Because if she was going to listen through a window, she’d have more success at this residence that at least provided some cover from being seen.
As he walked briskly the few steps to the gate, he noticed the faint light that shone from inside the residence, from inside the front parlor, not fully able to breach the thickness of the draperies but providing an outline and revealing a slender slit where they were destined to meet. Someone was home. Someone was awake. Then he saw a black cat wander through a slim opening in the gate, causing it to swing slightly ajar. It was unlocked. Marguerite would have gone through it. She wouldn’t have waited a short distance away because she had the bloody stethoscope and would have wanted to press it to the glass of that window that was serving as a beacon to her curiosity.
His heart felt like a battering ram inside his chest, beating unmercifully against his ribs, forcefully pumping the blood needed to make his legs propel him forward along the drive. As soon as he realized his movements were raising a clamor, he jumped over to the grass and ran like mad to the edge of the bushes that lined up so perfectly in front of the house. But a narrow gap between them was wide enough for her to scoot along. However, when he looked down its length, he couldn’t see her crouching at the glass, listening. He saw no sign of her at all. Had he been wrong? Had he misread her intentions? Had she gone round to the side of the house, the back? But from his position at the residence’s corner, he could see no other light except for that coming from the front room where he and Marguerite had originally waited for Mrs. Mallard.
If the communicating with the dead was happening tonight, had she invited herself inside? He wouldn’t put it past her. The woman seemed to harbor the belief that she was invincible, a character in a mystery novel who would somehow survive to solve another murder another day.
Perhaps a quick peek through that part in the draperies would provide the answers or at least a clue.
He pressed himself against the wall and began edging toward that window, the sharp-edged leaves of the hedges catching on his clothing. Something crunched beneath his boot. Bending down, he felt around until he located it. The stethoscope. She’d been here. And she wouldn’t have carelessly left it behind. Not unless she’d been taken by surprise.
