The soft hands paused as a familiar, feminine voice whispered, “We are almost home.”
Home. Not quite heaven, but close enough if she were there.
The carriage lurched, and the darkness claimed him again.
Chapter 10
Kate
Kate trailed her fingers along the row of books, the scent of vellum and linseed oil strong yet strangely soothing. Dust motes danced in the rare afternoon sunlight filtering through the bookshop window. The bell above the door had clanged three times in the last quarter hour, each new patron drawing her notice for a hopeful instant before disappointment followed. Tess sat patiently on an upholstered bench while Kate pretended to browse the shelves.
Visiting the bookseller’s shop usually soothed her mind, but today it was only an excuse.
If the oak-and-serpent messages continued to follow the same pattern, another notice would be placed soon. This bookshop was one of several that handled submissions forThe Morning Post,and as the largest, it seemed the best place to begin her search. If she were fortunate, she would catch a glimpse of the person submitting the ominous messages. At the very least, she hoped for a ledger or some other record of the submissions.
She took down one of her favorite volumes of poetry from the shelf but barely registered the title. The memory of the alley intruded too vividly. The danger itself should have unsettled her most. Instead, she kept returning to the moment James fell and the terrible stillness after.
She tightened her grip until the book’s spine pressed into her palm. Once she had gathered her wits in the alley, she ran to him without thinking. The burly man scrambled onto the rickety wagon, fleeing in alarm at the approaching shouts of watchmen. As the wagon bolted into the dark, its loose oilskin shifted just enough to reveal the crates beneath, each stamped with The Great Dover Shipping Company. Even now, relief swept through her at the memory of kneeling beside James and feeling the rise and fall of his chest.
She set the volume of poetry back on the shelf and turned toward the bookseller’s counter. The shop’s proprietor, a balding man with half-moon spectacles, glanced up from his ledger book.
“Lady Katherine, have you found anything to your liking today?”
“Not yet, Mr. Wells,” she said, summoning a polite smile. “Though I hope you might satisfy a small curiosity for me. Do patrons place notices for the newspaper here?”
“Some do, my lady. Some send a footman or errand boy. Others go directly to the printer or a different bookseller.”
She pretended only mild interest. “And do you keep a record of the submissions?”
Mr. Wells gave her an apologetic smile. “Only of the payment, and often with no name attached. Most customers prefer discretion. Announcements, legal notices, poetry, advertisements—they all pass through here quickly. I send them to the printer at the end of each day.”
Kate thanked him and moved away before her disappointment showed too plainly. It seemed she did not need Tess to create a distraction after all. The account book would yield nothing.
She resumed her slow progress among the shelves, aware of each opening of the door and the quiet rustle of activity around her. A clerk purchasing stationery. A matron in blue silk searching for a book of sermons. An elderly gentleman collecting several classic volumes for his grandson. A young woman browsing for a gothic novel.
No one arrived with a newspaper submission.
Kate drifted toward the rear of the shop, where the shelves narrowed into a quieter, less visited section that contained histories, atlases, and travel guides. One title drew her eye. She took it from the shelf.
The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent.
She opened the book. The shop faded, and she was back at Aunt Edith’s estate near Dover, visiting the town and running with James and Hugh across the pebbled beach as a salty wind whipped around them.
A creak on the floorboards broke her reverie. Kate whirled, but there was only a middle-aged woman with an armful of books attempting to edge past her.
“Pardon me.”
Kate moved aside, pressing up against the shelf. “Of course.”
The woman passed, and Kate let out a long breath. She was acting absurd.
She paced the narrow passage, holding the Dover book close. She needed answers, and every path to them seemed blocked. Hugh was not conscious yet. Westmarch could not be reached. James might have answers, but the thought of facing him after last night left her feeling perilously exposed. She had plenty ofpractice at keeping secrets, but James’s scrutiny made her feel transparent.
The bell over the shop door rang again. The sound drew Kate’s attention to the large shop window.
A figure in a heavy greatcoat stood on the pavement across the street, half hidden by the passersby who crossed in front of him. His face was shadowed beneath the curved brim of his hat, but his height, his build, and the way he carried himself tugged at the edges of her memory.
A jolt of recognition ran through her.
