Lily instantly recognized the handwriting; it was from him. He had finally written, though as she scanned it she wished he had not. It was the shortest of missives, only to say he believed Mr. Shine gone, though the watch on them would stay for now.
He could not have written any less and she understood him very clearly.
“He is not very voluble, is he?” Mrs. Hemming asked.
Lily laid the letter down. “I think he must be much engaged and only wished us to know the facts.”
“I wonder that he does not call on us, considering what has transpired. I should like to know what he knows. How has he concluded that Mr. Shine will trouble us no more? And if he knows it, why does he keep the watch on the house? For that matter, why have we been turned over to some nameless fellow when it was himself that escorted us to the Bergrams?”
“I believe it was said at the Findlays’ that he suffers from a fever of some sort,” Lily said.
Mrs. Hemming looked critically at her niece. “But my dear, he cannot be both much engaged and abed at the same time.”
Lily flushed and twisted her napkin. “Perhaps that is it—he is too ill to write a long letter.”
“EvenIcan write a letter when I am sick enough to be abed. In truth, I write rather more in those circumstances, it passes the time.”
Mrs. Hemming paused and Lily hoped her thoughts would take her in another direction. Then her aunt said, “There was nothing between you that has somehow gone amiss?”
“No, certainly not!”
“I only ask because of the unusual circumstance that occurred in Lady Carradine’s house. I only thought maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Lily asked, alarmed at where her aunt’s thoughts seemed to be taking her.
“Oh, I do not know, perhaps an ill-advised kiss that both of you would prefer to forget.”
“There has been nothing like that,” Lily said hurriedly. “Nothing at all, I can assure you.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Hemming said, seeming satisfied. “I suppose Lord Ashworth will illuminate the matter further at his leisure. Now, we’d best open the door or else Ranier will think we are scheming.”
*
The Grace Kelterhad set sail two days ago. On the night of his encounter with Lord Ashworth, Shine had bound his leg, stowed the money from the panniers in various pockets, limped his way back to the road, and hired a carriage. He’d been forced to leave the park without the horse he’d intended to take from the lord. It had been a good plan—take possession of a fine horse that would carry him to the port and then be sold for a good price. He’d planned on taking the money, the horse, and whatever valuables Ashworth had on his person. He’d even take his clothes, at least the ones not bloodied. They would not fit him but would be of sufficient quality to fetch a promising amount. He’d not worried that he’d be connected to the murder. Ashworth would not have told anyone of the meeting. To tell of the meeting was to tell the tale of Miss Farnsworth and he was certain Ashworth would keep that close.
As for a gentleman murdered in Hyde Park in the dead of night? That it was a lord would cause a stir, that could not be avoided. But it would be assumed the lord had been very drunk and beset by footpads. Why else would a lord enter the park at such an hour?
He’d debated if it were strictly necessary, but he knew that rumors of him being a cheat might follow him across the globe and resurface at any time. Ashworth would be the source of those rumors. He had only to hope Miss Farnsworth would be so frightened to hear of the lord’s demise that her lips would remain shut forevermore. He thought she would stay silent, to say anything about it must reveal her part in it. As much as these fine ladies pretended at swooning and being over-delicate, he had the idea that they could hold up well enough when their own safety and comfort were at issue.
Of course, there was Meg to worry over. He’d meant to be off that very night, but he’d been hit and must tend to it. He’d got out of the carriage a distance from Meg’s crumbling abode, he must be seen to come on foot to support his story. He’d known he would not have been able to hide his wound, he’d bled too much. So, he’d told Meg of being attacked and barely escaping with his life. After all, they were in the neighborhood of the Seven Dials. Nothing more usual than that. In any case, he did not think Meg bright or likely to be solving mysteries. She was too wed to the blue ruin to do much beyond rent her rooms, buy tea on the black market, and purchase bottles of gin. He suspected she’d often forgone dinner in pursuit of her liquid lover.
For a few coins, she’d dressed the wound. He’d have wished to have a nurse with cleaner hands and better breath, but he’d had no choice. He was intent on not involving anybody beyond what was necessary. In any case, it was only a deep graze and would heal soon enough. He’d left Meg’s genial household on the following morning in order to make the ship for Venezuela.
It had been a mistake. As he traveled, the wound had festered. He’d taken care of it as best he could with hot water and clean bandages at the inns he stopped at. He purchased yarrow, and when that had no effect, he’d tried comfrey. And yet, every day it grew deeper. It suppurated through the layers of bandages and on the last day of his journey to the port, he had begun to smell it and covered it in honey. He wrapped extra layers of bandages around it before he boarded the ship so that it would not be noticed. Short of bad weather or a leak, there was little a captain liked less than a sick or injured passenger.
He had laid low in his cabin for two days, hoping if he kept his leg still the infection would begin a retreat. He’d liberally dosed himself with the laudanum he’d purchased on the off chance he was caught and kept himself quiet that way. The infection only grew worse and the pain had finally driven him to the ship’s surgeon.
Mr. Hennesey had poked around in the wound for what seemed ages, sending waves of pain through him such that he had never experienced.
Finally, the doctor had straightened himself and cleaned his hands with a rag. “The leg will have to come off.”
In the coming years, Mr. Shine would work to forget the next hours and days, so filled with horror were they. That he lived was all he could say for himself. That he would arrive to Venezuela missing a vital appendage, that particular appendage drifting down in the ocean deep somewhere, was too grim to contemplate. He rued the day he’d become suspicious of a signature and chased after Nancy Manton.
He had played a game of hazard and the dice had come up against him.
Chapter Fifteen
Lily did notknow if Lord Ashworth would avoid Lady Hathaway’s ball or not. If he did, she could not hope for a firmer answer. If he did not, she might also receive a firm answer, told to her by his attitude. Though her logical mind knew she had already received her answer, her less than logical mind had fretted for hours before they had set off.
