The old witch had taken it. She had somehow divined its importance, though he could not imagine how, and she would hold it for ransom. A note would arrive, and an amount would be demanded.
If he had the money, he would pay her. He would pay all the gold in the world. The book was his Nostradamus, his ledger of prophecies. All along, when he was unsure which road to take on a particular matter, he opened a page at random and a hint or clue would be there. If only he had all the gold in the world. But as it stood, he did not have much money at all.
If that charwoman had divined its value, and she must have or she would not have made off with it, might she not offer it for sale elsewhere? Might she not offer it to someone with more gold than he?
He wracked his memory. What had he ever said to the woman? Had he ever said he was going to Mrs. Herschel’s salon? Had he ever mentioned any other acquaintance’s name? Would she take it somewhere without even trying him first? He would be undone if she did.
No, certainly she would try him before taking it elsewhere. Perhaps he should murder her when she came to collect payment. But what if she brought associates? Mrs. Smat surely knew all sorts of low people.
Even if she did not, how would he dispose of the body? How could he be certain that her dead body would not be traced back to him? Who had she told of her extortion scheme? What would the service think had happened to her? Certainly, if they were questioned, they would point to him as being one of the places on her daily route.
He had been a fool to leave the book out as he had done. But how was he to know anybody but himself would be interested in it? Who, outside of Mrs. Herschel’s small circle, would even understand the significance of it? It was only he who saw it for what it was—a crusade against the powerful. That secret, he had told nobody. God had placed the book inhishands, the almighty had placed the plan inhishands.Hewas the new faithful servant. It belonged in no other hands.
As he raced through the empty rooms above stairs, the book was not anywhere to be seen. His thoughts felt scrambled, as if he did not know what to think of first. He turned and went to his sparse bedchamber, rummaging through a drawer, and pulled out a vial of laudanum. He drank deep, knowing the liquid would settle his racing ideas and consider what must be done.
He sat at the edge of the bed, allowing the draught to ease him as it made its way through him. His terror began to recede and his rational mind resurface.
He began to think how he might talk round it if Mrs. Smat sold the book to Mrs. Herschel or any other person involved in the search for Veritas.
He could say he’d uncovered it in his own investigations and had been studying it for clues. How had he uncovered it? That, he did not yet have an answer for, but God would send him one when the time was right.
It would at least buy him some time. Would it be enough time, though? If this morning’s interview with Lord Penderton had gone well and had he found himself betrothed to Miss Dell before sunset, he might have thought so. However, the meeting had gone terribly wrong and he still had not worked out how to overcome that particular obstacle.
There were steps to the plan! God and the book had given him all the steps. Everything must go in its proper order, that much he knew. He must marry Miss Dell, andthenreveal that he was Veritas, the inheritor of John Hill’s revenge. The inheritor of all the wrongs done to all the men like himself.
Miss Dell must come first. The revenge would be paltry if not for that. Once that was done, he’d have her dowry, take his proper place in the world, and thumb his nose at her father, George Penderton’s son. The weak would rise up and the mighty would fall.
It might be a long and difficult climb to convince her to go against her father’s opinion. He was not certain—how much did daughters really listen to their fathers these days?
But might there not be a way to skip over the long and difficult climb? It would be risky and take some planning. On the other hand, it appeared he was in a risky position already.
As the laudanum coated every nerve ending and muted its activity, he began to think everything was as it was meant to be. God wished to challenge him. He was God’s knight—veritas and lux, the truth and the light—and he must only prove himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Kitty had beennear terrified when she went above stairs upon Sir John’s arrival to the house. She had seen his long, dark shadow lingering in the foyer and it had seemed to her something menacing. It had not been a quarter hour before she’d heard her father shout that Sir John was to get out of the house, and then Hidgson confirming that idea all the way to the front door.
Why would a gentleman comport himself in such a manner?
Perhaps she was naïve and did not understand the ways of the world. She had only witnessed her own parents’ marriage and had based all her ideas on their happiness. Of course, she understood that a man was meant to be…the decider? In charge? Superior? To be obeyed?
She was not particularly clear on that point, but it had to do with the gentleman being given the courtesy of having the last word should there be a disagreement. She hadn’t thought of it as actually true. She’d taken it as an idea society throws around, suggesting it was the way thingsshouldbe, not as they really were. Frederick was always talking about a gentleman’s purview, but he collapsed in a heap of ash in the face of Miss Crimpleton’s opinions. Her father and mother did not have any sort of hierarchy, as her father had so recently confirmed.
As for money, she was well aware that the man theoretically controlled it. Her dowry would one day cease to be her own. Yet, it was her mother who ran the household and consulted with the steward on occasion. Her father steered well clear of anything to do with the accounts. Kitty suspected Miss Crimpleton would do just the same with Frederick.
The outside world, though. That might be different.
Sir John was different. He was as her father had painted him—forceful. Frighteningly forceful.
She did not like it at all and she never wished to encounter Sir John again. While shedidlike Mrs. Herschel and would very much wish to attend her Tuesday gatherings, she began to think she would not. At least not right now. She would not put herself in a position where he might attempt to run over her wishes again.
But then, she did so want to attend. She wanted to hear of any discoveries relating to Veritas. She especially wanted to hear for herself if anybody else suspected Lord Grayson. And, after all, she would be with her mother. There was not anything Sir John could actually do to her and she doubted the gentleman would dare an unpleasantness in Lady Penderton’s presence. In fact, she was likely to encounter Sir John somewhere at some time in future—perhaps it was best to get it over with and have her mother by her side while she did so.
There was a gentle knock on the door and Kitty knew it to be her mother’s own hand. The baroness entered and said, “Ah, here you are. I am certain your father will wish to speak to you at some point, but not just now. He is so rarely in a temper that I think it has exhausted him. I have sent him in a tea tray to bring down his temperature.”
“Sir John,” Kitty said flatly. “I heard him being thrown from the house.”
“Indeed,” Lady Penderton said. “And I do not believe anybody was sorry to see him go. Hidgson was doing his very best not to smile andIwas positively delighted.”
