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“You will survive.” Mrs. St. John’s voice was sharper than Megs had ever heard it.
The black receded enough to let Megs see her mother-in-law’s face. Mrs. St. John was stern, the comfortable softness taking on a strength she’d never guessed was in the older woman. And she remembered: Mrs. St. John had lost a beloved husband. Had known sorrow and still lived.
“Listen to me,” her mother-in-law said in a no-nonsense voice. “Whatever we find, you must be like iron. He will need you and you must not let him down.”
“Yes.” Megs nodded shakily. “Yes, of course.”
Mrs. St. John gave her one more sharp look as if judging her mettle, and then nodded and sat back. They made the rest of the hellishly long drive in silence.
The lane in front of the home was narrow, and thus they were forced to halt the carriage at the far end. Megs clutched the soft bag holding Godric’s clothes and descended with Mrs. St. John. She was comforted when Oliver and Johnny came to stand beside them, each of the footmen holding a pistol.
She glanced up at Tom. “Will you be all right by yourself?”
“Aye,” the coachman said grimly. He brandished a pair of pistols. “Doubt anyone will bother me.”
Megs nodded and turned, hurrying down Maiden Lane to the home. Two lanterns hung to either side of the home’s front door and she was so focused on their beckoning light that she never even noticed the tall man who separated himself from the shadows until Oliver gave a warning cry.
Captain James Trevillion raised his hands with insulting indifference. “Surely you’ll not have your man shoot a soldier of the Crown, my lady?”
“Of course not,” Megs said, eyes narrowing. What was the dragoon doing lurking outside the home? She glanced at her mother-in-law and was relieved to see that the older woman was watching her warily but was smart enough not to say anything. “But you must admit it’s not wise to startle an armed guard in St. Giles.”
“Naturally one can’t be too cautious.” A corner of the dragoon captain’s rather cruel mouth twitched in something that definitely wasn’t a smile. “Especially when the Ghost of St. Giles was seen this very night.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“Isn’t it?” Captain Trevillion stepped closer, despite Oliver’s growl. “The Ghost went to ground near here.” The captain turned and looked speculatively at the home.
Megs sucked in a breath, tilting her chin. “Let us pass.”
Something darkened in the dragoon captain’s pale blue eyes. “You are well esteemed, my lady, by everyone who knows you. Had I not seen it myself, I would not credit that you would shield a murderer such as your husband.”
Megs heard the sharp gasp her mother-in-law made beside her. She couldn’t turn to give the older woman a warning look—she was too busy staring the dragoon captain down. He’d come right out and accused Godric of being the Ghost of St. Giles. She shouldn’t show fear, shouldn’t show any emotion at all.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, half surprised that her voice emerged evenly.
“Don’t you?” The captain’s thin lips twisted. “Your husband may be an aristocrat, but he isn’t a peer, my lady. Sooner or later I’ll catch him in disguise as the Ghost, and when I do, I’ll see him kicking up his heels at Tyburn.”
Her chin jerked at his blunt words.
The dragoon spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Please, my lady. Much better for you to disown Mr. St. John before his disgrace. You can retire quietly to the country and never be witness to the shame of having married a murderer.”
She couldn’t help but flinch at the last, awful word. He was right. Godric had murdered—had confessed he didn’t even know how many he’d killed—and she hated it. But that didn’t mean that she hated the man himself.
“You are mistaken,” she said with commendable levelness.
He arched a brow. “Am I?”
Megs started forward, sweeping past the awful man, but then suddenly rage, pure and blinding, overtook good sense. This man had no right to say such things about Godric!
She whirled, marching right up to the dragoon captain and stabbing her forefinger into his chest. “I would never desert my husband, Captain Trevillion, and if you think I’d ever feel shame for being married to Godric St. John, you understand neither him nor me. My husband is the most honorable man I know. He’s a good man—the best man I’ve ever known in my life—and if you don’t understand that, well, then you’re an addlepated ass.”
She thought she saw a fleeting look of surprise on the dragoon captain’s face as she whirled to stalk away, but she was too agitated to spare a second glance.
“My lady,” he called behind her.
She ignored the horrible man, climbing the home’s steps and lifting the knocker. A fine tremor was making her hands shake. She wanted only to get inside, to find Godric and make sure he was safe and well.
The best man she’d ever known. She’d said it in the heat of anger, but it was true. She might’ve loved Roger with all her heart, but Godric was the one who risked his life to save complete strangers. He might deal in violence, but he also dealt in deliverance.
