“Madeline Murray is a woman of incomparable character,” he said, his heart filling with a yearning for her that ached in places he didn’t know could be touched by such things. “Your trust in Everwell, and in her, was well founded. If she hadn’t been on the train yesterday, I might have been bundled in a sack by a couple of ruffians, one of whom was armed. They deserve your support, Aunt. This cretin is preying on your fears for his own ends, and those women, and everyone they help, will pay the price if you do not trust me.”
She pursed her lips together, rocking slightly, her mind clearly working through some tangle. It was odd to see Aunt Veronica so much at sixes and sevens.
“I will set Dominic on to this case as well if need be,” Beau continued, “and get the truth out in the open. Creatures like Nelson Taylor clearly thrive on people’s fears, but scuttle away fast enough when light is shone on the matter. Do not trouble yourself, Aunt Vee. I will handle it.”
“I have to trouble myself.” She stood and walked to the window, her hands clenched in front of her. “I wrote to them, informing them I knew the truth about their infamous society. And I promised to speak to Mr. Miller at the Chronicle and confirm the stories.”
“You did what?”
He’d spoken so loudly, his response so loud, he surprised both of them.
“It was rash, but I was angry—and terrified, I’m not too proud to say,” she said, standing now. “I told him I had a story to break about Everwell. I expect him early afternoon.”
Beau rose and crossed the room to meet his aunt. Aunt Veronica was a strong woman, yes, and an independent one. Even now, he could see her mind working, trying figure out how to undo the harms she’d inflicted in a moment of anger and fear.
“Aunt Vee, we have to fix this,” Beau said. “Everwell helped us when no one else would.”
“Of course we have to fix it,” she said. “I don’t run away from my problems.”
She lifted her chin, a fire in her pale grey eyes he couldn’t recall seeing in quite a long time. Instantly, he thought about his mother. Had she run away from her problems with Hollis? Or from a life she knew she couldn’t bear? And what about Beau? He’d spent a lifetime running from one problem or another, trying to busy himself with the next thrill.
But Aunt Vee never did. Brushing Beau’s hands away, she crossed the floor of the morning parlour in a rustle of silk and pulled the bell for the housekeeper, who, in that magical way of attentive servants, appeared a moment later.
“Mrs. Hayes,” she said, “I have a note to send to Everwell. I need it sent immediately. Bring the carriage and wait for their reply.”
“Excuse me ma’am,” the housekeeper said. “But I do not think that will be necessary.”
“Why ever not?”
Movement outside the front window caught Beau’s eye.
“Because ma’am,” she continued, “they are already here.”
* * *
There were a million places Maddy would rather be at the moment, and none of them were the Turnbull mansion. She was too furious at the world right now—at Malcolm for humiliating her in public; at Nelson, being free in the world and not allowing her past to rest. She was absolutely vexed with the Turnbulls and the entire upper strata of Halifax society who made arbitrary rules about how the world worked, and then broke them at no cost to themselves.
Of course, there was Beau. She didn’t even know what to feel about him anymore, and the fact she was having even that argument with herself was bothersome.
Then again, she thought as she climbed out of the carriage wearing her best green day dress, what if Beau was gone? Maybe he was already on his way back to New Brunswick. Given how intent he’d been since receiving the news, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
The sudden grip of panic at the thought he was already gone made her feel even worse.
The Everwell contingent had come out in force. Lady Em lead the charge, along with Phillipa, Rimple, and Maddy. Gemma and Elouise stayed behind with Tilda to mind the children.
She wished Elouise was here—she had a natural charm that seemed to ease a thousand uncomfortable conversations. In some ways, she wasn’t unlike Beau—she knew how to use a smile or a witty remark to soothe or distract and direct conversation in a way that served her needs. Instead, it was up to Phillipa and Lady Em to confront Veronica Turnbull about her choice to renege on their agreement and expose Everwell to further damage. Rimple, ever faithful to her friends, came to support Maddy.
Maddy had been on far more dangerous jobs than this. She’d ferried young girls out of the hold of a ship that was going to take them to New England and then on to parts unknown to be used as pleasure things for wealthy men. That hold had been guarded by at least four well-armed men. She’d also confronted more than her fair share of drunken husbands looking for their wives at Everwell.
But this was different. This was an enemy she couldn’t fight with a jab in the gut or disarm with a knife. This was the power of words, and the words of people in power. She’d never managed to find a way to defend herself against those.
Phillipa had not even managed to ring the door chime before the massive oak door opened on thick brass hinges. On the other side was an older woman of average height, with a greying blonde hair pulled back into a neat knot. She wore a dark brown dress with a chatelaine that marked her as the Turnbull’s housekeeper.
“Good morning,” she said, nodding his head with a certain degree of respect that Maddy had not expected. She held open the door even wider, her hand extended. “Please come in.”
Phillipa looked to Lady Em before casting an eye to Maddy. While they hadn’t expected to be tossed immediately to the street, even Phillipa could not hide her shock at this greeting.
They had barely set foot on the beautifully polished parquet floor when a familiar set of footsteps set Maddy’s heart into a flutter.
