AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Monstrous.”
She nodded. It was plain she was distraught, and yet she maintained enough composure to address Bartleby in a voice that wobbled only a little when she asked, “Does Mrs. Hayton know about Mr. Birdsley?”
Mr. Bartleby gave a helpless shrug. “From the way she looked when she came out—she and the chief constable spoke behind closed doors—I can only assume so. She told us about Coombs and said the new night watchman wasn’t to be trusted. She also gave strict orders for us not to open the door to any strangers after sunset. If she failed to mention Mr. Birdsley’s death at the time, it’s likely due to Miss Flanagan having been present.” Two spots of color returned to his chalky cheeks.
He nodded. “Mrs. Hayton would have wanted to break the news to her gently and in private.”
“As soon as the lady was out of sight,” Bartleby continued, “Mrs. Hayton gave me that letter and told me to come to you straightaway. And here I am, with a few more white hairs for it, I’ll warrant.”
Jacqueline frowned. “Considering the danger, I wonder that she did not send you on horseback.”
“She tried,” answered the footman, wincing. “But I thought nothing of the walk, as short a distance as it is between here and there, and I was loath to waken Bob—her driver. I left without rousing him and walked it.” Bartleby glanced at the door with unconcealed apprehension. “Now I see she was right. Something foul is afoot in our neighborhood. Thieves, I trow.”
“Worse than thieves,” Will told him. “But Mrs. Hayton should be safe.” He glanced at Jacqueline. “It’s not her they want.”
Chapter Fifteen
Garroted.
Jacqueline’s head spun, and she fought to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Poor Monsieur Birdsley! He’d been a kind and honorable man. He hadn’t deserved such an end. It’s my fault he died. Boucher wanted to get to me, and he was in the way.
Though her conscience pricked her sore and she wanted nothing more than to cry, now wasn’t the time. Easing away from Mrs. Sloane, she looked into her devastated eyes. Had she been in love with Mr. Birdsley? “Come now, Prudence,” Jacqueline whispered, taking out a kerchief and blotting her friend’s cheeks. “We must remain strong for the children’s sake.” Only when the woman nodded did she release her and turn to address their guest. “Mr. Bartleby, when you leave in the morning, I must ask you to do me a favor and take a message to Chief Constable Deering before you return to Mrs. Hayton’s. You will use the school’s carriage, of course.”
“Aye, ma’am. I’m happy to do it.”
“Mrs. Sloane will see to some bedding for you,” she added, flicking a glance at the tearful woman.
Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Sloane squared her shoulders. “Have you eaten this evening, Mr. Bartleby?”
He shook his head. “I don’t wish to trouble anyone, but I could do with a bit of bread and a cup of tea to get me through until morning. The staff were just settling in for our dinner when the chief constable arrived and set the house all in an uproar.”
Mrs. Sloane gave him a shaky smile. “’Tis no trouble, sir.”
Relief flooded Jacqueline as her friend appeared to recover her composure. She addressed Bartleby once more. “Though I wish you had not endangered yourself to do so, I must thank you again, kind sir, for coming to us with this news.” Turning, she glanced at Will and silently indicated he should follow her out.
“What are you going to tell Deering in the morning?” he whispered once they were in the hall.
She clenched her teeth for a moment to keep from bursting into tears again. “That I plan to bear the cost of Constable Birdsley’s burial and monument,” she finally responded, heading for the stairs. “It’s the least I can do, especially as he has no family. That good man deserves better than a pauper’s funeral.”
He stopped and grasped her elbow, forcing her to pause and look at him. “His death is not your fault. I know you think you’re responsible, but the blame for this rests solely on Boucher’s shoulders.”
“She would never have troubled with him but for me.”
“She’s after the Archangel, not you, remember?”
Pulling free of his light hold, she narrowed her eyes at him, anger pounding through her veins to blot out all else. “Yes, and he would never have begun his crusade if not for me, so don’t presume to lift the yoke of guilt from my shoulders.”
“Jacqueline, please…don’t do this to yourself.” He stepped close, his midnight eyes full of sympathy.
She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted to scream in rage over what was happening! Everything she’d built, everyone she cared about, was in jeopardy. Including this man, her traitorous heart whispered. “Headmistress, if you please,” she corrected, but her voice broke on a sob as everything came crashing in on her at once: grief, anger, guilt, shame, and fear.
Before she knew it, his arms were around her. She ought to have shoved him away and given him the rough side of her tongue for taking such liberties with her person. Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder and let him hold her as she railed against fate’s caprice.
Through it all, he was as solid and unmoving as a mountain amid a tempest.
Eventually, the storm subsided, leaving her drained yet curiously lightened. Ho
w odd it was to feel safe in a man’s arms! It had been a long, long time since she’d last experienced this sense of security. She’d been a little girl, back before Paris and the disaster that had ruined her family’s fortunes. Her papa had been a bulwark of strength standing between her and the rest of the world, protecting her and her sisters.
