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His chest was achy and tight, as if a part of himself would be walking out that door. “Are you sure you shouldn’t—”
“It’s for the best,” Madam Langley admonished.
But it didn’t feel that way to Bellamy.
“We have contacts in many villages,” Madam Fairborn said. “Even as far away as—”
A noise from below startled them. Someone was banging on the door.
Chapter 23
“It’s Kipling,” Ashwood said, his hand tightening into a fist. “I can smell him.”
“You must hide in one of the rooms,” Madam Langley said.
“It’s no use. He already knows I’m here.” His shoulders slumped. “Likely Bellamy too. His scent would’ve been strong in my rooms.”
Bellamy tried to rein in his galloping pulse as panic crowded his chest.
“All right.” Madam Langley stood and straightened herself, though her hands were trembling. “I shall see what he wants.”
The room grew still as she descended the stairs. They listened closely as she opened the door and a terse conversation ensued.
“I’m here for Ashwood,” Kipling said in a gruff timbre that carried. “I don’t want any trouble. Only to speak with him.”
“And if I don’t allow it? If I decide to call the authorities?”
“You wouldn’t dare. If you expose me, then I shall expose you. Do you really want your establishment shuttered and all your employees charged with lecherous behavior?”
Bellamy felt sick, warm bile crawling up the back of his throat. For all his bravado about killing the man, he trembled, feeling frightened of Kipling’s unpredictability and what that might mean for any of them.
“I’ll go out to speak with him,” Ashwood said, but Madam Fairborn held up her hand.
“Let the conversation take place in our company.” Madam Fairborn strode to the top of the stairs with way more gumption than Bellamy ever had. “Come inside and let us have a reasonable discussion over tea. I shall ask Miss Celestine to bring a fresh cup.”
She waited until they entered the room, Madam Langley visibly shaken, though she kept her shoulders squared. Madam Fairborn strode to the kitchens as Madam Langley directed Kipling, who looked just as dodgy as Bellamy remembered, to a seat. As if he were a guest of Moon Flower instead of a charlatan and murderer. His stomach and head warred between blinding fury and disgust at the man.
Ashwood stood tense near the hearth, and Bellamy felt frozen solid in his chair. As Kipling’s dark gaze took in the room, Bellamy wanted to swipe the smarmy look off his face.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding all this time?” Kipling said to Bellamy, not seeming surprised in the least.
“Why is it any of your business?” he replied through clenched teeth.
He shrugged. “It might be of interest to Gladstone.”
“As if you didn’t also deceive him,” Ashwood spit out. “I’m not sure who’s the more treacherous of you two.”
“Don’t act so innocent.” Kipling jabbed a finger in his direction. “You could pilfer watches with the best of them.”
Ashwood nodded. “You taught me well. But I was just a child. And so was Bellamy.”
“I was once a child too,” Kipling said, a faraway look in his eyes. It was a moment of vulnerability Bellamy hadn’t expected.
Ashwood seized on it. “Perhaps it’s the perfect time to go our separate ways and live as we see fit.”
Kipling scowled. The moment had already passed.
Madam Fairborn returned with Miss Celestine on her heels, carrying a steaming cup of tea she placed in front of Kipling before practically fleeing the room. If any of the other lads were aware of their new guest, they remained out of sight, perhaps warned by Oscar or the twins that their presence would be poor timing.
“Is this your famous moon-flower tea?” Kipling smirked as he lifted the cup and took a sip.
Madam Langley coolly assessed him rather than responding, knowing the question was also a veiled threat.
“So what brings you to Moon Flower?” Madam Fairborn asked once she was seated.
“As I’ve already said, I’m here to speak to Ashwood,” Kipling replied, meeting Ashwood’s hard gaze across the room.
“He’s a guest under my roof,” Madam Langley said with venom in her tone. “What do you want from him?”
“He’ll need to return with me. We have unfinished business.”
“Unfinished business?” Ashwood countered. “You left me for dead.”
“Call it a test of sorts,” he said after another hearty sip. “You obviously survived.”
“What sort of test?” Bellamy asked. He couldn’t help himself. He hoped the man choked on his tea.
“Of loyalty,” he replied flippantly. “He’d already failed the first regarding you. He swore you were weak and easily persuadable. All he needed was to suggest joining us, and you would comply.”
Bellamy’s thoughts began swimming, remembering all their nights together under Gladstone and then Ashwood’s heartbreaking deceit. His gut churned, and he leaned forward, thinking perhaps he might be sick.
“Don’t believe him,” Ashwood’s tone was strangled. “He’s trying to sow doubt between us.”
