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Mr. Andrews shrank a bit and licked his lips. “I’m afraid she is not at home.” He tried again to close the door, but Marcus placed his hand on the door and pushed it open, stepping into the entrance hall and pulling Lizbeth along with him.
“We will be happy to do a search of the premises and see for ourselves.” He continued to hold Lizbeth’s hand, and gave her a slight squeeze.
“Now see here, you cannot barge into a private home like this. If you don’t leave, I shall find it necessary to summon the police.” The man’s face had turned from pale to quite red and he darted glances down the corridor.
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at the man. “That is an excellent idea. Why don’t you summon the police? We will gladly wait here for them.”
Lizbeth also crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the man. Her eyes caught a movement and she dropped her arms and straightened as Mrs. O’Leary came hurrying down the corridor, her eyes also growing wide when she saw Lizbeth.
“Why, Miss Davenport, how lovely to see you.” She extended her hands as if they were old friends. The woman was wasting her talents, she should be treading the boards at Drury Lane.
“Indeed?” Lizbeth raised her brows and stepped back to avoid being touched by the woman. “Apparently, Mr. Andrews’s memory is not as good as yours, Mrs. O’Leary.”
Marcus had suggested she not engage the woman in a verbal battle about what happened, but to merely ask for her things and leave. Until they visited with the Bath Police, showing any hint of pending retribution to Mrs. O’Leary was not a wise step.
A visit to the Bath Police Station was next on his agenda, since they had not contacted Lizbeth as the Bobbies in London had promised.
Mrs. O’Leary waved off Lizbeth’s comment. “Mr. Andrews sight is not as strong as it used to be. What can I do for you?”
Lizbeth straightened and looked the woman in the eye. “You can give me my things back.”
Completely cool and calm, Mrs. O’Leary said, “My dear, I’m afraid you took everything with you when you so abruptly moved out.”
Lizbeth almost choked at the woman’s statement. She squeezed Marcus’s hand so hard she would probably bruise him. It was either that or go for Mrs. O’Leary’s throat. The woman looked so unflustered that for a moment Lizbeth worried that Marcus would think she made the entire story up. “I did not move out on my own, as you well know.”
Marcus began rubbing the inside of her wrist with his finger which calmed her as she took a deep breath. “I left all my personal belongings when I was unexpectedly removed from the premises. I want them back.”
Mrs. O’Leary shook her head. “I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, Miss Davenport because there is nothing here in the house that belongs to you.”
Lizbeth stepped forward. “I want to search my room.”
Mrs. O’Leary sighed, as if filled with sorrow at her request. “I’m afraid that is not possible since we have a new resident in that room now.”
Lizbeth’s nervousness vanished. Her heart pounded so loud surely Marcus could hear it. She had another resident in that room?
“Does she know what your plans are for her? Is she aware of what happens to every woman in that room? Does she—”
Marcus wrapped his arm around her middle and drew her flush against his body. “Good day, Mrs. O’Leary.” He opened the door and dragged her from the building.
“Let me go!” She pounded on his arm with her fists and kicked back with her heel in an attempt to strike his leg.
“No. You are getting nowhere and anything else you say might tip her off about our intentions.”
Lizbeth twisted in Marcus’s arms. “I want my paintings back. I worked for years on those.” Then to her utter humiliation she sagged against him and burst into tears.
As if she were a small child, he scooped her into his arms and walked to the carriage. He helped her in, gave the driver instructions to return home and settled Lizbeth on his lap.
She clung to his jacket lapels and cried her heart out. All those paintings she’s slaved over for years! Would her life ever be happy again? Marcus rubbed his hand up and down her back. He shifted her so he could reach his pocket where he drew out a handkerchief and handed it to her.
Truly, she’d thought there were no more tears left inside her, but apparently, she’d been wrong. Thoughts of all the hours she spent working on those paintings, and all the money spent on the best supplies, brought on a new torrent of tears.
There were paintings of her family members, their pets, the lovely sunrise from the back of her house. The early ones when she was still learning. Eventually her tears ended as the carriage made its way through the traffic. Marcus continued to hold her, rub her back and murmur soothing words as she drew in shuddering breaths. Just as she wiped her face once more and sat up, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Berkshire residence.
She looked out the window. “I have nothing,” she whispered.
Marcus placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to look in her eyes. “Yes. You do. You have talent, you have friends, and those who care about you.”
