Page 43 of The Lady Confesses
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Hettie met SallyDawson’s worried gaze. “All will be well.”
The only slightly older but significantly more weary woman shook her head. “With respect, my lady, it rarely is. And when dealing with the sort of man the new Lord Ernsdale is, ’tis even less likely. But I’ll help because I owe the both of you.” She jerked her head toward Honoria. “I know what you’ve both done for me. And for the other girls. They’ll be marching and rioting in the streets of Mayfair if aught happens to either of you. On that score you need not worry.”
Hettie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Sally. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to know that I will have your assistance.”
“Never doubt it, m’lady. Never doubt it.”
Hettie rose from the small and rickety wooden chair that flanked the table. It was one of the only bits of furniture in the squalid little room. “I fear, Sally, that we have not done enough for you. Do you have money for food? Money to heat the room when it grows colder?”
“I’ll be all right,” Sally insisted. “And if I’m not, I’ll not be taking to the streets again. I’ll come to Mrs. Carrow or yourself before I take such a risk. This world is hard enough even with a mother’s love and protection. I can’t take the risk of leaving my wee ones to fend for themselves.”
It was an instinctive thing for Hettie to place her hand protectively over her still-flat stomach. But it was a gesture that spoke volumes. “I can’t imagine it.”
Sally’s eyes widened, and then her expression settled into one of knowing. “I suspect you’ll be finding out soon enough.”
Hettie did not confirm or deny it. But there was no need. They all, every person in that room—from the youngest to the oldest—understood the ways of the world very well. “I suppose I will. One hour, Sally. And not a moment later. Timing must be precise.”
“It will be, ma’am. It will be.”
Hettie walked toward Honoria, where she cuddled the youngest of Sally’s children. The little girl was an angel-faced hellion of four, and Honoria adored her.
“It’s time to go,” Hettie said.
Honoria sighed and gave the little girl another squeeze. “I will come visit you again very soon, Mary, and I will finish telling you the story of the princess with yards and yards of golden hair.”
“I like that story very much,” the little girl said. The word very sounded like “vewy,” and it was impossibly endearing.
Honoria rose and settled the little girl on the simple pallet on the floor that served as her bed—a bed she shared with her two sisters and one brother. For all that they lived in poverty and for all that the world had been beyond unkind to Sally, she managed to give her children the kind of love that both Hettie and Honoria had been denied as children.And as adults.
Honoria raised up and took Hettie’s hand. “Let’s go. Before I lose my nerve entirely.”
“You’re not the one who will be going into that house,” Hettie pointed out.
“No,” Honoria said. “And that’s rather the problem. I can’t be with you. I can’t protect you. Not from Arthur Dagliesh and not from his rotten nephew.”
“It’s a good plan,” Hettie insisted. “A solid one. He won’t dare harm me in that house, for then he’d have to explain it. One death, certainly. But for both Arthur and I to meet such an end? No. He’ll force me to go elsewhere, and that is where you and Sally come into play.”
“If we survive this, Vincent and Mr. Ettinger may well kill us for it. And rightfully so... but I couldn’t live with myself if we did not at least make an effort to save Annie Foster. We’d be the worst sort of hypocrites then,” Honoria reflected.
“And you are many things, sister, but hypocritical has never been one of them.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Joss found Hettie’sroom empty. Down the corridor, Vincent appeared at the top of the stairs. He could tell from the set of the other man’s shoulders that things were only going to get worse.
“They’re gone,” Vincent said, and there was a growl in his voice that hinted at just how dangerous he could be when provoked. “And so is the carriage. Meanwhile, the coachman is passed out drunk, having been given the night off. That tells me they’re doing something foolish and reckless that they didn’t want the servants privy to, lest they warn me and prevent it.” He paused again, his jaw clenching and unclenching with barely suppressed fury fueled entirely by fear. “I’ll wring her bloody neck for it.”
There was a tightness in Joss’s gut, a feeling of danger. It was a feeling he’d had more than once. A feeling, he thought, that had saved his arse more than once. “They are. The question is, where have they gone and why?”
Vincent strode past him. “Let’s find Stavers. Perhaps they will have sent him word, though if they had he would most certainly have stopped them.”
Joss felt a frisson of unease. More than a frisson, really. It rolled through him like waves, each one cresting a bit higher than the last. He wanted to think that Hettie wouldn’t be so reckless, but then he recalled the night of their first meeting, watching her leap from that ship into the filthy water.“Assuming that whatever scheme they’ve cooked up wasn’t already in motion by the time such a message was delivered, both of them have the ability to be quite cagey and terrifyingly independent. But isn’t that why you’re hopelessly in love with her?”
Vincent whirled on him. “What about you? I knew you, Joshua Ettinger, before your ballocks even dropped. I’ve never seen you so enthralled with a woman as you are with Henrietta. Do you deny that you are in love with her?”
Instantly, the comment had his back up. The denial sprang quickly to his lips, but he couldn’t just say no. Even as he wanted to, the word would not pass his lips. So he offered an answer that was not an answer at all. “What the fuck does that even mean? To be in love? People like us, people who come from where we do—such fine feelings aren’t for us. I want her. I like her. And I’ll do right by her. But I’m not going to pretty it up with sentiment that is nothing more than fodder for novelists and poets.”
