Page 90 of An Unwilling Earl
For a moment the woman looked old and frail, her wrinkles more defined, her once erect shoulders stooped. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, girl.”
“I think you do. I think you know what Edmund is doing, and you’re frightened for him. Maybe even frightened of him.”
She scoffed, but this time Charlotte saw the deep-seated fear. “That boy? He’s too much of an idiot to do anything other than what I tell him. Has no brain, that one. Not good for anything.”
Charlotte had heard this dozens of times. It had made her feel sorry for Edmund. Until he’d destroyed her doll. And then she’d tried to stay away from both of them.
“He needs help,” Charlotte said, thinking maybe she could get through to her aunt. She seemed vulnerable at the moment, a little lost. Maybe Charlotte could help.
“He needs a good beating. Get those demons out of him. Prayer is what he needs.”
“If you’re frightened then you need to tell the police what you know.”
Aunt Martha raised her chin, looked down her nose at Charlotte. “What would I be frightened of, girl? My own son?” She laughed, a reedy sound that was more like a wheeze. “You’re daft, just like I told your husband you were.” She jutted her chin toward Jacob. “You’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. God save you then.”
She swooped out of the room. Charlotte moved to the window where she could see her aunt descending the steps and climbing into her decrepit coach.
Jacob put his hands on her shoulders. “How are you?”
“Shaken, but surprisingly well. I wasn’t expecting her to visit.”
“What did she want?”
“That’s what I can’t figure out. Why come now?”
“Talk about daft. She’s about as daft as one can get.”
Charlotte leaned back into the strength of her husband. “You were magnificent.”
He laughed. “That’s high praise, indeed.”
“You were so well composed, as if she wasn’t getting under your skin, when I knew she was.”
“That’s what I do. I’ve interviewed countless criminals and victims. You can’t let them see that they are getting to you or they win. Your aunt is no different than them.”
“I wish I had known you sooner. I wish you could have been there to point this out to me when I was younger and terrified of her.”
He squeezed her shoulders. “I don’t think it would have had the same effect on you as it does now.”
His hands slid down until he wrapped his arms around her middle.
Good Lord, but I love this man.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Charlotte stared up at Scotland Yard, still unable to believe she was here. “People in the rookery call it The Yard,” she said.
Jacob held out his arm, and she took it, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. After Martha had left their house, Jacob had announced that they needed to do something about Edmund.
“I married you to save you from your aunt, but we need to save London from Edmund,” he’d said.
“How? What do we do?” she’d asked.
“What we should have done all along. We need to go to the police. We need to end this so we can live our lives in peace.”
She hadn’t argued because she’d known he was right. For so long her only mission had been to get away from her aunt and cousin, to save herself, whether that was sailing to America or marrying Jacob. She was safe now, but countless other women were not, and she couldn’t live with that knowledge any longer.
And that was how she found herself staring up at the front doors to The Yard.
