Page 65 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
“The box,” he asked. His voice came out as a croak.
“Doctor Chapman says he will give you the box if you come in person to collect it.”
“He did not let you have it?” Snowy asked, his voice steadier. Why not?
“He says he swore to put it into your hands, Lord Snowden, and yours alone. I suspect you might find support for your petition to the Lord Chancellor and perhaps for the case against the false viscount within its contents.”
Snowy turned the notebook over in his hands, then remembered what Wakefield said when he came in. “This is important,” he agreed, “but how is it urgent?”
Wakefield nodded. “Quite right. My concern is that Dr. Chapman and his wife are very afraid of Snowden. I believe they might run, and I think that you need to talk to them first. You, and young Mr. Deffew.”
“Dicken Deffew? What has he to do with it?” Margaret asked.
Snowy had been about to ask the same question. His future wife was smart as well as beautiful. He was being blessed in many ways.
“I think Chapman will trust Lady Snowden’s son more than he trusts me,” Wakefield answered, “And, if what I suspect is true, I believe Mrs. Chapman will tell us everything she knows if Dickon Deffew asks her.”
Snowy could make no sense of it. “What is that you suspect, Wakefield?”
“I believe that Mrs. Chapman is the former Mrs. Deffew, Dickon Deffew’s mother.” He counted points by raising fingers, one at a time. “One. Mrs. Deffew is in the asylum records, admitted as a patient six months before Lady Snowden. Two. She disappears from the records shortly after Lady Snowden dies. There is no record of her death, or her release. Three. The time that Doctor Chapman’s wife begins to be mentioned in the asylum’s day books follows directly on from the time that comments about Mrs. Deffew cease. No overlap. No time lapse.”
Snowy nodded. “Suggestive.”
“Then try this. When they spoke of Snowden, his reach, his spies, and his vicious retribution toward those who disobey him, they mentioned Deffew as his chief enforcer. I told them Deffew had been dead for a year, and Mrs. Chapman burst into tears. Chapman ended the interview. But here’s the thing. They were both overcome with feeling—Chapman was just better at hiding it. But I would swear on a stack of Bibles that the predominant emotions were joy and triumph.”
Snowy and Margaret exchanged glances. He lifted his eyebrows in question, and she nodded. They would go. “Dickon Deffew and Snowy’s brother Ned are not in Town, but we know where they are,” she said, cautiously.
Wakefield replied, “Staying at the Paddimore estate, Three Gables.” He shrugged at their looks of surprise. “It is my job to know things. The asylum is probably about halfway between here and Three Gables. Perhaps Mr. Deffew can meet you there?”
Pauline objected. “Lord Snowden and Lady Charmain are to wed on Wednesday,” she said.
Wakefield inclined his head. “If we leave in the morning, perhaps by eight o’clock, you should be able to do the whole journey there and back in a day. I suggest you send a rider tonight with a message to the Ashbys. If the messenger rode until dark, then proceeded on his way at first light, Deffew will be able to reach the village at about the same time as you do.” He frowned. “It would be best if Snowden does not realize you’ve gone.”
Margaret penned a letter to Regina and Ash, asking them to bring both young men to the asylum to meet her and Snowy, and Snowy ordered a horse and groom to take the message and a carriage for the morning for him and Margaret.
“I’ll stay here while you are gone,” Pauline offered. “I can maintain the fiction that you are both still in town but lying low until after your wedding.”
*
In preparation forthe journey, they went early to bed. Margaret changed and dismissed her maid, then lay in the dark, thinking about Hal’s caresses.
It was funny how when they were with others, she thought of Hal as Snowy, as if he was a different person. And perhaps he was—for her, and for himself. Hal was his private name, just within the family. His mother’s name for him, and his brothers, and now hers. It wasn’t a name to share with others.
Hal had made her ache, and yet the ache was also a pleasure. He had made her restless for something wonderful that remained just out of reach.
She had been frustrated when they had to stop, and she had caught some warm glances from him during the evening that hinted he felt the same.
She tried to reassure herself that she did not have long to wait.Not tomorrow and not the next day, but the day after that, we will be wed, and he will make me his.It didn’t help. She was almost certain Martin had been a bad lover as well as a liar, but his jeers echoed in the back of her mind and now she was frightened of her wedding night and of letting Hal down, as well as filled with desire for Hal’s touch and the mindless pleasure that melted away her worries.
She tried to turn her mind to another topic, but it kept drifting back, heating and chilling her alternately, as first desire then worry came uppermost. What if Martin was right, and she could never give Hal pleasure in bed?
She had not meant to trap him into marriage, and he was putting a very good face on it, but men could not be expected to ignore their appetites. Her father had told her that when he berated her for trusting Martin. If she did not please Hal, someone else would. She would not be a compliant wife. She could not. And he would first resent and later hate her for it.
Finally, she threw back the sheet and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and reached for a shawl to cover her night rail.
Her eyes had adjusted enough to the dim light that she could cross the familiar suite to the door that connected her rooms with Hal’s. She turned the key to unlock it. Then, she hesitated. Perhaps he was asleep?
After what seemed like a long time, she knocked, a light rat-a-tat-tat that would alert Hal if he was as sleepless as her but not, she hoped, wake him if he slumbered.
