Page 23 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“Ah, an excellent choice, milady,” the pawnbroker had said. “Just the right fit for a woman’s hand.”
“It seems rather small,” Anne ventured.
“Oh, ‘tis big enough. You’d be surprised at how little it takes to kill a man.”
The old man’s leering words kept echoing through Anne’s head. She was wrenched back to her present surroundings by a light touch upon her hand. Starting half out of her chair, she glanced up and was dismayed to find Lily staring at her and not the stage.
Could Lily read some of Anne’s thoughts in her face? Perhaps the outline of the pistol was even visible through the silk. It had been foolish to bring the thing to the theatre tonight, but that had seemed far safer than leaving the weapon lying about her bedchamber where her maid might find it.
Anne closed her hands over the purse. But Lily only smiled and whispered, “Is not Mr. Kean as wonderful as I promised? Are you not glad you came after all?”
“What? Oh. Oh, yes,” Anne stammered. She couldn’t breathe until Lily turned back to the stage. Her sister’s obtuseness astonished her as did that of everyone else she had met this evening. Anne was certain no one could be weaving suchdesperate plans as she without revealing it by her expression. There must be a wildness about her eyes tonight.
Yet Lily had noticed nothing except that Anne was wearing her second-best pearls. As for Lily’s two gentlemen friends, they paid her little heed. Anne supposed people saw only what they expected to see.
It had been thus all her life. When anyone looked at her, they had always thought, “There goes meek, proper little Anne.”
Only one man had ever perceived anything different. Mandell.
Anne had been trying not to glance his way all evening. She had hoped to be gone from London without ever having to encounter him again. His presence in the box opposite made her wish she had followed her first instinct and pleaded a headache so that she could remain at home. But she had been doing her best these past few days to avoid drawing Lily’s attention to herself, to behave as normal and complacent as possible.
Mandell’s unexpected appearance had all but shattered what remained of her calm facade. Anne thought she had recovered from that episode in the garden, but one sight of that lean, aristocratic profile was enough to bring it all back with an overwhelming intensity—the moonlight and rustling shadows, the fragrance of the flowers, Mandell’s mouth hot against her own.
What perverse fate had brought him to the theatre tonight of all nights? If anyone could guess there was something amiss with her, it would be Mandell with that uncanny way of his. She fancied him staring at her across the theatre, that dark gaze closing the distance between them, stripping her to the soul. She could feel his presence like the charge of lightning that hung in the air before a storm.
She dared not allow him to look too deep into her eyes. If she did, she would be lost. He would know everything. He would?—
With great difficulty, Anne checked her panicky thoughts. She ran her fingers over her neck, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Mandell was not omniscient. Mandell would not be looking into her eyes. He had not even attempted to approach her, content to mock her from a distance with a bow and that quizzing smile. He had likely forgotten her existence and was absorbed in enjoying the play.
She had enough real fears to contend with without inventing new ones. With the back of her glove, she mopped a bead of perspiration from her brow. She was not at all formed for this sort of dangerous intrigue.
She felt as guilty as if she really were plotting to murder someone. Despite her fierce vow to Lucien, Anne had not bought the pistol to harm him, only to threaten him if necessary. Indeed, she hoped she would not have to confront him at all but would find some way to snatch her daughter from his house when he was away.
Norrie ... in a few short hours, if all went well, Anne might be gazing upon her little girl again, caressing her curls while she slept. Crushed inside the reticule beneath the pistol was a note.
Midnight. The back gate.
L.
The lettering was rough and had obviously been carefully labored over. It was the script of a servant who had been taught only the bare rudiments of printing. Louisa Douglas, apple-cheeked, fresh from Yorkshire, was little more than a child herself.
Anne had patiently studied the comings and goings of Lucien’s household for nearly two days. She had hoped for a glimpse of Norrie and been disappointed. But she had managedto assess many of the servants, trying to decide who might be useful for her purpose.
In the end, Anne had settled upon Louisa, a homely young woman who, despite her crooked teeth, possessed a warm smile. The little maid was sent out on frequent marketing errands and Anne had found no difficulty approaching her in the street.
Louisa had been wary, sympathetic, and intrigued by turns over Anne’s plight. Yes indeed, she saw Miss Eleanor every day. It was Louisa’s task to carry the breakfast tray up to the nursery. The poor little mite always looked so pale. Pining for her mama, Louisa expected. Louisa would be only too happy to try to slip Norrie a message or a small present from Anne.
But when Anne had explained what she really wanted, Louisa’s eyes had gone round with terror. Smuggling a message was one thing but sneaking Anne into the house to see the child quite another. If they were caught! Sir Lucien had the most formidable temper,
“Then we will pick a time when Sir Lucien is gone,” Anne had said smoothly.
“He hardly ever is during the day, ma’am. Mostly just late at night.”
“Late at night would be perfect,” Anne had said. “The rest of the household would be asleep.”
Louisa had allowed that even the governess, Mrs. Ansley, was a heavy sleeper, but she had continued to shake her head. It had taken a great deal of persuasion and coin to convince the girl to help Anne in such a risky undertaking. Even then, Anne was not sure she had succeeded until she had found the note tucked, as prearranged, in the chink of the garden wall. The simple note that was somehow touching printed in that childlike hand
What troubled Anne most about all her plotting was the deception she practiced upon Louisa. Contrary to what she had told the girl, Anne wanted to do far more than just see herchild tonight. She meant to remark the layout of the interior of Lucien’s house, the position of windows and doors, and the exact location of Norrie’s room.
