Page 29 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“Too dreadful,” was all the girl could choke out. She continued to snivel against Gideon’s shoulder despite all his coaxing and pressing of kisses to her brow.
Oh, lord, Sara thought. She hoped Gideon had not gotten another stupid wench with child. Unable to endure any more of the nonsense, she shot to her feet.
She spun the girl away from Gideon, saying, “Stop it. Unless you want to be smacked, you’d best save this melodrama for the stage. Either tell us what is wrong or get out”
“Sara!” Gideon protested. But her words had more effect on the girl than all of Gideon’s crooning. Cherry looked up at Sara with wide frightened eyes. Sniffing, she wiped her face on her sleeve.
“The Hook has been abroad tonight,” Cherry said, “They found another body in the street behind the theatre.”
A chill shot up Sara’s spine. Gideon wrapped his arm around the trembling actress’s shoulders and he seemed to be avoiding Sara’s eye.
No! She sought to reassure herself. It was all right this time. Gideon had been here with her, watching the play. But he had not joined her until the second act.
Sara’s head gave a mighty throb and she passed one hand over her brow, fearing she was going to be ill. She wanted to press Cherry for more details but was afraid to do so.
It did not matter. Having finally found her voice, the girl’s words came in a torrent “It was another murder. Some banker’s son. The body is still laying there in all that blood. And the constables are everywhere. Someone saw something this time and they might be able to figure out who the Hook is. But I am still terrified to go home alone tonight.”
The girl clung meltingly to Gideon. Cherry’s hysterics were largely feigned. It was quite clear what the girl wanted, and it was a testimony to Gideon’s finesse that he was able to steer her back out of the box without promising anything.
Much as Sara wanted the girl gone, she moved to stop them, placing one hand on Cherry’s arm. “This banker’s son,” Sara asked. “Do you know who he was?”
“Some young lad named Daniel Keeler.”
Sara’s hand fell back to her side and she could feel the color draining from her face as Gideon hustled Cherry outside.
First Bertie Glossop. Now Daniel Keeler. What was it Gideon had called him? The most reprehensible cheater at cards. She recollected all too well Gideon’s hard smile when he had denied knowing anything about the Hook’s activities.
Sara blinked. The pain that flared behind her eyes caused them to water. Sometimes it was a great disadvantage to know one’s own brother so well.
When Gideon returned to the box, a heavy silence hovered between them. He faced her with a wry smile.
“You may be right after all, Sara,” he said. “Perhaps I should leave London.”
Sara stared deep into those cold silver-blue eyes. “Yes, you should,” she agreed hoarsely. “Tonight.”
Six
“Twelve of the clock and a cloudy night”
Anne heard the watchman’s mournful cry as she huddled in the shadows of the high stone wall which separated Lucien’s townhouse from the street. It seemed to her that the old charley no longer sang out as cheerfully as he once had before the Hook had brought his murderous activities to Mayfair.
Before she had left the theatre, she had heard rumors of another killing. But that did not bear thinking of, not when she was creeping alone through the dark. She was nervous enough. More than once she had fancied herself being followed, heard the light tap of a footfall not her own. But when she whipped about, the sound had been swallowed by the clatter of a passing carriage, any mysterious shadows becoming nothing more than the rustling shape of some tree.
Each time she fell prey to such fancies, she chided herself for a fool, but it was a night prime for dark imaginings. Clouds settled like a veil across the face of the moon, the wind whistled around the corners of the houses, and the heavy threat of an April rainstorm hung in the air. Anne shivered and draped hershawl over her head. Tightening her grip upon the pistol, she hastened her footsteps.
She was already late. Slipping away from Lily’s house undetected had not been easy, even at such an hour. Her sister had been most persistent, pressing her to attend a late supper at Lord Cecil’s. And even after Anne had managed to fob off Lily, there had been any number of servants about, all seeming to regard Anne’s furtive movements with curious eyes. Lily’s household never settled until the wee hours of the morning.
By the time Anne had succeeded in snatching up her shawl, bolting out one of the side doors, the clock already approached twelve. Anne could only hope that Louisa was not likewise experiencing such difficulties; that even if Anne was a few minutes late, the little maid would bear the patience and courage to wait for her.
Following the high wall surrounding Lucien’s garden, Anne rounded the corner, which brought her out onto the narrow street behind the house. Except for the lone hackney that creaked by, the cobblestone lane was dark and silent, making her feel as isolated as though she had crept into the sinister confines of some back alley.
Once more her nerves played tricks upon her, conjuring up sounds behind her, shapes that were not there. Her heart thudding, she stole one more glance over her shoulder, but she was quite alone. She hastened toward the tall iron gate that led into Lucien’s garden. Here at least was a pool of light provided by the two lanterns mounted upon the brick pillars on either side of the gate.
Anne shoved against the latch, but the gate was locked, just as she had expected. She peered through the bars. She had hoped to find Louisa waiting for her, but the house beyond loomed still as a tomb, with little light showing behind the windows.
The garden was likewise bleak and deserted, a desolate place overrun with weeds and dying foliage. It must have been badly neglected by the previous tenant and Lucien had done little to set things to rights. Nothing seemed capable of growing there, not shrubs, not flowers, certainly not a child.
“Louisa?” Anne called, praying that at any moment the girl would step out from some place of concealment in the shrubberies. She received no answer other than the mournful whisperings of the night wind.
