Page 107 of A Devilish Element
“Right,” she insisted again. “Jem, hurry.”
Not, take care, just hurry. He’d have laughed if his situation weren’t so perilous. He had a choice, follow his instincts, or put his faith in her directions. There was only one choice he could make. To act contrary to her wishes, would be to act as all the men who’d failed her before. If Jane perished, then she would forever hold him accountable for believing he knew better.
“Right?”
A stone slipped away beneath his hand and fell for far too long before he heard it smash.
“Eliza, are you sure?”
He could hear the women’s voices now: Jane pleading, and the housekeeper repeating over and over that there was no getting around the fact that the brat couldn’t be allowed to live.
The woman meant to kill Linfield’s unborn son!
The realisation spurred him on. He scrambled sidewards; limbs spread spider-like as he stretched to find invisible handholds. Then, blessed relief when his efforts were rewarded as he climbed onto a window ledge that had been entirely invisible to him from his former position. He was a little east of the garderobe spout she’d initially pointed out as an entry point.
The dark arch in which he sat was wholly without glass, and internal wooden shutters blocked the view of the room within. Jem applied his heel and secured himself entrance. From the smell of it, he’d landed in the former privy. The space was barely three feet wide and entirely comprised of grey stone. He found the stub of an unlit candle in a small cubbyhole, and from that intuited where the exit must be.
He blinked as he emerged into a well-appointed bed chamber. A hearty fire roared in the grate. This, he realised, was where Linfield had meant them to conduct their business far away from the rest of his guests.
To Jem’s left, a woman laughed, the sound reminding him of screeching door hinges. One door stood bolted, the other a fraction ajar. He popped the bolt on the former, then tiptoed over to the latter.
Through the inch-wide gap, he could see Jane cowered against the wall, her head tucked low, and her skirts bundled around her feet. The silver of tear-tracks shone on her cheeks where the moonlight caressed her.
“Why are you doing all this? I don’t understand,” she sobbed.
“Why? Why?” Mrs Honeyfield’s voice rose and fell in a sing-song fashion.
She remained out of Jem’s field of vision, but he didn’t want to charge out for fear of precipitating a reaction.
“Oh, should I tell you a story? I could do that, a story to send you to your eternal rest.”
“Was I not kind enough? Did I not—”
“Kind enough? Aye, you were kindly enough. I’ve heard tell of far worse from folks that’ve served highborn ladies like yourself. You’re not one t’ pinch a body, or dock wages for things as trivial as a sneeze. It doesn’t change matters though. I ’ave to end it, ya see. Make sure ’is villainy dun’t continue. I’ll nee ’ave his brat born.”
Jane wailed. “You have already killed Linfield, why can’t you let me alone?” She edged backward pushing herself further into the corner of the balcony.
“Killed him, aye, but not through design. It weren’t suppos’t t’ be ’im, but you as ate those sandwiches. I brought you tha’ pot especial like.”
Her menacing shadow fell across Jane’s form, who instantly winced away from her.
“His lordship was meant t’ survive. T’ suffer as I’ve suffered. Ah wanted him t’ feel everything he made me endure. I’d take away ’is pretty little bride, and he’d know it. He’d feel the stab of ’t reet ’ere.” She thumped a fist to her heart. “Same as I felt when ’e stole me John away.”
Jane raised her head a fraction, so she was peeping over the shield of her folded arms. “You were married?” she asked tremulously.
“Aye, love. I were wed t’ me John when I were eleven and him fifteen. All those years and hardly any of ’em t’gether.” Her tone turned nostalgic. “Years, I’d endured, wed in name but forced apart so ’e could better our lot. We finally got our shop. It twere our dream ’hat shop. I loved it, all polished wood, ’twere.”
She breathed deeply, as if she could smell the scent of beeswax and herbs combined in the enclosed room full of apothecary shelves.
“Hours I’d spend watching him mixing his tinctures and powders. ‘Ada m’love,’ he’d say. It always gave me butterflies the way he’d say me name. ‘Pass me this or that.’ And I’d learned me letters, so I’d know reet away which drawer t’ look in.”
The longing in her voice tugged at Jem’s heart strings; he felt the same melancholic loss when he thought of his parents. His mother smiling at him, ribbons in her hair. The shiny buttons of his father’s coat, and how they were always fastened misaligned.
“What—what happened?” Jane ventured.
Yes, Jem silently encouraged. While the housekeeper was talking, she was not about anything more alarming. He sensed a stir in the air behind him and turned to find Eliza approaching with cat-like stealth.
“What—”
