Page 62 of The Trick of the Treasure
“Of course, sir.” She curtseyed, which was more than she usually did, and left, saying grandly, “Mr. Grey will see you now.”
She had barely finished speaking before Sydney brushed past her like a gust of wind, striding into the room.
“Two things, Mr. Grey!” he announced, and for the first time, Solomon saw Sydney’s arrogant father in his expression. The man was angry and worried and yet very, very superior.
“Please, sit down and tell me,” Solomon said civilly, rising to his feet. “Tea?”
“No, I don’t want any damned tea!”
Sydney threw himself into one of the armchairs next to Solomon’s, so Solomon sat down again and reached for his cup. “I’m sure there is good reason for your…haste.”
If Sydney recognized the rebuke for discourtesy, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he glared aggressively. “Your so-called partner is a damned whore, and I’d like to know what you mean by foisting such a vile creature on my mother and—”
Solomon had knocked over his cup and sprung to his feet without realizing. The rare red mist was down over his eyes as he hauled Sydney to his feet by his waistcoat and raised one purposeful fist. Only the sudden fright in the youth’s eyes held that fist in check.
“If you want to live,” he said, hearing the danger in his own soft voice, “you will keep your nasty little mouth shut. On your way out.”
Sydney’s face flamed. He tugged violently, failing to free himself until Solomon let him go so suddenly that he fell back into his chair.
“I can’t go,” Sydney said in sudden panic. “I am here on behalf of my father.”
“What?”
“Aunt Aud… My aunt has disappeared from the house. Her bed has not been slept in and most of her clothes are missing, along with personal items such as…” He trailed off.
“Understand,” Solomon said slowly, “that I will do nothing for your father or have anything to do with your family if I hear one word against the lady who will be my wife.”
Sydney swallowed. A weak flare of defiance sparked in his eyes and died. When Solomon neither moved nor spoke, merelyregarded him with infinite contempt, he finally really realized he was expected to answer.
“I understand,” he said hoarsely, and tugged at his collar.
“Then begone. I will be at your father’s house directly.”
“The carriage is—”
“I have no intention of sharing a carriage with such an ill-conditioned pup.”
The door opened again and Janey came back in bearing a scrap of folded paper. “An urchin brought this, says the lady promised him sixpence. I gave him a shilling. It’s from Mrs. Silver.”
Solomon took the note while Sydney sidled out of his chair and toward the door, which Janey held for him.
“I did see her there,” he said defiantly.
Solomon didn’t answer. He was too busy scanning Constance’s note. His blood ran cold. Because he knew she had gone alone to Clarke’s. And if Clarke was Samuels, then he was surely also the thief. With nothing to lose if he were discovered.
Chapter Thirteen
Constance struggled upthrough the mists toward consciousness. Her ears were singing and her head was pounding. She couldn’t think why, or where she was. She was not in her own bed. In fact, she seemed to be lying on her front, which she never did, and what felt like someone’s arm was beneath her.
Every nerve in her body screamed with fear and fury, and she must have jerked in instinctive response to get away, for excruciating pain sliced through her head. She let out a groan because she couldn’t help it.
“Constance!” came a blessedly familiar voice from very far away.
Solomon… She tried to speak, but no sound came out. She had to move, she had to run, run tohim, but she seemed to be in one of those nightmares full of shadows and threat where she was trapped, and… If only the infernal pounding of her head would stop. Or was that noise outside her head? A particularly loud one seemed to prove that.
An exclamation, a footfall. Someone touched her shoulder and she cried out.
“Oh, Constance, my dear…”
