Page 122 of The Girl Out of Time
“Where’s your master? I need to see Lord Wescott!”
“Stanley, what is this commotion?” Wescott appeared from the parlor. “Ah. I see. Leave us alone.”
The butler bowed and disappeared into the shadows. Emmeline clenched her fists as Wescott stalked toward her.
“Miss Marshall,” he greeted with cold politeness.
“What have you done to Theo?”
“Me?” He chuckled. “Nothing. I’m only helping keep our country safe from dangerous criminals. He stole from a duke, don’t you know—”
“Because you ordered him to!”
“Not to mention hisassociationswith our enemies. A French spy, hiding under everyone’s noses. There’d been rumors of one last year, after Waterloo, but they never found him. How fortunate for all of us that I’ve been able to discover him. God knows what kind of plot to free Bonaparte they’d conjured up this time.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “You know he’s no spy. You’d do that to your own family?”
Wescott closed in, blue eyes narrowing. “He stopped being my family the moment he chose you.”
“You hate him this much?”
“Hate?” Wescott’s laugh echoed through the foyer. “I don’t hate him. But he’s useless to me now, and he has to pay for his disobedience. I invested fifteen years of my life in him.”
She scoured his eyes for something—any sense of regret or hesitation—but encountered only steel. “You’re insane.”
“No, my dear. I’m a businessman.” He raised a hand and gestured with his fingers; the butler returned. “Accompany Miss Marshall to the door.”
“I can find it, thank you,” she hissed and turned on her heels. She threw one last glance over her shoulder before she left, though she wasn’t sure why. Wescott had made up his mind. Behind him, a shadowy figure slipped from the doorway to the parlor toward the stairs—and then the front door was shut in her face.
Sebastian and Louisa were both gone by the time she returned home. The hour was drawing close to midnight, but nothing could make her go to sleep now, and nothing would soothe her nerves. Rafferty served her tea; it didn’t help. She paced the parlor, the foyer, the staircase and the hallway above; it did nothing save for wear down her fine satin slippers. She clenched her fists and yelled out from frustration and helplessness.
After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened, and Sebastian entered, the dark shadows under his eyes indicating his weariness. “First off, they should sort out their priorities at Bow Street,” he said as he noticed her. “They let me wait for hours.”
She rushed down the stairs. “And?”
“He’s not there.” Sebastian took off his hat and waved it in annoyance. “They’d already processed and concluded his case. They took him to Newgate.”
“Theprison?”
He gave her a grim nod. “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do tomorrow …” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Well, later today.”
“Of course.” She wouldn’t press him when he was so tired. “Thank you for your help.”
Sebastian smiled wearily. “All for the drama, right?”
She wished she could laugh.
Sebastian got served some tea, too, and kept her company in the parlor, both of them only ghosts of their earlier-evening selves. An hour later, or two, perhaps, a knock sounded at the door. Emmeline went to open it, readying a slew of curses for Wescott, or more police, or whoever had come to relish in her suffering, only to discover—
“Daniel?” She blinked and looked again. It wasn’t her exhaustion playing tricks on her mind. He was still there.
He looked slightly disheveled, as if he’d put his clothes on in a hurry and hadn’t bothered to fix his hair. “Come,” he said. “I’ll take you to Theo.”
“You—what?”
“Farenham?” Sebastian planted himself on the doorstep.
“He’s in Newgate,” Daniel said.
