Mistress at Midnight(32)

Stephen watched from his window as the cabriolet drove down the road,  taking Aurelia away from him, and he fisted his hands against his thigh,  wishing that he might have been travelling home with her, seeing her  safe.

Caring for her.

He could barely remember what that felt like any more and had not known  for a long time, though the deadened anger that had held him immobile  since the death of his brother wound its way into his throat, quickened,  and he swallowed back thickness.

Aurelia. Even her name was beautiful.                       
       
           



       

If you did not love, you never lost. If you held people at a distance and took only what was needed, you could survive.

Flashes of their nights together held him still, his head tilted towards something he had missed.

Love. It was not always words that said it.

Love came in the smiles between them and in the soft honesty at  midnight; he Could no longer be blind and deaf to all the things Aurelia  was saying when she did not speak. Could he love her back in the way  she needed? Could he risk a try?

He was glad his hands shook when he looked down because it showed he  still had a damn heart inside him. And he knew he would not sleep.

'There is someone here to see you, my lord.' Wilson deposited a card on  the bedside table and stood back as Hawk looked at the time on the clock  in the corner. Half past ten. He had caught some sleep after all and  whatever it was Shavvon wanted it must be important.

'Send him in.'

Alexander Shavvon looked harried and tired and he was barely in the room  before he spoke. 'Freddy Delsarte, Henry Kerslake and Mrs St Harlow  have gone north. They left an hour ago.'

The whole world slowed around Hawk, a gut-wrenching jerk making his world spin.

'She went willingly?'

'Her servant was found with a lump the size of Africa on his head and he said she did not.'

Shock held Stephen still.

'They have taken the Great North Road and my guess is they are headed to  a manor house Delsarte inherited a year or so ago after winning a game  of cards against the Earl of Kendrick. I want to see what Delsarte wants  with Mrs St Harlow and what he does. When you know where they are, call  in the local constabulary and have Delsarte and Kerslake thrown into  gaol and then search the place. Take whomever you want with you.'

Hawk shook his head. 'I'll go alone, sir. It will be easier to remain hidden.'

'Very well. A carriage will be readied. I have already sent people to go  into the warehouse to see just what might be discovered there. The  family of Mrs St Harlow will need to be told of our concerns, though we  will put that off for as long as possible as I do not wish for society  to be gossiping about the downfall of suspects we have not yet  apprehended.'

Hawk dressed and gathered his coat and hat after Shavvon left and called  for his own horse to be brought around. If Delsarte or Kerslake had  laid even a finger on Aurelia …

'Focus,' he whispered, 'and help her.'

The building dread clutching at him made his body ache.





Chapter Fourteen


Aurelia's cheek throbbed, the fear inside her making it pound even  harder. Delsarte and Kerslake had been waiting for her at the warehouse  when she had arrived with John at Park Street this morning and had  insisted she accompany them in this carriage. When John had resisted  Delsarte had called in other accomplices and they had dragged him away.  Aurelia prayed that he had not been hurt too badly.

She had no idea where they were headed, but both men looked angry enough  to hurt her if she were to put one foot wrong, and behind them in  another coach were the three men she had seen at Park Street.

She prayed that her family would not be worried out of their wits by her  most uncharacteristic disappearance when she failed to arrive home. Her  heart sank at the thought of it.

Straightening her back, she looked ahead, her bottom teeth grinding  against her top ones. Would Hawkhurst know what had happened? Would he  come after her or would he imagine her involvement to be voluntary and  wash his hands of her altogether?

An inn ahead had Delsarte giving the driver orders after an hour of  travelling. 'Here,' he shouted, the conveyance slowing to a halt as it  pulled into an establishment that had seen better days. When it stopped  he turned to Aurelia. 'I hope an hour in our company has persuaded you  to be reasonable?'

Waiting till she nodded, he opened the door and stepped out, making a  great fuss of taking her hand and helping her down from the conveyance.

Inside was worse than out, the innkeeper unkempt and leering. Aurelia  was glad of the thick coat she wore as his hand reached out towards her.

'A beauty, this one, is she not, lads? With red hair that might burn a  man soulless.' A slurred waft of strong liquor accompanied the insult.

When Delsarte gestured to a table on its own by the window, Aurelia slid  into the back pew, her two travelling companions effectively blocking  her exit. The others accompanying them sidled across to the bar and  ordered a drink.

'What does Hawkhurst know of our operation?' Delsarte asked that  question as he lit a cheroot, the smoke of the small thin cigarette  dancing between them.

'Nothing. It is me he imagines the traitor because of my mother's nationality.'                       
       
           



       

'Wrong answer.' Delsarte's voice was low and dangerous. 'He has had us both followed.'

'Then ask him yourself. He is hardly going to discuss his motives with me.'

'You are his lover, Mrs St Harlow, and a woman of much persuasion. I  think you could find out exactly what it is you wish to know.'

Aurelia made herself laugh. 'My husband thought me lacking in all ways,  sir. Why would his cousin, Lord Hawkhurst, think any differently?'

'You sell yourself short, my dear, and you always have. Sign the  business over to me for the sum mentioned yesterday and I will send you  home in the carriage to your family. It all comes down to money in the  end, you see, a concept your husband would have entirely understood.'

He waited as the innkeeper deposited two glasses of beer before them and  left. 'If I had been called into the witness stand, John Samson would  have been sent to gaol for the murder of Charles St Harlow and you,  Aurelia St Harlow, for the way you allowed him to get away with it. I  was there, you see, watching it all from the house. How easily I could  have ruined you.'

The sharp slice of shock had Aurelia's blood pounding-however, she could not afford to just leave his attack there.

'But you didn't speak because you knew Charles was uncontrollable and  dangerous and it was a relief that he had finally gone. You didn't speak  because the orgies at Medlands would have implicated you and society  under the tutelage of Victoria would not have countenanced such  depravation. You didn't speak because there were things that had  happened at the Yuletide parties at Medlands that would ruin the  reputation of any gentleman, yours included.'

'Shut up.' The veins on each side of his temple stood out in a knotted  redness and she went quiet. As Delsarte took a good swallow of his  drink, the day of Charles's death came back full blown into Aurelia's  memory. The blood, the screams, the realisation and the final silence.

She had prayed for years that she might be free of her husband and as  Charles had taken his last laboured breath the relief she had felt was  indescribable. Murder with strings of temperance and justice attached  and a lucky fall for all but Charles. Still the shame of it all made her  weary.

'And now with Hawkhurst's untimely questions we have a further problem  which is a dangerous thing for us all, Mrs St Harlow. We need cold hard  cash to disappear and we are hoping that might come from the sale of  your silk business.'

She shook her head. 'There are legal documents to be witnessed and deeds  of title to be signed. Such a thing cannot be done on an instant.' She  was clutching at straws, she knew, but anything to slow them down and  give her time to think would be helpful.

Kerslake brought out a folder from his bag and unfurled all the papers  she had just spoken of. 'I have everything we need for the transaction  right here, including the right person to buy it.'

And then she understood. They would keep her with them until she signed away her company. Their profit. Their price.

'Do you have a "right person"?'

Delsarte laughed. 'Always the clever one, Mrs St Harlow. Of course we  do. A sign of the pen, a tidy profit and a place on the first ship to  leave London on the outgoing tide. The simpler the plan, the greater the  likelihood of success. Pity we could not have held on to it for longer  with the rosy state of your rising sales.'

Everything she had ever worked for gone in the slash of a pen. Her  sisters' futures. Her father's comfort. Sylvienne's nurse. She would be  thrown upon the debtor's block with the rest of her family, helpless to  fight it. Years of endeavour and finally all for nothing. The knife she  saw in Delsarte's fist beneath the table had her picking up the pen.  While there was life there was hope. Stephen Hawkhurst had at least  taught her that.