Silk and Shadows(134)

She lifted her other bag and went into the corridor, stopping to look in on Ross. Both he and Mrs. Adams were sleeping. Her cousin's color was better, and he looked almost normal again. She kissed him but he did not wake, so she let him sleep.

It seemed wrong to leave Ross without a word, but Mikahl would see that he was well cared for. Mikahl did a fine job of taking care of people whom he knew and liked.

She woke the housekeeper with a hand on her shoulder and gestured her out into the hall. There Sara explained that she was going to London and that Mrs. Adams was now in full charge of the household. Since Ross did not seem to need a full-time attendant, Mrs. Adams was free to go to her own bed, but would she first order a carriage, please?

After the bemused Mrs. Adams went off to obey, Sara went down to the study and wrote Mikahl a brief note. After putting the envelope in her dressing room, she was ready to leave the home where she had been completely happy for a handful of weeks.

* * *

Weldon's parlor maid Fanny was the unlucky person. One of her jobs was to scrub the outside steps and polish the knocker first thing in the morning, when the streets were almost empty. Yawning, she cleaned the front steps all right and tight. Then she made her way to the back door, which opened off the kitchen.

Fanny opened the door and tripped right over the long bundle lying across the back steps. She was not the quickest of girls at any time, especially not early, and she had no inkling of what she had found. Tentatively she poked at the bundle with her toe.

The blanket fell away, revealing the slashed throat and rigid corpse of Kane.

Fanny began screaming, making up in volume for what she had lost in speed. Within two minutes, most of the household had gathered in the kitchen, where Fanny was still shrieking.

Besides servants, the racket also brought Weldon, wearing a hastily donned dressing robe. Impatiently he elbowed his way through the jabbering group to learn what the problem was.

Finding the body of his right-hand man shocked him to the marrow. He had wondered why his secretary had not returned the night before, but Kane moved in mysterious ways, and Weldon had thought little about the absence. Now Kane had carelessly gotten himself killed. What would Peregrine do next?

Weldon's paralysis was broken by the sound of Eliza's light voice. "What has happened?" she called out as she entered the kitchen. "Why is Fanny screaming?"

Weldon snapped to his butler, "Shut the silly wench up." Then he ushered his daughter out of the kitchen so she would not see the grisly sight on the steps. "There's been an accident, but it doesn't concern you, my dear."

His mind raced as he tried to come to terms with this latest event. Now that Peregrine had brought the war to Weldon's very doorstep, perhaps Eliza should be sent back to his brother's household. Yes, Weldon decided, that would be for the best. She would be safe there until this wretched business was settled.

* * *

Peregrine awoke slowly and reached for Sara, then came sharply aware when he realized she wasn't there. The angle of the sun showed that he had slept later than usual, so it was not surprising that she was up already. He pulled on his caftan, then went to see if Sara was still in her dressing room. If she was, perhaps he could persuade her back to bed.

The dressing room was empty, and he turned to leave. Then he saw an envelope with his name on it propped up against the mirror of the tall chest of drawers. His skin prickling with unease, he lifted the envelope and opened it.

When he pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper, a small object fell to the carpeted floor. Before picking it up, he read the note. It said simply Mikahl—Passion is not enough. Even love is not enough. I wish one of us were different. May God keep you and grant you peace. Love, Sara.

Disbelieving, he read the note again. Then he numbly bent over to find what had fallen out. The gleam of gold caught his eye, and he picked up the subtly contoured wedding ring that he'd had made specially for his wife.

Last night's passion had not changed Sara's mind. With a blaze of anguished fury, he realized that her tears had not meant surrender. She had wept because she was saying good-bye.

* * *

Ross was yanked from sleep by a blood-chilling howl. The sound was somewhere between an Afghan war cry and the tortured keening of Middle Eastern women mourning their dead, and it compelled instant response. Automatically he tried to get up, only to be stopped by shattering pain in his shoulder and weakness that almost sent him crashing to the floor.

As he clung dizzily to the bedside table with his good hand, he remembered the shooting the previous day, plus a few fragmentary later images: jolting along on a horse, painful probing at his shoulder, later Sara's soft voice. That explained his unfamiliar surroundings—he was at Sulgrave.