Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) (34 page)

The woman next to her had a blanket, and she was kind enough to share it with Caroline. On two previous occasions, the woman’s husband had committed her, so she’d learned to bring the items she needed.

From the moment Caroline had staggered in, the woman had pitied her, had watched over her and taught her the ropes.

A few of the patients were actually mad, but mostly, they were females like Caroline: a trial to their parents or their husbands, so they’d been locked away.

When Archie had kidnapped her from Bramble Bay, her wrists and ankles bound like a hog being carted to market, she hadn’t imagined she’d make it to London. He’d been so angry, she’d thought he would kill her and dump her body in the forest.

But no. He’d driven her straight to town, and she’d been hideously surprised when he’d delivered her to the infamous asylum. The dire event was infuriating, both because she’d been deemed a lunatic, but also because she couldn’t escape. Her cordial companion, who’d passed several years in the place, insisted it was impossible, and Caroline suspected she was correct.

As she’d been dragged inside, Archie hissed in her ear that she’d never be released, that she’d die in the putrid spot. It was the ultimate punishment. If he’d taken her home, she could have eventually fled, but he’d guaranteed that he would always know her whereabouts—for the remainder of his days.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, growing nearer and nearer. A guard was approaching, and Caroline shut her eyes and feigned sleep. The guards were all male, and they often sauntered in and left with various patients.

Usually, the women returned beaten or injured in more nefarious ways. Other times, they didn’t come back, and there were many rumors: that they were sold to brothels, that they were strangled to death and buried in anonymous graves.

No one ever assumed the women went away to happy endings.

Upon being admitted, they’d cut Caroline’s hair very short, and Archie had given her no change of clothes. So she was grimy and grubby, which was good. It was easy to hide her pretty looks, easy to blend in and be invisible.

She was positioned in the very middle of the group. If anyone was removed, it would be a person at the end of the row. Yet to her dismay, the guard strolled down the line, scowling at faces but having difficulty seeing in the dim light.

“Caroline Patterson?”he finally said, and her pulse raced with alarm.

They never called a specific name. They simply grabbed whoever was closest and walked off with her. How had he noticed her? What had she done to stand out?

His voice—masculine and low—in the women’s quarters roused everyone. People shifted about, peeking up from blankets.

“Mrs. Patterson?”he said again, and he stopped beside her.

He waited and waited, his impatience clear, and she answered, “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

He leaned down and clasped her arm, but she yanked away.

“Why?”

“Don’t argue. Just come.”

“Not until you tell me what’s happening.”

Her friend sat up and told the guard, “I’ll go with you. You don’t need to take her. I’ll do it.”

Caroline frowned. “Absolutely not.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but it has to be Mrs. Patterson.”

Women were glaring, but even though there was one of him and twenty of them, none of them would confront him. They wouldn’t risk trouble for her.

She glowered at him, determined to save herself, but how?

A wave of fury swamped her. Why was the world so unfair? Fleetingly, she wondered about her dear Raven Hook, but in her current situation, he didn’t seem like he’d ever actually existed.

What had he thought when he’d returned to Bramble Bay and she was gone? Had he figured out what occurred? Was he searching for her? Or had she simply vanished, with there not being the slightest clue as to Mildred’s perfidy?

She remembered the slip of paper she’d put in his coat, the one with Archie’s address printed on it. If Raven found the paper and went to Archie’s house, it would be a fruitless trip. She’d disappeared as quickly and completely as if she’d died. The only thing missing was the gravestone and epitaph.

“I haven’t got all night,”the guard snapped.

He latched on more tightly. He was fat and strong, and with ease, he lifted her to her feet.

They marched out, twenty pairs of stunned eyes watching them depart. She wanted to hear them shouting with offense, demanding he halt, but sadly, the room was quiet.

The hospital was huge, and they walked and walked. Every time they passed a door, she braced, certain he was about to drag her in and commit unspeakable acts without fear of reprisal, yet they kept on.

With each step, she was more reluctant, more frantic. She struggled with him, desperate to pull away, to run back to the other women, but they’d turned so many corners, she wasn’t positive she could find the route.

Eventually, they exited out the rear of the building and approached a gate. There were two men on the other side, obviously waiting for her. Was she to be sold to a brothel? Was the rumor true?

Bile rose in her throat, and she began to fight in earnest.

“No, I won’t do it,”she vehemently said. “You can’t make me.” She swung a fist at him, but she was off balance and couldn’t land a solid blow.

“Hold on, hold on!”the guard griped.

“Caroline…”

Her name whispered by, and at first, she didn’t realize it had been spoken. She continued to fight as the guard drew her over to the two men.

“Caroline!” The summons was louder, more firm.

She slowed and peered into the dark, anxious to see who had arrived. It wasn’t Archie. So who, then?

“It’s me, Caroline,”a familiar voice said.

“Raven?”she tentatively murmured.

“Yes, and please hurry. We need to be away.”

She assumed she was hallucinating, that her incarceration had left her as mad as the real lunatics in the place. But he seemed to be standing there. Another man—shorter, well-dressed—was there, too. He appeared to be a clerk or accountant.

The guard fumbled with a ring of keys, then unlocked the gate and opened it just a crack. He shoved Caroline toward Raven, and Raven caught her. She could feel him and smell him, so he wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

He smoothed a palm across her shorn head. “They cut off your beautiful hair.”

“It will grow back.”

“Yes, it will.” He dropped to a knee and clasped her hand. “Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive…you?”she stammered. “For what?”

“I didn’t protect you. I swore I would, but I didn’t.”

“Of course I forgive you.”

She tugged him to his feet, and he stood, towering over her. Instantly, she felt safe again.

“You came for me.” She was so amazed. “How did you know where I was?”

“We asked your husband. It only took a bit of coaxing to pry some answers out of him.”

The clerk motioned to the guard and gave him a small cloth bag. The contents clinked, and Caroline could tell it was a bribe being tendered.

“Payment in full,”the clerk informed the guard.

“I have to count it,”the guard mulishly said.

“You doubt the word of the Raven?”the clerk huffed. “How dare you, sir!”

The guard stared at Raven, noting his large size, black clothes, and fierce expression. “Ah…I’m sure it’s all here.” He carefully closed the gate so it didn’t clang. “I’d appreciate it if you could be on your way. The sooner the better.”

“We’re happy to go,”the clerk pompously advised.

He turned and proceeded to a parked carriage. Raven gestured for Caroline to walk to it too, but she was frozen with shock. It had all happened so fast. It was bizarre, like a peculiar dream where she was floating above it all and observing the characters down below.

“It will be all right now,”Raven gently urged. “It will always be all right.”

“What about Archie? What if he finds out? What if he comes after me?”

“You don’t have to worry about Archie ever again. He will
never
come after you.”

Raven flashed a look of such calm certainty that, when he gestured to the carriage again, she stumbled over and climbed inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Would you like me to come in with you?”

Sarah stared at Raven across the carriage seat. It was a cool, blustery day, giving stark indication that summer was over and autumn had arrived. She tamped down a shiver and pulled on her cloak.

In the past few months, so many things had happened, and she’d changed in so many ways. Raven could have saved his own skin, could have sneaked away to France where he’d have been out of danger, but he’d stayed with Sarah at Bramble Bay.

He’d rescued Caroline and brought her home. When they’d learned a short time later that Archie had been slain in an apparent robbery, Raven hadn’t seemed surprised in the least.

His only comment had been,
Good. He won’t be around to pester us anymore
.

Sarah hadn’t questioned him on his lack of concern and hadn’t inquired as to whether he’d been involved in Archie’s demise. She wasn’t sorry that Archie was dead, and however he’d met his end, whoever had orchestrated it, she didn’t mourn him.

Caroline was safe, Bramble Bay belonged to Sarah, Hedley was living in town with Miss Dubois, and Mildred had slithered over to Sheldon’s and hadn’t left.

Sheldon often stopped by to mention that Mildred was ready to return to Bramble Bay, but Sarah ignored his suggestions. Sheldon could deal with Mildred—with Sarah’s blessing.

All of her energy was devoted to saving Jean Pierre from the hangman’s noose. She didn’t have time to fuss over her family or any other issue. She would
not
let him be executed.

She would engage in any ruse to get him released from prison. Barring release, she was determined that he spend his life incarcerated or perhaps be transported to the penal colonies in Australia. If he was transported, he’d have an opportunity to escape, to come back to her.

Through it all, Raven had been her stern ally and staunch friend. If he hadn’t been standing by her side, holding her up during the tumult, she didn’t know how she’d have weathered her many ordeals.

The trial was approaching, authorities chomping at the bit to apply a harsh dose of British justice. She was growing more and more frantic, her current visit proof that she was as crazed as some of the lunatics Caroline had encountered at Bedlam.

“Were you with Jean Pierre when he boarded Mr. Harcourt’s ship?”

“Ah…yes, I was.”

“Did you help Jean Pierre try to murder Mr. Harcourt?”

“I believe I might have been the one who lugged Harcourt down the ladder and dumped him into the longboat.”

“You
believe
you were? Have you killed so many people that you don’t remember?”

“Oh, all right,”he groused. “I tossed him in the boat myself.”

“Then
no
, you can’t come in with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re not cannibals, Raven. They won’t eat me for dinner.”

“You can’t predict how these rich doffs might behave. I wouldn’t want them to upset you more than you already are.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She patted his hand as the driver opened the door and lowered the step. She climbed out.

“I’ll be waiting out here,”Raven told her.

“That will bolster my confidence, knowing you’re close by.”

“If they’re rude, you leave at once. Don’t sit in there and be insulted.”

“To save Jean Pierre’s life, I can endure a few insults.”

He flashed a sad smile. “But only a few.”

“Only a few. I promise.”

Sarah went to the stoop and gazed up at the imposing house. It was red brick, with black shutters and green flower boxes, the last flowers of the season dried and wilted.

It was an impressive residence, but not a grand mansion by any means. But then, Tristan Harcourt wasn’t an aristocrat. He was an earl’s brother and ship captain with his own shipping company which, two years earlier, had proved disastrous.

He’d been out on the high seas when his angry, vindictive brother—The French Terror—had attacked. Tristan and Harriet Harcourt were lucky to have survived.

Sarah banged the knocker, and a liveried footman answered. She gave him her card.

“I’d like to call on Mrs. Harcourt. We’re not acquainted, but please tell her that her father sent me.”

The man took her cloak and bonnet, then showed her into a pretty parlor off the foyer. She sat, tamping down her nerves, studying the furnishings, the paintings on the walls. She and Raven had vehemently debated the visit, thinking it would be impossible to speak with Tristan Harcourt. But his wife…Harriet…

What might her opinion be of Sarah’s bald appeal?

Soon, footsteps echoed in the hall, and Harriet Sinclair Harcourt swept in. She was a bit younger than Sarah, slender and vibrant and very fetching, with the typical Sinclair blond hair and green eyes.

She and her twin sister Helen were two of Charles’s lost daughters, found by their brother, Phillip, when they were twenty-one and in very dire straits. True love had blossomed when they’d married the Harcourt brothers, James and Tristan.

Sarah didn’t understand Fate, but the Harcourts were Florence’s sons whom she’d abandoned when she’d fled to Paris. In France, Florence and Charles had collided like a bad carriage accident, and decades later, their children were wed.

What were the odds?

There seemed to be a destiny at work for all of them, but Sarah wouldn’t try to figure it out. Her sole concern was Jean Pierre.

“Miss Teasdale,”Mrs. Harcourt said, “may I help you? My footman advises that my father asked you to come.”

“Yes.” Sarah pushed herself to her feet.

“I have to say that I’m surprised. He’s never sent me a visitor. I was so curious; I hurried down to see you.”

Sarah was gaping like a halfwit, and she murmured, “Gad, you look so much like him.”

“Who? My father Charles? Yes, I hear that a lot.”

“No…ah…I was referring to someone else. Forgive me for staring.”

“Shall we sit?”