“I don’t care about the vowels,” she said, shocking the hell out of him. “I care about the deeds to Angus’ property. He tried to help me, and I betrayed his trust. I cannot rest until I make amends.”
It was both a relief and some form of cruel torture to discover she loved someone enough to go to this much trouble. To save Angus, she was willing to sacrifice her son.
“You have a gambling problem,” he said as the carriage rumbled to a halt on what he presumed was Stangate Street. Again his heart lurched at the thought of Sybil waiting alone on a dark, lonely stretch of the river.
“Your father has paid my gaming debts for years, on the proviso I remain in Scotland. Mr Warner stopped making the payments some months ago, though I doubt the duke knows of his duplicity.”
So Warner was in contact with Julia Dunwoody.
“We’re here.” The woman shuffled forward. “Don’t blame Angus. He is just trying to help me, just trying to play the older brother, as he always has.” She stared at Lucius for a time. “I did so want to be a good mother, Lucius. Perhaps in the next life, I’ll have a chance to try again.”
The time for conversation was at an end.
Angus opened the carriage door and gave Julia his hand to assist her descent. He reached into the carriage and gripped Lucius’ arm, helped him to the pavement, too.
Angus snatched a carriage lantern, and after a brief argument with the coachman, told the fellow to wait. Then the Scot spoke quietly to Julia. The woman cupped his cheek, and they talked as if saying their final goodbyes.
Lucius was somewhat surprised when the Scot accompanied them down the Stangate Street steps. Julia walked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders—hunched, more shuffling than full strides. Through the fog, they followed the river past the boat builders before stopping on the narrow path. They waited for a few minutes, the silence broken by the Scot’s heavy breathing and Julia Dunwoody’s hacking cough.
Two people approached from the direction of the State Barge Houses. A woman in a cloak. Sybil! A man in a greatcoat and hat, though Lucius could not identify him from such a distance.
Julia seemed mildly perturbed. She stared at Sybil and muttered, “I told her to come alone.”
“I wish she hadn’t come at all,” he added.
Angus turned to Lucius, and in a broad Scottish accent said, “Nae harm shall befall the lass. Nae harm shall befall ye, lad.”
Lucius found the comment oddly comforting. Perhaps because the man spoke with the fondness of kin. Perhaps because he had called him lad, not boy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Only a woman out to rescue the man she loved dared venture along a narrow river path on a foggy night. The heavy white veil hung low, hovering above the water, obscuring the view of the opposite bank. Boats and buildings were but black shadows hiding amidst the gloom. Eerie noises drifted out from the mist. Creaking oars, the slapping of water, the flutter of a sail, the muffled voices of boatmen going about their nightly business.
No wonder this was a hunting ground for thieves and pickpockets.
Sybil drew her cloak across her chest, though the stench of the river made one forget about the chill in the air. Ahead, she saw the faint glow of a lantern, and like a moth to a flame moved closer.
Three hazy figures stood waiting in the dark.
A powerful rush of emotion brought tears to Sybil’s eyes when s
he recognised Lucius. He looked so tired, so downcast.
Beside her, Alcock carried the satchel containing the journal with statements from those at Smithfield Market. A notebook with letters written by Samuel, another written by Sybil but made to look as if a witness could place Sir Melrose at Gorget’s Garrett. And a loaded pistol.
As they came to a halt a mere ten feet away, Mrs Wycliff’s coachwoman peered at the solemn-looking Scot and whispered, “Just say the word, ma’am, and I’ll knock that tall blighter into the river, make no mistake.”
Mrs Wycliff had warned Sybil about Alcock’s penchant for violence. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
She prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
“The quiet ones are the worst,” Alcock said, her opinion of the Scot drawn from Sybil’s description of a morbid man.
“Did I not tell you to come alone, Miss Atwood?” the worst mother in history said.
Tears welled again when Sybil locked gazes with Lucius. Not because his hands were bound at the wrists. Not because she was scared of the Scot. No. A man as loving as Lucius Daventry did not deserve to be treated with such disdain. Not by his kin.
“It’s not safe for a woman to walk this path alone,” Sybil countered. “My coachwoman came merely to ward off thieves and to carry the evidence you requested.”