Alistair was prowling the room like a cat on the hunt. He stopped before a collection of small porcelain figurines on a table and asked without turning around, “This is his main residence?”
“Yes.”
He moved to peer at the boy’s portrait. “And he has children of his own?”
“Two girls and three boys.” She stroked one finger gently over the embroidery on her sleeve.
“Then he has an heir.”
“Yes.”
He was behind her now, out of her sight, but his voice sounded quite near when he asked, “What age is his heir?”
She frowned a little, thinking. “Four and twenty, perhaps? I’m not sure.”
“But he’s a grown man.”
“Yes.”
He came back into her sight, wandering to the tall windows overlooking the garden in back. “And his wife? Who is she?”
Helen stared at her skirt. “He’s married to the daughter of an earl. I’ve never met her.”
“No, of course not,” he muttered, turning away from the window. “I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
He didn’t say it with any condemnation in his voice, but she still felt heat climb up her throat and face. She wasn’t sure how to reply and thus was rather relieved when the butler returned.
The man’s face was impassive now as he told them that the duke was not receiving visitors. Helen half expected Alistair to demand to see the duke and push past the man. Instead he merely nodded and escorted her to the waiting carriage.
She looked at him curiously after the carriage pulled away. “Was that helpful to you?”
He nodded. “I think so, although what he does next will be more so, I hope.”
“What he does next?”
“How he reacts to our presence in town.” He looked at her, a corner of his mouth twisting up. “It’s like poking a hornet’s nest to see what will happen.”
“I’d think you’d get a hoard of angry hornets swarming you,” she said dryly.
“Ah, but will they attack immediately or wait for another poke? Will they come all at once or send out scouts first?”
She stared at him, bemused. “And poking Lister like a nest of hornets tells you all that?”
“Oh, yes.” He looked quite satisfied as he held the curtain open with one finger to gaze out the carriage window.
“I see.” She believed him, that somehow he was gaining knowledge in a masculine war, but such Machiavellian mechanisms were too complex for her. She merely wanted her children back, pure and simple. She chided herself to be patient. If Alistair’s methods could bring back the children, she could wait.
She could.
“I need to make another errand,” he said.
She looked up. “Where?”
“I have to see about a ship at the docks.”
“What ship? Why?”
He was silent, and for a moment she thought he would not reply. Then he frowned and glanced away from the window to her. “There’s a Norwegian ship that’s docking the day after tomorrow, or at least it should be. On it is a friend, a fellow naturalist. I’ve promised to see him.”
She watched him. There was something more here that he wasn’t saying. “Why can’t he come to see you?”
“He’s a Frenchman,” he said. His voice was impatient, as if he didn’t like her questions. “He can’t leave the ship.”
“You must be very good friends, then.”
He shrugged and looked away from her, not answering.
They rode in silence until they made the hotel where Alistair had purchased a room for them both.
“I’ll return shortly,” he said before she descended the carriage. “We’ll talk then.”
She watched as the carriage pulled away, her eyes narrowed, and then she glanced at the hotel. It was quite nice, an expensive establishment, but she had no wish to sit in the elegant room and twiddle her thumbs waiting for him.
She turned to one of the hostlers lounging about the front of the hotel. “Can you find me a sedan chair?”
“Aye, mum!” The boy took off like a shot.
She smiled. Alistair needn’t be the only one to keep secrets.
THE MAN WHO’D followed them from Lister’s residence to the hotel continued to trail Alistair after the carriage pulled away. Alistair grunted in satisfaction and let the window curtain fall. The man was on foot, a rough fellow dressed in a buff waistcoat, black coat, and wide-brimmed hat, but the carriages rolled so slowly in London that he could easily keep up. Interesting that Lister wanted to know where he went as well as Helen. The duke had obviously pegged him as a threat, sight unseen.
Alistair’s lips curled. As well Lister should.
An hour later, the duke’s man was still trailing the carriage when it stopped in front of the dock master’s office. Tall ships were crowded in the middle of the Thames, where the channel was deep enough for their hulls. Smaller boats and ships were in constant motion, ferrying goods and people to the anchored ships. The smell of the river was sharp here, part fish, part rot. Alistair jumped down and strode inside the dock master’s office, pretending not to notice the follower, lounging now against a warehouse wall. There were several men milling about inside the dock master’s office, but everyone fell silent when Alistair entered. He sighed. They would begin talking again, avidly, when he left. It became wearying after a while to always be the most bizarre part of other people’s days.
He was able to ascertain that Etienne’s ship was still scheduled to dock in London. That was good news. If he must leave his home and go scurrying all over England, then at least he could find out about the Spinner’s Falls traitor while he did so. More troubling was the information that Etienne’s ship was only docking in London to pick up supplies. The captain wasn’t even letting his men have shore leave. The time period when Alistair might visit the ship was very slim—only a matter of hours. Dammit. He would have to check back regularly at the docks to make sure he didn’t miss Etienne’s ship altogether. Once Etienne sailed, he’d be going around the Horn of Africa. It would be months, maybe years, before Alistair would be able to contact him again.
Alistair left the dock master’s office and paused to don his tricorne. He glanced quickly from under the brim and saw that his tracker was still waiting. Good. He leapt into his waiting carriage and banged on the roof to signal the coachman. Hopefully the man was well rested, because he’d be jogging another hour or so before they made the hotel.
Alistair smiled and tilted his hat over his eyes, prepared to use that time in a nap.
* * *
“I KNOW HE would not see me before,” Helen said patiently to the butler, “but I think he will now. Tell His Grace that I am alone.”
The man obviously didn’t want to bother his master, but with perseverance and much repetition, Helen was finally able to send the man on his errand. He placed her in the same sitting room she’d inhabited with Alistair not an hour before. Alistair would be angry if he knew she was visiting the duke alone, but she couldn’t simply wait passively for Lister to respond. She had to at least try to reason with him. And she knew that if she came alone, he’d see her. She could talk to him, beg if she had to. Abigail and Jamie were the only good things she had to show from a life less than wisely lived. She would do whatever it took to get them safely back.
Half an hour later, when her nerves had stretched taut enough to snap, the Duke of Lister entered the room. She’d turned at the sound of the door opening. Now she watched as he strolled toward her and remembered that first sight of him over a decade before. He’d changed very little in that time. He was still tall, his head held arrogantly erect. He’d gained a small amount of weight about his middle, and she knew that beneath his curled wig his hair had receded, but otherwise he was much the same—an older, handsome man who knew very well the power he held. What had changed was her. She was no longer a green girl over-awed by a man’s rank and wealth.
She dipped in a tiny curtsy. “Your Grace.”
“Helen.” He stared at her, his eyes cold, his pale lips thin. “You have made me very, very angry.”
“Have I?” she asked, and she saw a quick flash of surprise in his light blue eyes. She’d never challenged anything he’d said in the past. It was what had made her an exemplary mistress: her willingness to accede to his every wish. “I didn’t think you would notice my absence at all.”
“Then you are mistaken.” He gestured her to a seat. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work hard to regain my esteem.”
She sat and tamped down anger. “I want only my children.”
He sank into a chair opposite her, flicking aside the skirts of his velvet coat. “My children as well.”
She leaned forward, unable to stop herself from hissing, “You don’t even know their names.”
“James, and the girl”—he snapped his fingers as he searched for her name—“Abigail. You see, I do know their names. Not that it matters when all things are considered. You knew very well what the price of leaving me would be. Pray don’t feign shock now.”
“I’m their mother.” She tried to keep the pleading from her voice, but it was hard. Impossible, really. “They need me, Lister. Let me have them back. Please.”
He smiled, his lips spreading without any humor—or indeed any emotion—at all. “Very pretty, but your pleas do not sway me. You’ve crossed me, Helen, and now you must be punished. Come, now. Agree to move back into the town house I gave you and then I may be more amenable to discussing the children.”
She stared, truly shocked. It’d not occurred to her that he might try to blackmail her in this way. “But why?”
He raised his eyebrows in what looked like genuine surprise. “Because I want you, of course. You’re just as much mine as the children are.”
“You don’t want me. You haven’t seen me—haven’t made love to me—in years. I know you’ve taken another mistress, probably more than one.”
Lister made a moue of distaste at her mention of the bedroom. “Please, Helen, we needn’t be so crass. Never think because I don’t visit you as often that I’ve forgotten you. I’m really quite fond of you, my dear; please believe it. And when you’ve come back, why, I may find it in my heart to reward you with a small trinket.” He seemed much struck with the thought. “Yes, I think sapphire earrings or perhaps even a necklace. You know how I like sapphires on you.”
He stood and crossed to her, offering his hand to help her rise.
Helen closed her eyes, trying to beat down panic. He sounded so reasonable, so sure that he’d get exactly what he wanted. And why shouldn’t he? Lister was a duke. He had gotten everything he’d ever wanted in his life. But not her.
Not her.
She opened her eyes and stared at him, this man she’d loved so long ago, this man who was the father of her children. She placed her hand in his and rose to stand before him. “I’m not coming back.”
His eyes became hard and opaque, and his fingers tightened into a vise around her hand. “Now, don’t be foolish, Helen. You’ve already put me out. I don’t think you’d like to enrage me.”
She caught her breath at the implied threat, twisting her hand, trying to free herself. He let her struggle for a moment more and then abruptly let her go. He stood smiling. She stared at him, wondering if she truly knew him at all. Helen turned and walked from his sitting room and his house. She almost ran down the front steps and into the waiting sedan chair. Once enclosed in the small space, she allowed herself to shake. Dear God, could she do it? If returning to Lister was the only way to get Abigail and Jamie back, could she stand firm against him? No. She already knew in her heart. No.
If she had to choose between her pride and her children, she would concede her pride.
“MAMA,” ABIGAIL WHISPERED.
She stood in the duke’s house, in the old nursery, and watched as far below a lady who looked very much like her mama ran down the steps and entered a sedan chair. The men lifted the chair and trotted down the street and around a corner.
Abigail still stared out the window, though.
Maybe the lady hadn’t been Mama. It was very hard to tell from way up here, and there were bars that prevented her from getting very close to the window, but she hoped it was Mama. Oh, how she hoped!
She turned reluctantly from the window. The duke had brought them to his house, because his real family was away in the country. He’d stuck them up here in the hot old nursery and made Mr. Wiggins and a maid watch over them. The maid was better than Mr. Wiggins, because she mostly sat in the corner looking bored. Mr. Wiggins often looked bored when he watched them, too, but he also teased them. He’d already worked Jamie up into a screaming fit today.
Now Mr. Wiggins had left and the maid nodded off in the corner. Jamie had fallen asleep after his fit. Again. He was sleeping an awful lot, and when he was awake, he was sad. Not even the huge set of tin soldiers interested him. At night Abigail had heard him call Mama’s name, and she didn’t know what to do. Should she try to run away with Jamie? But then where would they go? And if—
The door to the nursery opened, and the duke came in. The maid lurched to her feet in the corner and bobbed a curtsy. The duke ignored her.
He looked at Abigail. “I’ve come to check on your welfare, my dear.”
Abigail nodded. She didn’t know what else to do. She’d hardly spoken to the duke since he’d brought them from Scotland. He’d never hit her or Jamie, but something about him made her very nervous.
He frowned a little, not an angry frown, but one that seemed to mean he was irritated. “You know who I am, don’t you?”
“The Duke of Lister.” Abigail remembered the curtsy she should’ve dropped when he entered.
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand impatiently. “I meant who I am to you. You know how I am related to you, don’t you?”
“You’re my father,” Abigail whispered.
“Very good.” The duke flicked a smile at her. “You’re a bright little poppet, aren’t you?”
Abigail didn’t know what to say to that, so she was silent.
The duke strolled to a shelf where dolls sat in a row. “Yes, I am your father. I’ve provided for you all your life. Fed you. Clothed you. Gave your mother a house in which you could sleep at night.” He picked up a doll and turned it over, stared at it, then replaced it on the shelf. “You liked the house where you lived with your mother, didn’t you?”
He turned and looked at her with the same expression on his face he’d had when he examined the doll. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
That smile flicked across his face again. “Then you will be happy when you, your brother, and your mother return to that house.”
He turned to the door. Maybe he was done talking to her now. But then he seemed to see Jamie asleep in a chair.
He stopped and frowned at the maid. “Why is the boy sleeping at this hour?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” the maid said. She hurried over and shook Jamie awake.
Jamie sat up, his hair rumpled, his face flushed and lined from the chair.
“Good,” the duke said. “Boys shouldn’t sleep during the day. See to it that he’s kept awake until his bedtime.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the maid muttered.
The duke nodded and walked to the door. “Behave, children. If you’re very good, I shall come see you again.”
And he left.
Abigail went to Jamie.
He had begun to whimper at being awakened. “I want Mama, Abby.”
“I know, dearest,” Abigail whispered, using the tone she’d heard their mother use so many times. “I know. But we have to be brave until Mama comes for us.”
She held Jamie against her chest and rocked him a little, mostly to comfort him, but also to comfort her, she admitted. Because the duke was wrong. She didn’t want to go back to living in the grand London house. She wanted to return to Scotland. To help Mama clean Sir Alistair’s dirty castle
. To go for walks with him to look for badgers and to catch fish in his clear, blue stream. She wanted them all to return to Castle Greaves and to live together there.
And she was very much afraid that she’d never see Castle Greaves or Sir Alistair again.
Chapter Fifteen
Truth Teller looked up and saw that clouds were moving over the moon. He remembered what Princess Sympathy had said: that the sorcerer would only be transformed while the light of the moon was upon him. Even as Truth Teller turned to run down the mountain, the little brown bat appeared. The clouds covered the moon, and the bat turned back into the sorcerer. He fell to the ground nude and then stood, powerful and angry.
“What have you done?” he shouted.
Truth Teller looked at him and told him what he must: the truth. “I have drugged you, released the princess, and loosed the swallows. She has fled here on a fast horse, and you will never catch her. Because of me, you have lost her forever.…”
—from TRUTH TELLER
By the time Alistair returned to the hotel, it was early evening. His follower had managed to keep up with the carriage all the way from the docks, but once they’d made the hotel, another man had taken his place. A shorter fellow in what had once been a yellow coat leaned against the wall opposite Alistair’s hotel. Not that Alistair cared at the moment. He wanted only to get to the room he shared with Helen, retire from all the eyes that stared at him constantly, and perhaps see if he could have a meal brought up so they could dine in private.
He simply wanted to rest.
But the moment he entered the hotel room, he could feel the tension surrounding Helen. He paused a moment in the doorway, eyeing her. She paced by the windows, a short track between the bed and the wall, her brows furrowed and one hand rubbing the other at her waist.