The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (22 page)

Chapter 40

Philippe tucked the missive from Anthony into an inside pocket of his coat. He’d penned a response before sending the messenger on his way back to the Park.

He took the back stairs and strode off to find the pub, entering the hostelry through a side door and heading down a narrow hall. As he neared the end of the corridor, the cacophony of raucous laughter and voices grew louder. Under the din of noise and subdued light, Philippe slid into a booth where he could watch the room.

Exhausted, and feeling less alert than he liked, Philippe called a serving girl over and ordered the special, a simple venison stew and thick bread. He sipped strong coffee and settled back to wait and listen.

At nearly thirty-six hours without sleep, Philippe’s eyes burned and a constant thump had taken up residence inside his skull. He would wait two hours, no longer, before seeking his bed and some much needed sleep.

Twenty minutes later, he pushed the empty dish away. The barmaid appeared at his side.

“I like a man with a healthy appetite. Is there anything else I can bring you, something
sweet
to finish off your meal?” She leaned forward to clear the remains of his supper and presented Philippe with an amazing view of white bosom.

He withdrew a few coins from his pocket and laid two shining disks on the table, more than enough to pay for the food. Two more joined the first.

Her attempt at refined speech vanished. “I don’t do no rough stuff, if that’s what yer after.”

“What I require is information, nothing more.” Her brows rose. “If you can tell me what I wish to know, I will add two more coins.”

She licked her lips. “I ain’t sayin’ I can, but it don’t hurt to ask.”

“Was there a gentleman, or someone appearing to be one, here last night? Someone sitting at this booth?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

Philippe scooped up the coins.

“Wait.” She glanced around before settling onto the bench across from him.

He held his hand open, palm up, the coins visible. “I will wait, but not long.”

“There was someone, but he sat over there.” She indicated a small table positioned in a corner. “A right smart gentry cove he were, too.”

Philippe eyed the well-lit booth. “It is my understanding the table was dark.”

“‘Twas. Henry Wickem just got ‘round to fixin’ the light this morning.”

“This man, can you describe him?”

“He stayed to hisself, didn’t say much until the talk turned to the murder of some housemaid. Mind you, it seemed strange to me since he started the talk in the first place.”

“His description?”

“Kept a hat on but I could see his hair was brown. Couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, though, ‘cause he wouldn’t look at me. His hands was nice, not workin’ hands.” She bit on her lip and thought a moment. “Spoke like a nob.”

The bell over the entrance jangled and she glanced up. “That’s him,” she hissed.

“Go to the back,
señorita,
and wait. Give me a few moments, then return to the table.” Philippe added two more coins to the pile and placed them in her hand.

The barmaid slipped from the booth and scurried to the kitchens. Once she was out of sight, Philippe swiveled to watch the man who’d just entered. In a black frock coat and derby, the stranger perused the pub for a seat.

The full pub aided Philippe’s cause. He waited for the man to glance his way and gave a quick nod. The stranger strolled casually toward him.

“
Buenos noches
,
señor
,” Philippe said above the din.

“My apologies, but have we met before?”

“I do not believe so. This
cantina
is full and, as you can see, there is more than enough room at this table.”

“I thank you.” The man slid into the booth across from Philippe and removed his derby, laying the hat on the bench beside him.

Philippe added, “The food is prepared surprisingly well. I can recommend the venison stew.”

“I left London early and must admit to being ravenous.”

“You just arrived?”

“Yes. I came in by train. Although a quick trip, it leaves one on foot at the end. Still, it’s better than risking a curricle and livestock with the roads and weather so uncertain.”

The taproom maid appeared, her gaze scanning the newcomer’s face. “Same as last night, sir?”

The man’s smile flashed. “Well . . .” he raised a brow and waited.

“Molly. My name’s Molly,” she cooed.

“Well, Molly, since I’ve just arrived, you may have to enlighten me as to what my doppelganger had.” He laid a hand on the table.

Philippe surveyed the long fingers with their well-manicured nails. He could imagine how Molly would consider them
nice
. He caught the glint of a small ring on the man’s little finger. Unless he was much mistaken, it was a signet ring.

“The special will be fine, Molly, and a tankard of ale while I wait.” The man glanced at Philippe. “May I buy you a pint?”

“
Gracias
.”

Molly flicked her gaze to Philippe and gave a little shrug. Either she wasn’t certain, or the man’s charm had won the maid over. Either way, he needed to learn more.

The man leaned back. “Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“Not at all,
señor
. I am looking for someone and thought you might be he.”

“My name is Doctor Benjamin Farris. I’m here on business.”

“And you arrived this evening?”

The man reached inside his coat pocket and stilled at the telltale ‘click’ of a gun hammer.

“Be careful,
señor
.”

Farris slowly withdrew a narrow cardstock and shoved it across the table toward Philippe. “Check the date and time. You will see it’s stamped for today.”

Philippe viewed the ticket and passed it back to Farris, releasing the hammer on the pistol as he did.

Farris’ eyes narrowed. “The next time you draw on me, you’d better have a damn good reason. I ask again, what is this about?”

“My name is
Don
Philippe Montenegro. I am here at the request of my family.”

“And they are . . .”

“Lord Anthony Wade, Earl of Harding, but most specifically, his wife.”

“Do you mean Mrs. Clairece Griffin?”

“
Si
.”

Farris smiled. “Well, well, well. She’s the reason for my trip to Somerset. Since I arrived late, I decided to stay at the hotel and travel to Sanctuary in the morning.” He frowned. “You say family?”

Philippe nodded in assent. “Are you aware of—”

“The attempts on her life? Yes. This last time, they almost succeeded. Lord Anthony departed London with . . . his wife before I could see her again. Knowing Harding, there must have been a good reason.”

“There was. The attempts have not stopped.”

“Damn.” Farris tapped a finger. “And you thought I might be the one responsible? Why?”

Molly arrived with the meal and tankards of ale and the men quit speaking. After setting the food out on the table, she studied Farris again.

“Don’t know how I could’ve mistook you for the other bloke. Takin’ a closer look,” she suited action to words and leaned in toward Farris, offering a look down her bosom, “I can see as how you’re much better lookin’ than the other gent.” She smiled and batted her lashes.

Farris chuckled. “Perhaps another time, Molly.”

“Well, if you change yer mind, either one of you, let me know.” She ambled off, skirts swaying provocatively.

“I believe we are of the same accord,
Don
Montenegro, and have Lady Harding’s best interests at heart.”

“As you say, the
niña’
s wellbeing is of the utmost importance.” Philippe’s black gaze settled on the other man. “Make no mistake, I
will
stop
any who try and harm Clairece, or any other member of my family.”

Outside the Hound and Hare, the man pressed back into the shadows and watched the front entrance. He had his eye on Molly, but with that blasted Spaniard hanging around, she would have to wait. As a man possessed of perverse needs, he had long ago realized his were considered among the worst.

He thought of the American woman. Harding Hall was like a fortress. Getting anywhere near her was next to impossible. And now he had that simpleton he’d hired to contend with. How in blazes could he have guessed the lackwit would take on so about a silly chit like Lucy?

He moved away from the cover of darkness and strode off.

Chapter 41

Anthony strolled through their chamber, discarding articles of clothing as he went. Aware Clairece watched him in her mirror, he grew concerned at her continued refusal to acknowledge him. “Will you tell me what’s troubling you? Have I done something?”

Her gaze jerked to his. “It’s not you, but me.” She continued to tug the brush through her long hair until he gently clasped her wrist, stilling the next sweep of her hand. He laid the hairbrush aside and turned her to face him.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I’m afraid you’ve made a bad bargain in me.”

He hunkered down in front of her. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“I’m going to disappoint you. A house of this magnitude is so,” she waved her hands around, “overwhelming.”

He eased her chin up so she looked at him. “Under Hodges’ and Mrs. Stedman’s direction, the Hall runs smoothly. All you need do is oversee and approve suggestions and requests. If there is something you wish changed or done, simply inform the staff.”

Her lower lip quivered. To see this brave and courageous woman so distraught sent an answering ache in his chest. “Years ago, Sanctuary hosted an annual picnic for the village folk and surrounding neighbors. I would love to see it happen again.” He brushed another tear away. “Look around, darling. The renovations on the Hall are not complete because, frankly, I haven’t had the time. I haven’t set foot in the orphanage in months.”

Her eyes widened. “Orphanage?”

Damn
. He’d not intended to mention the children’s home just yet. “Tanglewood Home for Children. It’s named after a book by one of your American authors, Nathanial Hawthorne. My mother would read to me for hours. I never got tired of hearing the tales.”

Clairece’s face crumpled and she began to sob in earnest.

“Dearest, what is it?”

“I couldn’t even bear a child properly. My carelessness cost the life of my daughter.”

So this is the real crux of the matter
. He drew her to her feet and embraced the bundle of soft woman in his arms. “Philippe told me of the visit paid you by the whoreson who got you with child. You were distressed, so much so you walked in your sleep. It was an accident. If anyone is to blame, it’s he.”

Clairece swiped her fingers across her cheeks. “Had I refused to see Carlen, my babe would be with me.”

Anthony handed her his handkerchief. “You were young. Not much more than a child yourself. It is not to be expected you should face such a situation alone. Where was Roger?”

“At a meeting with other men who survived the War Between the States. He planned to write a documentary about Gettysburg and other battles, and needed some first-hand accountings. Roger was hurt at Antietam, at a place called Bloody Lane. Once they determined he would live, he was sent on to a hospital. Many others were not so lucky. Roger wanted history to know of the men who fought and didn’t return.”

As much as he wished to criticize her late husband for leaving a pregnant wife, Anthony recognized the value of what Roger had tried to accomplish. “How far did he get with his memoirs?”

“Roger wrote incessantly, and had upward of thirty journals at the time of his death. I took them with me to Spencer Ranch before I came here. Papa offered to assist me in organizing them so I could compile Roger’s work into a book.”

Anthony hated to probe further, but deemed it vital. “Tell me what happened after you fell.”

Clairece dabbed at her cheeks with the linen. “Roger was staying at a hotel in Philadelphia with others who had gathered to discuss the war. I remember bits and pieces, but primarily only what I was told. He was summoned immediately and arrived early the next morning. By then, I was barely coherent from loss of blood. Miranda was breech and not ready to come.”

“Miranda?”

She nodded. “I named her Miranda Elizabeth. Elizabeth for James’ mother, my aunt, and Miranda because I knew she would have been beautiful.”

Anthony squeezed her hand. If he could take this anguish from her, he would.

“I told you I heard her cry, but they say it’s not possible as she was stillborn.” Clairece looked up at him. “Anthony, something in here”—she touched her chest—“tells me I’m right.”

Anthony wanted to offer comfort, but no words came.

“They’d sent for my parents and I knew I was dying. I didn’t want to die without holding my infant just once. I heard Roger tell the doctor to save the mother. I tried to order them to save my baby instead, but they gave me something for pain. I woke days later with my mother and father sitting by my bed and Philippe standing at the foot. Uncle Adrian and Aunt Angeline were downstairs.”

“Philippe told me you almost died.”

“It took weeks for me to regain my strength. Once I could leave my bed, Philippe carried me outside to a bench at the back of the garden. Roger had buried Miranda there beneath the tree.”

“I am so sorry, my love.”

“I went to Texas with my parents and stayed until I could manage returning to Philadelphia. While there, Papa began to teach me about antiquities and such.”

“What of Carlen?” Anthony had to work to keep his voice from betraying his profound hatred of the man.

“Philippe told me not to fear, that Carlen would never bother me again.”

“I think you should trust what Philippe says.”

She traced the signet ring on his little finger and instinct told him there was yet more.

“With the orphanage and the way you are with Sophie, you obviously love children and deserve a dozen of your own. I may not be able to give you even one.” She swallowed hugely.

A dozen?
“We don’t know that,” he said gently.

“Well, I
do
.” She hiccupped a sob. “I had begun to hope, but I . . . my courses started today. I’m not increasing and I so wanted to be.”

Women should come with a book of instructions so a man might respond accordingly.
“Ah, love, don’t cry. We’ve hardly had the chance for a proper try.”

She sniffed. “You should end our marriage and find someone who can provide you with children.”

He chucked her under the chin. “I gave you my oath, Clairece. I didn’t marry you for children alone. I married you because I wanted you as my wife, no one else. If we’re blessed with children, I shall be the happiest of men. But, if it’s not to be, I will feel equally blessed with you in my life.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “I made you another promise and, if I must keep it, I will. Are you telling me you wish to leave? Is that what this is about?” Her gaze met his and Anthony’s breath stilled as he waited for her answer.

“I do not wish to, but—”

He placed a finger on her lips. “The rest will work itself out.”

“I’m tired and would like to go to bed. Will you hold me even though we cannot make love?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Anthony lifted her in his arms and deposited her on the bed. Discarding his clothing, he turned down the lamps and climbed in beside her. She immediately snuggled against his side. “I have no experience with . . . women things. How long does this last?”

“Five to seven days.”

He groaned.

“You’re demanding more money?”

“And why not, if you’re makin’ me look the guilty one for what you done?” Mort sneered. “I can just as easily leave you to finish this by yerself, ya know. I didn’t sign on fer yer crazy stuff, or to have blokes like that Spaniard after me.”

He drew in a steadying breath. “Very well. I’ll pay you twice the amount when this is completed. Will that suffice?”

Mort shifted from one large foot to another. “Not after we’re done. Now.”

He gritted his teeth. “Two days. Meet me in two days and you’ll get your money.” He’d have no use for the lout after the American woman was dead.

A quick thrust of a blade between the ribs would be Mort’s final payment.