Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

The woman cursed foully. “You should have been there.” She reached out to grab Jed’s sleeve, but her hand was shaking too badly. Cursing again, she tucked the useless hand back into the folds of her shawl, out of sight.

Warily, Jed watched her to see which direction her mood would take. With her ailing body and trembling limbs, she had all the appearance of a pitiful old woman, but Jed knew better. He thought himself immune to the darker sights of London, immersed as he was in those shadows, but he still felt his guts clench whenever he was in his cousin’s presence. There were stories of some of the things she was supposed to have done, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were true. His father’d warned him against her, and he’d scoffed, taunting the old man with: “You’re scared of a woman, Da?”

But he understood now.

“I’ll get the girl back,” he said. “I’ll find out where she is and—”

“I know where she is.” She smiled at his expression, showing yellowed teeth.

“But…how can you know? We haven’t even found the driver of the cab yet.”

She chuckled. “I have my ways,” she said. “I haven’t reached the stage where I’m ready to hand over the reins to you, Jed. Patience. Your time will come.”

Jed, who was counting the days until she died, shrugged as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “I’m happy with the way things are,” he lied.

“Of course you are,” she mocked.

“So where is the girl then?”

“She’s being looked after in a gentleman’s house, but not for long.” She grunted. “I knew there’d be trouble. I told him to do them in straight off. Hold a pillow over their faces—nothing to it. But he was squeamish. And now, all these long years later, he’s paying the price.”

Jed was silent. She was rambling of the past.

“He’s coming to see me,” she said abruptly. “I don’t want you here. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

The man who visited her was an old friend, or so she said. His visits were meant to be secret. Jed wondered whether he might be able to use the information one day, but he’d have to be careful. Angela was quite capable of having him killed if she thought he was becoming a threat to her.

She might be sick and crippled, but she was still a very dangerous woman.

Francesca woke to the sound of Lil’s urgent voice and her none-too-gentle shaking. “Miss Francesca, please…wake up!”

“Lil? Whatever is it?” She opened her eyes, trying to rearrange her thoughts. She’d been dreaming of dark streets and a man with black eyes. She’d been running desperately…but was it toward him, or away from him?

“Miss, we need your help.”

Francesca sat up, pushing her hair out of her face, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Is it Mr. Thorne?”

“Bless you, no! As far as I know, he’s well.”

“Then what…?”

“It’s Rosie, miss.”

Lil was twisting her hands in a frantic manner. It was so unlike her that Francesca reached out and grasped them hard to make her stop. When they’d arrived home the night before, Lil had decided Rosie would be more comfortable sharing her room, and after they’d washed her face and found her a nightdress that was more or less her size, they’d tucked her into the truckle bed.

What could have gone wrong?

“It’s Mrs. March,” Lil explained bitterly. “She won’t let Rosie stay. She’s so angry, miss. I thought if I didn’t wake you immediately she’d have the poor moppet bundled up and on her way to the orphanage, and it’d be too late.”

Francesca pushed back the covers. “I’ll talk to her, Lil. Don’t worry. Go and get Rosie dressed and give her something to eat. How is she this morning?”

Lil smiled. “She’s chirping away like a little sparrow, miss. You wouldn’t think it were the same girl.”

“We mustn’t let her know what’s happening. I’ll deal with Mrs. March.”

Lil sniffed. “I hope so, miss.”