The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

Oliver mentioned that the apothecaries transported certain herbs and plants from exotic locations directly to the gate leading from the Thames. “Where are we going?” Heavens, if this woman had a barge waiting, Oliver and Christian would never find her.

“To one of the potting rooms. Even though the garden is closed to visitors temporarily, we wouldn’t want to attract any undue attention.”

She spoke so calmly, with a serene quality that belied the evil mind lurking beyond the fake facade. “And what are we to do there?”

“We will examine the book away from prying eyes.”

Prying eyes? There wasn’t a soul in the garden. Only the faint hum of bees and the crisp sound of their footsteps broke the silence. “Is that why we’re wearing these ridiculous clothes?”

“Men like to think they have the monopoly on everything.” They passed beneath the thick boughs of the cedar trees, and the gate leading down to the river came into view. “They like to make rules and preach about their moral superiority. If a lady is lucky, she might find one who is not a fake or fraud.”

When Rose thought of Christian’s fine qualities, she considered herself amongst the luckiest of ladies. She only hoped he could find a way to rescue her from this mess. The sight of the river in the distance, coupled with the slow advance along the narrow path, roused images of walking the plank. At some point, she expected to feel the tip of a sword pressed into her back, to feel the murky water filling her lungs as she tried to stay afloat.

They approached the row of red-brick buildings to their left. Rose stopped abruptly. “What assurance do I have that you’ll not harm Lord Farleigh and his children? What assurance do I have that I’ll leave this garden alive?”

The woman smiled. “This was never about Lord Farleigh. We want the book that’s all.”

“We?” So the lady had an accomplice. The identity of the perpetrator was not the mystery. It was Taylor or Wilmslow — or maybe both. The reason behind their scheme is what baffled her.

“As I said, a woman will do anything for the man she loves.”

Rose examined the woman’s features, and recognition dawned. She tried to suppress a gasp, but it burst from her lips. She had seen this woman once before, in the churchyard of St Martin’s on the day Oliver and Nicole married.

“Then I fear your affection is misplaced, Mrs Wilmslow.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Mrs Wilmslow gave a sly chuckle. “I knew you’d work it out, eventually. You’re far too smart for a maid, though in coming here you’re clearly far too senseless for a lady.”

Christian and Oliver were due to arrive any moment. Rose just needed a little more time. “As you said, often a woman will do anything for the man she loves. What a shame your husband sought fulfilment elsewhere.”

“Indeed. Men can be rather shallow don’t you think?” Mrs Wilmslow appeared unperturbed by her husband’s adultery and gestured to one particular door. “Shall we?”

“Now I would be rather foolish to step inside there.” Rose glanced at the small brick building. “I’m afraid we will have to conduct our business out here.”

The arrogant grin on the woman’s childlike face faded. “No, we won’t. Did you hear news of the recent poisoning? With the extortionate price of sugar, a confectioner added arsenic to his sweet treats. Children cannot tell the difference and gobble them up without thought or question.”

Rose clenched her jaw. She’d only punched a person once. Baxter had deserved more than a thump, and so did Mrs Wilmslow. “What sort of woman threatens small children? Lord above, your husband is a reverend.” Was there something in the air in Abberton that turned normal people into crazed fools?

Mrs Wilmslow screwed up her pretty nose and bared her teeth. “Get inside.” With a flick of the wrist, the leather sheath slipped out from the end of her coat sleeve, and she drew the knife in one swift movement. “I’ll not tell you again.”

Sunlight glinted off the metal blade, but Rose dismissed the sudden fear clawing at her throat. She had yet to play her ace card in this game of wits, and so had to t

rust that Fate would see things right.

Mrs Wilmslow opened the door, tugged the sleeve of Rose’s coat and forced her inside.

A sweet, aromatic smell filled the air, something strange, something Rose couldn’t quite place, though it came from the potted plants on the table to the right. Various herbs hung from a drying rack on the ceiling. A magnifying glass, jars full of soil and various scientific instruments lined the shelves.

Mrs Wilmslow pushed her towards a crude wooden chair positioned in the centre of the room. “Sit.”

Rose dropped into the chair and waited for direction. A heavy silence ensued. Mrs Wilmslow’s breath came quickly as she focused her attention on the door.

“Don’t you want to see the book?” Rose scanned the room, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon.

“All in good time.”

It didn’t matter to Rose how long they waited.