Raven (Gentlemen of the Order 2)

“Only three years?” Sophia interjected. “But you’ve been at Blackborne for five.”

Mr Ashwood finished untying the ropes and stepped away. “He remains at Blackborne because he’s in love with Miss Draper.”

Blent rubbed his arms and wrists vigorously to get the blood circulating but made no reply. His silence acted as confirmation.

Mr Sloane crossed the room and thrust a tumbler of amber liquid at Blent. “Drink this. You must have been waiting out in the cold for a few hours. What the devil did you hope to achieve by lingering in the garden? You’d have caught your death had Mrs Brogan not noticed the flickering light outside.”

“Flickering light?” Finlay spoke as if the words were important. “You communicate with Jessica. She shines a light in Blackborne’s upper window to let you know she’s free to come to your cottage.” He didn’t wait for Blent’s admission. “You were hoping to get her attention so she would come to the garden.”

“We signal to each other,” the man confessed. “She knows if we’re ever parted, I shall come to her. She knows to shine a light in her bedchamber window until we are reunited. When she worries, it eases her fears.”

Sophia gaped.

How had she missed the signs?

Yes, Blent was the only one who knew how to calm Jessica when she was agitated. He was the one to carry her upstairs after a bout of sleepwalking. The one who accompanied her on long walks, read to her, played chess. Blent was a strong, reliable influence in Jessica’s world of chaos.

“Clarence Draper trusted me with the care of his daughter,” Blent added. “Nothing else matters.”

A shadow of sadness passed across Finlay’s features. He glanced at her with apologetic eyes before focusing his attention on Blent. “When a man loves a woman, he should be the light in the darkness, the guiding hand of support when the path is uncertain. He should ease her suffering, dry her tears. He should be the angel in the woods, offering a token to keep the devil at bay.”

Gracious!

Was Finlay implying Blent had given Jessica the bowl?

Surely not.

“Why fill Jessica’s head with stories of murdered witches and then give her a bowl as a means of protection?” Sophia blurted. It made no sense.

For courage, Blent swallowed a mouthful of whatever concoction Mr Sloane had mixed in the glass. The heat almost choked him, and he leant forward and coughed.

“Drink it down, my friend.” Mr Sloane chuckled. “The burn will pass.”

When Blent recovered, he thrust the glass at Mr Sloane, who gladly emptied the contents down his own throat without giving a gasp or a hiss.

“Well?” Sophia pressed. “You’ve not answered my question.”

Blent’s shoulders sagged. “The bowl belonged to my father. He brought it back from Persia during his travels. I gave Jessica the bowl, but told her to say she found it in the woods.”

“Yes, but why the frightening tales?”

“It has to do with Dr Goodwin,” Finlay said, prompting the man to confess. “You know he’s been giving her excessive doses of laudanum. Lord knows what’s in the paregoric vials. Hopefully, I shall discover the answer later today.”

“I spoke of witches, hoping she would be too scared to visit the woods.”

“And what of Mrs Friswell and her devil potions?”

Blent jumped to the housekeeper’s defence. “The restorative Mrs Friswell prepares is to counteract the effects of the doctor’s drugs.”

“She is in my employ.” Sophia could trust no one at Blackborne, it seemed. But that’s what came from having no permanent mistress in the house. Mrs Friswell had taken matters into her own hands. “If she had concerns about Dr Goodwin, she should have come to me. She has no right to administer herbal concoctions without my express permission.”

Blent shook his head. “I had no proof of the doctor’s guilt. He is treating a patient who’s considered unstable. Would you have taken my word over a professional man who has served you faithfully all these years?”

“But you don’t believe she is unstable,” Finlay interjected. “Do you?”

Blent straightened. “There’s nothing wrong with Miss Draper’s mind. I would stake my life on it.”

“I have to agree,” Mr Sloane offered. “Yes, she talks incessantly, fidgets, is forgetful, but beneath the haze of confusion is a logical woman.”