Chapter Twelve
Jacob walked home through drizzle and dropping temperatures—winter fighting for its place in the face of spring. But his anger kept him warm. Anger at Armbruster for being so ludicrous as to mention such a preposterous thing as marriage. Panic because Armbruster mentioned marriage and it was not something Jacob had ever thought to do again. Ever. Never, ever.
Except, maybe, when he had kissed Charlotte.
He shook his head. He’d not thought about marrying her then. But I had thought that she is far too respectable to be a mistress. And I admit that I have been lonely as of late.
He had been feeling lonely, as if he were sitting back and watching everyone’s life march on by while his remained stagnant. He’d not seriously thought of finding a wife, mainly because the thought of going out and meeting someone had sounded exhausting.
Was Armbruster right? Would American heiresses really want him? He shivered at the thought. Not that American heiresses were a bad lot. He’d met a few of them, and they were all rather nice, if not a bit outspoken.
He jogged up the steps to his townhouse, suddenly feeling the damp chill and desperately needing a brandy and a warm fire.
But when he entered his home he was arrested by a sight that chilled him more than the cold rain outside. “Mrs. Smith!” he bellowed. He heard scurrying noises, and suddenly Mrs. Smith appeared, looking flustered and wringing her ever-present cloth.
“Yes, my lord?”
He pointed to the pile of white envelopes sitting on the entryway table. “What is that?”
She put a hand to her heart. “Dear me, but you gave me a fright. I thought you were hurt.”
“What is that?” he repeated.
“I imagine those are invitations. They began arriving this afternoon. There’s a lot of them.”
“Invitations to what?”
“Well, I surely didn’t open them.” She sounded offended.
He handed her his coat and hat without taking his eyes off the offensive envelopes. A pit of vipers would have pleased him more.
“Where is Miss Morris?”
“She was in the study, last I saw.”
“And what did she do today?”
“Not that I was prying, but she seemed to rattle around for a bit before she settled down with a book.”
Jacob bounded up the steps to his private study, ignoring the fact that he was eager to see Charlotte and ask her about her day, ignoring that Armbruster would be smirking right about now if he could see Jacob, and definitely erasing the image of that pile of envelopes from his mind.
He found her sitting on the window seat in his study, leaning against the wall as she stared down onto the street, a book clutched to her chest. He stopped to watch the way the sunlight touched her short blond hair and skimmed across her face. She was wearing peach, a gown he’d never seen before but was almost certainly Cora’s because of the outdated style and the plethora of ribbons and lace.
Cora had also preferred that window seat. In fact, Jacob had it built for her because she liked to read by sunlight.
Charlotte turned her head and caught sight of him. “You snuck in,” she said.
“Not really. Did you keep yourself occupied today?”
She shrugged. “I suppose.”
“I apologize that I had to leave you to your own devices.”
“It’s not your job to entertain me.” She swung around to face him, her back to the window, and put the book she’d been clutching on the seat beside her. He saw it was one of his law books.
“I see you’re enjoying some light reading.”
“It was all I could find. I’ve been thinking…”
“Why does that sound ominous?”
She half-smiled. “There is a man I met in the rookery. He goes by Cotton, but I don’t know what his real name is. Probably best that I don’t.”
“Undoubtedly.” He was curious about this Cotton. He was curious about all of the people Charlotte had met in the rookery.
“At one point in his life Cotton had been a clerk. Excellent penmanship.”
“So he says?”
“So he says. But he makes a good living off… Well, he walks a fine line when it comes to the law.”
“He’s a forger?”
“One could call it that.”
“And what do you need from Mr. Cotton?” But he knew. They’d discussed it before. Except he hadn’t realized how far along she was with her plan.
“I’m going to ask him to create a new identity for me.”
Marry Miss Morris.
“You just got here,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Give yourself some time to recover from living in the rookery.”
“Recover? You act like I’ve been struck with an illness.”
“That’s not what I meant. I used the wrong term.”
“I can’t stay here forever. I need to move on with my life, and you need to move on with yours.”
It seemed as if his life was moving on whether he wanted it to or not.
“You’re welcome here for as long as you need a safe place to stay. Have you given more thought to contacting the marquess? He would make a good ally.”
“I don’t need an ally, Lord Ashland. I need a new name and a way to get out of London to start a new life.”
“Do you think your problems will magically disappear when you board a ship to a distant country?”
“Yes.”
“America is so large that a person can get lost there.”
“Exactly my plan. I believe Cotton can give me the necessary credentials. A new name and references. The problem is that it comes with a price.”
“Your soul?”
She shot him a reproachful look. “You’re not funny.”
“How much do you need?” The amount didn’t bother him. What bothered him was sending her halfway around the world to a strange place and an even stranger life, all alone.
“I’m unsure. If I want quality work—which I do—”
“Of course.”
“It will cost more.”
He knew he would help her in the end, but he also knew he needed time to find an alternate plan.
Marry Miss Morris.
…
Charlotte had mixed feelings about asking Jacob for more help. On the one hand, she had no one else to turn to. She’d inherited a small amount of money when her father had passed away, but Aunt Martha had quickly taken it for Charlotte’s “upkeep” as she had said. There was no possible way she could ask for that money back. Jacob was Charlotte’s only chance.
They sat down to dinner, and Charlotte looked at her food. It smelled and looked delicious, but after reading the stories of the girls that had been killed she was too heartsick to eat.
“I was reading some of your newspapers,” Charlotte said, as she pushed the food around on her plate.
“Oh?” Jacob didn’t seem to have the same problem she did with eating.
“I was reading the stories about the girls that were found in the Thames.” While she didn’t want to talk about it, she also wanted to get someone else’s thoughts on the murders.
He looked up from eating to frown at her. “That’s not exactly light reading.”
“It’s horrible.” She put her fork down, unable to eat.
“It is a terrible thing that is happening to them.”
“Is happening? Do you think there will be more?”
“There’s no way to tell, I suppose.”
“Who is killing them?” Her breath was coming fast, and she desperately tried to control it. She knew who was doing it. Or she thought she might know. Maybe. No. Surely she was wrong. Except the thought hovered in the back of her mind.
“I don’t believe Scotland Yard knows that yet.” He glanced at her shaking hands, and she quickly put them in her lap and looked down at her plate. The gravy from the meat was starting to congeal, and she swallowed.
“Charlotte?”
She peeked up at him.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. Those women were all servants.”
“So far.”
His eyes flickered. “There’s nothing to say that there will be more victims or that the killer will start…will switch to a different kind of victim.”
“Those poor women,” she whispered. “I hope they didn’t suffer.”
He paused. “I do, too.”
She shook her head, hoping to rid it of those thoughts, but of course they didn’t go away. They were stuck with her, thoughts of bodies without heads. Heads with unseeing eyes, staring at nothing, morphing into the bodies of broken women. Women who had suffered terribly in their last moments on Earth.
He looked at her uneaten food. “This wasn’t appropriate dinner conversation. We can talk about something else.”
“I was the one who brought it up. I…I just can’t get it out of my head.”
“Charlotte, there is no need to worry. You’re not of the class of women that this monster is going after.”
“Monster?”
“Who else could do this other than a monster?”
She thought of her cousin, Edmund. “A disturbed person. Someone with problems of his own.”
He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “What makes you say that?”
She shrugged. “It seems that only someone disturbed could do something this horrific.”
“Or a monster.”
“Monsters walk among us all the time, but they don’t all kill.”
He tilted his head. “That’s a very interesting concept.”
“Haven’t you ever wondered at the people you pass on the street? What kind of people they are? Deep down inside, who are they?”
“I like to think there is good in everyone.”
“But for there to be good, there has to be bad.”
“Not necessarily.”
“You are saying there are people who are completely good with no bad in them at all?”
“That seems a bit too simplistic.”
“My point exactly.”
He put his napkin down and seemed to seriously consider her words. “You are saying there are monsters in all of us?”
“I think there is the possibility of monsters in all of us. I think most of us can fight it, tamp it down, ignore it.”
“And others are too weak to do so?”
“Maybe. Or maybe they embrace it.”
“That’s frightening,” he said.
“People are complex beings. That’s what sets us apart from the animal kingdom.”
“And yet the person who is killing these women is not so different from said animals.”
“Precisely.”
…
Jacob stood outside the palatial white-marbled estate and realized he was making the biggest mistake of his life. And yet he was committed to doing it.
The other night Charlotte had been perfectly clear that she didn’t want her mother’s family involved in her life, but Jacob couldn’t help but think that the marquess was her best chance at starting anew. Becoming the ward of a respectable and powerful marquess was much better than sailing to America and teaching spoiled debutantes how to catch an English noble.
Their conversation from the night before had haunted him long into the night, and even when he’d fallen asleep, his dreams had been of dead women floating in the Thames, their heads bobbing along beside them.
Charlotte had been so contemplative and so disturbed. It was almost as if she knew more about the murders than he did. Charlotte’s remarkable observations on humanity intrigued him, and he’d found himself mulling it over. Such scrutiny could open doors that had never been open before. Imagine being able to interview such a person who killed like that? Imagine the data one could collect in order to stop such behavior? It was remarkable. Earth shattering.
A carriage rolled behind him, shaking him from his thoughts. If he didn’t move he was going to be late to his appointment with the marquess after the man’s secretary had been so kind as to squeeze him in.
He climbed the steps, trepidation dogging his heels. This was a bad idea.
Marry Miss Morris.
The door was opened by an aging butler who silently took Jacob’s coat and hat and led him to what appeared to be the marquess’s panel-lined office. An immense oak desk faced the door with a tall leather chair perched behind it. Windows looked out over the back garden. The room was distinctly male, comfortable and well lived-in.
The butler withdrew, leaving Jacob to wander around on his own. There were no papers on the desk, nothing to indicate that the marquess used this room for business. Jacob had learned that Chadley was married and had two almost-grown sons who were a bit younger than Charlotte. So the title was secure.
Lady Chadley was well thought of in Society, and they were always invited to the best balls and dinners.
What Jacob did not know was what Chadley thought of his sister Harriet running away to marry far beneath her and what he thought of his niece.
The door opened behind him, and the man himself entered. A tall fellow, neatly trim, impeccably dressed with blond hair almost the same color as Charlotte’s.
“Lord Ashland.”
“Lord Chadley, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“I confess I was curious as to why the newest earl wanted to see me so desperately.”
“It’s a rather odd mission.”
“Now you have me very curious.” Chadley circled behind his desk and motioned for Jacob to sit in one of the chairs that faced it.
He looked natural behind that desk, and it made Jacob wonder if he would ever feel natural in his new role as earl.
“How does it feel?” Chadley asked as if reading Jacob’s mind. “Being an earl.”
“Unexpected. I’m still becoming accustomed to it.”
Chadley grinned. “There’s no getting used to it, trust me.”
“I need to find my way.”
“We all do. I had my father to guide me, but I still feel like a fish out of water.” Chadley rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “Now tell me what brings you here and how I can help?”
Jacob liked Chadley. He seemed a genuine character, and he made Jacob feel welcomed and an equal. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
“I’ve come about Miss Charlotte Morris.”
There was a pause as if Chadley were running through a list of acquaintances trying to place a Miss Charlotte Morris, and then his brows furrowed.
“Harriet’s daughter?” he whispered.