LORD MARCH WAS talking to Lieutenant Dodd-Bellingham. Caro watched them across the ballroom, guessing from their tense faces that it wasn’t their usual easy banter. Clemency Howard was watching them too. By her side, Jacobus Agnetti was talking to Lord March’s mother, the Countess of Amberley, doubtless angling for a commission. Caro looked around for Simon Dodd-Bellingham, but she couldn’t see him. She wished Jonathan Stone’s threat had unsettled her less than it had.
Nicholas Cavill-Lawrence was laughing with the Earl of Amberley, but every time she moved, she felt his cold fish-eye upon her. She thought of the missing document in the bower, Cavill-Lawrence’s interest in Jonathan Stone, the Home Office agents looking for Lucy’s friends. What’s your part in all of this? she wondered.
Lord March and the lieutenant walked across the ballroom, weaving between the dancers. Caro followed at a distance, through the courtyard garden, into the Star Room. The pair passed between the gaming tables, disappearing through a doorway that led to the kitchens.
Caro waited for a little while, but they didn’t come out. Eventually, she walked over to the doorway herself, stepping back to avoid a striding waiter bearing a tray of griddled kidneys. There was no sign of her quarries. She couldn’t imagine they had business in the kitchens. But halfway down the corridor was another door that looked as if it led outside.
Walking swiftly, she tried the door, and found that it opened onto a small dark courtyard. There was nothing much to see: a midden of kitchen waste, a few old pallets, a line of drying dishcloths and a rusting bucket. Over the strains of the orchestra, she could hear a murmur of male voices close at hand.
An alley led off the courtyard, and Caro edged around the wall to peer into it. Lord March and the lieutenant stood some yards away. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from their movements it didn’t look convivial.
The lieutenant held a fist before his face and, for a moment, Caro thought he might strike Lord March. Moonlight flashed on something clutched in his gloved hand. Lord March snatched it from him, and flung it away. The lieutenant said something else, and Lord March pushed past him, heading back towards the courtyard with a face like thunder. Caro drew back into the shadows, praying he wouldn’t spot her in the dark. But he seemed intent only upon his own unsteady progress, stumbling into Carlisle House.
Turning back, she watched the lieutenant, who was gazing at the ground, walking up and down, presumably looking for the thing Lord March had thrown. He wandered around for a while like this, and then unbuttoned his breeches, urinating long and loud. Once he had finished, he emitted a soft belch and gazed around the alley again. Muttering beneath his breath, apparently giving up on his search, he walked back towards Carlisle House. Again Caro drew into the shadows.
At the door, the lieutenant paused, and took a long look around him. Then he ran a hand through his golden hair, brushed something from his redcoat, and walked inside. The door closed behind him, and Caro allowed herself to breathe again.
She walked down the alley to the spot where she’d seen them talking. It stank of cat and urine and rotting food. At the end of the alley, in the distance, she could see carriages trundling past on Soho Square. What had they been arguing about? The thing in the lieutenant’s hand? She looked around her, trying to work out how far Lord March might have thrown it.
She walked back and forth across the alley, poking mounds of unpleasantness with her slipper. After about ten minutes of careful searching like this, she caught sight of a metallic glint in a pile of vegetable peelings and rags. Wincing, the stench of urine sharp in her nostrils, she retrieved it with her handkerchief. A silver necklace with a charm on the chain: a tiny hand with a turquoise bead on either side. It had an exotic look, not English in design. She wondered if it was old, like the jewellery she’d seen in Stone’s collection.
The music stopped, and she heard applause and approaching footsteps. Slipping the necklace into her panniers, she turned. A man was striding towards her from the Carlisle House end of the alley. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and she made out the long beak of the plague doctor’s mask. Fear curdled in her stomach. She turned and ran.
She could hear him behind her, the rasp of his breath, the fall of his feet. Her own feet skidded on the cobbles, and her muscles burned. Up ahead, she could see lights and passers-by. She tried to call out to them, but couldn’t find the air. Then he was on her, dragging her back, an arm across her throat. She fought him, clawing for the mask. At any moment, she feared a knife would slide between her ribs, but he only forced one arm behind her, marching her on towards the lights.
Hope flared. What was he doing? Why was he taking her towards safety? Carriages rattled past, their lamps dazzling. She was still fighting him, but he was too strong, forcing her on into the square. Caro could see her own carriage and footmen, drawn up with many others outside Carlisle House. She took a breath to call out to them, but the man released her without warning, throwing her away from himself with tremendous force.
She landed hard on the cobbles, the air expelled from her lungs. Her ears filled with a tremendous clatter, and twisting, she saw a carriage bearing down on her. Foam on the horses’ nostrils, the sharp iron of their hooves. A stench of horse sweat hit her hard. She rolled.
Her face struck the cobbles and she tasted blood. She cried out as one of the coach wheels grazed her leg. Then as the carriage rattled on, she drew a sobbing breath, and all she could hear was Miles calling her name.