A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal

  Nell grabbed her shoulder. “No. Go—run! Fetch the bobbies!”

  Suzie looked at her, slack-faced, understanding nothing. Nell pried the knife from her hand and pushed her forward, stumbled after her out the door. Doors were slamming up and down, but nobody came to see what was happening: a gunshot was like fever; you kept your distance if you wanted to live.

  Another shot rang out behind them. Suzie screamed. “No! Michael—”

  Nell pushed Suzie down the stairs, but her own feet, numb from the constriction of the ropes, failed her; she grabbed for the banister and it wobbled and broke free under her hand, sending her to her knees, tumbling headfirst down the stairs. A bright light slammed into her head.

  She opened her eyes to a world gone silent. Suzie stood above, hands cupped to her mouth, staring up the stairs.

  “Not an inch,” came a cool instruction from above.

  The stairs creaked. Grimston was coming down.

  Nell wet her lips. Damn Suzie for a fool, and for not being fool enough: she knew what Grimston’s appearance meant. With a wordless keen, she stumbled back against the wall and slid down to the ground.

  Here where Nell lay, where they would die together.

  No.

  Nell’s hand tightened around the knife she still clutched. Her grip felt slippery. Blood. Suzie had cut her when slicing the ropes. She stared at the top of Suzie’s head and waited, counting the treads on the steps. He might not shoot her till he could look her in the eye, in which case he might make the mistake of stepping too close beforehand.

  Or he might not wait. She’d lie here letting her chances slip away while Grimston took aim.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to her feet and around, staring straight into the lifting barrel of his pistol. The knife had its own intelligence; the knife and her hand understood each other; they flew toward his belly like magnets to iron, slamming—

  —into bone. Hot agony spiked through her wrist, throwing her off balance again—throwing him, too, off balance, a miracle; she felt the gun press between them as he staggered and fell toward her, his shoulder clipping hers as he staggered past. He went down on his knees and bumped and tumbled down the stairs. She wheeled, catching herself, staying upright only by sheer instinct, a long-ingrained habit that snapped her hand up to clutch the edge of the next flight of stairs, over her head.

  Grimston landed facedown, his head by Suzie’s foot.

  Suzie screamed, wordless and terrible, and gave him a boot in the skull, a heavy blow from a working woman’s thick-soled shoe, no flimsy slippers here. He groaned and raised one sluggish hand to protect his head. Nell couldn’t see the pistol—trapped beneath his body maybe; she didn’t intend to wait and find out.

  She leapt down and grabbed Suzie’s wrist, yanking her onward. On the first turn of the stairs she heard him again, regaining his feet, thundering after them. The light came into view, the exit into the street. Suzie was sobbing, gabbling about Michael. Nell pulled her faster, taking the steps two by two, now, reckless, forgetting which step wobbled, which was loose and might give way—

  A shot cracked by her head, plaster exploding before her. The doorway was only four more steps—three—

  The light went dark, the doorway filling, a tall man stepping into it. A grim, cold look; steady eyes. He lifted his pistol and took aim. Fired.

  A garbled gasp. And then, down the stairs, came the heavy thump of a body falling.

  She let go of Suzie. She staggered forward, fell onto her knees in the doorway.

  The man knelt, too. It was Simon kneeling before her; he looked stricken now, not cold at all. His hands shook as they framed her face, but when he pulled her to him, his embrace was hard, his grip steady and unbreakable.

  Seated by the fire in Simon’s dressing room, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Nell watched the doctor draw the final stitch through her skin. The needle flashed as it exited. The thread pulled tight. Her flesh felt like rubber. It didn’t hurt at all.

  The doctor glanced at her over his spectacles as he pulled out a pair of scissors. Behind him stood the open door into Simon’s bedroom. On that bed with solid walnut posts, she’d become Simon’s wife.

  She stared at the bed, a piece of her own history, where she’d laughed and imagined such a different future for herself—a lovely one, full of light, free of blood. The memory already felt distant. For the rest of her life, it would only keep slipping further away.

  Why had Polly insisted on bringing her upstairs? She could have stayed in the drawing room where the police were interviewing everyone. Michael and Grimston were dead; they needed to know how it had happened. Nell could have helped them. She could have spoken about it very clearly.

  But with this view in front of her, she couldn’t think clearly about anything. Facts, simple ideas, kept slipping out of her head. That bed. Why was she in Simon’s rooms? She’d never thought to see this house again.

  “That does it,” said the doctor. He tied off the bandage at her forearm. Nell hadn’t caught his name, but for a moment, under the reassuring pat of his hand, she felt a real emotion penetrate her numbness: Mum needed a doctor like you, she thought.

  She barely registered the flavor of this feeling—sadness, bittersweet regret, or maybe only gratitude for his service now—before it faded and she felt cold again.

  The doctor rose and turned away. “If she takes a fever,” he said, “you’ll call me at once.”

  “Of course,” came the reply, which handily pierced her daze. Katherine Aubyn had slipped in from the other door and now slithered up like a snake, taking a seat on the stool that the doctor had occupied. “Nell,” she said. Her cool hands pressed over Nell’s knuckles, a touch as light as the breeze, and then, all at once, the touch settled, pressing firmly. “I am so sorry,” she whispered.

  Nell thought about curiosity, how she should be feeling a healthy dose of it. Maybe she should ask, Who asked you here? A touch of sarcasm wouldn’t go amiss. The bobbies are downstairs. P’raps you might invite them to arrest me again.

  But Katherine spoke first. “I don’t expect—I don’t hope for your forgiveness.”

  “Good.” It would take a fool to trust this Judas again.

  Katherine moistened her lips. “But if you—if you should ever take pity on me and let me explain …”

  Nell allowed herself a small smile. Explain what? Sorry about that arrest. I was … Bored? Greedy? She shrugged. “I’m not interested.”

  “I don’t seek to excuse myself,” Katherine said huskily. “I know it was unforgivable. Only—if I told you something of myself—of what Grimston said of you—and of me—and—and perhaps in the course of this conversation, I could learn something of you, too—which would be my greatest wish of all, to know you—” She expelled a breath, and her hands tightened before slipping away. “To know my sister,” she said very softly. “Nell, I would be so grateful for that.”

  Nell stared at her. “Your … sister.”

  “Yes.” Katherine made a fist and set it to her breast. “Here,” she said. “I know it.”

  “And where did you know it when you plotted to have me jailed?”

  Katherine paled and bowed her head.

  Nell felt no urge to make the moment easier. As she waited for the girl to speak or go, she wondered how she’d ever looked into Katherine’s face and confused it for her own. They’d been cast from the same mold but shaped in different forges. Katherine’s smooth brow said she had not frowned as hard as Nell had. She had no lines around her eyes from squinting into the sun. The uniform darkness of her hair betrayed a life of protection from the elements.

  But then she lifted her face again, and Nell did recognize something: the look that Katherine wore.

  For the first time, Katherine was looking at her as she had once looked at a photograph of Katherine: with wonder and astonishment and a slowly growing fear.

  “Perhaps …” Katherine took a gulping breath. “Perhaps I was afraid to
see it. Before, I mean. I’d always felt … so certain that you would remember me. I can’t tell you how—how long I prayed for you, how I felt so deeply that …” She shook her head. “I always knew you lived, but I felt …” Her lashes fluttered; to Nell’s astonishment, a tear slipped free. “I felt sure you would come back,” she said in a choked voice. “Only I thought you would come back for me.”

  Nell sat wordless—stunned—not so much by what this girl said but by the sudden feeling welling within her.

  My God, she thought. After all this?

  After all this, then. She could still hope.

  “It was foolish, terribly stupid,” Katherine said rapidly. “And what I did … yes, unforgivable. I can only say that I was afraid of a great many things, all of which suddenly look very … cowardly, when compared to what you’ve faced.”

  Nell snorted. “I’m no heroine,” she said. “If somebody told you differently”—for it occurred to her that Hannah knew the whole tale of what Katherine had done, and, having encountered Katherine downstairs, would have shared her own opinion of it, loudly—”then they were lying.”

  “No,” Katherine said. “I don’t think he was lying at all.” She took another breath. “Well. You are—welcome at my home. Wanted there, always.” She bit her lip. “Of course you are. It is your home, too, is what I mean.”

  Your home. The two simple words checked Nell’s urge to scorn the offer outright. Your home, too.

  Once, she and Katherine had shared a home. A nursery. So many things. “Do you remember the doll?” she asked—and felt a blush start up. “I’m probably imagining it. But … red hair. Blue eyes. Button nose, shiny dress. A big collar at her throat, something lace—a ruff?”

  Katherine’s lips made an O. “Elizabeth—Elizabeth Regina, we called her.”

  Her throat thickened. Elizabeth Regina. “Aye.” She pushed the back of her hand across her nose. “That sounds right.” She’d loved that doll. She remembered, faintly but clearly, that she’d not been the only one to care for it. She’d had company in love, back then.

  She’d had this girl to love alongside her.

  “Do you still have her?” she asked when she felt sure of her voice.

  “I can find her,” Katherine whispered. “I promise you, I’ll find her for you.”

  “I’d like that. And maybe … I’ll come visit you.” Only good sense to have a backup plan, Nell told herself. Wasn’t like she was bound for the old flat, now. Blood still dripping through the floorboards.

  Which reminded her. “Have you space for Suzie at your place?”

  Katherine frowned a little. “The—lady downstairs?” Clearly she wasn’t sure the term lady applied in this instance, for she hurriedly clarified, “I mean, the one whose husband …”

  “Was my stepbrother,” Nell said. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” The word came out very high. Katherine’s lips folded, her chest rising and falling on a long breath. Suzie was no doubt a sight right now, with Nell’s blood on her ragged skirts and grief roughening her manner. “Yes,” Katherine said finally, but her voice lilted, making a question of it.

  Nell began to feel amused. How hard this girl was trying. How transparently she was failing. “Too lowborn for you, eh?”

  “No!” Katherine’s eyes widened. For a moment she looked plainly horrified. But then she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. “She is welcome,” she said firmly. “Any of your friends are welcome. Whomever you wish. It is your home, as I said.”

  And some devil prompted Nell to reply, “How very kiiiind of you,” in her best nasal drawl.

  Katherine’s eyes narrowed. Not stupid. She knew she was being mocked. But after a second, a small smile crept onto her lips. “I deserved that, of course.”

  “And much more,” Nell agreed, but somehow, against her will, she was smiling, too.

  Katherine cast a glance over Nell’s shoulder, then rose. “Well,” she said briskly. “I’ll be downstairs.” She gazed down at Nell, and then, on a quick breath, bent down—her kiss the briefest graze across Nell’s cheek.

  Puzzled by this abrupt retreat, Nell turned to look after her—and discovered Simon in the doorway. He stepped aside to let Katherine pass, murmuring something to her that Nell could not make out.

  The sound of his voice ran through her like a line of fire. In her mind she saw his face as he’d lifted that pistol. She’d felt so much in that moment: the sudden certainty of safety, of relief so profound it had caused her knees to fold, putting her at his feet as he’d lowered the gun.

  She found herself rising, seized by the urge to bolt, forcing herself to resist it by standing perfectly still.

  He came toward her. “I told the inspectors they could speak to you tomorrow if they thought it necessary,” he said. His voice was bland. Unreadable.

  She fixed her eyes on the carpet, one of those threadbare affairs, the Oriental pattern worn down at a spot next to her feet. She scuffed her toe across it—adding a bit more wear, a bit more value, she thought. “Thanks,” she said.

  His voice came from much nearer. “You’re not going to look at me?”

  No. She’d left this place—she’d left him—for true and wise reasons. She’d been right to go. As matters had stood, it had been the only choice. But the act of leaving had still been an abandonment.

  She’d fled in the night like a thief slipping away from a crime.

  I had no choice, she thought, but he might not understand that—and she did not want to look into his face now and discover how her decision had changed his view of her.

  “You don’t need to be afraid any longer,” he continued. “They’re both dead. They can’t hurt you …” The rest of his words were lost in the roaring shock of that single word: afraid.

  She lifted her head. “I’m not afraid.” Leaving him had taken impossible strength. If she’d had the courage to leave him, she certainly had the courage to look at him now. “I was never afraid of them.” They’d had nothing to do with why she’d left. Did he imagine that Grimston had driven her away?

  Her fears, all of them, had centered around the man before her, who now blinked and tilted his head, looking at her as though she were a stranger. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

  His remote manner struck her like a slap. The next second, she felt a dread-filled recognition, as if she had lived through this scene already. In her nightmares, she had lived through it. She’d feared there would come a time when his illusions would wither and he would finally see her as she truly was.

  Yes, she thought. I ran away from you. You see me as a coward, a selfish woman now.

  She took a hard breath and made herself hold his eyes. “I’ll be going, then.”

  “Going,” he said slowly—as though it were a word from a foreign language.

  “Aye.” She swallowed and spoke faster. “Katherine has offered to take me in. Of course, I’ll be giving you half the inheritance. That was our agreement. I mean to honor it.”

  He ran his hand through his black hair, tousling it. The weariness on his face suddenly struck her.

  Why, he’d killed a man today. For her sake, he’d murdered someone.

  She took a step toward him. “Are you all right?” God above, she hadn’t even made sure of that. “You’re not hurt?”

  He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did you get hurt?” She looked him up and down, panic thrumming through her. Bullets had flown. But surely she’d know—”You spoke to the doctor?”

  He frowned. “Nell, I wasn’t hurt. I came—” His laughter cracked, short and humorless. “I came barely in time,” he said. “At the end. Another second—”

  “But you’re fine.” Suddenly she had to sit again, so great was her relief. She was shaking. “You’re fine,” she repeated softly. Thank God.

  “No.” He crossed to her in two long strides. “No,” he said emphatically, crouching down before her. “I am not fine.” His hand gripped her chin, lifted her f
ace so their eyes met. “Nell. You look into my eyes and hear me out. Listen to me when I say this. Are you listening?”

  Having him so close only made this shaking worse. With inches between them he was still too far away. So hard the world tried to keep people apart. Otherwise it might have been easy to span the bridge between separate universes; human flesh, pressed together, recognized no impossibilities.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m listening.”

  He nodded once, tightly. “When I woke up to find you gone, I thought you had decided to accept Grimston’s offer after all.”

  Her fingers cramped, closing like vises on the edge of the seat cushion. She’d known when she’d walked away that she would never be able to come back. She’d abandoned him just as that other woman had. He wouldn’t forgive her for it. “I didn’t take his offer,” she said.

  “I gathered that.” His eyes searched hers. “But it would have made no difference if you had.”

  Her throat tightened. “What?” How could that be true? “After what that other woman did to you—” Anger prickled through her. “You would have been a fool to forgive me.” Or a condescending ass. Did he think he could expect no better of her than betrayal?

  “Perhaps.” He smiled slightly. “But this is love, I gather: I find it has no separate existence from trust, not in any way that signifies. You could not destroy the one without destroying the other. And so, when the first held strong, the second only bent slightly, for a small moment. For a moment, it mattered to me, this idea that you had taken Grimston’s money. And then it simply … didn’t.”

  He let go of her and took a deep breath. “I do love you,” he said slowly. “I have said it before but now I say it with a better understanding of what it means. Had you died today, I would have lain down in an early grave.”

  Tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away, dashing her hand across her eyes. The anger slipped away, now, leaving only her view of his dark, resolute face as he said: “And for that reason alone, I tell you this—you should go.”