“Not in this weather, I’m afraid.” He grimaced. “I don’t have the funds.”
And neither did Emily. She fought the urge to drop her head into her hands. “So what now?”
“Now I’ll take you home and discover what direction he went in.” Oliver met her gaze. “I’m sorry, Emily. This mess is at least partially my fault.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Let’s lay the blame at the appropriate door. Marlbury is most to blame here. AndIsabella.” Once, Emily would not have believed her sister capable of such things, but she would have been wrong.
“Then we’ll have to make sure he suffers for what he’s done.” Oliver’s knee brushed hers. “Will you let me in later tonight if I come to the back door?”
She knew what he was asking. If he could stay the night with her.
She could not bear to spend it alone.
“I’ll leave it unlocked,” she said.
“I won’t let you down,” he promised, and heaven help her, but she believed him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thehousewascoldand quiet without Isabella or Oliver. Emily lit a candle, hating the tallow stench, and made her way upstairs. Once there, she lingered in the bedroom she had shared with her sister. The bed lay unmade, a nightgown discarded on the floor.
Emily closed her eyes. She gritted her teeth. And then, candle safely on the nightstand, she removed her soaking clothes, hanging them where they might drip, though not dry. Once in her nightgown, blankets thrown over her shoulders, she lit the fire with the remainder of the coal, coaxing the flame into life. Grit from the floor dug into her knees, and she laced her hands together, saying a prayer for the first time since her father’s death.
That had been when she’d given up on God. On Sundays—most of them—she still went to church for appearance’s sake, sitting at the back with Isabella and wishing that she could find the joy from faith that others did.
If he was the Holy Father, he was an absent one.
But now, on her knees before a flame as feeble as her hope, Emily clung to the last thing she had left. If there was a chance that God listened to prayers, she had to try. There was no dignity when there was desperation.
And she had more desperation than she knew what to do with. It poisoned her every breath.
“Please,” she begged, her fingers clasped before her, the cold creeping down the gap between her collar and the bare skin of her back. “I know you probably hate me, but let me save her.”
The flame flickered. It flared, its light seeming brilliant in the gloom, and Emily allowed herself to believe her prayer had been answered. Signs were easy to come by if one looked hard enough; one could pick apart the world in order to find the answers they were looking for in the wreckage. Ordinarily, she was not one to cling to such blind belief, but now she needed something to cling to.
As the coal dust caught and the embers glowed red with trapped heat, the chill in Emily’s bones slowly fled, replaced by exhaustion. She rose, the blankets around her shoulders feeling impossibly heavy, and made her way to the bed she had once shared with her sister. Now, the dip where Isabella’s body lay was cold.
So many times, they had giggled together. Small happinesses that had been born of love, not of luxury; they’d had cold toes pressed against each other’s shins, and threadbare clothes that needed constant repairs. They went to bed hungry and spent those dim, hazy, in-between moments together dreaming of a different life.
Emily rested her head on her pillow. Tomorrow, she would return to being strong. But for now, she let herself feel.
Sleep took her the moment she closed her eyes.
Oliver paid the coachman and ducked into the still-bright lamplight of theRose & Crown, the ale-soaked air immediately familiar. In the two weeks he’d been in this corner of the country, he’d come here often, although this time, he wasn’t here to forget. He strode to the comely girl polishing glasses. Her gaze took him in and sharpened, no doubt recognising him.
He gave her his most winning smile. “I don’t suppose you happen to know which direction Lord Marlbury went when he left Dalston?”
“What’s in it for me, little lord?” Her voice was throaty and determined, her gaze already on the coin in his hand. One of the precious few left to him, but he would leave behind debts for Henry to berate him over if that was what it took.
“I just need to know if he was going in the London direction.”
She took the coin and bit it. Satisfied, she put it in her apron pocket. “If anyone’s seen the lord’s coming and goings, it’s John by the door. You’d be best off asking him. I can’t tell you what he saw or hasn’t saw.”
Oliver tipped his hat at her, making her giggle, and wound through the smoke to where the doorman stood, arms crossed over a barrel chest. He was grizzled, close to his sixtieth year if Oliver had to guess, and his eyes were a pale blue as they met Oliver’s.
“Have you seen Lord Marlbury’s coach about three days ago?” Oliver asked, not waiting for the usual pleasantries. Emily waited for him at her hollow shell of a house, and he didn’t intend to be long.
“Aye, that he did.”
