Which begged the question . . .
Is Nicky guilty or innocent?Charlotte was dreading the coming meeting. It was, in a sense, a two-edged sword. Either way it swung would cut her to the bone.
The hiss of the water coming to boil echoed her own conflicted feelings.
“You’re up early.” McClellan entered the kitchen and quietly set to measuring out tea from the canister and preparing the pot.
Charlotte shifted in her chair.
“Do you wish to talk about whatever is plaguing your thoughts?” murmured the maid as she carried the tea tray to the table and poured a cup for each of them.
The swirl of fragrant steam seemed to release some of the tension from her overwrought nerves. “Not really.” A hesitation. “I simply fear I’m going to have to make a very difficult decision. One that will leave me no choice as to what I must do.”
“One always has a choice, Mrs. Sloane.” McClellan put a pan on the hob and began slicing bread to fry with the fat-streaked strips of gammon. “You’re simply too principled to choose your own self-interests over aiding those in need.”
How much the other woman guessed about her dilemma was impossible to know. McClellan, too, kept her thoughts to herself, but there was no missing the glint of lively intelligence and steely sharpness in her eyes.
“Principled?”Cradling the warm cup in her hands, Charlotte took a sip. “More likely buffle-headed.” She blew away a wisp of steam. “Both the victim of the recent murder and the manaccused of the crime are very dear to me. If I am to find the real killer and see that justice is done, there’s a good chance that I must step out of the shadows. Which means I will have to tell the boys, and you, and all my friends—about my past.”
“That includes Wrexford, I imagine,” murmured McClellan.
Charlotte drew in a deep breath. “Wrexford already knows.”
The other woman’s expression didn’t change.
“I asked him to keep it a secret until I felt ready to take the momentous step.”
“And you don’t really wish to?”
“Let’s just say it will change everything,” Charlotte replied carefully.
Grease sizzled as the meat slapped against hot cast iron. “How so?”
“I . . . I suppose secrets are like a comfortable cloak. They hide all the warts and imperfections that we prefer for our friends not to see.” Charlotte gave a wry grimace. “Or perhaps it’s merely the illusion of having our vulnerabilities covered that provides the comfort.”
“It seems to me that Wrexford doesn’t look at you any differently.” Taking up a fork, McClellan shifted the fried meat to a plate and added eggs to the frying pan. She didn’t elaborate on the statement.
The smell of food was unexpectedly welcome. Charlotte hadn’t expected to feel hungry.
“I’m not so sure,” she replied. “The earl can be mercurial.” And unpredictable. “His moods make him—”
A sudden rapping of the front door knocker interrupted her words. Charlotte tensed. The early hour meant it wasn’t a social call.
“I’ll go see who it is.” McClellan wiped her hands on her apron and hurried down the corridor—though not before slipping a kitchen knife into one of the pockets.
She returned shortly with a missive bearing the earl’s crest.
Charlotte quickly broke the wax wafer and scanned the contents. Wrexford had somehow worked magic overnight. “It seems the earl has arranged permission to visit Newgate, but it must be done before the night guards go off duty. He’ll be here shortly.” Which meant the moment of reckoning was coming even sooner than she expected. “I must hurry and dress.”
* * *
The wide brim of Charlotte’s oversized hat curled down to hide her eyes, making impossible for Wrexford to read her face. Dark on dark, shadows dipped and darted beneath the drab brown wool. She had smudged dirt on her face, making her expression even more impenetrable.
In his note, he had suggested that she dress as a street urchin, a disguise she wore like a second skin. A lady seeking entrance to Newgate would draw too much attention, something they wished to avoid.
“Mrs. Sloane,” he said, reluctantly interrupting whatever thoughts were swirling in her head. “I must remind you to let me do all the talking with the officials. Once we are in the cell, I shall defer to you.”
“Yes, yes. I’m not a complete widgeon, milord,” she replied.
