Dear God. She closed her eyes.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He had every reason to kill those women. Maybe if he had told her that he knew them, explained—
“Gabriel, open the door,” a cold distinguished voice intoned. “I know you are in there. You are slipping. I heard the floorboard.”
Marietta paused at the top of the stairs, undecided. She could slip out the back, but what if this man, whoever he was, knew about the other door? What if there were others with him?
She made her decision, a safe one, and walked into her room. She secured her pistol and opened her window, sending a quick thank-you that it was facing the street.
She stuck her head through the open frame and looked down at the front stoop. A tall, severely dressed man was already looking her way, cataloging everything about her from the shoulders up. She said another thank-you that she hadn’t changed from her servant’s garb. She looked like just another maid in a house.
Albeit one sticking her head from a window.
“Mr. Noble isn’t here presently. You can find him in the market. Good day.”
She started to pull her head back inside.
“Hold.” The man hadn’t moved from his position, but his eyes had narrowed. “Who are you?”
“I’m Felicity, the maid.” She took a stab at her distant cousin.
“You are not a maid.”
“I assure you I am.” She tilted her chin up.
“And I assure you that you are not. Come down from there, or I will assume that even though your speech and bearing are above a maid’s, your manners are not.”
Outrage washed through her, but she tamped it down, unwilling to let her pride be overcome by stupidity. “I do not wish to converse with you at present. You may call for Mr. Noble at a future date or time, or you may search him out. Good day.”
She pulled her head back through the frame and waited twenty beats of her racing heart. When she looked through the window again, he was gone. She grabbed her traveling case and pulled a shaky hand along her clothes. It would take her far too long to pack everything. She would have to abandon her things.
She glanced at her personal items. Notes, gifts, lockets, remembrances. No. She would have to take her memories with her and leave the physical representations behind. She grabbed only the items that were portable and held monetary value.
Tears pricked her eyes. No. Not yet. Later, when she was settled somewhere safe—a boardinghouse or neighbor who had never heard the name Gabriel Noble—then she would allow the tears to fall. Then she would figure out what she was going to do.
She gave herself five minutes to pack, and when the time was up, buckled her case and headed for the stairs, the journal secured in her shoulder bag. She would take as many of the documents in the kitchen as she could stuff into her bag.
Five more minutes. It was all she could risk. She had already been back at the house far too long. Gabriel could return any minute. He would walk through the front door. She would go through the kitchen.
She stepped into the kitchen and walked to the table, grabbing the first handful of papers and shoving them into her bag. Her hand was on the second handful when a voice stopped her.
“Lift your hand. Now.”
She whirled to see the man from the front stoop standing in the shadows. Her hand went to her pocket, where she’d stowed her pistol.
“Don’t move.” He emerged from the shadows, pistol already in hand.
Marietta backed against the table as he walked toward her, tall and stately, examining her as if she were a bug to be squashed.
She wet her lips. “How did you get inside the house?” She knew she’d locked the door after her. And she hadn’t heard a sound.
He remained motionless, the pistol held calmly in his hand. “I used a key. Who are you and what are you trying to steal?”
A small measure of relief rushed through her. He wasn’t in the house because he was after her. He thought her a thief. Still a poor position to be in.
“I am simply a maid Mr. Noble hired. I’m cleaning up.”
