A shadow fell across her. Ezra stood there looking down at her, frowning. “Is all well, my lady?”
“As well as it can be,” she said. “We shall need more liniment, more vinegar, more everything. And a better lock on the rear door.”
“I’ll see to it.” He hesitated. “You look pale. Sit a moment longer.”
“I cannot,” she said, standing despite the tremor in her knees. “If I stop, I shall not start again.”
They found Maggie in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up, head bent over a list while the cook they’d employed scowled at a sack of potatoes as if it had personally insulted him.
Alice had made the decision that meals would be served to those who were hungry here. She had hired Tom Bibbs to cook for them, because he’d been recommended to her. The man was crotchety on his good days, but the meal he’d cooked for her tasted better than anything her own cook prepared—not that she’d be mentioning that to anyone—so she’d hired him.
Between them they then discussed deliveries, the price of coal, the astonishing greed of the coal merchant, and whether they could stretch the bread by mixing in boiled oats. The practicalities steadied Alice. She was good at this. Organizing was her strength.
After saying goodbye to Doctor Hammond an hour later, she collected her maid and cloak, then stepped outside. A fine mist of rain had settled over London. Climbing into the carriage, Alice fell on the seat, suddenly weary.
“Well, the clinic is coming along, my lady,” Maggie said once they were rolling, her tone brisk. “Better every day.”
“Indeed. I am pleased with the progress,” Alice murmured, watching narrow lanes change into wider streets as they moved west. She had trusted Lord Stafford because, like her brother, he had suffered. She had believed that together they would track down Jackson. It seemed she was wrong. He had been hiding things from her. The visit to the Crimson Serpent, the questions, the ledger. It had to be him who had taken it, and he’d told her nothing now two weeks on.
Heat prickled behind her eyes, but Alice blinked the tears away. She’d wanted to trust him because she had needed that. Needed to believe she was not alone.
You can trust no one but yourself, Alice.No one but those who have already tied their fate to yours. Ezra, Maggie, Dr. Hammond. Lord Stafford was like every other nobleman in the end, no matter how good his mouth felt pressed to hers, which she should absolutely not be remembering when she was furiouswith him. Like the other men in her life, he believed she was beneath him, and of no consequence. Alice had been wrong in thinking he was different.
She pressed her back into the carriage seat and folded her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles ached. If Stafford thought to keep her in ignorance, he was mistaken. She had survived worse than his betrayal. She would learn what she needed to alone, and then use it to find Kenneth Jackson.
Outside, the rain ran in rivulets now across the glass. Her reflection looked back at her, pale and resolute, a woman Lord Stafford would underestimate at his peril.
Chapter Eighteen
Alice’s carriage madethe last turn and slowed before her father’s townhouse. She was more than ready to close herself in her room with a pot of tea and think.
Stepping down, Alice lifted her face, letting the cool rain settle on her skin briefly. All she wanted was to find Jackson, and she’d complicated that by including Lord Stafford in her hunt—but no more.
“Hello, Phipps,” Alice said to her butler.
“Lord Smythe arrived an hour ago, my lady.”
Alice stared at the butler, stunned at what he’d said.
“He has been asking for you since,” Phipps added, his expression giving away nothing of what he felt.
The staff were not fond of Alice’s father, which was fine because she was not very fond of him either. She just hoped he had not brought his mistress.
“Thank you, Phipps. Where is he?”
“The blue parlor, my lady.”
“Excellent. If you will have a fresh tea tray prepared. I shall tidy myself and then see him,” Alice said. “Where is my aunt?”
“She is out visiting with Lady Hetherington.”
“Let’s hope she stays there,” Alice muttered. Aunt Gwen loathed her father too.
The butler left, and Maggie, who took her coat, looked Alice up and down.
“Will I pass, or do I need to change, Maggie? Because my father is not a patient man, so I would like to see him as soon as I can.”
Maggie brushed at Alice’s skirts, and then fixed some pins in her hair. “You’ll do,” her maid then said.
