Ottilie forced herself to stand. She had no choice but to return to Berkeley Square for the night. But she would go back to Canterbury in the morning. Who knew when Henry would decide to stop sequestering at Albany?
In the meantime, she no longer wished to burden her aunt with her presence. She started for the bridge and realized she must have underestimated the lateness of the day. The sky was darkening, and the park seemed devoid of people. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she increased her pace. To her relief, she caught sight of a cluster of ladies and gentlemen strolling amongst the trees several feet away. She left her path and started after the group, thinking it would be safer to walk a short distance behind them. After a few minutes, however, she became aware of someone walking behind her. Her neck and scalp prickled. She glanced back and saw a well-dressed gentleman following uncomfortably close to her. He doffed his bowler hat at her and smiled, but Ottilie saw malice in his expression.
“A young lady walking in the park alone so near dusk is bound to find trouble. Allow me to escort you home safely.”
“I am not on my own. I am with my friends.” She turned to look for the group of men and women, but they were nowhere in sight. Where had they gone? Then she spotted them in the distance. How had they made so much progress? “I must catch up with them.” She turned away from the stranger and increased her pace.
He trotted up beside her. “I don’t think those are your friends.” His breath gave off a whiff of spirits. “I saw you sitting alone. You were not accompanied by a group.”
Ottilie lifted her chin and strode forward. But he persisted in following her.
When she refused to acknowledge him, he grabbed her arm. “As a gentleman, I am obliged to see you to safety whether you like it or not.”
“Leave now, or I shall scream.” Ottilie struggled to remain calm. “We are not alone in this park, and your poor conduct will not go unnoticed.”
“My poor conduct? You are a woman walking alone, and I am a gentleman offering his assistance. Yet you stand here being uncivil to me.” He cocked his head at her as though an enlightening thought suddenly occurred to him. “Perhaps, you are meeting your lover and don’t appreciate my interruption.” A sly smile crept on his lips. “I am correct, aren’t I? Why else would a so-called lady venture into Hyde Park alone?”
“Let me go.” Ottilie’s breathing grew heavy, and she struggled to control it. Somehow, the air in her lungs worked to choke rather than restore her, and her head swirled.
*
What secrets dothese waters hold?
Morose thoughts swirled in Jack’s brain as he peered into the dark water of the Serpentine from its bridge above. As if in answer to his question, a bloated figure burbled to the water’s surface. Jack blinked. Was his mind playing tricks on him? The body sailed toward him. Adrenaline flooded his veins and primed him for action. A young woman, big with child, her skin and lips a deathly blue, floated beneath him on her back and disappeared under the bridge.
Jack raced to the other side of the bridge and gripped the railings as he stared at the Long Water, waiting in vain for the body to reemerge.It’s only the long-suffering wife of Shelley.The wind whispered in his ear.Poor Harriet Westbrook—too late to save her now. She’s been dead more than fifty years. And why should she want saving when life treated her so miserably? Twice abandoned and facing disgrace for the crime of carrying a child outside of wedlock—that’s why she gave herself to these waters. Is it a mere coincidence Shelley met with a similar fate? Did she pull him under the choppy Italian water, the way you aim to pull Sir Richard down to the depths of hell where he sent you?
Jack shook the malicious voice from his head and ran his hands through his hair. He gazed at the now serene river and inhaled deeply. His heartbeat slowed as he let his gaze wander to the soothing greenery of Kensington Gardens. A flash of red caught his eye amongst a clump of trees. He squinted. Another flicker of red. Two people—a man and a woman—struggling. Was the lady in trouble, or was his mind playing tricks on him again? He sprinted across the bridge toward the couple. As he got closer, he slowed his pace and kept himself hidden.
The woman wore a red cape. His mind jumped immediately to Ottilie. The man gripped her arm, and she struggled to free herself. Jack moved like a panther, coming up behind the stranger swiftly and silently. He locked an arm around the brute’s neck and pressed his pistol against the wretch’s temple.
“Let her go.” Jack kept his voice low but deadly.
“She is my wife. You have no right to interfere.”
Jack tightened his grip on the fiend’s throat, cutting off his air. The man gurgled, kicked his legs, and released his grasp on Ottilie. She stared at Jack wide-eyed before dashing behind him.
“Do you know your Bible?” Jack loosened his grip so the scoundrel could answer.
“Y—yes,” he stuttered. “I’m a good man. Don’t shoot me.”
“Excellent. Then you know what happened to Lot’s wife when she turned to look at the burning city of Sodom, don’t you?”
The man nodded again. “Salt,” he croaked. “She turned to salt.”
“Correct. Now, when I take my arm from around your neck, you’re to walk away without looking back because if you do, I’ll use my pistol to blow you away and turn you into a pile of dust, you understand?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
Jack slipped his arm from the man’s neck and shoved him forward. “Go.”
The coward tiptoed away, cautiously at first, and then he broke into a run. Jack grabbed Ottilie’s hand and pulled her toward him.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, he only frightened me a bit.” She looked up at him and frowned. “It looks like you are the one who is hurt. What happened to your face?”
“It’s nothing.”
