Julia shook her head. “Mama must be there. It is the one place she would feel safe from him.” She cast Thea a wild glance. “I must go to her.”
Thea dreaded Julia discovering her mother was dead. It would surely devastate the girl. “When Grainger returns with your aunt’s address, we will all go together.”
Exasperated, Julia shook her head. “How long will that take?”
“I trust Grainger to find her faster than anyone else,” Thea said, confident that he would.
“That is because you love him,” Julia said bitterly. She kicked her mare’s sides and took off at a gallop.
Thea could not deny it. A wave of despair tightened her stomach; she had lost any chance of a life with him. Annoyed with herself for being insensitive and upsetting the girl, she nudged her horse’s flanks and rode after her.
Julia turned her mount onto the gravel driveway, riding fast, scattering stones. Where was she going? Thea yelled at her to stop, but Julia took no notice. Bent over the horse’s neck, she galloped on.
Hoping she would run out of steam before a catastrophe befell her, Thea pushed her horse ruthlessly on. But she was barely gaining on her.
“Julia! Come back this instant!” Thea yelled. “Where can you possibly go? Don’t be foolish.”
Julia’s voice floated back, urging her horse to go faster.
Should she fall at that speed, she could be hurt or even killed. “You are distressing the animal and causing me to do the same to my horse,” Thea yelled. Her mount was huffing, its neck slick with sweat.
With a cry of frustration, Julia slowed, wheeled her horse around, and walked the mare back to Thea.
Thea’s frustration with the girl faded when she saw tears running down Julia’s cheeks. “Sweetheart, have faith, please,” she said in a gentle tone, relieved to have the girl back, unhurt. “Come, let’s ride to the stables and see to these animals. You might like to curry your mare.”
Julia made no comment, but she trotted the mare back along the driveway toward the stables.
Thea’s heart ached for her. Here she was deep in gloom over her own actions, she thought guiltily, which had destroyed her chance at happiness, when this girl had so much more to deal with in her young life.
“The earl expressed a wish to hear you sing again tonight after dinner,” Thea said as they tended the horses in their stalls in the impressive stable block, smelling sweetly of hay, scrubbed stalls, saddle oil, leather, and the horsy smells of many fine thoroughbreds. “You have a beautiful singing voice.”
“Mama always thought so,” Julia said, her head bent while she rhythmically brushed the horse’s flank.
She was an extraordinary girl. Thea liked and admired her very much. She would do whatever it took to keep her safe until Ash came. Oh, but let it be soon.
Ash consulted hissolicitor in his office at the Inns of Court. Over coffee, Geoffrey Wallace explained what he had discovered about the trust after receiving Ash’s letter. “I engaged the detective we employ to do a bit of digging. Farnborough borrowed a large amount of money from a moneylender who is charging him exorbitant interest. That isn’t the worst of it. He lost most of his blunt in a gambling house owned by Spelling, an East End thug who has risen up the ranks to control a small criminal empire in the East End. Spelling has set a pair of ruffians on Farnborough to get his money. I imagine Farnborough counted on being able to pay it all back after his wife died, but he hadn’t realized the trust was watertight.”
“Can’t he sell some property to give himself time?”
Wallace shook his head. “Mortgaged to the hilt.”
“So that’s why he wants to kill his stepdaughter.”
“It was probably always his plan to kill her. But he might have worried if her death came straight after her mother’s. It might cast too much suspicion on him.”
Although it sent a chill through him, Ash accepted that as a definite possibility. “He might have hoped to gain more time.”
“He must pay off the trustees who have offered to help him.”
“Who are they?”
Wallace consulted his notes. “Robert Spencer, Laird of Wigton in Lanarkshire, now deceased, Stuart Ross, and Grantly Wilberforce.”
“Ross, eh? I suspected his involvement. I don’t know Wilberforce.”
“Can’t help you with Ross, but Wilberforce is a barrister here at the Inns of Court.”
“What manner of man is he?”
