Phillip had nodded and come around the desk to envelop the housekeeper in a big hug. The tiny woman smelled just like the same rosemary and mint that pervaded the house. Familiar and wonderful.
“I cannot explain everything now,” he’d told her quietly. “But suffice it to say that no one can know I’m here with you. I need you to find the most discreet footman and give him a note.” Phillip strode around to the front of her desk, took out a quill and parchment, and leaned over to scribble out some lines before signing it and sealing it with a bit of wax also on the desk. He handed the note to the housekeeper. “This must go directly to London and be placed in the hands of the Marquess of Bellingham immediately. My life depends on it. Do you understand, Mrs. Jarvis?”
The older woman swallowed audibly but nodded. “I do, er…Yer Grace.”
A lump formed in Phillip’s throat at the mention of his title, and he exchanged an emotion-filled glance with the woman. They were both thinking of Malcolm. He knew it. “Thank you, Mrs. Jarvis.”
Mrs. Jarvis gave her head a shake. “Please tell me yer gonna get rid o’ that lout who’s been making a mockery o’ the Harlowe name. He told me the rumors about yer return were untrue. He told me it was an imposter trying ta claim the title.”
“Don’t worry.” Phillip grinned at her. “I intend to rid us all of that lout at my first opportunity, Mrs. Jarvis.”
“Good,” the housekeeper said with a snort, her hands placed firmly on her hips.
“One more question,” Phillip replied. “Who is the man here with Hugh? His dinner guest.”
The housekeeper shook her head. “Never seen him before in me life. And that excuse fer a cousin o’ yers didn’t even have the decency ta introduce him ta me. Been calling him ‘me lord’ all this time.”
Phillip cursed under his breath. “Very well. Thank you, Mrs. Jarvis. Remember, tell no one that you’ve seen me.”
“Ye can count on it, Yer Grace,” the woman replied with a wink, holding up the note he’d given her. “I’ll get this out right quick.”
Phillip returned to the small kitchen storage room and climbed through the door in the floorboards, forcing himself to concentrate on his breaths as he traveled back through the tight passageway.
He’d contemplated not going back to the cellar. He didn’t have to. He could simply call down for Sophie to join him—he knew she could make it through the tight passage if she had to. She could close her eyes. He would help her. They could go directly to the stables, get a mount, and leave. But whatever was about to unfold in the next day would finally give him the answers he sought regarding Malcolm’s death. And if Phillip left too soon, he might never learn the identity of Hugh’s cohorts. Phillip refused to let anyone involved in Malcolm’s death go free. No. Phillip would stay and play out this little charade. He wasn’t afraid of Hugh, and he never would be. Not to mention, he needed to know the identity of the other man upstairs. And the mysterious Jackal.
Two hours after Phillip and Sophie had heard the unsettling conversation between Hugh and his guest, Phillip had cobbled together a makeshift dinner for himself and Sophie out of supplies he found in the cellar, including some cheese, cured meat, and bread. He’d even cracked open a bottle of the finest wine, which they drank sitting side-by-side on the cot. Sophie had taken off her cape and draped it over the cot.
At first, they ate in silence, ravenous after realizing they hadn’t eaten in nearly an entire day. But after they’d both had their fill and consumed nearly three quarters of the bottle of wine, Sophie took another swig and said, “I’ve been filled with dread all afternoon. Funny how wine makes it all seem more ridiculous than dangerous.”
“I won’t let any harm come to you, Sophie. I meant that.”
Sophie took yet another drink from the wine bottle. “Oh, yes. Why should I be worried about being harmed? There are only two men upstairs with pistols who plan to murder us in the morning.” Irony dripped from her voice.
Phillip took the bottle from her and took a long drink before handing it back to her. He had already decided. If they ran out of time, he would tell her about the passageway. Send her to safety while he met his fate. Not that he intended to allow Hugh, of all people, to harm him. But he had to be prepared to keep Sophie safe.
For now, he would settle for distracting her from worrying about their fate. Phillip bumped his knee against hers. “Tell me something.”
Sophie blinked. A smile popped to her lips. She took another drink from the bottle. “What do you mean? What do you want to know?”
Phillip pulled the bottle from her fingers and took a swig again. “Tell me everything I missed. The last year of your life.”
Sophie swallowed and stared into the darkness on the far side of the room for a few moments. “There’s not much to tell, really.”
“Come now, that can’t be true,” Phillip prodded. “You must have done something these last months.”
Sophie’s gaze dropped to the floor. When she looked up again, her eyes were filled with tears.
“Sophie—” he began. Damn it. He hadn’t meant to make her sad. He’d merely wanted to change the subject.
She shook her head. “You told me once that you were broken,” she began softly.
Phillip nodded solemnly, setting the wine bottle on the floor between their feet. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Well, I was broken too,” Sophie breathed, accepting the handkerchief. “You’ve no idea what it was like for me the day I heard you were dead. I died that day, too.” Her voice faltered. “I died inside.”
A lump lodged itself in Phillip’s throat as he reached out to stroke her hair. “Sophie, I…”
She bit her trembling lip, a faraway look in her eyes. “My body may still have been walking around, my heart may still have been pumping blood. But I was gone.”
