Nothing.
“Dominic, I was able to prise information from my aunt.” She paused, her chin dipping slightly before she found his eyes. “The man who hurt your mother and fathered her child … I believe it was my uncle. I’m sorry. You’ll not have your vengeance, not in this life.”
His world went still.
Then the memories came like flashes of lightning: his mother’s silences, her watchfulness, the strain she had carried like penance. He prayed there was a place in hell where they tortured weak men.
“What about your mother?”
“I don’t believe she had an affair with my uncle, more an arrangement to clear my father’s debt. It explains why she hated them both. I only wish she’d confided in me.”
“She was protecting you.”
“But I failed her by not noticing.”
He cupped her face. “You didn’t fail her. Trust me.”
“I know, but the horrible thoughts won’t leave me.”
One rose inside him, one that had stalked him for years, ugly enough that he had never given it a voice. He asked anyway. “Might your mother have deliberately taken poison?”
She stared at him, the question hanging between them.
Stanton appeared in the doorway. “There’s movement next door. What do you want us to do?”
“It will be my aunt,” Daphne said. “Mr Irving told her to make me supper. Hide. All of you. But remain within earshot. I’ll not leave here without knowing the truth.”
“Daphne—”
“Replace the gag. Hurry. My aunt won’t hurt me. Sheneeds me on that ship as much as Mr Irving does.” When he hesitated, she mouthed, “Have faith in me.”
He kissed her once before raising the gag, then ushered his friends onto the landing. “I’ll take the corner by the tall cabinet. The room’s dark enough.”
Stanton nodded and closed the door behind him. Dominic moved without a sound and folded himself into the shadows, back to the wall.
The clatter of a tea tray signalled the arrival of Aunt Augusta. He could see her silhouette through the glass pane, the high collars of her mourning dress shielding her throat where his hands should be.
She put the tray on the floor and turned the key in the lock, not realising it was already open. She tried it again, muttered something under her breath, then took up the tray and entered, setting it on the table by the door.
“Good. You’re awake.” Augusta moved closer, bracing her hands on her hips as she studied her prisoner. “Mr Irving insists you eat. The journey will be taxing. He needs you alive when he reaches port.”
Daphne made a muffled sound in response.
Dominic gritted his teeth.
If Augusta were a man, he’d wring her scrawny neck.
The woman knelt and tugged the gag free. “It’s for the best. We can’t have you gallivanting about London, ruining the family name.”
Daphne laughed. “Between Father and Uncle Samuel, they did a fine job of that. Wickedness is a trait they shared.”
“You mean weakness,” Augusta said, standing.
“No. Weak is a term I’d use for you, Aunt.”
Augusta recoiled, the movement sharp in the gloom. “Insolent mare. I only wish I were going to Bengal with you, to see that smirk wiped off your face.”
“I only wish I were staying here to watch the ton tear you apart when they discover Uncle Samuel used money to buy favours.”
