“My lady. . .this really is not very. . .ahem. . .appropriate. You cannot possibly mean to leave the house dressed like. . .like that,” Emma stammered.
“That is precisely what I mean to do. Now, hand me that shirt over there.” She pointed to a rumpled piece of white fabric that lay bunched together on the floor. With just enough hesitation to mark her disapproval, Emma did as she was told.
“I suppose I ought to ready myself as well,” Emma said as she handed Mary the shirt.
“No need, Emma; I’m going alone.”
“But. . .but. . .but. . .” Emma looked clearly perplexed. “You can’t!”
“I can and I will.” Mary gave Emma a hard stare. “More importantly, I must.”
“Consider your reputation, my lady, and your safety. Whatever this urgent matter might be, I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you.”
Mary couldn’t help but smile at Emma’s loyalty. “I appreciate your concern, but this is something that I must do alone.” The hapless maid looked ready to protest yet again. “Please trust me, Emma. You can lecture me as much as you like when I return.”
“You may count on it, my lady,” Emma responded, her eyes filled with worry. But she must have understood that time was of the essence, because she didn’t dally any further. Instead, she quickly sprang to assistance, helping her mistress prepare for this mad endeavor.
Rummaging through the trunk for Mary’s boots, Emma retrieved them just as Mary finished buttoning up her shirt. Having squeezed her mistress into the tight pair of brown Hessians, Emma made short work of tying the most solemn cravat that Mary had ever seen. “Good Lord, Emma! Is your brother perhaps a cleric?”
“Yes,” Emma replied, sounding somewhat surprised by the question. “He is a rector. How did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” Mary said and grinned. She patted Emma affectionately on the arm and looked about the room with a searching eye. “Now, where on earth is my hat?”
“Right here,” Emma told her, handing her a conical riding hat that had once belonged to Mary’s father. She eyed it skeptically. “Not exactly de rigueur, is it?”
“It does not have to be,” Mary replied. “It just has to hide my hair, that is all.”
Five minutes later, she was running down the front steps of her house, grabbing the reins of a gray-speckled mare from a startled groom, and climbing nimbly into the saddle with the confidence of someone who was not a stranger to riding. She kicked her heels against the horse’s flanks, spurring him toward Bedford Square.
Ryan watched from beyond the shadows, uncertain of whether to follow the young man who’d just ridden off or remain behind and watch the house instead. What on earth was Lady Steepleton up to?
The soft rustling of fabric being teased by the breeze, accompanied by the precise click of approaching footsteps, caught his attention. He turned to find a cloaked figure, dressed entirely in black from head to toe, striding toward him with long, even steps. A hood was pulled down over his head, and over his mouth and nose he wore a black scarf, concealing his most prominent features entirely from view.
“What do you want?” Ryan asked in a confident tone, his fingers curling firmly around the smooth metal of the pistol he held concealed in his pocket.
The stranger chuckled ever so slightly at the question, but it was enough to send a chill down Ryan’s spine. “That very much depends on what your little friend wants.”
“Explain yourself, sir,” Ryan demanded, his voice conveying the tone of a man who was not to be trifled with.
There was another eerie chuckle. “Am I to understand that you, Mr. Summersby, the very man who has been sent to protect the marchioness, has no idea of why she might be in trouble?”
“I do not suppose that you are about to enlighten me,” Ryan said. He tightened his grip on his pistol while his eyes bored into the stranger’s with enough vehemence to make Lucifer shudder.
But the stranger seemed not to notice. “I would not dream of spoiling the fun for you,” he replied. There was a slight pause. “But know this: if she starts looking for answers to questions that do not concern her or investigating matters that ought to be left untouched, then there are those who will seek to silence her.”
Ryan could scarcely believe he was having this conversation. Mary, the plain, simple woman he’d met only a couple of hours earlier, had just been threatened on her life. “Are you one of them?” Ryan asked, contemplating whether or not he should just kill the man and be done with it.
“I am merely the Messenger,” the man said as he bowed before Ryan in an exaggerated show of reverence, twirling his arm as he did so, his head almost reaching as low as his knees before he straightened himself again. Offering another slight chuckle, he then turned on his heel and strode away, calling over his shoulder, “Keep a watchful eye on her, Summersby, and all will be well.”
Running a shaky hand through his hair, Ryan stared off into the darkness at the space where the figure had just stood. There was nothing but emptiness now. He dropped his hands to his sides and threw another glance in the direction of her ladyship’s front door. Clearly, this whole situation was far more involved than he would ever have thought imaginable.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I must say that you look very pretty tonight, my lady. The cut of your gown is most flattering, and the emeralds look absolutely marvelous; they really bring out the green in your eyes.”
Rosemary Dorset, the Viscountess of Arlington, gazed at herself in the full-length mirror and then glanced across at her maid. “Thank you, Lucy. It is entirely your doing, you know.” She touched her hand against her forehead. Now, if only the unbearable headache that had been bothering her all day would go away so that she might be able to enjoy the evening with her husband. True, it would be only the two of them, but with his busy schedule, she always looked forward to their time together.
Lucy smiled at the compliment. “You are too kind, my lady,” she said as she handed Rosemary her favorite bottle of perfume.
Rosemary reached for it, her hand closing tightly around the cold glass, just as a sharp pain tore through her midsection. She let out a quick gasp, squeezing her eyes together and pressing her hand against her belly as she doubled over in pain.
“My lady!” Lucy exclaimed, wrapping an arm about her mistress for support.
“Call my husband, Lucy, and hurry,” Rosemary groaned as she sank onto her bedroom floor, tears welling in her startled eyes. “And tell Firth to send for Dr. Helmsley. I think the baby must be on its way.”
It took less than an hour for Helmsley to arrive at the Arlington residence. He was greeted there by Lady Arlington’s terrified husband. “Thank God you are here, Doctor. I have no idea what to do. I. . .She is not making any sense, and. . .oh God. . .help her, please help her!”
Helmsley took a firm grip of the viscount’s lapels. “My lord, I know that this must be an extremely frightening experience for you, but you must get a hold of yourself; the servants are beginning to stare. Remember, you are the captain, and this is your ship. You will get through this storm one way or another.”
Lord Arlington nodded in understanding. Having captained many an oceangoing vessel, Helmsley hoped his words would have the necessary effect. It seemed they did, for the viscount immediately transformed into a man of command, straightening his spine and rising to his full height of just over six feet. “This way, if you please,” he said, leading Helmsley up the steep stairs that would take them to Lady Arlington’s bedroom. Neither man spoke a word, the only sound being that of their feet treading softly upon the plush runner and the occasional scrape of Lord Arlington’s wedding band as it rubbed against the banister.
As soon as he entered her ladyship’s bedroom, Helmsley’s throat tightened at what he saw. There, in the middle of her imposing canopy bed, her hair spread out about her head, lay the viscountess. She tossed her head jerkily from side to side, her eyes in constant motion as if they were searching for something. Her maid sat by her side, holding her hand in the hope of giving her mistress some small measure of comfort. Occasionally she would take a damp cloth and wipe the beads of sweat that were presently forming on her mistress’s brow. “You must help her,” the maid pleaded with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Helmsley steeled himself as he moved toward the bed, setting his bag on a nearby chair. “My lady?” he asked cautiously. “Can you hear me? I need for you to tell me how you are feeling—if you can.”
A few seconds crept by before Lady Arlington’s head stopped moving, her gaze suddenly fixed upon Helmsley. She looked momentarily confused. “I had no idea that there were two of you, Doctor. You must introduce me to your twin. Are you a doctor as well?” she asked, addressing the man only she could see.
Helmsley picked up a book that was lying on the bedside table and held it up before her. “How many books am I holding?” he asked.
“Two,” she replied. “Though they do appear to be a bit fuzzy around the edges.”
“And does it hurt anywhere?”
“Every now and again I feel an unbearable pain in my belly, almost as if. . .” She didn’t manage to complete her sentence before a blank look captured her face. Her eyes stared off into the distance, as if she were deep in thought.
“My lady?” Helmsley asked in an urgent voice, though he knew he wouldn’t get a response. With no time to lose, he grabbed the book he’d been holding a moment earlier and jammed it into her mouth, just as her eyelids began to flutter. A second later, her eyes rolled back into her head, displaying only the whites, and her whole body began to convulse.
With both his lordship’s and the frightened maid’s help, they managed to hold her down until the spasms subsided. This was as bad as it got, Helmsley knew. Lady Arlington was eight and a half months pregnant with puerperal eclampsia, and he did not have the surgical experience required to save her or her child. There was only one thing for it: he needed help.
“My lord?” he said, turning to Lord Arlington. “A word if I may.”
Although he was clearly uncertain about leaving his wife at such a moment, the viscount nodded his head and instructed the maid to call for help if she needed. He then followed Helmsley out into the hallway. “Will she die?” he asked with a note of anguish.
“There is a very real possibility that she might,” Helmsley told him honestly. “Her condition is quite severe, and we are really not left with very many options, I am afraid.”
“But there are options?” Lord Arlington asked hopefully.
“I cannot promise anything, but if you are willing to keep an open mind, then perhaps there might be one solution.”
Lord Arlington turned a sharp gaze on Helmsley. “Do whatever you can. My mind is open to anything as far as my wife’s and child’s safety is concerned.”
“Very well, my lord. Then I will send for someone to help us without further delay.”