Another Country (30 page)

“And you know for certain she is engaged?” Henry
persisted.

“No, not for certain. Riddell told
me she was, and I’ve no recourse but to believe him. Caroline
hasn’t attempted to contact me since.” He thought of the note she’d
sent.
If there is to be any future for
us....

Now it appeared there wouldn’t be. Yet he’d gone
over it in his mind many times. Surely she couldn’t have been
forced into an engagement, even by Riddell. She couldn’t be held
prisoner in her own house. The answer, it seemed, was that she’d
found another. Or, more likely, he thought bitterly, she’d realized
the simple life of a poor doctor’s wife was not the kind she
sought.

“He always takes what I want,” Ian said in a low,
savage whisper. “And derives from pleasure from it, as well. And
this--this time hurts the most.”

“You’ll never get Achlic Farm back,” Rupert said
quietly. He put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “As much as you might
strive for it. Riddell wouldn’t sell it to you for sheer
spite.”

“I know that. I’ve given up Achlic. I’ve realized my
own blame in that transaction.” Ian spoke quietly, this time
without bitterness. “I’d hardly want to go back there now. My
future is here, in Boston, in research. But...” he smiled
painfully. “this is still a bitter pill to swallow.”

“But don’t you see, Ian?” Rupert exclaimed. “It’s
because of men like Riddell, men who take advantage of the weak for
their own selfish gain, that I want to stop these counterfeiters!
It’s precisely men like Riddell who would stoop to this kind of
activity, and the only way for it to be stopped is to find them
ourselves.”

Ian gazed out the window. The woman
in the street was long gone, and so was Caroline. Why couldn’t he
just let go? He’d had to give up his first dream, of regaining
Achlic Farm. It wouldn’t hurt him much more to relinquish another.
And perhaps, this time, justice
could
be served.

“All right. Let us go, then, and find this
Summers.”

The address Phillips had given Rupert was also by
the docks, a small, shabby office near some disused warehouses. The
wind from the harbor was chilly and unforgiving, and it took all of
Rupert’s strength to keep walking steadily, and give no sign of his
weakness to the others.

He rapped on the door, but the empty, echoing sound
within had the men exchanging uneasy glances.

Ian tried the knob, and the door swung open,
revealing an office hastily cleared of furniture and papers.

A scrap of paper blew across the dirty floor, and
Henry picked it up.

“A receipt of some kind. Mostly scrawling.”

“Whoever was here, left quickly,” Ian mused. “He
must have been afraid.”

“Afraid of the law, or of the scoundrels who gave
him the false money?” Rupert queried shrewdly.

There was a scrabbling sound in the back, and Rupert
raised a finger to his lips.

As quietly as cats, the men moved forward.

The room in the back was dingy and small, and a man
was cowering in the corner, rifling through a stack of old papers.
He turned in terror at the sound of the men in the doorway, and
cowered all the further.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? I’ve nothing
to hide--” the man was gabbling in fear.

“Is that so? What are you doing here, Summers?”
Rupert asked coldly.

“How do you know my name?
Did--did
he
send
you?”

“Maybe he did.” Rupert folded his arms. “Tell me his
name to be sure.”

Summers opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I
know you. You’re the one who’s been sniffing around. You’re meant
to be dead!”

“Are you the one who made a mess of that job?
Because if you’re planning to kill someone, you should stick around
to make sure the job’s been finished.”

“Worthy advice,” Summers sneered, though his hands
were shaking with fear. “I’ll remember it the next time.”

Ian strode forward and grabbed the man by the
collar. “Give us one good reason not to take you to the law this
moment.”

“Don’t! Don’t!” Summer shook his head frantically.
“I didn’t kill you, I swear it. It was the other that did it--his
man.”

“Whose man?” Rupert demanded.

“Do you think they tell me his name? I know he’s
important, and he’s angry. He never intended for it to happen like
this, and he doesn’t care about the likes of us! We’re a nuisance
now, we are, and he’s as like to get rid of us as he is you.”

“Is that why you’ve cleared out of here?”

Summers nodded.

“Why did you come back?”

“I had some papers. Letters. If they’d found them,
they could have tracked me down. I’m nothing to you, I swear I’m
not! It’s him you want, the man who gives me the money.”

“And who is that?”

“I tell you, I don’t know his name.”

Rupert gave him a little shake. “Tell us what he
looks like, then.”

“Tall. Gray hair. A scar on one cheek. You’d think
he’s nice at first, but he’s cold as ice... like a snake. He’s
killed before, and he’ll do it again.”

“And that’s all you know?”

Summers gulped and nodded.

Rupert stepped back, satisfied. “Let’s go from here.
There’s not much else we can learn.”

“Wait.” Ian held up a hand, his brow furrowed. “A
scar on one cheek, tall, you say?” Summers nodded, his eyes darting
between each man. “I think,” Ian said, “I know a man like
that.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Caroline gazed at her reflection in
the looking glass. Her hair was swept up with ringlets about her
temples
a la reine
, now considered to be the latest fashion; her evening dress
of tulle, over a pink satin slip, was fresh from the
modiste’s.

There were satin leaves embroidered on the bodice,
and a deep hem trimmed in pink velvet, another satin leaf at each
point.

She glanced at the bonnet on her dressing table, a
creation of pink watered silk with crimson-dyed feathers, meant to
be worn set back from her stylish curls.

She sighed, giving the bonnet an irritable little
push. A few weeks ago these clothes would have sent her into spasms
of delight. She would have eagerly paraded them at the latest
musicale or dinner dance with silly, girlish pride.

Now they seemed like a bribe, tainted by her uncle’s
belief that she would marry Matthew Dearborn.

The last few weeks had been a rude education,
Caroline saw now. Her innocence had been torn from her, innocence
which she now realized had in truth been blindness or even sheer
stupidity. Nothing shielded her now from the stark reality of her
uncle’s expectations or feelings for her. Marry Dearborn or be
reduced to a pauper, shamed in front of all society.

Caroline had considered her alternatives many times.
She lay in bed at night, watching the moon sift shadows across the
floor, and imagined what would happen if she thwarted her uncle and
married Ian.

Would he even let her? Caroline thought she knew the
limits of her uncle’s power, and abuse of it, but now she realized
she hadn’t the faintest inkling. Four nights ago he’d insisted she
dine with Dearborn; if she refused, he would have her sent home to
Lanymoor.

When Caroline had replied that was preferable, he
had smiled coldly and told her that an asylum might be a better
choice.

She’d stared at him in disbelief, her insides
suddenly coated in ice. “You wouldn’t do something so monstrous,”
she whispered.

Uncle Edward regarded with flat, expressionless
eyes. “Do not presume to know what I would or wouldn’t do, niece.
Your tender feelings have no import.” His smile was flinty even
though there was a certain bleakness to his face. “Realize I am
desperate.”

Caroline shivered in memory.
Surely,
surely
her
uncle would not be so monstrous as to have her committed to such a
place, no matter how desperate he might be?

The very thought turned her blood to ice once more,
her mind to something numb and frozen, incapable of any plan of
escape.

And then, of course, there was the fact that Ian had
not called on her since his return several days ago. She knew he’d
returned for Eleanor had sent a hastily written note, explaining
her absence to her relative’s illness with the typhoid.

Caroline shivered; she did not particularly want
Eleanor visiting, carrying dreaded contagion.

And yet... what of Ian?

Caroline had begged Taylor to tell her if Ian
called, and he’d promised he would. Despite the butler’s loyalty to
his employer, Caroline believed he had a certain softness for her.
At any rate, she spent most of her time gazing out the windows,
watching for Ian’s dear, familiar figure.

He didn’t come.

There was a knock on the door, and Caroline’s maid
peeked in nervously. “Master Dearborn has arrived, Miss. He’s in
the study with your uncle.” She gestured to the bonnet. “Shall I
help you with that, Miss?”

Caroline shook her head. The feathered confection
had been a delight to choose at the modiste’s, but now she had no
stomach for it. “I’ll go without, thank you. You’re dismissed.”

She dismissed the maid, staring once again at her
reflection, her eyes huge and blank with fear, her face pale and
drawn. She wished desperately there was something--anything--she
could do to change the horror of her circumstances.

If only Uncle James would tell her what scandal
threatened them all. Had he been dishonest in business? Perhaps it
could be remedied. Perhaps there was a way out he hadn’t seen.
Perhaps if they discussed it...

Caroline shook her head. There was no way her uncle
would discuss business with her, no matter how desperate he was.
Any questions she asked he would no doubt view as impertinence, and
she would incur his fury.

And yet... what was there left to lose? Marriage to
Dearborn made her skin crawl. She pictured his cadaverous face, his
smile cold and unpleasant, and shivered.

There was nothing left to lose, she knew, and her
freedom--her happiness--to gain.

Whatever slender hope there might be, Caroline knew
she had to grasp at it.

What else was there?

Dearborn was in the study with her uncle right now,
most likely talking about business. Perhaps something would be
mentioned that would enlighten her. Dearborn had some power over
her uncle, that much Caroline understood. But what was it? And
could it be broken?

Her heart lurching in her chest,
her palms slick and sticking to her satin gloves, Caroline moved
quietly down the stairs.

The servants, for once, were out of sight, no doubt
at her uncle’s request. She tiptoed to the study door and leaned
her head against the wood panel.

“Things are getting close, Riddell,” Dearborn said,
his voice slow and yet strangely menacing. “Someone’s been nosing
about. It’s taken care of, but I don’t like it when the dogs start
sniffing.”

“I’ve taken every precaution...” Riddell answered,
and Caroline was amazed at the plaintive, wheedling tone her uncle
adopted.

“Apparently that’s not enough. I wonder if I should
cut you out of production completely.” Dearborn’s voice was musing,
and Caroline had the uncomfortable feeling he was toying with her
uncle, coldly amused by the other’s man obvious toadying.

“
There’s been nothing in the
papers...”

“If it gets that far, we’re done for,” Dearborn
replied brusquely. “Have some sense, man.” A pause, and Caroline
heard the clink of glasses. She imagined Dearborn standing there,
smug and sleek in his frock coat, pouring her uncle’s good brandy
into a snifter without so much as a by-your-leave.

“I fear,” Dearborn said, sounding more amused than
ever, “that your usefulness has come to its end.”

“Never...”

“Of course, there is the matter of the debt you owe
me.”

“But you said Caroline--”

“Ah, yes. Caroline. I might be
willing to forgive much if the girl comes to me willingly. But
remember, Riddell, you will always be in my employ.” He chuckled
indulgently. “My power. It would only take the mere whisper of
something--
criminal
--to reduce your standing--and all this--to ashes.”

Caroline stood still, her heart beating so loudly
she feared both men could hear it through the study door. Criminal.
What was her uncle involved in? Her mouth dry with fear, she moved
away from the door, only to have a hand come down hard on her
shoulder.

She whirled around to see Taylor, his expression
grim. “Eavesdropping is not the pastime of ladies, Miss
Caroline.”

“I... I didn’t hear anything...” Caroline stuttered,
and Taylor shook his head, holding a finger to his lips
warningly.

“Come with me.”

But it was too late. The door swung open, and
Dearborn stood there, a strangely complacent look on his face.
Riddell stood in the background, his face pale, his features
pinched.

Dearborn’s cold gaze swept Caroline from head to
foot before he nodded and stepped aside. “Ah, Caroline. Why don’t
you join us?”

Caroline stood rooted to the floor, her face drained
of color, her heart hammering. She could not think of a single
thing to say.

“Come in, do, Caroline,” Dearborn urged with an
unpleasant smile. “We were just talking about you.”

“She doesn’t need to be involved--” Riddell began,
and Dearborn chuckled.

“Developing a conscience now, James? A little late,
I should think.” He grabbed Caroline by the elbow, pinching her as
he pulled her into the study. “What did you hear, my dear? You
might as well tell me. We’re almost family.”

Caroline swallowed. Her throat was dry, her heart
beating wildly. Dearborn closed the door with an audible click.
“Well, Caroline?”