Page 20 of A Daring Pursuit (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #2)

I sabelle leaned close to examine the messy process of stitching up human skin. She was a bloodthirsty little thing, reminding Noah he was to blame for such interests, as she’d spent much of her young life in his laboratory with him. Not that he’d regretted dedicating a corner for her own studies, with her stacks of books and board of pinned insects. Though he was usually able to avoid looking at those morbid, little corpses of hers.

Uncle Sander moved forward and took his daughter by the shoulders. “Come away, poppet. This is inappropriate for a young lady to observe.”

But Isabelle shook him off and looked askance at her mother.

Verda cleared her throat. “Er, Sander, if Isabelle wishes to watch, then she should be allowed to do so. How else is she to become the first successful woman physician otherwise?”

“Thank you, Mama,” she said with an impish grin.

Noah suppressed a grin of his own. His aunt’s mild words were reminiscent to Noah’s own youth when she’d produced a book of essays by the scientist Elizabeth Fulhame. At the time, Noah had been stunned, perhaps understandably since he’d only been ten at the time, that women could be scientists. Back then, Verda had blithely informed him that women did indeed have brains. Noah had taken the words to heart and had included Isabelle in his studies from the time she’d been able to walk, to engage and encourage her interests.

Her parents were extremely watchful over her. They trusted him implicitly due to him having raised Julius from infancy. But he didn’t trust himself. Not completely. He’d been the one on the moors with her when the adder had bitten her on the ankle. The wound had grown infected and deformed the bone so that it hadn’t developed properly. Sometimes the debilitating guilt was more than he could bear.

This was one of the many lighter moments that clogged his throat with a joy so great, he couldn’t talk.

A scowl turned his uncle’s lips and Sander dropped his arms to his sides, stepping back—but not too far. “What happened, Julius?”

“As I told Noah, a dagger flew from the trees headed straight for me. Geneva reacted instinctively, pushing me down so that it only grazed my arm.”

“’Tis a tad more than a graze, Mister Julius.” Mrs. Knagg finished cleaning the wound. “Hold the gash together, boy,” she instructed Noah.

He rolled his eyes but did as she demanded.

Julius winced, and that was before the needle touched his skin. “Blast,” he gritted out.

“Language, son,” Sander said.

Julius clamped his lips tightly.

Sander looked at Noah. He didn’t see him, but Noah felt the sear of his intensity. “Do you have reason to believe Miss Wimbley had something to do with the attack on Julius?”

The chamber stilled as it had when Noah had addressed his accusations directly to Miss Wimbley. His lips tightened to a painful line. No. He just didn’t know how to deal with the sheer depth of emotion she evoked in him. Things he couldn’t—refused—to label.

Julius huffed out his frustration. “Not this again.”

From over his shoulder, Noah caught Isabelle’s frown on him, then her father. “Miss Wimbley couldn’t possibly have tried to murder Julius, Papa. She’s a woman. Women don’t kill people. And certainly not Miss Wimbley. It’s unseemly, and she’s much too nice.” She shifted her attention back to the stitching process, squeezing her hands at her sides. It wasn’t because she was squeamish, Noah knew. She was doing her best not to reach out and touch the puckered skin.

“As your mother has always pointed out, strongly , to the men in this family,” his uncle said, “women have brains.” Neither did Sander, Noah noticed, mention Cracked Colbert’s murder of almost twenty years ago that had been committed by Docia’s maid, Olive Townsend, who’d also killed Docia’s sister, Eleanor. Father had delivered her to a lunatic asylum near Colchester to live out her days.

Olive, as it had been discovered, was a product of one of his father’s many affairs throughout the years. Just as Julius was.

There. He admitted it. Julius belonged to his father, not his mother.

But of course, Noah’d had an inkling all along. But he’d shut it away because he loved his younger brother so much. Father had given Julius to Noah to look after, to guard every day of his life. And in his estimation, he’d done a capital job of it… until Geneva Wimbley had shown up ready to pry Julius away from him and his family. These were the thoughts that escalated his pulse in a dangerous, heart-pumping rage. The sort that blinded him with anger. Compound that with an attraction he couldn’t explain, and the anger swiftly catapulted to outrage.

“If she didn’t set up the attack, who did?” Noah gritted aloud without thought. “There have been three—” His gaze fell on Isabelle. She watched him with her bright eyes, not missing a thing. “We’ll table this discussion for later.”

Her hands went to her slim hips, her eyes glittering with a suspicious sheen, then flashing their own kind of dagger. She moved to Noah and poked him in the upper arm with her finger. “You’re wrong.” She spun so quickly, Sander had to reach out and steady her. “I’m going to ask Miss Wimbley,” she said hotly, pushing past her parents to the door. “And I’m going to prove to you she couldn’t have carried out such a nefarious endeavor.”

Sander winced. A direct contrast to Verda’s grin. Pride beamed warmer than the sun from her. “Isn’t she the brightest thing?”

But minutes later, the uneven gait echoed and Isabelle stood in the arch, tears on her face. “She’s gone.”

*

Miss Hale swept into the drawing room, her eyes going from Geneva to Pasha. “My, my, what did I do to earn this unexpected visit?” She was all that was gracious… and grating.

Geneva glanced about. “Is your cousin still in residence?”

“No. After that dramatic entrance you made at Stonemare, covered in blood no less, Henry wasted no time in spiriting himself away. With strict orders I hire a proper housekeeper, else he would turn me out. Papa’s will would allow no such thing. As usual, he’s full of bluster.”

Letting out a held breath, Geneva saw no reason in not laying it all out. “I’m being accused of murder,” she said glumly.

Surprise flickered in Miss Hale’s widened eyes, but then she laughed. Laughed . A tinkling sound that floated like bubbles in a flute of champagne Geneva had once shared with Meredith, Hannah, and Abra after Abra’s disastrous come-out ball. “Oh, how absolutely delicious. And who were you supposed to have offed?”

“Take your pick: the footman and now an attempt on Julius.”

“Oh, dear. Noah is most protective of the lad.”

“Lad? He’s nineteen, as he shouted so eloquently.”

“You wouldn’t know it by the way Noah treats him. It’s a wonder he allowed him to attend Eton.” Miss Hale rang for tea then took Geneva’s arm and led her to the seating area before the hearth. “Tell me everything.”

So Geneva did. From the dagger coming for Julius to Noah Oshea’s insinuation that she’d been the culprit. “I couldn’t bear to stay there another minute.”

“Are you returning to London, then?”

Not until I locate my locket. “Um, no. We thought to stay the night with you, let the infuriating man get himself under control. If you don’t mind, of course.”

“You absolutely must,” she said with great enthusiasm that felt a little disorienting. “You’ll stay in your old chamber.” Miss Hale spoke as if Geneva hadn’t stayed over but once and only two nights prior. She glanced at Pasha. “There is even a small room for your maid.”

“Thank you. It’s all been quite disconcerting.” Geneva rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Because someone did throw a knife at him from the trees. I just can’t make sense of who would wish harm to such a sweet, young man.”

An older woman Geneva didn’t recognize entered with a tray.

“Thank you, Cook.”

The older woman left without a word and Miss Hale poured out cups, and to Geneva’s surprise, offered one to Pasha. “The previous earl had many enemies,” Miss Hale confided. “He was not discreet in his handling of women, nor was his father,” she muttered. “He cared not if they were wed. And a good number of the ton did attend his memorial service. Any one of them could have remained behind.”

Geneva drummed her fingers on her knee. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The look in Miss Hale’s eyes turned speculative. “Your concern for Julius is most curious.”

“I…” Geneva took in a deep breath. “You are correct in your assertions regarding the former Lord Pender. I believe he seduced my mother and Julius is the result.”

Miss Hale’s mouth dropped then snapped shut, dropped again and so forth. If Geneva hadn’t been so upset herself, she might have enjoyed the sight.

Geneva smoothed her hands over her skirts. “I can see I’ve rendered you speechless.”

Miss Hale blinked and appeared to gather her bearings. “A rare feat, I assure you,” she said on a breathless huff, almost sounding as a laugh.

“Yes, well. I’m not certain, of course, but there are… things. Little things that prick at my skin and refuse to abate.”

“I rather thought you were about to tell me that it was you and I who were related,” Miss Hale said softly. “Ah, but that would have been a shock, no?” She stood quickly. “Come. Let’s get you and your maid—”

“Pasha.”

Miss Hale inclined her head. “Pasha, then. You must get settled. But I feel a need for air. This has all been quite astonishing.”

Thirty minutes later, Geneva followed her hostess into the late-afternoon sun. The temperature was cool, but the wind had eased, making the walk pleasant. She led her down a path at the back of the manor, where the ocean waves pounding against rocks drowned out nearly all sound.

“We’re going to the ocean?” Geneva shouted over the force of nature.

“Do you mind terribly? There’s something calming about the water’s ebb and flow, the damp air—” Miss Hale waved out her hand. “Indeed, my blood seems to absorb its very power.”

“You know, I saw the ocean for the first time just a few days ago. It’s quite impressive.” The hike down left Geneva breathless but exhilarated. Further conversation was impossible until they reached a surprisingly sandy beach. “Do you come down here often?”

“Not for some time, really.” There was a sense of loss about Miss Hale’s tone that drew Geneva’s quick glance.

“As I recall, you never answered when I asked about your parents.”

Miss Hale was so quiet, Geneva didn’t believe she’d heard the question, or if she had… “My mother died of a contagion.” She inhaled deeply.

“Oh, Miss Hale—Docia, if that is all right with you—I’m so sorry.” Geneva lifted her hand but hesitated to touch her. She looked brittle enough to shatter. She dropped her hand to her side. “What of your father? Were you and he close after…”

“After Mama’s passing, Papa spent most of his time away from Chaston.” The bitterness etching her voice rendered sentiments similar to those that swirled through Geneva regarding her own odious sire. “Then, one day, he just up and left.”

Geneva’s mouth dropped. “What? I don’t understand. What do you mean? That he… he never returned?” She gasped a quick breath, too astonished to snap her mouth shut.

Miss Hale looked out at the open sea with an indiscernible expression, her distant gaze unseeing. She shook her head. Without answering, she turned and walked along the pebbled sand, leaving Geneva to stay where she was or to follow.

She followed. “Where are we going?”

“There are some interesting areas about. I must have been a child the last time I came down here. My maid at the time refused to allow me to come along, and she had a fear of dark places. She murdered Cracked Colbert.”

She hurried to keep up, and not just physically. It was all too much. “Cracked Col—I don’t understand.”

“Oh, he was a mad old man. Bound for Bedlam if he hadn’t been done in.”

“What? No! Your maid killed a mad man?” Mercy, how many other revelations could there be?

Miss Hale went on. “I almost believe she pushed my sister down those stairs, and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’d poisoned my mother. There’s no proof of either after all this time.” She let out a melancholy sigh. “It’s just a feeling.”

“Good heavens,” Geneva breathed. A sense of impending doom clamored in, around, and up her spine. She eyed the waves ebbing over the sand then pulling back with each pass. Apprehension added to her mounting anxiety. “Do you think the tide is rising?”

Miss Hale stopped and glanced at Geneva, flicked her gaze to the sea and back, then turned. “We should be fine.” The confidence with which she spoke did little to reassure Geneva. Miss Hale resumed walking, but her steps picked up and now appeared purposeful.

Geneva glanced over her shoulder for her own assessment of the water. It seemed to be moving faster. Of course, that could have been Geneva’s own lack of understanding how the ocean actually worked adding to her mounting anxiety. In any event, she hastened after Miss Hale. “What is our hurry?”

“I said we should be fine,” she snapped with a glimpse of her usual surliness. “But that’s only if we limit our time.”

“Then what the devil are we doing?” Geneva demanded. She could not swim and had no desire to learn. Certainly not wearing heavy skirts and a snug corset where she’d never be able to retrieve a breath long enough to survive seconds if she sunk under.

Miss Hale’s stride increased and Geneva dashed after her. Just ahead, a rocky path led up an incline where Geneva spied an opening in the hillside. “There are caves?”

“Of course.”

Her terseness set Geneva’s teeth on edge. The woman was a conundrum. And she hadn’t slowed her steps. If anything, the closer they drew to the macabre opening, the faster her hostess moved. Uneasiness crept over Geneva. London had its share of dark, confined spaces and Geneva typically avoided them at all costs. “Is there something unique about this cave?”

They reached the opening and Miss Hale came to a sudden stop at the threshold. “I-I used to play here as a child. My father used to bring me. He told me harrowing tales of piracy and smuggling that happened during the Peninsula War.” Her voice had taken on a childlike quality, as if she’d slipped into the past. “Sometimes I lie awake at night feeling as if he hadn’t left at all.”

Bumps raised over Geneva’s skin. A chilling gale lifted the hair at her nape and a spray of salt water moistened her face. She glanced over her shoulder to the beach, empty but for all the ebbing and flowing of the sea on the sand. The flowing had definitely expanded in its velocity. She took Miss Hale’s arm. “Perhaps we should head back.”

“Not yet.” Miss Hale took a tentative step deeper within, but instead of releasing Geneva’s hand, her grip tightened.

Something unsettling permeated the cave. Geneva swallowed hard, not about to let go. There are no such things as ghosts. Again, the incline angled up to drier ground, as if the sea never reached this level.

Miss Hale gasped and her quick stop had Geneva crashing into her.

“What—” Geneva’s hand flew over her mouth. “Oh, no. Not again.”