Page 19 of Bow Street Baron (Castleburys #4)

The library at Tipton House was refined elegance, its walls lined with rich mahogany shelves and volumes of tales from eras long past. The amber glow of a fireplace bathed the room in a soft radiance, casting shadows that danced across the rows of leather-bound books. A beautiful, peaceful place to spend the evening, Juliette decided as she followed behind Catamount, touring the room. Revivalists who?

Still draped in her day dress of delicate rose, she felt the crisp silk brush against her skin as he suddenly drew her close. “Catamount!” she squeaked in surprise. She squeaked again—breathlessly this time—when he grabbed a strand of her hair and rubbed it slowly between his fingers. Flooded with anticipation and desire, she met Catamount’s gaze. The fragrance of aged paper, polished wood, and a hint of lavender permeated the air around them, and she breathed in deep.

As Catamount’s golden-bronze hair caught the light, he leaned in, his voice a soft whisper against her ear. “You are an exquisite vision in that dress.”

A playful smile graced her lips as she replied, “And you, dear captain, look impossibly handsome in pretty much anything. Though I must say, catching criminals suits you far less than moments like these.”

Catamount chuckled. “Maybe I should spend more time in the library, then.” His fingers traced a gentle path along the curve of her waist.

Their lips met in a lingering kiss, a delicate dance of passion, as Catamount guided her toward a plush settee, his hands on her waist. Juliette started to back up, but her foot caught on the edge of an ornate rug, sending them tumbling to the ground. A harsh thud echoed in the room, punctuating their descent.

The impact was harder than expected. She went down with a force that jolted her entire body, and her head connected abruptly with the unforgiving hardwood floor. The world spun for a moment, stars dancing in her vision as she fought the disorienting sensation that threatened to pull her into unconsciousness.

Concern etched Catamount’s features as he rolled quickly off and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching out to gently cradle her face.

“The perils of grand romance,” Juliette managed to quip, her eyes watering against the discomfort.

His concern deepened at the sight of her unshed tears, and he helped her sit up. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, truly,” Juliette insisted, offering a reassuring smile while attempting to shake off the lingering dizziness. She tried to maintain a fa?ade of composure, but the throbbing ache in her head and an unsettling queasiness in her stomach betrayed her efforts.

Catamount wasn’t easily convinced. Blasted Bow Street instincts of his kicking in. “You took quite a spill. Let me get you some water or something.”

The room swayed slightly as she nodded, grateful for his attentiveness. As Catamount hurried off to fetch water, she pressed a hand to her forehead, hoping the discomfort would pass soon.

When he returned with a glass of water, he crouched beside her. “Here, take it slow,” he said, handing her the glass.

Juliette accepted the water gratefully, sipping it cautiously. The cool liquid provided a momentary respite, and she let out a soft sigh. Catamount’s eyes never left her, his worry etched in the lines of his furrowed brow.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked a third time.

She nodded, managing a faint smile. “Just a bit shaken, I suppose. It’s nothing serious.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Maybe we should take a break from the acrobatics for now.” Despite the circumstances, a playful glint sparked in his eyes.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she replied. “We wouldn’t want any more unplanned tumbles.”

Catamount grinned, worry easing from his expression. “No, we wouldn’t. Let me help you up.”

She took his hand. “I’m fine, really. You should head back to your family.”

As he assisted her to her feet, their eyes met, something passing between them. “Are you certain, Juliette? I don’t feel right leaving you alone if you’re not feeling well.”

She managed a reassuring smile, attempting to downplay her unease. “Truly, I just need a moment to compose myself. Go, enjoy their company. I’ll catch up with you shortly.”

Despite her words, he remained unconvinced. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll be right in the drawing room with everyone.”

“Thank you, I’ll be fine. Now go.” She shooed him away with a bright smile.

As he reluctantly left the room, Juliette dropped the smile and sank onto the settee, her hand pressed against her forehead. The pain from the fall lingered, but it was the unsettling feeling of elusive memories rising from her subconscious that troubled her the most. Flashes of a night she couldn’t quite grasp taunted her, and she shivered involuntarily. Oh, how she wished there was a way to control when and how the visions came!

“Come on, Juliette,” she whispered to herself, attempting to push away the encroaching shadows, acutely aware of the scene she might make if they overtook her. “You can handle this.”

Yet uncertainty gnawed at her. She wondered what lay hidden in the recesses of her mind, waiting to be unearthed. As Juliette tried to collect herself, she couldn’t shake the throbbing pain in her head. The fall seemed trivial in retrospect and not very injurious. Yet her temples pulsed with a ferocity that puzzled her. She closed her eyes, attempting to focus on the rhythmic inhale and exhale of her breath, hoping the discomfort would subside.

The firelight of the library fireplace danced through her closed eyelids, casting a warm glow on the inside of her consciousness. Still, the ache persisted. She massaged her temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain, questioning why such a minor incident could leave her feeling so disoriented.

In the hazy aftermath of the fall, whispers of forgotten memories flickered at the edges of her mind, elusive and fragmentary. She tried to dismiss them, attributing the disquiet to the physical aftermath of her tumble, but a lingering unease settled in the pit of her stomach.

Just then, Juliette’s body seemed to lose its strength, and she practically sagged into the seat, overcome by a flood of memories. The library, with its richly adorned shelves and ornate furniture, blurred and turned into the tavern she once knew in Seven Dials. The vivid recollection of that dreadful night filled her mind with horrible images.

“They came in masks, like demons unleashed,” she whispered to herself, her voice choked with fear. “The terror in their eyes, the brutality…” A shudder ran through her as the recollections carved a painful path through her consciousness.

The Revivalists.

The awful sound of screams and breaking glass in her mind intertwined with her very real sobs. She clutched her head, as if trying to ward off the memories that clawed at the edges of her mind. The pain in her head wasn’t just from the fall; it was the resurgence of trauma, vivid and unrelenting.

Lost in her distress, Juliette whispered fragments of conversations she had with herself that fateful night. As the pain in her head reached a blinding crescendo, a torrent of memories rushed back. The polished shelves of the library became a grim reminder of the rough-hewn bar she had cowered behind during the attack.

Screams of innocent patrons, their lives cut short by the merciless Revivalists, rang in her mind. Her heart pounded as the nightmare scenes unfolded before her eyes. She saw it. Felt it. Relived it.

She was back there once more, hiding behind the bar, watching in horror as the Revivalists callously took lives. They fell, those poor people, one after the other. Nothing but blood everywhere.

Amidst the resurgence of haunting memories, Juliette’s breath hitched, and her voice shook as she whispered to herself, “No… no. I can’t relive that night.”

But she did .

Terror reverberated through here as she recalled the desperate pleas of the innocent patrons. “Hide, Juliette! Hide!” a voice cried out in her memory.

As the visions intensified even more, she could feel the cold sweat on her palms, recalled the metallic tang of fear in the air. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, synchronizing with the anguished cries of the wounded.

And suddenly there was a Revivalist, bleeding and dying, lying near her on the tavern floor, his gaze locked accusingly on her. And in an instant, Juliette knew the truth. The whole truth. The awful, horrible truth that her mind had tried to bury and forget. She wasn’t innocent. Not even remotely.

“Oh God,” she cried out. “I took his money, and I lied for them…” she sobbed, the weight of guilt settling heavily on her conscience.

Choices have consequences, a spectral voice seemed to murmur, and Juliette’s eyes filled with tears as the library walls closed in, witness to her painful revelation.

The air in the room thickened as Juliette was plunged into the harrowing memories. The wounded Revivalist beside her was stirring, gasping for breath. His bloodstained hand reached out, and he managed a weak plea: “Help me…”

The bag of money he’d given to her, clutched against her chest, felt heavy, a cruel reminder of the choices she had made. “Stay quiet,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaky. She hesitated, torn between compassion and self-preservation.

The wounded Revivalist’s eyes met hers, a desperate plea for mercy. “Please… don’t let me die here.”

“I can’t help you,” she muttered, her hands trembling as she clung to the ill-gotten gains. The tavern shadows whispered accusations, and Juliette, torn by guilt, felt the room closing in on her.

Survive, a voice echoed in her mind, urging her to make a choice as that fateful night finally unfolded in her mind with painful clarity.

The man’s eyes, filled with rage and fixated on Juliette and the money clutched in her hands. His labored breaths turning into menacing growls as he struggled to sit up. In the dim tavern, death danced grotesquely around them. “You thieving wench!” he spat. The darkness of the room seemed to amplify the malice in his words. “I had a deal with you,” he seethed, clutching his wounded abdomen. “You were supposed to ensure our escape, not rob me blind.”

Juliette’s mind raced as fear and regret twisted within her. She had underestimated the ruthlessness of the man she had made a deal with.

Survive, the haunting voice whispered again, this time a cruel reminder of the compromises she had made.

She held the bag to her chest and ran.

The alley was as far as she made it before he caught up to her, staggering toward Juliette. “You won’t get away with this,” he snarled, a twisted grin revealing bloodstained teeth. “You stole from us, and now you’ll pay.”

Juliette’s heart pounded as she stumbled backward, clutching the money bag. The alley seemed to close in around her, and the Revivalist lunged at her.

As his first blow landed, the memories flooded back to her like a violent storm. The sharp pain, the metallic taste of blood, and the desperate struggle for survival played out in a cruel dance. “I paid you!” he spat between blows, the weight of each word landing like his physical assault. The money bag slipped from her grasp, scattering gold coins like a bitter rain.

The room spun as Juliette’s mind recoiled from the vivid images. She winced at the memory of the cold alley floor against her back, the sting of each fist strike, and the desperate gasps for breath. A surge of nausea clawed at her as she relived the moment when her assailant’s grip tightened around her throat. “You thought you could escape with our money, didn’t you? No one betrays the Revivalists.”

In the library, she shuddered, grappling with the visceral memories.

As the Revivalist’s grip tightened, her world narrowed to a suffocating point. And then, with a primal instinct for survival, Juliette fought back. The sharp glint of a pair of fabric scissors gleamed in her hand as she yanked them from the pocket of her skirts and slashed at her assailant.

Back in the library, Juliette clutched the arms of the chair. She grappled with the haunting truth that had finally clawed its way to the surface. She grappled with the torrent of memories, and the sensation of being dragged across the cold cobblestones lingered.

And then, abruptly, everything went black.

The abruptness of the memory’s end left her suspended in a void, the aftermath of violence and trauma echoing through the recesses of her consciousness. Tears streamed down her face as her suppressed memories bore down on her. Sobs escaped from deep within, carrying the shame and guilt of that night in Seven Dials.

The taste of copper lingered in the back of her throat, a cruel reminder of the blood spilled that night—blood she had touched, blood she had failed to prevent from staining her hands. She had taken that money. She had been a part of it all.

Juliette felt the sting of shame, an unrelenting force that threatened to consume her.

Each sob carried self-reproach, a poignant soundtrack to the revelation of her own complicity in the darkness that had shadowed her past. Her voice, barely audible between sobs, wavered as she whispered to herself, “I took their money… The bag of coins. What have I done?” As she clutched the chair, the memory of the Revivalist’s anger fueled her self-recrimination. “He was a killer, a monster,” she muttered, as if attempting to rationalize her actions to the empty room. Like stealing wasn’t stealing. Theft not theft.

Words kept tumbling out in disjointed fragments. “I betrayed my beliefs… and for what? Money?”

The library’s stillness offered no judgment, only the soft creaking of floorboards beneath her feet.

“I thought with that money that I was escaping the hardships of London with Catamount. A fresh start, a chance for happiness,” she confessed. “But I became a pawn in their game,” she continued, her voice choked with despair. “A puppet, dancing to their malevolent tune. I… I lied to Catamount for them, betrayed the one person who cared for me. I let them use me. I let myself become a part of their awfulness. It doesn’t matter that I knew not who the nobleman was when I agreed to tell Catamount the information he gave me. All I saw was a chance for a better life for me, for us , and I took it—even when my conscience told me not to.”

In the flickering candlelight, surrounded by the whispers of the past, Juliette grappled with the darkness within herself. “I knew it was wrong, telling Catamount I overheard talk of the Revivalists attacking in Lambeth. I sent the Runners on a wild goose chase while people died. Damn me!”

She pushed herself up from the seat. “I can’t stay here. I don’t deserve him, his love, or the life we could have,” she whispered to herself. The library now felt like a prison of her own making.

With hurried steps, Juliette crossed the room, her mind racing with the urgency to set things right. The grandeur of Tipton House faded into insignificance against the riot in her heart. “I have to leave,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over the ornate doorknob. The door creaked open, a portal to a path she believed she must tread alone. As punishment for her past deeds.

Her breaths came quick. “I’ll find a way to make amends, to fix what I’ve broken,” she vowed. “I can’t bring those people back, but I can do something right for once.” With a final glance back at the library, she stepped into the corridor, her past mistakes driving her toward a daunting journey of redemption. Finding a servant, she sent Catamount the message that her head ached, and she was going to lie down in one of the guest rooms, perhaps for the rest of the night. It would be best if he went home and did not wait for her. With the message sent, she slipped silently upstairs to Carenza’s bedchamber.

The pale glow of moonlight spilled through the lace curtains of the viscountess’s room as Juliette tiptoed across the plush carpet. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a nervous symphony accompanying the gravity of her decision. Carenza’s room was familiar from the times she had done an alteration or fitting there, yet Juliette felt like an intruder in her friend’s private sanctuary.

With careful steps, she approached the window, its heavy curtains drawn slightly apart. A gentle breeze stirred the room, carrying a scent of roses from the gardens below. The small terrace beckoned like a secret escape, and Juliette’s trembling fingers worked to open the window wider. As she stepped onto the tiny terrace, the cool night air brushed against her cheeks. The moonlit world beyond Tipton House unfolded, a place of shadows and secrets. The scent of night-blooming flowers filled the air, mingling with the distant sounds of carriage wheels and hushed whispers of the night.

Juliette took a deep breath, her past pressing upon her. Memories of the Revivalists and the choices she had made clawed at the edges of her consciousness. She hesitated for a moment, torn between the safety of the life she had known for the past three years and the daunting journey that awaited her beyond the ivy-covered tree.

Summoning the courage to face her own mistakes, Juliette began her descent down the tree. The moon cast elongated shadows across the garden. The ivy leaves rustled beneath her fingertips—a whispering chorus of encouragement or warning, she couldn’t tell.

When her feet finally touched the ground, the city of London stretched before her. Juliette squared her shoulders, determined forge a new destiny.

“I took their money, lied to Catamount, and became a part of their wicked plan,” she murmured to herself, the words carried away by the night breeze as she shimmied down the tree. “It’s my mess, and I have to clean it up.”

On a mission, Juliette slipped away into the inky night of London.