“That’s cruel, Inspector.”
“But true. Hart needed a good wife for his political career. He didn’t care if he never had a conversation with her, as long as she hosted his social events and gave him an heir. Which she proved she couldn’t. She was better off dead.”
“That’s a monstrous thing to say.”
“Spare me the ‘oh, they are so misunderstood’ speech. The Mackenzies are cold-blooded, heartless bastards, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.” Beth quivered with rage. “I think you are finished here. Please leave.”
“I tell you this for your own good, Mrs. Ackerley.”
“No, you tell me this so I will help you hurt them.” Fellows stopped. “You’re right They should be more than hurt. They should be destroyed.”
Beth met his furious gaze. After verbally fencing with Hart Mackenzie, Inspector Fellows didn’t frighten her anymore. “Why?”
Fellows opened his mouth to reply, then abruptly closed it. His face was red, the mustache quivering. “You’re not a lady who frightens easily,” he said. “And I can see you won’t take my word for it. But they’ll be the death of you. You mark my words.” He gazed at her a moment longer, then turned away. “Good day, Mrs. Ackerley.” He marched to the door and yanked it open, and then Beth heard the front door bang behind him. She sank into a chair by the front windows, watching through swirling London fog as the inspector strode away. She sat nuhibly, letting all he’d said sink in.
“M’lady?” Katie stuck her head around the parlor door.
“Is it safe to come in now?”
“He’s gone, if that’s what you mean.” Beth rose, feeling exhausted. “Fetch our wraps, Katie. We’re going out.” Katie sent a disparaging glance to the dark, foggy window.
“Now? To where?”
“The East End.”
Katie blinked. “What d’you want to go to that hellhole for? Old times’ sake?”
“No,” Beth answered. “To find some answers.” “Gone?” Ian raised his dripping head and stared at Curry in disbelief. “Gone where?”
“To London, m’lord.” Curry backed a step from Ian at the washbasin, knowing from experience how far to put his body from Ian’s whenever he had to relate bad news. Ian straightened up, water trickling from his wet hair down his bare chest. He’d been scrubbing off the plaster dust from Geordie’s cottage and mud from the subsequent fishing expedition when he’d asked Curry where Beth was.
He’d expected Curry to tell him she was walking in the garden, exploring the house, or continuing riding lessons
“London?” Ian demanded. “Why?”
Curry shrugged. “Dunno. Shopping?”
“Why the devil should she go all the way to London to go shopping? Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I couldn’t stop her, could I? She’s got a mind of ‘er own, ‘as ‘er ladyship.”
“Bloody idiot.”
“What’d ye expect me to do?” Curry shrilled as he slapped a dry towel to Ian’s chest. “Lock her in a dungeon?” “Yes.”
“She said she’d be back, guv—“
Ian cut him off. “She’s not coming back, you fool. She’s
“Now, m’lord . . .”
Ian wasn’t listening. Hollowness spread from his chest until it filled his body. Beth was gone, and the emptiness of that hurt like nothing else ever had.
Curry jumped away as Ian upended the entire dressing table, sending every knickknack and stupid toiletry to the floor. The pain in his chest was unbearable. It matched the pounding in his temple, the migraine that never went away. He struck the splintered table with his fists, the slivers of wood bloodying his hands. Beth had seen a glimpse of him at his worst—could he blame her for running away? Ian looked at the scarlet droplets on his fingers, remembering Sally Tate’s blood on them, remembering the horror of finding the ruin of her body. His mind swiftly inserted Beth in place of Sally, Beth’s beautiful eyes sightless, a blade buried in her chest.
It could happen. Ian dragged in a chill breath as panic replaced his rage. He’d dragged Beth into his life, had exposed her to Inspector Fellows, had made her as vulnerable as Lily Martin.
He threw off Curry’s well-meaning hands, stormed past Cameron, who’d come to see what was the matter, and raced out the door.
“Ian, where are you going?” Cameron demanded, catching up to him on the stairs.
“London. Don’t tell Hart or try to stop me, or I’ll thrash you.”
Cameron fell into step beside him. “I’ll come with you.”
Proper ladies did not go to the East End. Proper ladies pulled the curtains closed in their carriages and did not look out when their route took them through Shoreditch and Bethnal Green. Mrs. Barrington would turn in her grave, but Thomas. . . Thomas would have approved. Beth’s heart squeezed as her hired coach rolled past the little parish church that had been Thomas Ackerley’s. The tiny building was squashed between dull brick edifices but managed to retain its dignity. Behind it, in the cramped churchyard, Thomas’s body lay. A tiny square stone, all the parish and Beth could afford, marked the place. Behind the church lay the vicarage where Beth had spent one hopeful year. Two doors past that was the hall Thomas had set up, where those forced to live on the streets could get a hot meal and a place out of the weather for a little while. The parish had not approved it, so Thomas had funded it out of his own pocket, and a philanthropic gentleman had taken it over on Thomas’s death.
Beth entered the rickety building that smelled of old meals and unwashed bodies, hoping to find her answers there. Daniel Mackenzie came behind her, towering over Katie and Beth, the lanky young man die most nervous of the three. “Should you be here?” Daniel hissed. “My dad would tan my hide if he knew I let you come near a game girl, and God knows what Uncle Ian will do.”
A tired-looking young woman sat on a hard chair with her legs stretched out, skirts hiked to her knees. As Beth rustled in, she looked up, blinked, and jumped to her feet. “Blimey, it’s the missus.”
Beth went to the young woman and took her hands.
“Hello, Molly.”
Molly grinned in delight. She had brown hair, a snub nose, freckles, and a warm smile. She smelled like tobacco and alcohol, as usual, and the faint odor of a man’s cologne lingered in her clothes.
“What’cha doing ‘ere, Mrs. A? I ‘ear you married a right nob and live in a palace now.”
“News travels fast.”
“What d’you expect? An interesting bit of gab like that goes ‘round.” She winked at Daniel. “Did ye bring ‘im so I could make a man of ‘im?”
Daniel went beet red. “You watch your tongue.”
“Ooh, ye scare me, little boy, ye truly do.”
Beth stepped between them. “Daniel, hush. He’s protecting me, Molly. The streets are dangerous.”^ “Are they now? I’m all amazed. So why’d ye come?” “To ask you something.”
Beth drew Molly a little way away from Daniel and Katie. She pressed a few coins into Molly’s palm and asked her questions.
“I don’t know much,” Molly said. “Too la-di-da for me. But I have a pal I can ask. She married one of her
