Using the cover of darkness and a goodly helping of glamour, Vincent crept out of bed and collected the Verres from their case. Jane was relieved to see that they were still there—after Vincent’s revelation, she had half convinced herself that they would have been removed by someone.
The chief difficulty lay in delaying notice of their departure until they were safely off the island. Vincent’s routine was varied enough that they thought he could slip away simply by going for one of his walks. While Jane could walk out on the veranda with the Verre, her absence would be noted and an alarm raised.
They must, therefore, behave as though they had not noted the coldmonger. Vincent rose at first light, as he was often wont to do, and sat on the edge of the bed. They had acted before, in Murano, and applied the same diligence to this scene and all its details.
Jane stirred and feigned languor. “Can you not sleep?”
“I did not mean to wake you.” With a groan, he stood and stretched. “I am going out for a walk to clear my head.”
“Will you be back for breakfast?”
“Likely not. I shall probably continue on to the distillery or the fields.” He pulled on a clean shirt and the breeches he had worn the day prior. They would have to abandon most of their clothing, but they had faced worse. As he pulled his boots on, Vincent asked, “What will you do with yourself today?”
“The slave quarters again. I promised Nkiruka a blanket for Amey’s baby, and I have some questions about glamour that I did not ask yesterday. After that … I may make a call to Mrs. Pridmore.”
“You should go back to sleep.”
“I shall, as soon as you stop making a racket.”
He stopped with his waistcoat half buttoned. “Being chased out by my own wife … this is a sorry state.” But he hung his coat over his arm and picked up his hat. If the hat was heavier than it should have been, or the coat’s pockets bulged, neither was apparent. He walked to the bed and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I shall see you at dinner.”
“Hush. I have sleeping to do.” But though Jane closed her eyes, she lay awake, listening to the sound of Vincent’s footsteps carry him out of the great house.
*
As expected, Louisa wanted to accompany Jane to Nkiruka’s. Jane charged her with gathering a basket of provisions from Cook. Some sweets, yes, but Jane also requested cheese, some good bread, and a bit of cured meat to go with the sweets. The bottle of lime juice she added as a neighbourly gesture to enjoy with Nkiruka. Louisa did not seem to think that any of these were out of the ordinary, but the young woman was so good at governing her countenance that Jane could not be certain.
As for herself, Jane carried a blue and white quilt. Held in front of her, it nicely hid her stomach, as well as the spare dress and petticoat tucked inside its folds. Her bonnet had her necessaries hidden up in its high crown.
As they stepped from the porch, Louisa unfurled the parasol. “Are you certain you would not like Zeus to come? With the heat today, it might be good to have the larger parasol.”
“It is not so hot as that.” In truth, the parts of her black dress that peeked out from under the parasol seemed to turn to hot metal in an instant.
As they walked to the slave quarters, the baby kicked against Jane’s sides in a mirror of her own agitation. It made her aware of how much he or she must have been confined while she was wearing the long stays. Under the cover of the blanket, Jane pressed a hand against her stomach, wishing she could soothe her child.
They passed through the hedge and carried on down the hill. A grove of orange trees marked the halfway point. The shade, even with the parasol, was a welcome relief, and yet Jane’s nerves made her seem hotter still.
Vincent appeared directly in front of them. Louisa shrieked at his sudden appearance, dropping the parasol. He sprang forward and took hold of her arms. “There is a sphere of silence around this spot. No one can hear you.”
That appeared to frighten her more. She twisted in his grasp, turning desperately towards Jane. “Please ma’am. Please. Don’t let him.”
“I will not hurt you.” Vincent was a large man, and strong. He held Louisa easily as she squirmed.
“No! No. Please—ma’am, please. I been good. Please don’t let him. Please, please—”
Jane took too long to understand that Louisa’s fear was not of being tied or whipped. The alternative threat was so far out of character for Vincent that she could not imagine anyone thinking it of him. But he was Lord Verbury’s son. “Vincent—wait.”
He looked at her, confused, but did not slacken his grip.
“Louisa—he is not going to … do anything to you. We need to leave, and we need for you to not tell anyone.”