Unraveled (Turner, #3)

Jeremy rubbed his chin. “Furious? Why would Old Blazer be furious?”


“This whole thing…” She blew out her breath furiously. “God. I wish I’d never been involved. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Everything I do just digs me deeper, and now—”

Jeremy caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her inside. He shut the door quietly behind her. “Calm down. Take a breath. What has you so upset?”

“Smite,” she said. Just saying his name brought to mind her deepest fears. What if he’d already been killed? What if his throat was slit, and he’d been tossed—but no. She couldn’t think that. She couldn’t let herself.

“Lord Justice?”

She nodded. “There’s no good way to say this, Jeremy. The Patron had his men arrest me after I left your shop the other day.”

“I know,” he interjected. “I thought you’d had the good sense to leave town after you got free.”

She took a deep breath. “Lord Justice didn’t think much of the Patron using his constables and his court for personal gain. And so he came up with a plan to…to, um, to, um...”

“To bring the Patron to justice?” Jeremy’s voice grew a hint chillier. “That would comport with what I have seen on this end. Don’t tell me: it didn’t work as planned.”

She nodded. “The Patron took Lord Justice.”

Jeremy scrunched his hair with one hand and screwed up his face. “Damn it.”

“It’s worse than damning. His brother, the Duke of Parford, is threatening to turn Bristol upside down in the search.”

“Of course he is,” Jeremy muttered. “It wanted only that—she’s holding the entire city hostage now. I’ll get the message shortly.” He blew out his breath. “Miranda, I wish you weren’t here. But it is so good to have even one person to turn to. I can’t do this.” He began to pace the floor. “But I have to. But I can’t. I couldn’t do it even for George.”

“We can stop it,” Miranda said. “While all his men are busy with Lord Justice. Jeremy, I know he’s your grandfather, but the two of us could tie Old Blazer up, take him in right now. We could avert the entire crisis.”

Jeremy stopped mid-pace and cocked his head. “Old Blazer?” he asked. “What does Old Blazer have to do with any of this?”

There were no words to describe the feeling of sick, sinking vertigo that assailed Miranda. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“You think Old Blazer is the Patron?” Jeremy asked.

All of Miranda’s certainty came to a tumbling halt. There had been that letter, written in the same hand as those prices. Jeremy had told her the Patron was Old Blazer. Hadn’t he?

Miranda shut her eyes, and an image drifted to her mind: Mrs. Blasseur, seated on a stool, cutting foolscap into strips.

Her heart stopped. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “I thought—”

“No,” Jeremy snapped. “You didn’t. You didn’t think at all. Old Blazer has no sense of discretion. Have you ever known him to keep his mouth shut?”

“Well, no, but—”

“He’s forever talking to people. And he won’t even do his part in the shop if he feels the slightest ache in his little toe. Do you really think he’d be the sort to work long hours on a thankless endeavor?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“More to the point,” Jeremy said softly, “Old Blazer isn’t in dire need of a replacement. My mother—” His voice cracked.

“Your mother can’t be the Patron.” Miranda shook her head. “Why would she want me to replace her? It doesn’t make any…”

She trailed off once more at the dire look in Jeremy’s eyes.

“Oh,” she said stupidly.

“Miranda,” Jeremy said gently, “you haven’t any sense of discretion either. You haven’t any training. You haven’t any claim to the enterprise.” Jeremy reached into his pocket and fished a hank of hair, gleaming dully copper in the moonlight that filtered through the windows.

Miranda shivered, remembering the knife that had removed that.

“That lock of hair,” Jeremy said, “was delivered to me as a warning. My mother thinks I’m in love with you, after all. And she thinks that George is my friend—she had him arrested, too, and when he was about to be released, had him secreted away as a hostage. This isn’t about you.” He gave her a sad smile. “It’s about my refusal to take up the family business.”

A knock sounded at the front door—two blows, a pause, and then three short raps.

“There,” Jeremy said. “That will be my invitation. All I have to do is go with whomever she’s sent, and I can avert this whole crises. There’s an initiation ceremony.” His lip curled in distaste. “If I’m supposed to take up the Patron’s mantle, I have to administer the Patron’s justice. It…it proved to be a sticking point before.”