But as he pressed along London’s leaden streets toward Blackwall where Sully’s men would bring news to Creighton, he passed through a world of humanity that had become once again thoroughly alien.
Chapter 24
DISABLED. The state of a ship when, by the loss of her masts, sails, yards, or rigging, she is rendered incapable of prosecuting her voyage without great difficulty and danger.—Falconer’s Dictionary of the Marine
Lal clung to Tavy’s head with the grip of an animal three times his size.
“This will not do,” she mumbled, peeling the monkey’s tiny black fingers from her bonnet one by one only to have him reattach more firmly than ever.
“I told you this, memsahib. Your absences give him worry.”
Tavy ceased her efforts, resigning herself to walking down St. James’s Street with a capuchin monkey wrapped around her nape. Passersby gaped, stared, pointed, proper English gentlemen and ladies reduced to nursery behavior by the sight of the Original and her exotic pet. But Lal’s behavior when she returned home from Ben’s house had made it clear that he would have torn the house apart if Tavy left him again. And somehow she felt safer with him.
She scanned the upper windows of Brooks’s gentlemen’s club. She could not very well knock on the door and expect to enter. But Abha could give a note to the doorman. If only she had thought to write one.
“Miss Octavia Pierce, what a pleasant surprise.” The female purr suggested precisely the opposite. Priscilla Nathans’s violet pelisse perfectly complimented the emerald glint of her eyes. She was alone, followed only by a servant carrying an armload of parcels. Her ruby lips curled into a moue of distaste. “And what interesting headgear.”
“Thank you, my lady. I will accept that as a compliment.”
“I am sure you will.”
Lal leaned over Tavy’s shoulder and bared his teeth. Tavy moved toward the front door of Brooks’s.
“Searching for anyone I know?”
Tavy looked over her shoulder. “As a matter of fact, yes. I don’t suppose you have seen Lord Crispin today?” According to Abha, Marcus was no longer at either of his residences. But Tavy needed to find him and insist he turn himself in to the authorities. His actions had hurt people, even though he had not wished to. He simply did not have Ben’s strength of character. Although, of course, Ben had hurt her perfectly well. But since she seemed to be the only person in humanity to have that honor, it must be for the best.
“Lost track of your fiancée? How diverting.” Lady Nathans chuckled, a rippling sound of superiority. “Perhaps you have been too attentive elsewhere, hm?”
Lal’s fingertips dug into Tavy’s shoulder.
“I don’t know what you mean, but I am certain it will not do me any good to find out.” She stepped away.
“Abigail Carmichael had a lovely night with him. I’ve only just now come from calling upon her at home. She is exhausted, of course. Some gentlemen are not easily sated.”
Octavia tasted sour milk.
“My lady, you obviously delight in speaking in riddles.” Lal’s fingertips pinched her earlobe, his whole little body jittering. “Unfortunately I am not so fond of deciphering them, especially since Lady Carmichael’s nocturnal activities certainly have nothing to do with me.”
“Don’t be so coy, my dear. A person has only to see you glance at Doreé to know your feelings.”
“Do you know, Lady Nathans, I believe you are—quite literally as well as figuratively—a green-eyed monster.”
The monster’s green eyes narrowed. “What on earth could I have of which to be envious?”
“What you imagine your good friend Lady Carmichael had.” That which Tavy, whatever way she looked at it, could not possibly accept. Perhaps he had been with Constance under certain circumstances, although Tavy was already beginning to doubt it now that she’d had time to consider. But not another woman, and certainly not the previous night during the hours he had left her alone. Not the man she knew him to be now.
“I saw them with my own eyes, my dear, as did Lord Styles and the others. I needn’t imagine a thing.”
“Hm.” Tavy’s blood hummed. “Well then, imagine this: Imagine telling me the name of the ship your husband and Lord Crispin own which is shortly to set sail for the East Indies.”
The demi-rep’s gaze sharpened.
“Has Doreé cozened you into seeking out information for him?” Her purr sounded rather rough now. “How quaint you are to be so devoted.”
“Then,” Tavy continued as though the baroness had not spoken, “if you do not tell me the name of the ship, imagine me telling Lady Carmichael exactly what did not happen in your bedchamber that night at Fellsbourne before your host left it.”
Tavy almost laughed at the momentary panic that sluiced across the baroness’s face. But the monster masked it quickly.
“You could not possibly know anything,” she said smoothly.
“Oh, well then, if you have no anxiety upon that score, I will just call upon Lady Carmichael as soon as I am finished here.”
“Sea Bird.”
Tavy swiveled on her heels and met the baroness’s gaze. “Sea Bird, you say? And which berth might she be lodged in?”
“I haven’t any idea.” Lady Nathans scowled. “What do you take me for, common gentry like yourself?”
“Oh, I would not take you for anything. In that, I believe Lord Doreé and I are quite alike.” With a smile, she headed down the sidewalk, Lal hurling a string of staccato comments in their wake.
“Do you wish now to go to the ship?” Abha asked at her shoulder.
“Well, Lord Crispin is not at either of his flats. Do you think he might be there?”
“No.”
Tavy peeled Lal’s mitt from her chin and drew in a thick breath. “Why not?”
“He is behind you.”
Tavy pivoted. Amidst the attractive traffic upon St. James’s—ladies walking arm in arm, gentlemen dressed to the nines, tradesmen in neat trousers, even a flower girl in a fetching smock—Marcus looked horrible. Worse than she must have looked with the monkey on her shoulder. He strode straight to her at a hard pace, drawing stares.
“I hoped to find you before I left.” His voice was hoarse, his face pale and eyes red as though he had been crying. He looked at Abha and his brow seemed relieved. “You are safe.”
“I am.” She shook her head. “Where are you going?”
“My house in the country. But first I must see Nathans, apologize to him for implicating him in this business. I needed his money to purchase the ship, but he is innocent, of course.” His brow contorted, the thick lock of hair falling over it that she had once wished to brush away in a comforting gesture. His cravat was crushed, his coat wrinkled, and whiskers shadowed his jaw already at midday. He looked directly at her, for the first time since she had known him apparently unconcerned with what others might think of him. He seemed a man thoroughly beaten, and it was awful to behold.
“Marcus, you must turn yourself in. If not because it is right, then because you cannot go on like this.”
“I will.” His lids drooped until his eyes were half closed. “I promise, I will return and give my testimony. But now it is in Doreé’s hands, where it should have been all along. He will see it to its end.” His blurred gaze swept up to her face. “Do you know who he is, Octavia? Do you truly know?”