How many times had the Irishman stared in at her through the small, barred window on the door? Twenty—thirty times? She had lost count. There came the soft but distinct scrape she had come to know. She willed her body not to tremble. Ramsey had, again, waited for the woman to go, then opened the shutter on the window to stare at her from the other side.
Minutes passed—more, she thought, than he had taken before. It wouldn't matter if she screamed. In this place, everyone screamed. The opening swished closed. Elise began to tremble so badly she feared her teeth would chatter. Most rooms were built to keep the sound in, but her room seemed to amplify sound. She imagined her persecutors listening for the slightest sound so they might pounce upon her, pronounce her stupor a lie, and administer more laudanum.
Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. She had lost her child—Marcus's child—less than two months in the womb. Even in her laudanum-induced state, she had known the moment the blood began to flow. How many days ago that had been, she couldn't say. There had been no pain, the laudanum had ensured that, but she had known. The degradation that followed paled in comparison to the despair.
Laudanum had been the instrument that had taken the child's life, but Price was the babe's murderer as certainly as if he had squeezed the life from the infant with his own hands. Robert had taken her child and her brother. Now Price had taken her second child. Between them, they had stripped her of all she held dear. Not all, her mind reminded her. There was still Marcus. More tears flowed.
Dear God, let him accept my death. Do not bring him to America.
Marcus locked gazes with Price Ardsley. "My wife and I are leaving." He started toward the door.
The men, transfixed by the strange happenings, parted as he brushed past them. All but one—standing closest to the door—who stepped in front of him.
"Pardon me, sir," he said in a low, firm voice, "if you would explain."
"Brentley," Steven said, and stepped up beside Marcus. "Please clear the doorway."
"Steven," Price said. "Explain yourself."
Steven opened his mouth, but Marcus spoke. "I am Marcus MacGregor, the Marquess of Ashlund, and this"—he nodded to the woman in his arms—"is my wife, the Marchioness of Ashlund."
An instant of stunned silence passed, then the man standing closest said, "I assume you have proof of this claim?"
"My brother-in-law has the wedding certificate." Marcus motioned with a nod of his head in Steven's direction.
Steven retrieved the certificate from the front pocket of his great coat and handed it to Brentley. The older man took the paper while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of spectacles. He wrapped the wires of the spectacles around his ears, then read the certificate.
"The ceremony was officiated by a Father Whyte of Badachro, Scotland," he said.
"I know nothing of that person or place," one of the other men said.
Brentley looked at Marcus. "Forgive me, sir, but you will understand this"—he indicated the wedding certificate with a small shake—"isn't enough."
"Steven," Marcus said, "take the ring from my breast pocket."
Steven pulled back Marcus's coat and reached inside the pocket. He retrieved the ring Robert had given Elise and handed it to Brentley. "The inscription," Steven said. "Read it.
Brentley took a step closer to the door, holding the ring out so that the light from the hallway glinted off it. He squinted, reading aloud, "For all eternity." He looked questioningly at Steven.
"That is the ring Robert gave Elise on their wedding day."
From the corner of his eye, Marcus saw Price's mouth thin.
Another of the board members cleared his throat. "What sort of proof is that?"
Brentley looked from his companion back to Steven. "You are sure?"
"Absolutely," Steven replied.
Brentley whipped his glasses off and faced Price. "What do you make of this, Price?"
Price stepped up to them and extended his hand. "May I see the ring?"
Brentley placed it on Price's open palm. Ardsley stepped into the doorway and examined the ring. An instant later, he turned his gaze onto Marcus. "It looks very much like the ring Robert gave Elise." He handed the ring to Steven.
"It could be a forgery," Brentley said.
"Possibly," Price agreed, then said to Marcus, "Have you other proof of your claims?"
"The night Elise was washed overboard, her husband tried to strangle her. She was forced—"
"That is common knowledge," Price interrupted.
Satisfaction surged through Marcus. So this was to be the line Price would not have him cross. "True," he agreed, "but there are details which wouldn't have been common knowledge."
Price inclined his head. "Gentlemen," he looked around the room, "in the interest of privacy, perhaps it would be best if we reconvened in my study."
The men gave a general nod of agreement. Price grasped the servant's bell hanging near the door and tugged. A moment later, Simons appeared in the doorway.
"Simons, show my guests to the study."
"Indeed, sir," Simons replied. "If you would, gentlemen." He bowed.
"I cannot leave Elise," Marcus said.