Promise Me Tomorrow. Candace Camp
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death’s door when I left him.”
“The boy is dead,” Richard replied curtly. “That is not the problem. It is the girl.”
“She can’t have been more than five or six. She couldn’t remember.”
“Perhaps not. But if she saw a face—the face of the man who had ripped her from her brother, say, who had taken her to an orphanage and placed her in that hellhole—who is to say that she might not remember then?”
“Surely—you’re not telling me that they have found her.”
Richard shrugged. “I doubt it. Not yet. But I sent a man to St. Anselm’s, too, when I heard that the Countess was looking for the chit. They told me where she went when she left there.”
“Where was that?” The words seemed pulled from him, as if he did not really want to know, yet could not stop himself from asking.
“She went into service with one of the local gentry. Family named Quartermaine.”
“Good God!” He paled a trifle. “The daughter of generations of earls, a maid.”
“Mmm. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Tragic, I would say.”
“She was cast out of the Quartermaine house—pregnant.”
The other man closed his eyes. “God forgive me.”
“God may, but I doubt the polite world would.”
“I did not want to!” he lashed out, goaded. “You know I tried to argue you out of it. Sweet Jesus, when I handed the little thing over to that dragon of a matron, and she was kicking and screaming and crying….” His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Yet you did it.”
“You made me! It was the only way I could wipe clean my debt to you. You kept giving me the money, urging me to take it, and I couldn’t stop myself. I had to have that sweet oblivion.”
“I hardly forced it on you. You begged me for the money, shaking and sweating, the color of a corpse. What else could a friend have done? As I remember, at the time you praised me for my generosity.”
“I did not know then why you did it! How you got people in your debt and made them do wicked things! How you twisted and crushed them into monsters scarcely recognizable as themselves.”
“Really. Dear fellow…do you think you would have done it if you hadn’t had it in you already? You could have refused, you know.”
“I know.” Self-disgust filled his voice. “I was weak.”
Richard did not comment. He could have pointed out that the man was still weak or he would not have come in answer to his summons. But there wasn’t any point in antagonizing him unduly. It might put his back up enough to give him some spine.
“Do you think that will help you any? If people know that you took Chilton’s daughter from her family and put her in an orphanage because you had to have money for opium? For gambling and drinking and whoring? Do you think they will feel any sympathy for you?” Richard asked. When the other man glared at him, he went on, “Quite so. You and I both know what would happen to this exemplary little life that you have built up if the ton knew what you had done. Oh, no doubt some people with long memories still can recall that you were wild in your youth—so many men are, and then sober up and become responsible citizens. But none of them know about this.”
“What are you threatening? To tell everyone what I did? It will only implicate you!”
“Oh, no, I shan’t tell…not unless I am forced to. But if the Countess’s man finds the girl…if she tells everyone what happened, and I am brought down because of it, I promise you, I shan’t go down alone. I will take you with me.”
“You are disgusting.”
“What has that to do with the matter at hand? And just think, what if this girl identifies you? You are the one who took her there, you know, the last face she saw. It is you she will remember best.”
“I tell you, she won’t remember! You forget the things that happened to you when you were a child.”
“Even something that changed your life forever? I don’t know. It seems to me to be something she might remember. Or say she chanced to meet you and at the sight of your face those long forgotten memories came back? But if you are willing to risk it…” He shrugged eloquently.
“Damn you! What is it you want of me?”
“I want you to make sure that the Countess’s man doesn’t find her.”
“And how am I supposed to find her?”
“That will not be so very hard. All the servants disclaimed knowledge of her whereabouts, but one of the grooms pulled him aside and told him some interesting facts—for a price, of course. The world is so venal. It seems that little Mary Chilton—yes, that is what she called herself—had a special friend among the other servants, another maid named Winny Thompson. A couple of years after Mary left, this Winny apparently came into some good fortune. She received a letter, and promptly after that she quit her job and took the stage to London. He says the rumor was that Mary had found some means to support herself and had invited her dear friend to come live with her. My man paid him to keep the information to himself, and then he tracked this Winny Thompson to London. It seems that one of the maids gets letters from her every so often, and the housekeeper has seen the most recent address.”
“So he found…Mary?”
“I think so. He found Winny Thompson, in any case. She is the housekeeper for an apparent family, one of whom is a ‘widow’ with a nine-year-old daughter. That is the right age for Mary Chilton’s ‘delicate condition.’ The supposed widow’s name is Marianne Cotterwood. She is in her mid-twenties, and her hair is a bright red.”
The other man groaned.
“Yes. It sounds very much like the girl we seek.”
“If your man has found out so much, why don’t you have him keep her away from the Countess? He sounds quite competent.”
“Oh, he is. He is. But there are two problems. One is that I would like to make sure that Mrs. Cotterwood really is the woman I seek. The other is that I do not like to hire someone for an operation as delicate as this. A paid servant of that type can so easily turn around and gouge more money from you for being silent, you see. You, on the other hand, could scarcely extort money by threatening to break your silence. That is why I realized that you would be the perfect man for the job.”
“What is it you want me to do—pay her to leave London before the Countess’s man can find her?”
“An easy solution, of course, but too unreliable. I find that people so rarely keep their word.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” he asked, his patience obviously wearing thin.
“It’s quite simple. This woman appears to a gentlewoman, not a former maid. She moves in your sort of circle. You could easily meet her and ascertain whether she is, in fact, the woman we seek. Then…”
He paused and fixed a gaze of pure iron on the man. “Then you will kill her.”
CHAPTER FOUR
MARIANNE SMILED DOWN AT HER DAUGHTER. One of her favorite things was teaching Rosalind, who had a quick mind and a ready wit. At nine, Marianne thought she was approaching the age where she would need a tutor. The Quartermaine girls had had a beleaguered governess, a round little brown wren of a woman over whom the three girls had run roughshod. Though Marianne’s knowledge was adequate for the basic subjects she had been teaching up until now—and she could still, with her extensive reading, do a passable job of teaching literature and history—she knew that to be educated as a lady was, she needed someone who could teach music and drawing adequately, as well as mathematics,