Page 147 of Rakes & Reticules
A week later
Dorothea sat in the rocker,mending some socks, humming an old tune her mother used to sing to her as a child. A knock on the door interrupted her musings. When she answered, Mr. Cotter, one of the local constables stood before her, hat in hand.
“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Dunn. May I come in?” His stern look made her stomach clench.
“What’s wrong? Is it Robert? Is he hurt?” Panic skittered up her spine as the older man walked past him. His short gray hair was tousled by the strong winds of the day, and he stood rigid by the door.
“No, ma’am. I need… to speak with him.” She shut the door as two men passed by, giving her a side-glance. The taller man, older with red hair, caught her gaze and held it for a brief moment. She slammed the door against the overwhelming sense of danger.
“I’m afraid Mr. Dunn isn’t home yet. I expect him soon, though. Would you like to wait?”
Mr. Cotter bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“I’ll fix us some tea while we—”
“No need, Mrs. Dunn.” He averted her gaze when she gave him a questioning look.
The heavy silence set off more warning bells. Did this have something to do with the “bad news” Robert had wanted to tell her last week? Was he in some kind of trouble? She knew little of his position with the man she knew only as “The Vicar.” It paid well, but he kept irregular hours. Robert said his employer was very private, and he often had to go out in the middle of the night to assist distraught parishioners.
The door burst open, and Robert rushed through it, an unfamiliar air of urgency sweeping in with him. “We have to pack, luvvy. I don’t have time to explain, but we need—”
He froze, taking in the constable standing near the stove. “Ah, Mr. Cotter,” he said, his tone smoothing out, the familiar Robert returning. “How’s the missus? That boy of yours sure is growing.”
“None o’ that will be necessary. I’m afraid you know why I’m here.” The constable moved forward. “Let’s make this easier on your wife and come along quietly.”
“No! There must be some mistake.” She looked wildly from her husband to Mr. Cotter, their friend. “He’s done nothing wrong.”
When she locked her gaze on Robert, her stomach roiled. His dark eyes were black and cold as a moonless winter night. She didn’t know this man who stood before her. Her Robert was warm and kind and charming. This man…
“Robert?” she asked in a quivering voice, her hand finding the back of a chair to hold her up. “What have you done?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” he sneered. “You’ve enjoyed all the finery I’ve given you, the life you’ve had with me. Do you think it comes without a price?”
“But you work for a man of God…” Dorothea shook her head. None of this made any sense.
“The Vicar is no man of God, ma’am,” said Mr. Cotter. “He’s the head of a criminal ring, and your husband is one of his best henchmen.”
Robert made a dash for the door, Dorothea screamed, and the constable cursed. A scuffle in the alley, more cursing, followed by “Where ye off ta in such a hurry, boyo?”
She ran outside to see the redheaded man and his partner dragging her husband away. Her breaths came in rapid spurts as she cried out, then all went black.
* * *
End of July 1820
Newgate Prison
“What will happen to you now?”Dorothea asked, though she already knew the answer.
The nightmares came every night—the rope swinging, Robert’s feet dangling. The fear that after all this time, she might be pregnant—and alone.
She still couldn’t reconcile this man before her with the charismatic gentleman she’d married. The dazzling smile that had melted her heart, soft kisses that promised a happy future. What a fool she’d been. What a monster he was.
“We both know my fate, luvvy,” he said softly.
“Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that again.” But she had to ask, had to know for sure. “Is it true? You’ve kidnapped children and killed men? For some mysterious employer who goes by the ridiculous moniker of The Vicar?”
“Careful, now. He’s a dangerous man with a network of criminals to do his bidding and spies all over London. Keep your mouth shut or they’ll find you floating in the Thames.” Robert scowled, then answered her with a heavy sigh. “I killed my first man when I was ten. It was him or me. The Vicar kept me from hanging, so I was told, and I’ve been working for him ever since. Worked my way up.”
