Page 48 of Becoming Lady Dalton
“I have never seen it before,” Viola continued firmly.
“Not even this evening?” Reed asked. His rough features, never kind, turned menacing. “Perhaps, on Lady Whitney’s shoulder?”
“Not that I recall,” Viola responded evenly, though a hint of self-doubt crept in. Perhaps, she had glimpsed it while her grandmother was greeting their hostess. Reed watched her intently, and Viola knew he’d seen the flicker of hesitancy she’d hadn’t been able to suppress. Damn him. She may as well have tied the noose around her neck.
Confirming her fears, a large man lurched out of the gloom behind Reed to slam one meaty fist on the scarred wood table before her. The jewel bounced with a metallic clatter. Viola startled and cringed.
“Then you can rot in Newgate, my fine lady,” sneered the hard-faced Runner.
Viola stared him down. Her mouth did not stretch in a smile.
“Given that I did not take this ornament and have no notion of how you came across it, I am unable to offer an explanation for its presence before me.”
“All due respect, Mrs. Cartwright, it was found in your cloak pocket.” Reed waved his counterpart back into the shadows.
“Which was hanging in the vestibule all evening. Anyone might have planted it,” she countered.
“We were watching you the entire time,” Reed replied with false conciliation. For a moment, Viola almost believed he sincerely regretted spying on her. Images of filthy prison cells flashed through her mind, and she could not suppress a shudder. She wanted, desperately, to believe Reed was an ally, yet Viola knew better.
He wanted her to trust him, which meant she couldn’t afford to. Until her sister was informed of her predicament, only the baroness might come to her aid. Or, possibly, Piers. But surely he would be wiser than that, now that she’d told him the truth about Samuel.
“Is that so?” Viola countered with all the dignity she could muster. Had Reed, or worse, his counterpart, witnessed her absence from the ballroom with Dalton? Either way,shecertainly hadn’t been watching her lovely fur-trimmed, silk-lined wool cloak. If she’d been more attentive to her belongings, someone else’s might not have found their way into her pocket. Instead, she’d been enjoying what would likely be the last time a man touched her in this life. “Apparently, without much competence. Or did you observe my extended disappearance immediately before you arrested me, Mr. Reed?”
Piers. Viola nearly sobbed. Merely thinking his name was too raw to bear. What must he think of her? Shame crawled over her.
Matthew.What would she say to her son? If she ever saw him again. How could she have known this evening might be the last time she would ever see him?
Samuel.Anger blossomed through her chest, scorching as though someone had lit fireworks within her. To save him, she’d stolen from her own sister. To escape him, she’d betrayed her vows. Not entirely, but close enough. Viola tasted bitterness.
If not her, who had stolen the jewelry?
Lady Margaret had no motive. Surely, not Miss Lowry. Blaming her would be too simple, too easy. Pinning the crime on a recent arrival in England was all too easy a scapegoat. Viola, as desperate as she was to escape her predicament, knew what it felt like to be an outsider. Besides, suggesting Miss Lowry on the basis of no evidence whatsoever—even if she had believed it was true—smacked of sour grapes over the humiliating loss of England’s former colony. Didn’t it?
The second man, who lurked in the deep shadow like a ghoul, scraped his chair back from the wall.
“Insolent bitch,” he growled.
Reed shoved away from the table too. Viola blinked warily at the men, tensing for blows.
“You’ve a great deal too much pride, Mrs. Cartwright.” Reed glowered. “You’d be better off confessing you robbed London’s better classes blind and hope the magistrate takes pity. A woman trying to keep her husband from dying in a ditch, that’s a story any heartless bastard could understand. He might send you for transport instead of to the gallows.”
Viola swallowed painfully, her throat thick with unshed tears that scalded her eyes. Reed ushered her back to her cell and shoved her inside. The bolt slammed shut, a metallic sentence ringing in her ears.
Muffled scuffles from the corner of the tiny room indicated the presence of vermin. Viola collapsed slowly onto the hard, wooden bench. She lifted her dancing slippers up and tucked her skirts around her, tracing the comforting softness of the many layers of fabric in the darkness. A square of sickly yellow light fell over her gown, staining the red cloth orange. Time passed. Perhaps, she slept. When Viola jerked awake, the quality of the light had changed into a predawn, fuzzy grey. Her stomach rumbled, empty, while Viola’s bladder ached with fullness. She reluctantly availed herself of the bucket in the corner.
Heavy footsteps echoed along the corridor outside her cell.
25
“Mrs. Cartwright. You have a visitor.”The guard kept his tone carefully neutral. “Lady Landor to see you.”
Gratitude surged through her in a wave that left her weak with hope. She wasn’t friendless. Gran would help her. Viola rushed forward three steps, then stopped short at the sight of her grandmother’s ashen face. She smelled faintly of powder and lavender, wealth and comfort. She had changed out of the evening’s finery and had donned a severe grey day dress trimmed with black braid—one the baroness had adopted for a few weeks after the Earl of Briarcliff had passed, out of respect to her granddaughter’s family.
The baroness had chosen mourning garb.
Tears wobbled in her blue eyes, as familiar as Viola’s own. Ice touched Viola’s neck.
“Is it true?” Gran demanded, her voice breaking. “You used me to gain access to London so you could steal jewels to pay for your husband’s treatment?”
