Page 21 of All Scot and Bothered
Ramsay stood with his arms locked behind him, completely still in the midst of the chaos, his eyes never leaving her. “Civilized,” he scoffed. “Nothing about ye belongs in a civilized society.”
“Upon that, we must disagree.” It was perhaps the most argumentative statement she’d ever made in her life, but the circumstances of the day had frayed her nerves tothe snapping point. “As most of civilized society seems to spend their leisure time here.”
His glare was so full of enmity, Cecelia couldn’t bring herself to look at him any longer. How strange, that a man possessed of such a savage countenance could accuseherof being uncouth.
To cover her cowardice, she reached for the warrant, swallowed a lump of trepidation, and began to read.
“Hortense Thistledown,” he said, echoing her pseudonym, thus calling her attention before she’d gotten through the first line. “Ye are related to Henrietta, then? I was unaware she had family. Hid you away in France, did she?”
Smythe had been their family name. Thistledown must have been another of Henrietta’s facades, much like the wigs and masks and makeup.
Cecelia wasn’t ready to answer the question, and so she didn’t. She searched through the legal documents until reaching the appropriate charge.
According to the warrant, the police were searching her property for evidence in connection with the disappearance of a young girl named Katerina Milovic. A Russian immigrant who’d been taken from the streets of Lambeth just yesterday. She was the sixth in a string of missing maidens. All aged about thirteen.
“How did ye come to be in charge after Henrietta’s death?” Ramsay demanded. “I’ve not seen ye on the premises before. I always assumed Miss Leveaux would take up the mantle of the Scarlet Lady once Henrietta—”
Cecelia held up one finger as she scanned the rest of the warrant, her eyes snagging on the distressing pertinent information. The Writ of Warrant suggested the proprietress of Miss Henrietta’s School for Cultured Young Ladies was suspected of nabbing the children and sellingtheir innocence to clients for incredible sums of money, which put her under the suspicion as an accessory to rape, kidnapping, and possibly murder.
Lord Ramsay was only silent long enough to recover from his indignation. “Ye’re brave, madam, to presume to hush me.”
Cecelia’s hands trembled now with more outrage than fear. She tapped the paper with the extended finger she’d used to halt him. “It states here I am suspected of being a bawd. Of kidnapping young girls and selling their… their…” The word was heavy on her tongue, salacious and never uttered in mixed company, certainly not with a young girl cowering in her skirts. “Theirvirginity.” She leaned in to offer an aghast whisper. “To someone who would dispose of them after.”
“Doona play the innocent,” he spat, the intent of his emphasis clear. “Every titled or wealthy man in the city knows what’s for sale at this so-called school.”
She chose her words carefully. “I wonder, my lord, what cause you have to suspect that these girls are connected to my aunt. Even if, for the sake of argument, I admitted to marketing… pleasure, which I categorically do not. It is a mighty leap to accuse Henrietta or I of something of this magnitude without substantial evidence.”
“I have an informer,” he stated.
Genny leapt forward, unable to contain herself any longer. “Like hell you do, you lying swine. We help girls who come to us, we don’t prostitute them—”
A constable seized Genny, pinning her arms behind her in an effort to grapple her toward the door.
Cecelia held up a hand, chewing her lip as she puzzled. The unpleasant metallic tinge of rouge set an unbidden grimace on her face. “If what you say about an informeris true, wouldn’t the witness be mentioned in the warrant?”
“I didna say witness,” he clipped, his arms crossing over his impressive chest in a defensive gesture.
“So, you signed this warrant on the grounds of hearsay, then?”
“I signed that warrant because those little girls need to be found!” His fist connected with the desk, and Cecelia felt Phoebe stiffen with shock against her calf.
She assessed Ramsay, his menacing posture, his flaring nostrils, the lips he curled back to show sharp incisors.
Not a wolf, she thought. A lion. The Nemean lion, perhaps, his thick golden hide impervious to weapons and claws sharper than blades.
It would take a herculean act to vanquish him, of this Cecelia was certain.
And God help her, but she was in the lion’s mouth now.
With a deep breath, she drew herself up in her chair and leaned casually against the plush velvet, hoping to diffuse the tension with her ease.
“I’ll be frank with you, my lord, I did not know Henrietta well, and I cannot be certain of all her sins, but I can promise you this. Whilst I am the owner and… proprietor of this institution, you will never have cause to suspect me of doing something so insidious to a woman or a child. Furthermore, I will use whatever means at my disposal to assist you in finding Katerina Milovic and any other missing girl.” She cast a glance at Genny, whose self-containment seemed at the end of a short tether.
Cecelia hated that she couldn’t becertainher aunt, the woman responsible for her fortune, might also be a monster. She hoped to God it wasn’t true. That Lord Ramsay’s suspicions were misplaced.
Ramsay leaned in further. “And I’m supposed to take a woman like ye at her word, am I?”
“My word is all I have until time can prove that you might trust me.”
