Page 20 of Murder at the Seven Dials
His head turned. “You should not be here.”
She wanted to cry out in relief. Philip’s dry cracked voice brought stinging tears to her eyes as she went to him. There was no other chair in the room to sit, so she perched on the edge of the cot. He turned onto his back and sat up, his elbows braced against his knees, hands covering his face. The picture of utter despair knifed through her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, trying to mask the waver of her voice. “Where else should I be?”
“Violet House. Fournier Downs. Anywhere but near me.”
“Millie tried to convince me of the same thing,” she replied.
He lowered his hands, which were no longer caked in dirt and blood, and she wanted to weep. His eyes, usually so bright and jovial, were flat and haunted. His mouth was set into a grim line, his brows pinched. “I don’t usually agree with your blow horn of a sister, but in this instance, I do. Go, Audrey.”
She smacked his arm, knocking his elbow from his kneecap and sending him lilting to the side. He caught himself and sent her an exasperated look.
“You didn’t hurt her, Philip, I know you didn’t,” she said. “Why have you not denied it? Why are you not speaking to the officers or magistrate? You must realize it only makes you appear guilty.”
It was exactly how Mr. Marsden wanted it. He wanted to close his case and prove he was right, and he couldn’t care less about the damage left in his wake.
Philip pulled away from her, moving backward to lean against the wall.
“Why won’t you speak to me?” she asked. “You’ve always told me everything. You kept rooms, Philip, and don’t think I’m ignorant as to why.”
She gritted her teeth, determined not to give him a lecture. Not now, at any rate, and not with the Bow Street guard listening from the corridor. She quieted. “Talk to me. Who were you really seeing?”
“I’m trying to protect you.” His voice strained against some emotion. Anguish. Anger. She wasn’t sure which.
Audrey opened her reticule and brought out the earbob she’d stowed away inside. Philip eyed it when she held it out to him in her palm.
“What is that?”
“It’s how I know you are innocent. This belonged to Miss Lovejoy. I found it in your room at Jewell House.”
Fire leaped in his eyes, and he sat forward, suddenly sober. “What in hell were you doing at the Seven Dials?”
She closed the earbob in her fist. “What wereyoudoing there? I know it wasn’t to meet your mistress.” She practically hissed the words so the man outside the pantry wouldn’t hear.
Philip sealed his lips again and leaned his head against the wall, eyes lifting toward the cracked plaster ceiling. Then, in a whisper, “What did it show you?”
He knew everything about her. He had for some time, and never once had he doubted or reviled her for it.
“Terrifying things.” The frantic, blurred memories were even more obscure and distorted now. “A man who was not you.”
He flicked his eyes to her, knowledge behind them. “Did you see his face?”
She shook her head. “His ear. His cheek. Dark hair.”
Something in Philip’s eyes went soft. Horror ripped through her. “Good god, Philip. Please tell me…he wasn’t…it wasn’t who you were…”
His eyes flashed. “No! Of course not.”
“Then who—”
“I can’t. I…Ican’t.” He sounded so pained, so anguished, that she bit her tongue against another question about his secret lover.
She knew the stubborn set of his jaw. Philip wouldn’t answer. “Fine, then. Belladora Lovejoy…who was her benefactor?”
Philip sat forward, his hand clutching at her arm. He gripped her wrist before hastily letting her go. He knew that a vision might have been passed on to her. But her mind stayed woefully unimpeded.
“Stay out of this, Audrey.” He shook his head and once again, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Please, go. If you’re seen visiting me here—”
