Page 15 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
Sister Margaret glanced at me, gratitude softening the worry in her eyes. “Thank you, Lady Rosalynd. For coming tonight—and for caring. Most wouldn’t.”
I offered a faint smile. “That’s precisely the problem. Not enough people do.”
By the time I stepped outside St Agnes, the mist had thickened into a damp, creeping fog, curling in pale ribbons along the cobbles and clinging to the lamplight like smoke. I pulled my cloak tighter and lifted my chin, determination settling over me like steel. If Inspector Dodson thought he could sweep this away unnoticed, he was in for an unwelcome surprise. However prickly, however infuriating our history, he would find me planted squarely in the middle of his path. The carriage jolted as we turned away from Trinity Lane, the horse’s hooves striking hollow echoes on the wet stones.
I leaned back as exhaustion pressed heavily into my bones. My heart ached with the weight of it—Elsie’s delicate hands, her shy smile, her darting eyes, now stilled forever. Grief and anger tangled sharp and restless inside me. I closed my eyes, drawing in one slow breath after another, trying to steady myself.
Suddenly, the wheels jolted sharply, and I lurched forward with a startled gasp.
“Milady, forgive me!” the coachman called back anxiously from his perch. “We’ve thrown a wheel!”
Bother! It would take a fair amount of time to repair it. I opened the door and peered out into the fog. Thankfully, we were only a few streets from Rosehaven House. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I called, already stepping down.
“Milady, I wouldn’t?—”
But I was already pulling my cloak tighter, setting off briskly through the mist.
Chapter
Seven
A MIDNIGHT RESCUE
Iclimbed into the Steele carriage and slammed the door harder than necessary, the sharp crack of it echoing into the cold night.
“Drive on,” I muttered to the coachman, my retainer of long standing. But before he could urge the horses forward, I rapped sharply on the roof. “No. Wait.” I needed a moment to gather my temper, to think about what had just happened.
The horses seemed to object as they stamped restlessly in the fog, their harnesses creaking. Well, they could bloody well wait.
I slumped back against the seat, tugging off my gloves, fists clenching and unclenching as the bitter taste of the evening rose in my throat.
I’d spent most of the night searching for Phillip—my youngest brother. I’d found him, drunk and reaching for more inside a smoky gambling den, having lost a fair amount of money in a game of cards. He was Father all over again. The only saving grace was that he wasn’t married. At least he wasn’t inflicting his demons on an innocent woman the way Father had done to Mother, to all of us.
I’d dragged him back to his bachelor quarters, ordered his valet to put him to bed, and keep him there until morning when I’d return.
Phillip had objected—loudly, bitterly.
You’re just like Father. Ordering me around.
The words stabbed through my mind, sharp and unshakable.
“I never once laid a hand on you,” I’d shot back, my voice raw, anger burning just under the skin.
Phillip had staggered, bleary-eyed, his mouth twisting into a bitter grin. “No—but you always find fault. No matter what I do.”
And then, before I could stop myself, the blade slipped free: “I would—if you ever did something right.”
Thathad landed.
I saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the way he stumbled back as if struck, the crushed, boyish hurt he tried so hard to bury beneath that careless, drunken grin.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the remembrance. I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. But they were out, and they hung between us like a weight I couldn’t lift.
Damn it all.
I let out a hard breath, dragging a hand through my hair. Phillip was determined to ruin himself. No matter how many times I pulled him out, he dove right back in. But there was no sense brooding here all night. The coachman and horses were more than ready to seek their beds.
I rapped on the roof. “Drive on.”
