Page 115 of Thief of the Ton
“Lily,” he whispered. “My beloved Lily—I failed you, my darling.”
Lavinia grasped his hands. “No, Papa—you’ve failed no one.”
“I failedyoumost of all, daughter,” he said. “But I’ll keep you safe now. The clock means nothing to me—I swear.You’rewhat’s important. Promise me you won’t put yourself in danger—not for my sake.”
He broke off in another fit of coughing, and he clawed at his chest. “Can’t…breathe…”
“Mrs. Bates!” Lavinia cried. “Help us!”
Footsteps approached, and Mrs. Bates burst through the door.
“Oh, sweet Lord!” she cried. “Joe—Joe! Get yourself up here, now!”
Shortly after, Mr. Bates entered the chamber.
“Get him into bed,” Lavinia said. “Quickly!”
“Here, let me,” Mr. Bates said. “He’s as light as a feather, he is.” He scooped Papa into his arms and carried him over to the bed, where Lavinia drew the bedsheet back.
“T-tonic…”
Mrs. Bates nodded, drew a phial from her pocket, and uncorked it. She held it to his lips. “Just a drop, now, sir.” Then she drew back while Papa’s breathing eased. At length, he lay still, his chest rising and falling to a gentle rhythm.
“Tonic?” Lavinia asked.
“Laudanum,” Mrs. Bates said. “Just a drop or two settles him, poor man.”
“Does he need it?”
“Not all the time, but he’s been in need of it a lot more this past month. It pains me to say that his health is failing.”
Mrs. Bates placed a pudgy hand on Lavinia’s arm. “We must all face our time when it comes, miss,” she said. “Your father’s love for you has sustained him. But he misses your mama something bad. While you were in London, Mr. Bates and I would often wake at night to hear him crying out for her.”
Lavinia looked away, blinking back the tears.
“Oh, forgive me, miss!” Mrs. Bates said. “I didn’t mean to distress you.”
“And yet ye have, woman,” Mr. Bates grumbled. “I said ye shouldn’t tell the lass.”
“No,” Lavinia said. “It’s best that I know.”
She glanced toward her father, who was now asleep, a peaceful expression on his face.
Forgive me, Papa, but I trust you’ll understand why I cannot do as you ask.
“Mr. Bates, is Samson ready?” she asked.
“Aye, miss.”
“Then if Mrs. Bates would be so good as to watch over Papa, I’ll take him for a ride now.”
Lavinia bent over Papa and placed a kiss on his forehead, then she exited the bedchamber and made her way to the study. She approached the desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. Buried under a pile of papers, where he’d hidden it since their arrival at Springfield Cottage, was Papa’s pistol. She closed the drawer and headed toward the stables, where Samson stood waiting.
“Hello, boy,” she said. “How do you fancy another sojourn to a country estate to check the lie of the land?”
Marlow Park was barely ten miles from Springfield. And if what Lady Betty said were true, in two days’ time, a carriage would be leaving the house, bound for London—most likely containing Mama’s clock.
And Lavinia was determined to retrieve it.
