“See how you like losing your family!”
“The only one who might identify us to the magistrate is you!”
A rock flew out of the crowd and struck Nev hard on the shoulder.
Penelope reflected that she and Lady Bedlow were very different women. Penelope wished only for peace to sit silently by the window and watch the drive for Nev’s return. Lady Bedlow’s fear, on the other hand, rendered her even more voluble than usual. She kept up a steady stream of anxious questions (whose answers she did not wait to hear), disjointed reminiscences about Nev’s prowess in school as an orator, and vows of vengeance against any laborers who dared to so much as raise their voices in her son’s presence. In this Mr. Snively encouraged her until Penelope could no longer tell where her hangover ended and her nerves began. Or, God, her morning sickness, what if she were really going to have a baby and something happened to Nev?
She wouldn’t think about it. She couldn’t. If he didn’t come back, and she had told him she might leave him-
There was a brief silence. Penelope drew a grateful breath, and then Lady Bedlow said softly, “Mr. Snively, if he doesn’t come back-”
“You must be brave,” Mr. Snively said. “The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.”
“For God’s sake be silent!” Penelope’s voice was half a shriek, and all the conversations in the room stopped abruptly. “Not another word! You’re driving me mad!” Lady Bedlow’s jaw dropped, hurt tears starting in her eyes. Everyone was staring. Penelope knew she ought to feel ashamed, but she didn’t. She only wanted Nev.
A woman she did not know put a hand on her arm and began speaking in a low, sympathetic voice. Penelope shook her hand off. “Don’t touch me!” She turned back to the window. There was someone coming up the drive, but it was a woman, so Penelope wasn’t interested.
Whispers rose around the room in a wave. Penelope didn’t care, so long as they left her alone. She felt someone coming up behind her, and tensed for a confrontation.
“Steady on,” Thirkell said. “Nev’s talked his way out of worse scrapes than this.” He didn’t say anything else, only stood solidly at her shoulder. Penelope felt comforted.
She watched the woman come slowly up the drive and realized it was Agnes Cusher. Her heart quickened. Had Agnes been at the riot? Did she bear news?
Agnes was almost at the door. Penelope glanced at Lady Bedlow, sobbing quietly into Mr. Snively’s handkerchief. She had better hear what Agnes had to say herself first.
“I have to use the necessary,” she told Thirkell, then slipped out of the room and half ran to the front door. The footmen must all be searching for Sir Jasper; no one saw her ease the door open and slip out.
Agnes started back, looking shaken. “B-bad news-”
Penelope closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn’t faint. “What happened? Is he alive?”
“Who?”
Penelope was at once disappointed and transcendently relieved that the woman had no news of Nev.
“I’ve come about the girl. Miss Raeburn. She’s taken bad, calling for you.”
“Calling for me?”
“You’ve got to come and talk to her. I’m afraid she’ll do herself a hurt. She liked you, that time you came to visit.”
Penelope did not want to go. She wanted to stay here and wait for Nev. Selfish, she reprimanded herself. It did not hold the same weight it once had.
But what would Nev say if Penelope let his mistress suffer alone? What if Miss Wray were really to injure herself?
Agnes actually reached out as if she would take Penelope’s arm, though she didn’t quite dare. “Come on. I shouldn’t even have left her alone for this long. Not with the men up in arms.”
A fresh fear struck Penelope. She should not go out with only another woman, not today. It might prove dangerous. But she couldn’t take Lord Thirkell with her; she had to leave him here to protect Nev’s mother. And she could not ask for any other escort, because any gentleman present would be sure to recognize Nev’s mistress, and it would be a scandal.
“Please, you must!”
The desperation in Agnes’s voice decided Penelope. “Let’s go.” She started down the steps.
Amy, her eyes closed, leaned against one of the huge oaks that lined the long drive to the Grange. Sure enough, Kit had known the way, but it had seemed to take years to get even this far-years of putting one foot down in front of the other, sweating, and struggling for breath. She had spent the last month indoors, in rooms with tiny windows; the sun was blinding. The heat too was unbearable, even in the shade. It was at least another quarter mile to the house, and the world was already starting to wobble around the edges.
“Come ’long.” Kit tugged at Amy’s skirts. “Shilling.”
Amy opened her eyes reluctantly, seeing the little boy through a wash of blue produced by too much sunlight.
Kit waddled a few feet toward the manor and stopped, staring at Amy insistently.
“Coming, Kit.” Amy pushed herself upright and started forward. She made it three steps before she tumbled and fell, the flats of her arms hitting the gravel with a painful scraping. She lay with her cheek against the ground and stared at the rolling park that was Nev’s birthright.
Something terrible was going to happen to Nev’s wife because Amy was too weak to make it another quarter of a mile. Her last thought before she lost consciousness was that the heroine of a play would have managed it.
Nev’s arm throbbed where the rock had hit it. “Think about what you are doing,” he shouted, placing a calming hand on the restive horse. “Who is tending the harvest while you play at storming the Bastille?”
There was silence.
“I know my father didn’t treat you well. I know you have no reason to trust me. But I’m trying, and I am going to save your friends. You aren’t helping them by proving Sir Jasper right that you all wish to murder the gentry in their beds. Bring in the harvest and be patient-”
Aaron Smith looked uncertain.
Helen Spratt stepped out of the crowd. “We’ve been patient an awful long time.” The coarse tones of her voice cut effortlessly through Nev’s words. “I’ve been patient, and my mother was patient before me, and my grandmother. I ain’t going to be patient anymore. I’m getting Harry back.” She leveled her fowling piece at Nev’s face from two feet away. “Get out of my way.”
The crowd drew back, gasps and shocked whispers rising.
“Helen,” Aaron said, real alarm in his voice.
Nev’s heart pounded, and Sir Jasper’s horse snorted behind him, pacing backward. I can’t die, he thought. I have responsibilities. He had to stand aside. But if he did, they would march to Greygloss and do something unalterably foolish, and they would all be hanged, every last one.
Besides, Penelope and his mother were at Greygloss.
He straightened. “No. If you want to hang, the quickest way to it is by shooting me. Well, here I am.”
“Helen,” Aaron Smith hissed. “Don’t.”
She hesitated.
“Then stand down!” Nev roared. “If you want to change anything, we have to work together!”
“Work together my arse.” She fired the gun.
“Are you sure we’re on the right path?” Penelope followed Agnes down a little trail that skirted the edge of the Greygloss woods. Through gaps in the trees she caught glimpses of the Gothic ruin on its hill coming closer, so she supposed they must be going in the right direction. Still, she did not like being so near the spring guns. Of course the traps would hardly sneak out of the forest and ambush her on the path, but-Nev had told her never to wander the Greygloss grounds alone. She wished she had listened to him.
“I think I’ve lived here a little longer than you, my lady,” Agnes threw back over her shoulder as she hurried along ten paces ahead.
“Agnes-” Penelope began warningly.
“Just be quiet. We’re almost there.” She went round a curve in the path and was out of Penelope’s sight. Penelope hurried to catch up.