Kay Springsteen (34 page)

****

Riding in the
town coach
was less rickety and much quieter, but Annabella found herself comparing the stuffy enclosed cab with the airy open trip to Blakemoor on their arrival in Coventry. Seated across from her, Seabrook occupied most of the time with his head turned toward the window. Was he lost in his thoughts? Or avoiding her company? He was going to end up with a very sore neck if he kept up that twist of his head.

A
nnabella shifted in the seat so she could look out her own window. Green shrubbery, green grass, brown and gray stone fence, a flock of birds cavorting over the rolling meadow… She sighed.
Why should I be mindful of his comfort when he obviously cares so little about mine? Foppish little toad, dragging me across the country without so much as a warning
,
and when he gets me where he wants me, what does he do but ruddy ignore me? The black-hearted fiend. I should just—

“
Beg pardon?
”
His smooth tones interrupted her thoughts.
“
I
’
m sorry, Annie, I didn
’
t catch what you said.
”

Annabella caught her breath. Had she spoken her thoughts? What had he heard? Unable to form an answer, she turned to meet his gaze. Lounging with apparent comfort against the back of the padded seat, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded over his chest, it would be easy to think Seabrook at ease and uncaring of his surroundings. But those glittering dark eyes as he leveled a stare in her direction, one eyebrow raised in question, spoke of acute awareness. Oh, he
’
d heard something… If only she could figure out how much she
’
d actually spoken.

“
I… I…
”
Her throat closed off the apology she felt the need to offer.

“
Oh, come now, Annie. You? At a loss for words?
”
He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.
“
I believe I heard something about a fiend amid your mutterings. I must assume you
’
re making reference to me.
”

“
And
I
believe my parents named me Annabella.
”
She returned to gazing through the window. She had no idea what she expected to f
ind out there. Inspiration for yet another lie, or at least a denial. Barring that, perhaps she could find a hole to swallow her, an entrance to Lucifer
’
s lair hidden among the smelting chimneys.

What she saw instead was a neat row of fieldstone houses, all connected to one another. The sound of the
coach
’
s
wheels had changed as well, from the muffled whisper along the dirt lane to the clack and clatter of rolling over cobblestones.

She turned away from the window with a frown.
“
When did we get to Coventry?
”
Astounding that she hadn
’
t noticed the change in the rocking and pitching of the carriage.

His lips twisted into a sardonic half-smile.
“
I believe it was sometime between your allusions to a
‘
foppish toad
’
and a
‘
black-hearted fiend.
’”

Devil
’
s breath!

The carriage slowed and finally came to a halt.

Annabella glanced through the window again then spread her fan and waved it at her heated face, striving for an air of nonchalance.
“
Where are we now?
”

“
The public clinic,
”
said Seabrook as the footman opened the door.

“
The clinic!
”
Annabella snorted.
“
Have you come down with some disease of the depraved, Seabrook?
”

His smile faded.
“
As it happens, I am
conducting
an errand for my grandmother, who is a benefactor of the clinic,
”
he stated, the words laced with ice.

You and your sharp tongue,
Annabella!
T
he flames already engulfing her face only intensified.

Seabrook alighted then turned and stared at her
.
H
ard.
Her heart quivered under the scrutiny.

All of Annabella
’
s muscles seemed to turn to stone. For just a moment, she thought he meant to throttle her right there in the carriage on a public street. She wanted to run, but where would she go? She darted a glance around the interior of the carriage, seeking relief from his frosty stare to no avail. Too late she realized he
’
d been holding out his hand to help her down.

His gaze locked with hers, hurt clouding his dark eyes, and he let his hand fall.
“
Is there nothing about me that you don
’
t find objectionable? Not even one small thing you can bring yourself to tolerate?
”

Her heart thumped in and out of her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She tried to shelter her face from his scrutiny by lifting her fan, but her fingers refused to cooperate and she fumbled, managing only to drop the thing at her feet.

Seabrook bent and swept it up then folded it closed.
“
You seem to lose this with alarming frequency for something to which you apparently hold great attachment.
”
He grasped her right hand and slapped the fan
into
her palm. Even through her gloves her skin stung.

Annabella gulped
,
but the words of apology she owed him stubbornly refused to form. She sat stunned and unable to move. For the first time since meeting Seabrook, she felt truly soiled, but not by anything he
’
d done.

He continued to search her face for several heartbeats and she stared back, willing him to understand, to see the regret she couldn
’
t bring herself to voice. But he turned away with a miniscule shake of his head.

“
I shall be but a moment.
”
Without another word, he left her behind and stalked into the building.

“
Sea
— 
Oh!
”
Annabella scrambled from the carriage, brushing off assistance
from
the footman. Her knees threatened to buckle a
s
she picked her way over the cobblestone paving, struggling to catch up and take in her new surroundings at the same time. The building was ancient, its stones stained dark
.
Moss
coated the base
,
and ivy
clung
along one side. Quite obviously it had once been a church. A brass plaque embedded in the cornerstone, blackened with age and barely readable, bore the name St. Michael
’
s.

An odor, sour and fetid, reached out to her from beyond the threshold. The sulfurous scent from the smelting chimneys would have been a blessing, but all she could smell was sickness and despair. She halted her chase at the
bottom
of the steps and stared at the door. For the first time, she noticed a steady stream of people climbing the stone staircase and entering the clinic. Struggling not to breathe in the scents of sickness and death, she raced up the steps and yanked open the door, hurrying to catch up with Seabrook.

Once inside, she took a moment and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting
, astounded to find herself in
the narthex, which had been made into a waiting area. People of all ages seemed to swarm like bees to a hive. Women with fussy babies sat on the rough hewn benches lining the stone walls. A few children hopped about with the energy of lightning in a thunderstorm, but most of the little ones rested with their mothers. A group of men lounged near the door. Giving her polite nods, they stepped apart and allowed her to pass.

She scanned the teeming mass of humanity, seeking her husband. Finally, she spotted him on the other side of the room. He was speaking with an older woman garbed in dark blue wool. It was a practical dress and not at all fashionable, and she wore a white apron, dingy and stained, over it. Obviously a nurse of some sort.

She slowed
her steps a few feet away
, unsure if she should approach them or not. They seemed deep in conversation, from the few words she could make out. Would Seabrook see it as an intrusion?

Thumps and bangs
arose
behind her, accompanied by a few alarmed murmurs from the crowd, and Annabella turned. Several grimy men
had
made their way through the door.
They
bore a
nother
man on
their
shoulders. His face was a ghastly shade of gray, and dark liquid seeped through one of his trouser legs.

Annabella looked away from the awful sight.

Nearby, a girl, far too young to be a mother, clutched a screaming infant to her shoulder while
the
woman next to her comforted a slightly older child with blotchy red cheeks.

When she
’
d been perhaps five years
in age
, Annabella had survived a dangerous bout of influenza. Her father had been away as usual, but her mother had held vigil at her bedside, pressing cool cloths to her face, holding her hand, singing to her, telling her stories.

A lump formed in Annabella
’
s throat at the realization of just how easy a life she
’
d had, even with the direction things had taken after her stepfather
’
s death.
Not ev
en the torturous days she
’
d spent alone in the cottage
compared
. Her stomach writhed like a serpent, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, praying her breakfast would stay down, as she ran from the clinic. She stumbled off the bottom step, everything swimming in and out of focus. Finally, the carriage
loomed
.

“
Lady Seabrook, are you unwell?
”
asked the footman.

Annabella blinked and tried to look at the man, but his face blurred before her.
“
I
’
m
—
I…
”
She clutched at the side of the carriage.
“
I shall wait for Lord Seabrook out here. He said he
’
d not be…
”
She swayed.

Strong arms caught her from behind as she drooped toward the ground and she looked up to find Seabrook holding her. Then she found herself weak for all new reasons.

Where did you come from?

His eyes swept Annabella quickly, assessing. For a heartbeat, she could almost believe he cared about her. Then she blinked and his expression closed down.

“
Steady now?
”
he asked, his voice as impersonal as if he address
ed
a rock.

“
Quite!
”
she snapped, pushing away from him.
“
How dare you just leave me out here on the street like a common—
”

“
If we
’
re going to have this conversation, let us at least retire to the
coach
,
”
he said quietly through gritted teeth. Smiling, he nodded to a gentleman who dodged past them.

Annabella glanced at their surroundings.

A
gig
bumped over the cobblestones.
In the distance, a shout arose
, and
a male voice
nearby
called out, perhaps
answer
ing
the call. Two young women clad in rather garish and risqué gowns hurried across the street and walked up the steps of the clinic. The one closest to them cast an openly assessing glance at Seabrook as though he might be her next meal.

When her husband tipped his hat to them, Annabella
’
s blood steamed.
“
Friends of yours?
”
she ground out.

He angled a cold stare in her direction.
“
And if they are?
”

She glared back.
Not while I
’
m your wife they won
’
t be.
But she held her tongue. For once.