Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) (3 page)

Abigail.

How ironic that of the many things that haunted him, her and her golden aura would be the most disturbing.

***

Vincent Simmons hurried along the dark streets toward the workhouse, hoping he wasn’t too late.

“
Blast that woman,” he mumbled under his breath. Why couldn’t she hand over the bleeding rock and be done with it? But no, she had to make this difficult. He’d been so tempted to tell her the truth—that he was indeed who she thought he was. But he’d been warned never to admit to his previous name or their whole plot might be at risk. Rubbing it in her face served no purpose other than to make him feel better.

He glanced around nervously. Even a former inmate had reason to fear these streets. A man might slit your throat as much as look at you in this neighborhood. All layers of civilization were stripped bare. The trappings of humanity had stopped about two blocks ago. No warm glow lit the houses. No
lace curtains softened the windows. Nothing but brick and coal dust lined these rough streets.

He slowed as he rounded the next corner and looked about cautiously, worried that his contact had given up on him.

“’Bout time ye showed yer face.”

The gravelly voice had Vincent spinning to face him.
“I appreciate ye waitin’ fer me. Ran into a bit of trouble.”

“
Is that right? Trouble of the female kind?”

Vincent nearly snorted.
“Female, aye, but not what you think.”

“
Yer loss. Be sure I don’t regret waitin’.”

“
I’ll make it worth your while. No worries on that account.”

The lad he spoke with couldn
’t have seen more than twenty years, but since those two decades had been spent on these streets, he might as well have been fifty. His battered hat was pulled low over his brow, leaving his dark, greasy hair to flatten tight to his neck. Though Vincent couldn’t see much of him in the dark, he would never forget those flat, black eyes. The memory of them from their meeting the previous day made him shiver.

“
Tell me again what yer lookin’ fer,” the young man said, hands at his sides, his body quiet as though holding his energy for more important tasks.

Vincent
’s source had warned him to be cautious as Mikey could be brutal and never hesitated to use his fists.

“
I’m in need of a few boys. Preferably old enough to not miss their mothers overmuch, but young enough not to complain.” That made the workhouses and orphanages the perfect place to find what they were looking for. No relatives asking what had become of them. They could disappear with no one the wiser.

“
What fer?”

Vincent lifted his chin and
puffed out his chest with pride. “To participate in a scientific experiment.”

“
Yeah. Right. By the likes of ye?”

“
I’m an assistant to a very important scientist. I contacted ye on his behalf.”

“
Ye goin’ te torture them?”

Vincent couldn
’t decide if Mikey sounded fascinated or horrified at the prospect. Most likely, a bit of both.

“
No. No,” Vincent hastily denied. He didn’t want to risk getting on Mikey’s bad side. “Nothin’ of the sort. I’m afraid I can’t divulge more than that. It’s all very secret.”

“
Humph.” The silence grew long, and Vincent worried the man would turn him down. “Ye won’t cause them harm?”

Vincent nearly chuckled. To think that Mikey had a conscious came as a big surprise. That was a weakness Vincent might be able to use at some future date.
“It’s not our intent to cause them harm.”

Sure, it might be a side effect of the experiment, but it certainly wasn
’t their intent. Especially since it wasn’t easy to find ‘volunteers’. If they could use them more than once, all the better. As his uncle had told him, a death or two for the betterment of science was more than a fair trade.

That was all well and good as long as it wasn
’t Vincent’s death. He’d come as close to death as he wanted to when he’d narrowly missed hanging for murder. He didn’t care to get that close again.

Vincent liked to think that his uncle
’s grand plans depended on him. He had no desire to become—how had his uncle put it? Oh, yes—a disposable asset. Vincent intended to be an important part of the plans and that started with finding ‘volunteers’ for the experiments.

“
All right then. I’ll see who’s willin’ to earn a few coppers.”

“
Excellent.”

“
Ye pay me now then I’ll pay the lads.”

Keeping most of it for yourself?
Vincent wanted to ask but held his tongue. “Sure. I’ll need at least two now. More later.”

“
I can only do one at a time. Otherwise, it will bring too much attention.”

Vincent sighed. That meant more work for him.
He’d have to keep the little buggers until they had enough to do the experiment. On the other hand, the last thing he needed was to draw attention.

“
I suppose that’ll do,” Vincent said.

“
Ye got a problem with it? Go find another.”

“
No, no,” Vincent reassured him. “I can make that work. It’s just not how I was plannin’ it. That’s all.”

“
Humph.”

Vincent could feel the
heavy weight of his regard. The greasy smoked sausage he’d enjoyed at the tavern earlier stirred restlessly in his belly, threatening to make a reappearance. He tensed, prepared to go for his knife if need be, though he doubted he’d have a chance against Mikey.

“
Give me two days. I’ll see what I can do.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Vincent reached in his pocket.
“Here’re the coins we agreed on.”

Mikey snatched them from his hand.
“I’m goin’ to need this much again when I deliver.”

Vincent sputtered in protest until Mikey stepped closer, his solid chest and broad shoulders remi
nding Vincent of an angry bull.

“
Got a problem with that?” Mikey asked.

“
I expected to do business with a man of his word,” Vincent said. He had to take a stand now or the lad would triple the price next time. He couldn’t have that. His uncle was working on a tight budget.

A long moment passed until Mikey seemed to realize that Vincent wasn
’t going to back down.

“
Fine. We’ll stick with the price we agreed to this time. But if ye need more, it’s gonna double.”

Vincent nodded.
“Fair enough. Yer takin’ a bit of risk with all this. And I’m grateful fer yer assistance.”

“
Just be sure ye leave me name out of it. I like to keep me business transactions to meself.”

“
Ye and me both.” Vincent had decided long ago that fame was not for him. But he intended to gather a fortune as quickly as possible.

With luck, he
’d have it before the end of the summer.

“
Pleasure doin’ business with ye, Mikey. See you in two days time.”

The lad didn
’t answer. He turned away and disappeared into the night, leaving Vincent alone. At least he thought he was alone. After glancing about nervously, he hurried back the way he’d come, anxious to put this place behind him.

Abigail sighed with relief as she sank into the cushions of the carriage. Shopping was not her preferred way of spending an afternoon. However, her young sisters, at the age of fourteen, thrived on it.

Though twins, Sophia and Olivia were barely recognizable as siblings. Olivia was slim, strawberry blonde, and tall, much like
their mother, Irene. Sophia was darker, shorter, and rounder, similar to Abigail’s father. Their personalities were night and day as well, but the pair of them together created a force of nature.

They settled on either side of her in the carriage, chatting about everything from the ribbon they
’d found to the new silk at the dressmaker’s. Rarely did they complete a sentence, instead interrupting each other, their minds working in parallel.

“
Did you see the pink? I thought it—”

“
Divine. I completely agree. Although the purple—”

“
Perfect. Yes. It would go so well with the white—”

“
Taffeta. So true. And the—”

Abigail let their words swirl around her as she shared a smile with
her stepmother who took her seat on the opposite cushion for their journey home.

With a slim figure and smooth skin,
Irene was still an attractive woman despite being in her mid fifties. Her green eyes held intelligence, and her auburn hair was rich in color. Abigail adored her.

Abigail
’s striking combination of black hair and blue eyes were a bequest of her father’s. She knew her looks caused Irene both pleasure and pain as they reminded her of her late husband. Abigail’s birth mother had died of tuberculosis when Abigail was three. For many years, it had been just her and her father until he’d married Irene when Abigail was ten. Irene had served as both her mother and her friend ever since.

Moments like this, when her family was together and happy, were meant to be treasured. Which was exactly why she hadn
’t been able to bring herself to tell them of the return of Vincent Simmons.

Two days had passed since the night in Alsatia. She
’d scoured the paper each morning, fearful of reading about the shooting of Lord Ashbury or even worse, his death, but no report had been filed.

Yet it
was a night she’d never forget.

Her horror when she
’d realized she’d shot him.

Waiting in that dark alley scared
no one would come to aid them.

Images of the lord were emblazoned in her memory. The line of his brow, the strength of his jaw, the feel of him
against her, the scent of him.

Not to mention him telling her
to get out.

To stay away.

She swallowed back her hurt. He need not worry on that front. She hoped never to set eyes on him again. A more rude, insufferable man, she’d never met.

Yet his
haunted green eyes, the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, and the scent of him were constantly in her thoughts.

She berated herself. Her
worry over the
situation
had sent her stomach dancing that night, not
him
.

It was only those niggling questions from what little she
’d learned about him that wouldn’t let go. What had he been doing in that neighborhood that night? Why had the constable not been surprised to see him in such circumstances? What did he have to do with The Barbican?

“
Abigail?”

Irene
’s voice jolted her back to the present. The frown on her stepmother’s face told her this wasn’t the first time she’d called her name.

“
Are you all right? You seem very distracted of late.”

She badly wanted to tell her the truth:
I’m distracted because I’m afraid the man who murdered my father is lurking nearby.

But no. What purpose would that ser
ve? For months after her father’s death, all of them had startled at every little sound. Sleep had been impossible. Outings were a nightmare. Even after Simmons’ hanging—or when they thought he’d hung, she corrected herself—their nerves had been on edge.

She needed to resolve the situation herself. Maybe her discussion with Simmons had warned him away and he
’d realized her family was no easy target. She closed her eyes, saying a quick prayer that it was true.

“
I’ve been a bit tired of late,” she answered at last. “That is all.”

“
Then it’s a good thing we’re staying in this evening.”

“
Indeed.” She smiled at the girls who had paused in their conversation to listen. “What would you like to do tonight?”

“
I think we should help you pick a gown for the Mortenson’s ball.” Olivia smiled mischievously, awaiting her reaction.

Abigail nearly groaned as a small knot of panic formed in her chest. She
’d all but forgotten about the annual ball hosted by their mother’s dearest friend to be held next week. Attendance was mandatory for Abigail.

Irene frowned at her and Abigail hastily
smiled. “Excellent idea. I value your opinion.”

“
I still think you should order a new gown,” Irene said.

“
I’m sure one of the gowns I already have will do quite nicely. After all, it’s not as if I’m a debutante desperate to attract the notice of a suitor.”

Despite her
stepmother’s wish for her to marry, Abigail realized she was practically off-the-shelf. At six and twenty, she no longer compared to the fresh young innocents who’d be introduced this season. Besides, with the odd dent in her chin, the slight overlap of her two front teeth and her avid interest in financial matters, few men found her attractive. Those who had
she
hadn’t found appealing.

Not one iota
.

After all these years, she
’d become convinced that the best place for her was continuing to care for her family. She was very good at it. At least she had been, until this latest development.

Luckily for her, the carriage drew to a halt outside their Mayfair home so she didn
’t have to argue the topic again with her stepmother. It was the one point of contention between them. Abigail had no desire for a husband, and Irene was certain she needed one.

Thomas, who
served as both footman and coachman for their household, opened the door and Abigail was the first to alight.

“
Did you see anything?” she whispered to him.

“
No, miss. You?”

“
Nothing. Perhaps our conversation with him succeeded in convincing him to stay away.”

Ponsford
, their butler, appeared at the door then hurried down the stairs toward them. One look at his distraught expression was enough to have Abigail’s full attention.

“
What is it?” she asked.

“
Terrible. Just terrible.” The old man, who was normally stoic, appeared very agitated. “Someone smashed in the garden door.”

Abigail
’s stomach dropped. “They’re in our house?”

Directly behind her came gasps from
Irene and her sisters as they all gathered around Ponsford, including Thomas.

“
Not any longer. I heard some commotion while I was downstairs in the kitchen. He must have heard me coming. I only saw the back of his filthy jacket and bowler hat as he ran out.”

“
Are you all right? Was anyone hurt?” Irene asked, her face ashen.

“
Jenny, the maid, was struck from behind but seems to be recovering.”

“Poor Jenny,” Olivia said.

“Will she be all right?” Sarah asked.

“
Cook is seeing to her. I fear the library is in a terrible mess.”

“
I can’t believe someone would do such a thing in the middle of the day,” Irene said.

Abigail shared a look with Thomas. Fear warred with anger. She had an idea of who the would-be thief was. If only she knew what the man wanted. The things he
’d said in the alley had made no sense.

“
Did you send someone for the police?” Irene asked.

Ponsford
flashed a glance at Abigail before he answered. “Yes, my lady.”

Abigail nodded.
The butler was well aware that she’d spoken with the police about Simmons already. “Excellent, Ponsford. Well done. Let us see what the damage is.”

She led the way up the
front steps, pausing as Thomas reached for the door to open it for her.

“
What will you tell the police, miss?” the footman whispered.

“
The truth. Perhaps they’ll take our previous complaint more seriously now,” she said quietly, not wanting to alarm the rest of her family. She turned to Ponsford. “Are you sure Jenny is all right?”

“She
’s fine. A bit shaken up and a nasty headache is all.”

“
You didn’t see anything more of the thief?”

“
No, miss. Only the back of him. It happened so quick.”

Abigail
entered the foyer, noting that nothing was out of place there. She continued on to the library, the sight before her giving her pause. “Oh dear.”

“
Heavens,” Irene whispered from behind her. “The thief tore the place apart.”

Cold
seeped down Abigail’s spine as fear settled in a tight knot in her stomach. He’d obviously been searching for something. Her desk drawers had been removed and turned upside down, the contents strewn across the floor. Books from the shelves lining the walls added to the mess. Knickknacks were knocked over. Chairs had been upended.

“
Oh goodness.” Olivia stood just behind Abigail, peering into the room over her shoulder.

“
I’m going to check on Jenny,” Sarah said and hurried toward the stairs.

Olivia held Abigail
’s gaze for a long moment. “Don’t worry about the mess, Abigail. I’ll help you put your desk back together.”

Abigail cleared her throat
, reminding herself that now was not the time to fall apart. She squeezed Olivia’s hand, grateful for her support. “Thank you. The police should be here soon. We won’t touch anything until they have a chance to see it.”

“
Won’t they want to know if anything is missing?” Olivia asked.

“
Oh. Yes, that’s probably true.” Abigail forced herself to step further into the room. She couldn’t help but search each corner to see if Simmons lurked there.

“
You’ll need to look through your papers, Abigail.” Irene glanced at the items on the floor, her distress obvious. “Though I can’t imagine him wanting any of those.”

“
Actually, if he was smart, that’s exactly what he would’ve taken. I have some brilliant investment ideas jotted down. He could triple his money in short order if he—”

She caught the look Irene gave her and stopped mid-sentence. She was well aware of what her
stepmother thought of her financial adventures. Never mind that her skills were creating a dowry for the girls. “I will check them. What of the ornaments? Was there anything of value in here?”

Ponsford
stepped forward to point at the collection of small statues that lay on the floor. “Those are probably the most valuable ones in here. Odd that he didn’t take them if he wanted something easy to sell.”

That only confirmed Abigail
’s suspicion as to the would-be thief’s identity.

“
You sure you don’t want me to put the furniture to rights, miss?” Thomas asked.

“
No. I want the police to see how destructive he was first.”

The doorbell chimed and
Ponsford hurried to answer it.

“
We’ve never had any problems before.” Irene shook her head. “I still can’t believe someone would break in during the middle of the day.”

The muffled sound of voices came from the hall.

“Would you prefer to speak to the police while I check on Jenny?” Abigail asked.

“
You speak with them, my dear. You’re so much better at that sort of thing than I.”

Abigail breathed a sigh of relief, grateful she
’d have the chance to talk to the constable without her stepmother there. She could hardly reveal who she thought the suspect was with Irene in the room. If possible, she intended to keep Vincent Simmons a secret from her family.

Surely the police would believe her now.

A constable in a dark blue frock coat entered the room. He had a thick red mustache and a round face. Abigail was pleased to see he wasn’t the same person she’d spoken with at the police station the previous day about Simmons escaping his hanging.