Idiot, she scolded herself as she tapped on the study door and let herself in. He attracted and fascinated her and that was lethally dangerous. One brush of his lips on her hand and she was disorientated, disconcerted and breathless. It was worse than the wine.
‘Miss Haddon.’ The lawyer rose to his feet. ‘Please, be seated. This should not take long.’
Lina sat down and folded her hands in her lap, trying her best to look like a meek young lady and not a fugitive courtesan. With her hair invisible, her eyebrows and lashes, which were naturally darker, gave the impression that she was a brunette. Surely there would be nothing to spark Mr Havers’s suspicions, even if he had read her description in the newspapers?
‘Now, if I may have your first names.’
‘Lina,’ she said, watching him write Lina Haddon in careful script across a document.
‘And which bank would you wish the money deposited in, Miss Haddon?’
‘I do not have a bank account.’ Was it against the law to open one in a false name? Perhaps she would need papers to prove who she was. But surely in six months her name would be cleared. Or she would be hanged.
Lina repressed the shudder. ‘I must organise something. Might I have an advance of cash?’ It would need to be enough to make good her escape if they found her, but not so much that Mr Havers would think it strange. ‘Twenty-five pounds would be excellent.’
‘I am afraid that the money only becomes available at the end of six months, Miss Haddon.’ He made another note. ‘But all your costs will be met and that would include a reasonable clothing allowance and pin money.’
‘Oh.’ But she could not leave and find herself a new hiding place without cash in her hand. If she had a thousand pounds, she could hire an investigator, an agent to contact her aunt, a lawyer, flee abroad if necessary; but now, with no money, she must stay here or her aunt would not know where to find her.
And she needed to help Aunt Clara fight Makepeace, she could not just run away and abandon her. ‘Of course. I did not quite understand.’ She would have to stay here under the protection of a man who might turn out to be no protection at all, but thoroughly dangerous himself. ‘Thank you, Mr Havers.’
‘Thank you, Miss Haddon. Would you be so good as to ask Trimble to come in next?’
Lina delivered the message, then found herself staring rather blankly at the front door, at a loss what to do next. Cook would prepare luncheon and needed no further instruction, the house was as orderly as any that closely resembled a chaotic museum could be, and the thought of hemming yet another worn sheet was intolerable.
On impulse she ran upstairs, changed into stout shoes, found her cloak and told Michael, ‘If anyone wants me, I have gone for a walk up to Flagstaff Hill.’
‘His lordship says we’re to have a guest bedchamber made up for Mr Gregor,’ the footman said. ‘I’m confused about him, I must confess, Miss Haddon. I thought he was a servant to start with, but he sits down to dinner like a gentleman.’
‘I think he likes to tease us,’ Lina said, ‘to confound our expectations. Give him the red bedchamber.’
‘But that’s—’
‘The one where we put all the worst examples of the taxidermist’s art, including the crocodile. Exactly. It is about time that Mr Gregor realises he is not the only person in this household with a sense of humour.’
It seemed a very long time since she had laughed out loud, not since before Simon Ashley had been found cold in his bed. He had kept her in a ripple of amusement with his dry wit and scurrilous anecdotes, the wicked old man.
She was still smiling when she passed the archway into the stable yard and glanced through it at the sound of voices. Gregor was holding the head of the grey horse she had glimpsed when the men had arrived and Quinn Ashley was walking round it, running his hands down its legs, lifting each hoof in turn. Lina knew nothing about horses, but she knew beauty when she saw it and this animal with its slightly dished face, big dark eyes, long white tail and mane and air of disciplined power was beautiful.
Ashley and Gregor must be checking the animals after their long ride, she supposed, seeing an equally handsome black tied up at the rear of the courtyard with a sturdy bay beside it. She drew back against the arch and watched. The men were talking easily together, dropping a word here and there, hardly troubling to complete their sentences. Lina could remember when it had been like that with her sisters, Bella and Meg. They had been so close that one or two words, a phrase or a smile was enough to share thoughts and feelings.
Where are you? she asked in a silent plea for an answer that never came. Be safe, please be safe and happy. If she ever got out of this mess, she would devote her legacy to finding her sisters, she swore, hurrying away from the arch and the sight of the men and their easy, unthinking friendship.
She ran, paused only to open the simple iron gate into the park, then slowed as she followed the overgrown track that climbed up the side of the ridge that separated the park from the sea, sheltering the house within its wooded slopes.
Once carriages would have carried houseguests along this route up to the gazebo on the top where they could survey the sweep of coastline in one direction or the fine parkland in the other. But it had been many years since old Lord Dreycott had entertained houseguests who enjoyed picnics and flirtations in the coppices and the track had dwindled almost to a footpath.
Lina climbed on, only half-aware of the alarmed call of jackdaws and crows, the flash of colour as a jay flew across the path. If—no, when—she was cleared of this charge of theft, then what should she do? Aunt Clara had been so good to her it seemed like treachery to think of leaving The Blue Door, but she could hardly spend the rest of her life in a brothel.
Perhaps Clara imagined she would take over and run it one day. Lina could not suppress a wry smile at the thought of a virgin as abbess of a select nunnery. She had heard many of the names for houses of ill repute—school of Venus, vaulting school, smuggling ken, house of civil reception—but nunnery was the one that had startled her the most. As well as being an ironic name, it seemed that nuns were a popular male fantasy and The Blue Door had enough habits hanging in its bizarre wardrobe room to equip a small convent.
But she must acknowledge the fact that, however much she loved her aunt and liked the girls, that could never be her life, only a temporary sanctuary, one that could ruin her permanently by association.
Panting slightly, she reached the top of the hill. Set on stout wooden pillars right in front of her was the gazebo, built to add another twenty feet to the vantage point for anyone with enough breath still to climb. Lina lifted her skirts in one hand, took a firm grip on the rickety handrail with the other and mounted the steps.
At the top she went to the seaward side and leaned her elbows on the rail. The wind was fresh up here, bringing the scent of the ocean with it, and she pulled off her snood and hairpins, shaking her hair free so it blew out behind her in the breeze.
No, she could not live in a brothel for ever, nor run one, not with her lack of experience. And she had no intention of acquiring the practical knowledge, not after that hideous experience with Sir Humphrey Tolhurst. The thought of a man paying to touch her, of having to feign pleasure at the act, do whatever he wanted when she did not like or desire him, made her feel sick.
Now, if she could only come out of hiding, she had the resources to find herself a little cottage somewhere while she searched for her sisters. But she would not forget her aunt or the girls at The Blue Door, or look down on them for making the choices that they had. They had been forced into it, just as she had, but unlike her, or even Mama, they would find no escape. She would—
‘Why, I have found the little nun at last and she has cast off her wimple.’ He moves like a cat, Lina thought, spinning round on the platform to confront Quinn Ashley as he reached the top of the steps.
Then