Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [92]
He put the letter down. ‘I came for the truth, Charlotte. He may give it to me, even if it is not what he means to do. I have to go.’
‘He still hates you,’ she argued. ‘He can’t afford to face the truth, Victor. It would place him in the wrong. All he has left is his illusions of what really happened, that Kate was loyal to Ireland and the cause, and that it would all have worked, except for you. He can’t give that up.’
‘I know,’ he assured her, reaching out his lean hand and touching her gently, for an instant, then withdrawing it again. ‘But I can’t afford not to go. I have nothing left to lose either. If it was Cormac who created the whole betrayal of Mulhare, I need to know how he did it, and be able to prove it to Croxdale.’ His face tightened. ‘Rather more than that, I need to find out who is the traitor in Lisson Grove. I can’t let that go.’ He did not offer any rationalisation, taking it for granted that Charlotte understood.
It gave her an odd feeling of being included, even of belonging. It was frightening for the emotional enormity of it, and yet there was a warmth to it she would not willingly have sacrificed.
She did not argue any further, but nodded, and determined to follow after him and stay where she could see him.
He went out of the house quite casually, as if merely to look at the weather. Then, as she came to the door, he turned and walked quickly towards the end of the road.
She followed after him, barely having time to close the door behind her, and needing to run a few steps to keep up. She had a shawl on and her reticule with her, and sufficient money for as long a fare as she would be likely to need.
He disappeared round the corner into the main street. She had to hurry to make sure she saw which way he went. As she had expected, he went straight to the first carriage waiting, spoke to the driver, then climbed in.
She swung round with her back to the road and pretended to look in a shop window. As soon as he had passed she darted out into the street to look for a second carriage. It was long, desperate moments before she found one. She gave the driver the address of Cormac O’Neil’s house and urged him to go as fast as possible. She was already several minutes behind.
‘I’ll pay you an extra shilling if you catch up with the carriage that just left here,’ she promised. ‘Please hurry. I don’t want to lose him.’
She sat forward, peering out as the carriage careered down the street, swung round the corner and then set off again at what felt like a gallop. She was tossed around, bruised and without any sense of where she was, for what felt like ages, but was probably no more than fifteen minutes at most. Then finally they lurched to a stop outside the house where she had been the previous evening.
She stepped out, taking a moment to find her balance after the hectic ride. She paid him more than he had asked for, and then an extra shilling.
‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she walked up the same path she had trodden in the evening light such a short time ago. Somehow, at midday, the path looked longer, the bushes more crowding in, the trees overhead cut out more of the sky.
She had not reached the front door when she heard the dog barking. It was an angry, frightening sound, with a note of hysteria to it, as if the animal were out of control. It had certainly not been like that yesterday evening. It had been calm, resting its head on O’Neil’s feet and barely noticing her.
She was surprised Cormac did not come to see what the fuss was. He could not possibly be unaware of the noise.
She touched the door with her fingers and it opened.
Narraway was standing in the hall. He swung round as the light spread across the floor. For a moment he was startled, then he regained his presence of mind.
‘I should have known,’ he said grimly. ‘Wait here.’
The dog was now throwing itself at whatever barrier it was that held it in check. Its barking was high in its throat, as if it would rip someone