Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter Twenty-One
Sophie wasn’t entirely certain where she was. She’d run as far and fast as she could until she reached the edges of the city. From there, she’d slipped down streets that were unfamiliar to her in an attempt to simply disappear. Dirty and disheveled, with her hair a mess and her dress torn and stained, she could only begin to imagine what she must look like. To say that people on the street looked at her askance was to put it mildly.
Still, with every step forward, she was looking over her shoulder for Dr. Blake. She knew that he would come for her. Men who would go to such depraved lengths would not simply give up, after all. And having wounded him, especially having damaged his handsome face, that would not be something he’d forgive easily.
“You lost, dearie?”
Sophie turned in the direction of the speaker and found a toothless woman, dirty and unkempt, but not old.
The woman cackled. “Aye, lost!”
“Can you help me? I need to find my way to Portland Street. Please,” Sophie implored her.
The woman’s laughter grew louder, drawing the gaze of others on the street. “Portland Street? What you want there? It ain’t for the likes of you and me, girlie! Now, pretty as you are, there’s work to be had here. Jem at the Whiteheart will give you a room to work out of if you want. He’ll take a cut of it all, though.”
Realizing that the woman was attempting to direct her to an inn that doubled as a bawdy house, though she was hardly supposed to know about such things, Sophie shook her head and quickly walked away. The woman was still cackling behind her. She needed to think. She needed to clear her head. And then the most miraculous thing happened.
Church bells rang out in the distance, giving her some semblance of a direction. Whether it was St. Michael’s Church or St. John’s, she could find her way back to the inn from either of those. But then realization dawned. She could not go to the inn because Dr. Blake knew to look for her there. She had told him she was returning to London and that was where the public coach would depart. But she could go to Lady Hemsley. Surely she would help her, Sophie thought. After all, she had been such an ally in discerning the truth about the physician and his diabolical schemes.
Sophie began walking in the general direction from whence she’d heard the bells and prayed fervently that she would not encounter any more difficulties. But a commotion behind her had her glancing back. Perhaps it was her own nerves, perhaps it was the harsh reality of having already been abducted once that day, but she was not especially trusting of her surroundings. It seemed her instincts were sound.
The woman who’d recommended going to the Whiteheart Inn for “work” was talking to a man and that man was watching her. When he took a step in her direction, Sophie took off running once more. She didn’t care that she was creating a scene. She didn’t care that people were looking askance at her. Her hesitance to make a scene was the very thing that had landed her in Dr. Blake’s carriage, after all. It was not a mistake she would make again.
By the time she reached a point in the city high enough that would allow her to see the church’s steeple in the distance, she was winded and exhausted. Every bump and bruise she’d incurred when leaping from that carriage had her battered body screaming for rest and relief. But there was none to be had and she knew it. Not yet, at any rate.
She trudged on, despite the pain and exhaustion. If she could get close enough to the church to get her bearings, she could find her way to Lady Hemsley and beg her assistance. Keeping that thought in mind, Sophie placed one foot in front of the other and fought back her tears. She wasn’t about to give up, not when she had come so far.
*
Henry hadn’t panicked.He’d been furious. He’d also been deeply hurt by his family’s actions. Appalled at their snobbery, at their willingness to trust anyone over the woman he loved, it was a slight he wouldn’t easily forgive or forget. But knowing that Sophie had remained coolheaded, that she’d instructed Philippa where she would await him, he had maintained some semblance of calmness himself.
The woman he loved.Henry’s steps faltered. He was attracted to Sophie. He wanted Sophie. Sophie was a woman of virtue and marriage was the only honorable option for him to indulge his desire for her. Certainly, he admired her intelligence and her spirit. But love? Was it even possible to love someone after so short a time? The answer came like the crack of thunder. Yes. Yes, it was. He loved her. Whether one day, one year or one hundred years, it would stand true. And if he didn’t find her and see her to safety, he might never get the chance to tell her so.
Quickening his steps, Henry hurried toward his destination. But as he entered the taproom of the Duke of Wellington Inn and he scanned each table, he saw no sign of her. The last shred of calmness that he’d managed to call upon had fled. Stepping deeper into the room, the innkeeper smiled at him and threw up his hand in greeting.
“Your lordship! Tis a fine day to see you here. A pint for you, sir?”
“The young woman I met in here a few days ago, have you seen her?” Henry asked.
“Pretty little thing… had just been robbed?” the innkeeper queried.
“Yes, that’s her. She was supposed to be waiting for me here.”
The innkeeper shook his head. “No young ladies have been in her today, my lord. We had two elderly women, sisters, what came in and caught the coach to Bath, but that’s been all. If I see her—”
“If you see her, get her into a room and I will stand the cost of it. She’s had a very difficult time. And you will send word to me at once. I will also check in periodically.”
“Aye, my lord. Good enough.”
Henry turned, strode out of the inn and back onto the bustling street. If not there at the Duke of Wellington, then where? She knew very little of Southampton. She’d accompanied him to an apothecary and Lady Hemsley’s. Her only other outing had been for a sea bathing session with Philippa, and she’s been in a closed carriage then. She wouldn’t have followed the route taken in the carriage. It would have made no sense, he reasoned. Going purely on instinct, Henry retraced his steps to the only places in Southampton that he was aware of Sophie visiting. With a brisk stride, he made his way toward the apothecary’s shop. Perhaps she had sought sanctuary there or even found more damning evidence against the doctor.
The moment Henry entered the small store, he knew that Sophie wasn’t present. He also knew, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that something horrible had happened. There was a coppery scent to the air that could only be blood and a great deal of it. Murder. Someone had been murdered.
Stepping deeper into the space in spite of being consumed with the urge to simply flee, Henry walked past the shop area and into the corridor of small workrooms beyond. It was in that first room, the door to it standing wide, that he found the kindly man who had been of so much help to them. He lay prone on the floor, a large pool of congealed blood spilled out around his head. His skin was discolored already and a large bowl lay in pieces next to him. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine that it was the murder weapon. Bits of porcelain littered the dead man’s hair and there were smears of blood on some of the shards. Thick and heavy as the porcelain was, he’d have to have been struck with it several times before it broke in all likelihood.
Exiting the room, Henry backed out of the building and found a boy on the street. He tossed him a coin. “Fetch the constable. Bring him here and tell him there has been a murder, but do not go inside. Understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” the boy said, bobbing his head before taking off a run.
Henry paced impatiently. He wanted to continue his search for Sophie but knew that if he left, it would not look at all the thing. He would need to speak with the constable himself. It would only raise more questions if he did not and that was not something he wished to deal with.
It was several minutes before the boy came rushing back with a constable in tow.
“What have we got here, sir?” the constable asked.
“The apothecary is inside. It appears he was struck over the head.”
“And you know for certain he’s dead?” the constable asked.
“There is evidence of death,” Henry stated flatly. “I did not check for a heartbeat. Given that I felt safe in making the assumption.”
“And your business here, sir?” the constable asked. “Did you know the man?”
“I met him a few days ago. He’d prepared a tonic for my cousin,” Henry replied. He bristled at the constable’s tone, feeling the weight of accusation in it.
The constable eyed him suspiciously. “And is that why you were here? You needed more of this tonic?”
“No,” Henry said. “I am looking for the young woman who accompanied me here the other day. I had hoped to chance upon her here but, alas, that was not to be. If it is all the same to you, Constable, I’d prefer to continue on with my day and that task. I am Lord Henry Meredith, Viscount Marchwood. You can locate me easily enough if you have further questions.”
“I’m certain I will, my lord,” the man sneered. “Not that it does any good. Peers don’t go to prison for murdering shopkeepers, do they?”
“And murderers generally do not summon the constabulary themselves, do they?” Henry snapped back at him. “Good day to you, Constable.”
“You’ll be seeing me, your lordship,” the constable stated, clearly not believing that Henry was innocent of any wrongdoing.
Henry didn’t respond. He was too busy sorting through the implications of the apothecary’s murder. Could Dr. Blake/Evans have been involved? Had he and Sophie, albeit inadvertently, brought violence and tragedy to that poor man’s door? He prayed that wasn’t the case, that it was instead a simple robbery that had taken an awful turn. But if the murder of the apothecary showed him one thing for certain, it was that Southampton could be a very dangerous city and Sophie was alone. She might well also be the target of someone who clearly had no compunction about taking a life. He had to find her.
