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“Rage? Doctor, I’m sorry, but I cannot help you. As Adam is not your patient, it is inappropriate for us to have any conversation about his condition. I must ask you to leave now.”

“That, I cannot do, Miss Holbrook, not without Adam.” The doctor drew a pistol from his bag and leveled it at her.

However agreeable or disagreeable the nature of her family home, the husband hunter has ties of long standing to the friends and relations of her childhood. Sometimes her greatest loyalty and strongest love is reserved for those persons most difficult to love and most demanding of her care and attention. Seeking her own happiness in the face of such ties can seem the worst sort of disloyalty. To free herself from those constraining ties without a wrenching break injurious to all is the business of her Season in London. Her happiness depends upon it.

—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London

Chapter 22

With a pistol at her back Lucy led Waller out of the private dining room, down the stairs, past Harry Clare’s Waterloo case, and across the empty common room. Frank had not returned to the tap, and no sounds came from the kitchen. Lucy moved carefully and as slowly as she could.

Waller continued to talk. “You will bring the old fool to my carriage. We will go out through the kitchen.”

“Who are you?” she asked. He wasn’t a doctor.

A sharper poke in the back was her answer.

As they entered the passageway to her father’s room, Waller said, “You should thank me, girl. If you do nothing stupid, you’ll be free of your troublesome madman.”

Lucy stopped at her father’s door and called Hannah to open it.

“You know what to do,” Waller told Lucy.

Hannah opened the door, and Waller shoved Lucy forward, grabbing Hannah by the arm and putting the pistol to her head. Hannah froze in his hold, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing in a soundless cry.

Lucy turned to Adam sleeping on his bed. She let her gaze sweep over the room. She could see no weapon, nothing to use against the doctor, who was no doctor.

For a few minutes she concentrated on Adam, waking him with familiar words and gestures. It took a while to get him fully awake and upright. She ventured a glance at Hannah silently shaking, tears running down her face, her hands clutching her pinny.

At last she got Adam to his feet, and he began to shuffle toward the door holding her arm. She glanced at the clock steadily marking the time, when she wanted it to hurry, wanted the hands to spin forward so that Frank and Mrs. Vell and the bench sitters would return.

At the door Adam paused and cocked his head, the way he did when he became aware of other persons near him.

“Hannah’s waiting for us,” Lucy told him. “We’re going to go for a walk.”

Still Adam didn’t move. He was listening, cautiously testing the darkness. She expected an angry outburst from their enemy. His face was full of contempt and impatience. But he only kept the pistol to Hannah’s head and the cruel grip on her arm.

“Come on, Adam,” Lucy said. “Hannah can’t stand idle all day.”

Adam moved through the door, and Lucy led him down the passageway with Waller and Hannah behind them. Adam paused to listen intently every few steps. When they reached the empty common room, Lucy ventured a glance back at Hannah.

With a jerk of his head Waller indicated that Lucy was to turn toward the kitchen. It struck her that he didn’t speak. He’d had so much to say to her in the private dining room, smooth lies about her father’s will and being a doctor. But he had not spoken again since the door of her father’s room opened. She understood. Adam might be blind, but he could hear. Adam knew the man’s voice. This was the enemy Mountjoy had warned her of. If Lucy could get the man to speak, Adam would not move another step. But if Lucy provoked the false doctor, he might shoot Hannah. Adam’s bench was just ahead of them. Once they rounded the bench, they would be out of the sight of anyone entering the inn. All hope of help would be lost. She had to decide.

Behind her the inn door banged open. A deep male voice with a gentlemanly accent called out, “Hallo, innkeeper!”

Adam froze at Lucy’s side. Waller slipped behind Lucy into the passageway.

“You there, a little help,” called the voice. Boots coming their way sounded against the slate.

“Miss Holbrook?” called another man’s voice, younger and less deep.

Lucy turned to face the newcomers, trying to keep her expression calm. A very tall gentleman in a greatcoat, accompanied by Harry Clare’s young friend with a bandaged shoulder and a very pretty girl, stood watching her.

At her back Waller hissed, “Put them off. Send them to the private dining room.”

At the sound of his voice Adam began to shake all over with the signs of a coming episode. “Geoffrey ran away,” he cried. His fists clenched. His arm slipped from Lucy’s hold, flying upward with a sudden jerk, unbalancing her.

She staggered against the wall as he began to flail. Waller stepped back, and Hannah slipped from his grasp. She ran straight for the tall gentleman, barreling into him, and clung sobbing to his coat. His arms came around the frightened girl.