“You need to lie down,” her father said. “You dictate, and I will write.”
“I will write,” Belle said. “Father, you have been away all day and out in the rain. I insist you put on warm, dry clothes and rest. I’ll take care of what needs to be done.”
Her father shook his head and then seemed to think better of objecting. “You’re right. I won’t be of any use to you if I am falling over from exhaustion or catch a chill. Belle, are you certain—”
“Yes. Please, go lie down. I’ll help Mr. Arundel back to bed.”
She watched her father rise slowly then walk stiffly to his bed chamber and close the door. Then she ignored her own exhaustion and turned to Mr. Arundel. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He waved off her offer of assistance and rose on his own. His face betrayed nothing, but he must have been in pain. She could see the fever rising in him again too. His face was once again flushed. Clearly these Royal Saboteurs had known what they were about choosing a man like Arundel to be one of them. Not only was he unnervingly observant and unfailingly astute, he seemed to have untapped strength and an instinct to protect. If she had wanted to devise a hero out of thin air, she imagined Arundel would come very close.
Belle went ahead of him, pushing her bed chamber door wide, closing the curtains over the dark window, and pulling back the bedclothes for him. For a moment, she looked at her bed with longing, but she couldn’t allow herself to feel the weariness. If she did, she would collapse, and she had to stay strong.
Arundel paused in the doorway, leaning against it for support. Belle raised a brow. “Are we still pretending you do not need assistance?”
“We are,” he said and stumbled to the bed. He fell on it clumsily, and she waited until he’d pulled himself onto the pillow—this time his face showing the pain—before she covered him.
“I’ll get a lamp and writing instruments. That is, if you are still up to dictating a letter.”
“I’ll push through,” he said.
When she returned a few moments later, his breathing was labored and his eyes had the glassy look of the sea after a storm. She had no desk, so she set paper and ink on the floor and lay down as she had when she was a child. She looked up. “Shall I date it?”
“Yes. The salutation is Madam.”
Her handwriting might have been finer, but it was legible and in her mind, that was what counted. Generally, she only wrote out receipts and noted purchases and expenses in the ledger. But her father had taught both Maggie and Belle to read and write, knowing it was a skill they would need if they hoped to find a good position when they grew older. As it turned out, Maggie had married well and had no need of work and Belle had stayed at the shop and used her skills to help her father.
She wrote the salutation then looked up expectantly. Mr. Arundel was staring at the ceiling, his face pale except for two patches of color in his cheeks. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She held her pen aloft.
“Write this: Please forgive my impudence in writing to you uninvited. Although we have not met, your reputation precedes you.”
“Slow down,” Belle said. “I’m trying to work out how to spell impudence.”
He spelled it for her and then precedes as well, which was a good thing because she had been certain the word had an O and apparently it was all Es.
“Ready?” he asked, and she made a sound of assent. “I am a special friend of your husband and find myself in need of—no, put desperate need of assistance. Assistance is spelled—”
“That one I know.” But she was never certain where to double the Ses. Still, she had some pride.
“You may find me at”—he glanced at Belle—“put the name of your shop here and the number on Fenchurch Street. When you’ve done that, let me have it.”
Belle finished, waited for the ink to dry, then handed him the paper. He squinted and read it over. If he thought her handwriting poor, he made no comment. “Close it with Your servant and then Arundel.”
“Do you want to sign it?”
“No. I need to close my eyes for a moment.” His voice trailed off on the last word.
“Mr. Arundel, where do I send it?”
“I don’t know the street, but address it to The Right Honorable Lady Keating.”
He closed his eyes then and was quiet. Belle finished the letter then while it dried, she opened the window, collected water in the washbasin from the still falling rain, and set it aside. When she moved to close the window again, she thought she saw a movement in the doorway across the street. That shop had once been an apothecary, but the owner’s son had gone to seek his fortune in Canada and apparently found it as he’d sent for his parents to join him. The space was presently unoccupied. Belle stared at the shop but now saw no sign of anyone. She closed the window and the curtains then blew out the lamp and parted the curtains a sliver again. She watched the shop for several moments and saw nothing.
With a shake of her head, she decided she was seeing things. She gathered the letter and the writing supplies and carried them out of the bed chamber, leaving Arundel with a cool cloth on his forehead. Then she tucked the letter in her pocket, donned her cloak, and went downstairs. She almost went to the front of the shop but still had an uneasy feeling about that movement at the apothecary. Instead, she went into the back room and out the door into a narrow walkway. The walkway was usually packed dirt, but after the hard rains, the mud and water rose to her ankles. She ignored it and trudged through until she arrived at the gate of the church. Though there was not a cemetery, that she knew of, in the church yard, she had an uneasy feeling about cutting through. Still, she couldn’t stand out here in the cold and the wet all night. If she stayed out too long, her clothes would become soaked. She’d placed the letter in an empty tea tin, keeping it relatively safe, but now she needed to find a lad to search out Lady Keating in this awful weather. Belle could only hope the lady was sensible and had stayed home this evening.
Hurrying, Belle made her way through the dark church yard and emerged on the other side. She hurried past the church, down the street, and crossed to another street. She was well and truly soaked now, the water making squishing sounds in her boots. Ahead she saw the yellow lights of a public house where she and her father sometimes dined and was glad to see the owner had stayed open. But then she supposed even in rainstorms, men wanted their beer and ale.
