“He’ll never pay her a cent,” Joshua said.
“Why not?” Violet asked. “If he was here last night, he should pay.”
“And who will make him?”
I’ll make him,Violet thought. She wasn’t sure where the idea came from, but as soon as she thought it, the rock in her belly felt lighter.
“Can’t Mrs. Littman make him pay?” Georgie asked.
“No.” Joshua crossed his arms over his chest and sat back.
Georgie imitated his brother, down to the dejected look on his face. “God loves the markiss more,” he said with authority.
“It’s marquess, and no, He doesn’t love him more. God loves everyone the same,” Violet said, only half believing it herself. But she couldn’t have Georgie thinking God didn’t love him. And she couldn’t stand sitting here and doing nothing for the rest of her life. She was so tired of keeping her head down and working hard, just to have all her hopes and dreams smashed. It seemed to happen every few years, so often that she all but expected it now. But that didn’t mean she had to accept it meekly. Why hadn’t she put up a fight before? The answer was obvious—she’d been too young or too scared or too desperate.
She was still all of those things, but she was also something else—determined. And she would not sit here and do nothing. She was taking matters into her own hands today. Right now, in fact. She hadn’t realized she’d stood until Joshua said, “Vi, where are you going?”
“I have an errand,” she said absently, untying her apron and smoothing her hair.
“An errand?” Peggy gestured to the wreck of the Silver Unicorn. “Now?”
“Yes. I’ll be back as quick as I can to help with the cleaning.” First, she had to change into her best dress and coat and smooth her hair. She had better scrub her face and hands as well.
She started toward the back and the stairs to their flat above, but one look at the three forlorn faces she was leaving behind gave her pause. She couldn’t simply leave them in the midst ofthis mess without any hope. She didn’t know that she had any real hope to give, but then again, she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. And so she’d better keep this one.
“When I come back, I’ll have good news,” she said. Then she left them behind, hoping her words were true.
Chapter Three
The knocking wokehim. It started far enough away that King could ignore it. But then it grew closer and louder, and he tried to pull the pillow over his head to drown it out. But he had no pillow, he discovered when he opened one eye, because he was lying on the rug before the cold hearth.
“My lord?” came a voice he knew, followed by more knocking.
“Go away,” King croaked, and put his throbbing head back on the rug.
“My lord! I must speak with you urgently.” The voice was that of his butler, Churchwood.
King groaned and rolled over, immediately regretting the movement. The room spun and his brain seemed to lurch violently inside his skull. Churchwood was saying something else, but King had to take several enormous breaths to keep from tossing up his accounts. Finally, he called out, “Come in, then, Churchwood. And stop knocking.”
Where the devil was Danby? Why hadn’t Danby kept Churchwood from waking him?
Then King spied a stockinged foot and followed it to a pantalooned leg and up to the shirted torso of his valet, who was snoring softly on the rug not far away. King shoved the foot, but Danby grunted and kept snoring.
“I cannot come in, my lord. The door is locked, and I cannot find Mr. Danby.”
King had a vague memory of making Danby lock the door last night. He didn’t want to risk the witch finding a way in, though considering that she had stepped out of the fire in the hearth, he didn’t know why he’d thought a locked door would stop her. But, of course, she hadn’t really stepped out of the fire in the hearth. She’d been a hallucination brought on by bad rum. A nightmare formed out of his drunken delirium.
King made a valiant effort to sit, but the room spun so wildly that he knew he would never make it to the chamber door. Instead, he elbowed Danby’s foot again. “Wake up, Danby.”
Danby grunted.
“Door, Danby.” King jabbed at the valet’s foot harder, and this time Danby seemed to start awake and look about him in confusion. Churchwood’s knocking began again, and King felt like growling. Instead, he put his head in his hands. “Make him stop, Danby, or I’ll sack you both.”
Danby scrambled to his feet, straightened his coat, and stumbled to the door. The knocking stopped, and King closed his eyes and lay back down again. The rug was a plush Aubusson, and he congratulated himself on the wise purchase. He had slept on it many a night when climbing into bed seemed too much effort. He was almost asleep again when something shook him. He swatted it away, but the shaking continued.
King opened his eyes and scowled at Danby. “Go away.”
“My lord, you must rise immediately. There is a crisis.”
