“I have some idea, yes. But I’m sure the man has sent lackeys to do his bidding. I assume that’s who you met when you were out.”
Belle put the hibiscus tea before her father. It smelled somewhat flowery but also slightly medicinal. He was glad he had his Earl Grey.
“I wouldn’t say I met them, exactly,” Howard said. “But as I walked to the landlord’s house, I became aware I was being followed.”
“I knew I should have gone,” Belle muttered.
“So they could follow you?” Her father shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He looked back at Hew. “At first, I thought I might be imagining it. After all, it was raining lightly and the few people out were all skulking about, trying to stay dry. But after I paid the landlord and started home, I saw the same two men, and that’s when I knew.”
“But why were they following you?” Belle asked.
“I imagine they know Mr. Arundel is here with us.”
“How? Surely Mrs. Price hasn’t had the opportunity to spread the news yet.”
“They aren’t relying on gossip,” Hew said. “They won’t be paid unless I’m dead. After they attacked, they regrouped and came back to watch the Randalls’ home. They undoubtedly saw you arrive, saw me loaded into the carriage, and followed us here. Or perhaps with all the rain, they couldn’t follow and had to make an attempt to discover who you were. They might be following you to discover whether or not I am here, and if I am, if I’m still alive.”
“Then I suppose all of my efforts to avoid being followed home were for naught,” Howard said. “I led them on a merry chase through London. In and out of shops and pubs, finally managing to lose them after hours of pursuit. Only then did I return.”
“I applaud your efforts, but they probably know where you live. Their question is whether or not I am here, and as they didn’t discover that following you, they’ll try another way.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Belle said.
“And I don’t like having to be the bearer of ill tidings, but I don’t have time to sweeten the truth. It’s almost nightfall,” Hew said, glancing at Mr. Howard for confirmation. The older man nodded. Hew continued, “They’ll strike when it’s dark. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps tomorrow. We can’t wait. We have to leave. Now.”
Chapter Nine
“Leave?” Belle set her teacup back on the table and stared at Arundel. He was pale, his dark hair disheveled, and it was clear he was holding onto the table in an effort to remain upright. “We can’t leave. Even if my father and I were willing to abandon the shop, you are in no condition to go anywhere.”
“I’m stronger than you think.”
“I think you quite strong,” she said, “but you are not a god. It’s clear you have reached your limit. Father?” Belle gave her father a pointed look.
Her father took a deep breath then let it out again. “It may kill you to travel now,” he said to Arundel.
“It may kill all of us if we stay here.”
“This is madness,” Belle said. “Where would we go?”
“Leave that to me.” Arundel looked about. “I need a pen and paper.”
“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.”