“This other waiting area is nearby?” Helen asked warily.
His smile nudged the points of his mustache higher. “The offices in back of the ticket counter. They’re warmer and quieter than here. You could rest in a soft chair while you wait.”
The offer was irresistible. Not only would they be more comfortable, but they would be tucked safely out of sight. “I wouldn’t want to miss my departure,” she said uncertainly.
“I’ll watch the clock for you.”
“Thank you.” Helen straightened Charity’s shawl and hat. “We’re going to wait in another room where it’s warmer,” she whispered. Picking up the tapestry bag, Helen ignored a multitude of small aches throughout her body. They followed the booking clerk out past the ticket counters, and went through a door that opened to a row of private office rooms. Heading to the last one in the row, the clerk opened it for Helen.
It was a nice room, neatly kept, with maps on the walls, a desk piled with schedules, books, and pamphlets, and a shuttered window that revealed a partial view of one of the main platforms. A small chair was positioned behind the desk, and a large comfortable-looking wingback occupied the corner.
“Will this be acceptable, my lady”?
“Yes. Thank you.” She smiled at him, even as her nerves crawled with a sudden feeling of apprehension.
The clerk left the office room, and Helen busied herself with making Charity comfortable. She set her in the large upholstered chair, wedging the tapestry bag at one side for her to rest on, and covering her with the shawl. Charity snuggled down in the chair immediately.
Going to the window, Helen stared at the busy platform.
A thought occurred to her. Had the booking clerk just called her “my lady”?
He had. She was so accustomed to the term, it had temporarily escaped her notice. But there was no way for him to know that she had a courtesy title. She hadn’t given him her real name.
Her stomach turned to ice.
Striding to the door, Helen opened it. The threshold was blocked by a man in a dark suit and a low-brimmed hat. She recognized the hat first, and then the blue eyes.
He was the young man who had come to help her and Dr. Gibson, when they had been harassed after leaving the Stepney Orphanage.
Staring at him in shock, Helen asked unsteadily, “Why are you here?”
He gave her a faint smile that seemed to be intended as reassurance. “Keeping an eye on you, my lady.”
She took a shaking breath. “I’m going to take my child and leave now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll have to wait a bit longer.”
The door closed in her face.
Helen clenched her fists, furious with him, and the situation, and most of all herself. I shouldn’t have trusted a stranger. How stupid she’d been. Tears stung her eyes, and she struggled to keep from losing her self-control. After taking a few deep breaths, she glanced at Charity, who was drifting off to sleep, having absorbed enough new experiences for the time being.
Wandering to the window, Helen widened the shutters and stared at platform eight. A train had pulled in, bearing the same number as the train listed on her ticket. It hadn’t been delayed after all.
Fear and determination raced through her. She went to the chair, picked up Charity, and grabbed the handle of the tapestry bag. Huffing with effort, she carried the sleepy child to the door, and kicked it with her foot.
The door opened, and the young man gave her a questioning glance. “Is there something you need, my lady?”
“Yes, I need to leave. My train is at the platform.”
“You’ll have to wait for a few more minutes.”
“I can’t wait. Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
The door closed again, and to Helen’s furious astonishment, a key turned in the lock. She closed her eyes, despairing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against Charity’s head. “I’m sorry.” She carried her back to the chair, made her comfortable again, and paced around the office.
In another few minutes, she heard masculine voices outside the door. A brief, low-pitched conversation.
The door unlocked, and Helen moved protectively in front of Charity as someone came in. Her heart began to thud with sickening force as she looked up at him.
“Rhys?” she whispered in bewilderment.
He entered the office, surveying her with hard obsidian eyes. His head tilted slightly as he looked past her to the sleeping child in the chair.
Helen realized that Rhys had never really been angry with her before now. Not like this.
Unnerved by his silence, she spoke unsteadily. “I’m supposed to be on the train leaving for Hampshire.”
“You can take the next one. Right now, you’re going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on.” His eyes narrowed. “Let’s start with an explanation of what you’re doing with Albion Vance’s daughter.”
Chapter 32
IT WAS HUMILIATING TO have been outmaneuvered and cornered like this. It was also infuriating.
Helen glanced at Charity, who was sleeping peacefully in the chair. “I don’t want to wake her. Is there another place we might talk?”
Without a word, Rhys took her with him past the threshold. She hated the way he guided her with his hand clasped on the back of her neck, as if she were a helpless kitten being carried by the scruff. The fact that he was doing it in front of his . . . henchman, or whatever the young man was, made it even worse. He shepherded her into a little office on the other side of the hallway, pausing to speak tersely to the man in the hallway. “Ransom. Don’t let anyone near the child.”
“Yes, sir.”
This room was smaller, only big enough for a desk, a chair, and a bookcase. Rhys seemed to take up most of the available space. He looked calculating and utterly self-assured, and Helen had an inkling of what his business adversaries must face when they sat across a table from him.
She retreated to the foot of wall space between the desk and the door, still feeling the sensation of his hand on the back of her neck. “That man in the hallway . . . he works for you?”
“Now and then.”
“You hired him to follow me.”
“At first I hired him to follow Vance. I’d received word about some underhanded business he was involved in, and I had no intention of being duped by the bastard. To my surprise, I received a report that not only had Vance visited Ravenel House, but you and he met again the next day for a private chat at the museum.” A chilling pause. “I found it interesting that you didn’t see fit to mention it to me.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Helen countered.
“I wanted you to tell me. I gave you every chance that night at the store.”
She felt herself turning very red, as she remembered that night. Seeing her flush, Rhys looked mocking, but mercifully made no comment.
“But I didn’t,” Helen said. “So you told Mr. Ransom to follow me.”
“It seemed a good idea,” he agreed with knife-edged sarcasm. “Especially when you and Dr. Gibson decided to traipse through the East End docklands at night.”
“Did she tell you that Charity is Mr. Vance’s child?”