“Listen to you. She yells at you, and you think she’s disobedient; she stops yelling, you think she has melancholy. Can she win? No.”
He flushed. “I just wanted to make sure she didn’t go untreated. Yes, I talked to a few physicians, and yes, one of them said that he’d be willing to certify her, if I paid—” He cleared his throat loudly. “But the other two said she seemed quite in her own mind.” Perhaps Titus realized that he was telling her details of his plan that didn’t reflect highly on him. He shook his head swiftly. “Which is to say, it was all your fault. Your influence. You did it. And you have her. You can’t bluff me!”
“Emily has herself,” Jane said. “She always did. That’s what is so funny—that I came all this way to rescue her, and…”
Titus waved a hand at Jane. “You’re claiming that your sister just ran off? On her own two feet without any encouragement from you at all?” He looked dubious.
“Why not?” Jane asked. “I ran off myself, and she’s almost my age.”
“But you…”
“Yes, I have money. But last I’d heard, you hadn’t found the hundred pounds I gave her. I imagine that when she ran off, she hired a coach. Or took the train.”
He flushed. “I wasn’t going to mention funds. I was referring to the fact that you are whole.”
Jane felt her temper snap. She crossed the room to him. She was taller than him; how had she never noticed that? Probably because she had never stood this close, quivering with years of resentment. She slammed her hands into his chest.
“Emily,” she said through gritted teeth, “is whole. She has fits, that’s all. Joan of Arc had fits, and look what she managed to accomplish. The only person who is broken here is you, for being unable to see it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“When we find Emily, you’ll discover that she’s safe. That she had a plan. That she acted intelligently and rationally in the face of your stupidity.” Jane shook her head. “Good God, you were trying to have her declared mentally incompetent by bribing doctors. Of all the low, dirty tricks—”
She remembered a moment too late that perhaps she could not claim the moral high ground on the bribing-of-doctors front, and so she glared at him instead.
“Rational.” Titus sighed. “She can’t be rational. I had only a note from her saying that she was going to meet her barrister. Her barrister. She doesn’t have a barrister. I would know if she had one.”
Jane felt her heart give a sudden thump, and she wanted to laugh aloud again. Trust Emily to send Jane a message out in the open, one that their uncle would never decode.
“Well,” Jane said, “then she is probably going to get one. If you were planning on having her declared mad…” She trailed off.
“It’s not rational,” Titus said. “She’d need a solicitor first, not a barrister, and he would then go and get…” He shook his head. “I suppose that’s where I should start looking, then. I’ll begin to ask around London. See if anyone has seen a young girl asking barristers for help.” He frowned glumly. “If you should happen to find her, tell her… Tell her I’m willing to reconsider.” He swallowed. “I’ll sign a paper if she wants. I just…I want her to be safe. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
The sad thing was, Jane believed him. He’d wanted her safe, and safe he’d kept her. He’d kept Emily so safe that he’d shielded her from everything else, too. When she’d screamed about it, he’d accused her; when she’d stopped screaming, he’d wondering why she was so altered.
But then, Titus had only given her the things he wanted for himself. He’d stayed in Cambridge long after his university days had ended, wanting to think the same things over and over. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost. Then she remembered Emily’s scars.
“If I find her,” Jane promised, “I’ll tell her what you said. But where to start searching?” She glanced away as she said that so that he wouldn’t see the knowledge in her eyes.
“Where indeed.” Titus nodded glumly. And then, he reached and very lightly tapped Jane’s shoulder. “I can see it now,” he said. “You do worry for your sister. Even though you do it all wrong—I can see you care for her, in your own deeply troubled manner.”
It was almost as if they were having a moment of sympathy. Jane nodded; he pulled his hand back from her shoulder and then quietly left the room.
“I suppose you know which barrister she’s visiting?” the Countess of Cambury asked. “I would have said more to force the issue. But it hardly seemed necessary.” She shrugged, and then smiled at Jane. “You handled yourself very well.”
Jane smiled back. “Of course I know where she is,” Jane said. “At least, I know his name. Or, rather, I know the sound of it—and I don’t think he’ll be that difficult to find.”
Earlier that day in London…
Anjan didn’t think he was ever going to get used to the noise of London. He’d grown up in a more populated city. One might have thought, he supposed, that London was nothing. But the noises here were a totally different thing. Nothing he could pinpoint aside from a collective wrongness.
It bothered him, that difference, even at the desk he had in Lirington and Sons.
Anjan had a position. A position with a battered desk in the copyists’ room, true, and never mind his graduation with honors or his recent admission to the bar. But it was a start, and for a start, he’d smile and sit with the copyists. Once he made himself invaluable, matters would begin to change.
As if in answer to that, George Lirington opened the door to the room. He looked over the bent heads of the scriveners before his eyes lit on Anjan.
“Ho, Batty,” he said. “You’re wanted.”
Anjan stood. Lirington and Sons specialized in maritime issues. They’d hired Anjan for a number of reasons—not least of which was the fact that he spoke both Hindi and Bengali. Being able to understand the lascars aboard ships had its benefits.
Anjan reached for his notebook and stood. “Is it the Westfeld accounts again?”
Lirington shook his head. “No. It’s a lady. She’s alone and she wants to hire us.” He glanced at Anjan curiously. “She asked for you by your full last name.”