The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 2

  “My dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. Your response to Frederick’s deplorable actions is far nobler than what I’d have done.”

  Jane’s smile was wobbly.

  Her aunt emitted a weary sigh. “But the Reynolds family has some powerful connections, and they are a proud family. I am concerned that they will continue to make life difficult for you as long as they know they can. If you aren’t here, if they see you’ve moved away, chances are Frederick will move on and stop stirring up trouble for you.”

  “This is extremely unfair, you know.” Jane’s frustration, her guilt, seethed inside her.

  “Life rarely is, Jane. But it could be that being in London, being among a powerful and influential group of aspiring women, may do more for you than sitting around here and having to swat at Frederick’s slings and arrows.”

  Jane released a sigh. “Perhaps you’re right.” Still, it did not make the thought of leaving her any easier. “You know I’ll miss you terribly.” She knelt at her aunt’s feet and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her.

  “Oh, goodness, my dear. What a splendid adventure for you. Think of the new friends you’ll make. The social climate in London is vibrant, so I understand.” Aunt Corney held her at arm’s length and smiled. Unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. “Who knows, you may meet someone who loves you for who you are, who needs you for those very reasons.”

  “I can’t imagine ever being charmed by a man again, Aunt Cornelia. Not if I have a sound brain in my body.” A tear escaped and slipped down Jane’s cheek.

  Chapter Two

  Late spring London 1887

  Jane fought the urge to drop to her knees and kiss the ground as she stepped off the London, Brighton & South Coast locomotive that had brought her roundabout from the docks of Southampton.

  Ten days.

  The ship’s ad had boasted that it took only six days, touting to be the fastest steamer on the Atlantic, but inclement weather had slowed the ship’s crossing. Once on solid ground, a blessing in itself, Jane boarded the train to the London Bridge station where Mrs. Hampton was scheduled to meet her. She stood on the railway dock amid the scores of passengers and took a deep breath, hoping to quell the after-effects of her long and uncomfortable journey. Her stomach roiled due in part to the musty stench of smoke and oil that mingled with the oppressive heat and humidity. Jane waved the book she’d been reading in front of her face in a futile attempt to move the air and find some semblance of relief. She pushed to her toes and searched above the crowd for a woman wearing a broad-brimmed white chapeau decorated with large black ostrich plumes. Nudged forward by a man in a hurry, she teetered to maintain her balance, hearing his hasty and insincere apology. Tired, hungry, and fighting a sudden wave of homesickness, she prayed that Mrs. Hampton had not forgotten about her.

  “Coming through,” a deep baritone voice echoed over the din. Jane turned around and spotted the porter pushing a cart stacked with bags to the back of the stationhouse. She quickly scanned his load, her shoulders relaxing when she noticed the blue ribbons dangling from the handles of her bags. After the miles she’d come and the many changes in modes of travel, it was a minor miracle that she and her bags had arrived together. Jane rubbed her hand over the back of her neck, massaging the soreness from dozing upright in her coach seat. A good soak in a large tub would help relieve some of the tension. She thought wistfully of Aunt Cornelia’s massive claw foot tub and prayed the Writers House had such a luxury.

  “Jane? Jane Elizabeth Goodwin?”

  There were few times when Jane truly appreciated the genetics that had allowed her to be tall. It was more often a detriment, particularly to men uncomfortable with having to look up to a woman. She spotted first the bobbing bouquet of long, black-feathered plumes before she caught glimpse of the woman beneath the hat. However, it was not the woman but the young man walking beside her that garnered her immediate attention. Perhaps it was the state of her stomach or the residual yearning of what might have been with Frederick that gave cause for the butterflies—albeit weak butterflies—that took flight in her stomach. Jane’s small carpetbag slipped through her fingers, landing with a thud at her feet.

  He had a confident stride and the look of a man wholly pleased with himself. There was no doubt that he turned many a female’s head as he passed by. His hair was light in color, hanging softly to the top of his collar, and his shoulders—quite broad—fit nicely in his brown suit jacket. He wore no hat, a trace of rebellion that garnered her interest. As he neared, she noticed the light reddish-brown shadow of a beard on his handsome face. When at last they stood before her, the woman presumed to be Mrs. Hampton clutched the young man’s arm, gasping for breath. Jane glanced up at him—that alone pleased her—and was captivated by the stormy gray color of his eyes. The stout woman took a deep breath and shoved her body between him and Jane.

  “Jane, oh, my dear, you are even lovelier than the photograph your aunt sent. How was your trip? You look utterly exhausted, poor thing,” she clucked, taking Jane’s elbow. “I want to officially welcome you to London. We’ve so been looking forward to your arrival. It’s not often that we get someone with such notable references. As you may well understand, our Mrs. Woodhull is held with high regard in our club. We knew, given her recommendation, that you must be an utter delight.” She patted Jane’s arm and looked her over from head to toe. “You are indeed a lovely creature and so…lofty. Don’t you agree, Billy?” She tore her gaze away and glanced at her companion, who had not taken his eyes off Jane.

  “It’s Wesley, Aunt Isabella,” he corrected, taking Jane’s hand. With a bow, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. Gallantry, much to Jane’s weary soul, was indeed alive and well in London.

  “William Wesley Hampton at your service, Miss Goodwin. I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay here in London. It seems we are both assigned a summer in this fair town, whether we like it or not. So already we have something in common.” He gave her a friendly wink.

  “Thank you both. I am quite relieved to finally be on solid footing.” Mrs. Hampton was entirely correct—she must look a complete fright. Even her cheeks felt awash with heat as she stared at her hand encased in Wesley’s. With a smile, she withdrew it.

  “Wesley, why don’t you go see to Miss Goodwin’s bags?”

  He bent down to retrieve the bag at her feet and Jane met him face-to-face, placing her hand over his. “I’ll take this one, thank you. It’s filled with my writing papers.” She held his gaze. “I just saw the porter take my baggage to the station house. They each have blue ribbons tied to the handles.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked, suppressing a grin. “What a clever idea. Very well, I will meet you ladies at the carriage, then.”

  Jane straightened and watched him move through the throng of travelers with ease, his charm helping him slice effortlessly through the crowd. He had an amiable nature, was tall, and exceedingly handsome. Why shouldn’t they also be great friends?

  “Jane, dear, I venture to say you haven’t eaten in days. I took one of those steamships once.” She grimaced in disgust, flapping her fan. “I couldn’t eat for a week afterward. But you’re much younger, and my, so lithe.” Her gaze rolled up Jane’s body. Side by side, they must appear something of an odd spectacle walking along the platform.

  “I daresay you are correct, Mrs. Hampton. I’ve not eaten much at all for fear of losing my stomach.” Jane wobbled slightly and her diminutive companion held her elbow tightly, guiding her forward.

  “A good cup of my special tea and a cracker or two will do wonders to settle your stomach, my dear. That, and a good night’s sleep.” The woman patted Jane’s arm. “Oh, there we are. We decided to order a coach. You aunt indicated that you had a number of bags, mostly books?”

  Jane smiled sheepishly. “I love my books and carry much of my research with me. I hope that won’t be an inconvenience?”

  “Oh, my, no! What kind of writers’ club would we be if we weren’t avid readers? The
House subscribes to every daily paper, and we like to boast that we’ve one of the most extensive research libraries of any club in London.”

  Jane’s hand darted to her stomach, attacked by a brutal nausea that was prompted by a rotten odor. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hampton, I wish my constitution was stronger, but what is that dreadful smell?”

  “Please, call me Isabella, my dear. And you needn’t worry. You’ll get used to the stench of the river in time. The blessed heat makes matters worse and, of course, the horses. I do wish that you’d reconsider staying with us at the Hampton estate. We have plenty of room, and the air is so much more tolerable.”

  Jane swallowed against the bile climbing in her throat. It would be easier to accept the invitation, but on the long journey, she’d gotten quite used to the idea of living in the house. It was, she decided, a good time to test the waters of being on her own. After all she’d been through, she wanted to use that time to strengthen her writing and reflect on her future. “You’re very kind and I appreciate your concern, but I quite enjoy being alone, especially when writing. I’ve no doubt my room at Writers House will serve me well.” Jane followed along behind Isabella to the long line of Habersham cabs and luxurious carriages waiting outside the station.

  “As you wish, and you’ll have Benning and Martha, our housekeepers, at your service.” Isabella stirred the air, batting her fan. “The stench is worse today,” she muttered, raising the fan to summon the driver of a sleek, black coach. Jane made a mental note to purchase a fan at her earliest convenience.

  The driver hopped down to open the door for Isabella. A short whistle caught her attention, and Jane looked up to see Wesley carrying two bags beneath his arms and a porter dutifully following with her trunk on a cart. Within moments, both men had stacked her bags on the back of the coach.

  Jane settled on the empty seat across from Isabella and a moment later Wesley joined them, taking the seat next to his aunt.

  “Thank you,” Jane said, glancing at Wesley. She tucked her book inside the small bag beside her.

  “A pleasure to serve you, milady.” His response, formal and yet at the same time carefree, caused Jane to smile. He reached out of the window and tapped the side, causing the coach to lurch forward into the dusty main street filled with horse-drawn carriages.

  For a few moments, they traveled in silence. Jane was very much aware of Wesley’s quiet attention. “Tell me about London,” she asked, averting from his intense gaze and instead looking out the window at the bustling cityscape.

  “The weather this year has been deplorable.” Isabella swept her fan back and forth, intermittently dabbing her upper lip with her lace hankie. “The hottest ever on record for spring, they say, and it’s predicted to be worse this summer.”

  Jane glanced at Isabella as she spoke, noting that Wesley, his hands clasped over his knees, now stared out of the opposite window.

  “Of course, the Her Majesty is having her Golden Jubilee in June. They say it’s to be one of the grandest celebrations that London has seen in some time. There are preparations being made for a parade, a gala ball, and fireworks, as I understand it.”

  “Not if the socialists have anything to say about it,” Wesley muttered.

  The conversation came to an abrupt standstill. From the look that Isabella darted to her nephew, Jane sensed that she did not appreciate his interjection.

  “What?” He looked back at his aunt. “Shouldn’t she have a realistic view of what is happening in lovely London town?”

  Isabella pointed her finger, prepared to respond when the carriage came to an abrupt stop, taking with it any semblance of a breeze.

  “Probably traffic. I’m sure it’s just a slight delay. We should be moving soon,” Isabella said, working the fan diligently in front of her face.

  Jane poked her head out of the window, hopeful for a gulp of air, but curious just the same as to the delay.

  “Why don’t I tell you about our writing club while we wait?” Isabella suggested.

  Jane drew in her head, less interested in hearing about the club than what was preventing their progress in getting there. She dropped her book and gloves on the seat beside her and gathered her skirts to exit the carriage. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just step outside and see what the reason for our delay is.” The truth of it was that the stifling heat inside the cab was making her nauseated.

  “Watch out, miss,” a gruff voice boomed out of nowhere as she opened the door. Caught off guard, she missed the step entirely and escaped total embarrassment of landing on her face thanks to a set of strong arms that captured her waist. “You should learn to look, young woman, before you step from a coach.”

  Jane steadied her legs, preparing to face her rescuer.

  “Excuse me, miss. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “But I…” She barely caught a glimpse of him as he turned and headed at a quick gait up the street. From her view, she noted his hair, badly in need of attention, was thick, coal black and hung in deep waves over his collar. His dark brown coat flapped around his long legs in his determined haste.

  “Ah, I see you’ve met our illustrious Inspector Mansfield.” Wesley hopped from the carriage. Together they watched him disappear around the corner of a building a few yards ahead. Other curiosity seekers were trotting toward the same direction.

  “Come on.” Intrigued, she grabbed Wesley’s hand.

  “Where to, Miss Jane?” He gave her a puzzled look, but kept up with her stride.

  “To wherever he is going. He is the inspector, correct?”

  “True, but…”

  Jane lifted the hem of her skirt, empowered by the familiar rush of a reporter’s adrenaline infusing her stamina. She looked over her shoulder and spoke to Wesley, who lagged a few steps behind. “Then we certainly don’t want to miss whatever he is so hell-bent to get to.” This is what she lived for, the drama of everyday life. Perhaps it was the thrill of the unknown—the chase, as it were. A trait derived no doubt by her adventuresome parents. They never settled for long between their journeys, always, it seemed, in a constant state of preparation for their next mission. They loved Jane, of course, but as she grew older, she began to wonder if her conception had simply been another grand venture. When they were around, they were larger than life to her—filled with glorious stories and tales of their journeys. And when they were gone and her life was divided between boarding school and Aunt Cornelia’s house, their letters were all that Jane had to cling to in her adolescence. They had promised that when she was of a proper age, they would take her with them. But that promise—unfilled—followed them to their graves. Now it was up to Jane to find her own adventures.

  “Miss Jane, it could be dangerous,” Wesley called as they waded into the crowd beginning to clog the street. He caught up to her, keeping pace with her tenacity in pushing through the throng.

  “Very possibly, but what great story isn’t just a bit dangerous, I ask you?” She smiled at him with a quick glance as they neared the top of the hill to follow where the inspector had disappeared.

  A rigid wall of uniformed constables formed a barricade at the end of the street, keeping gawkers from disrupting whatever scene lay ahead. The crowd pressed close to the human barrier, trying to catch a glimpse at what was going on.

  “They’ve blocked the street.” Wesley craned his neck over the huddled mass in front of them.

  “Do you see any possible way of getting closer?” she asked, searching for a way through the tightly packed humanity.

  “Another body part.”

  Jane whirled to see where the whispered comment had come from, but too many people had crowded around her.

  “The second in a few weeks’ time. I hear the inspector has his hands bloody full. He’s got no way of knowing how to identify the bits.”

  Jane was astounded by the whispered rumors. How was it that such news had not yet made it across the Atlantic? Quiet murmurs followed with a gasp or two, but no one spoke aloud.
Jane struggled, backtracking until she found Wesley. She grabbed his arm and leaned close. “Did you hear? They say it’s a body part?” Horror-stricken, she stared at him. “What is going on in London that you’ve not told me about?”

  Wesley’s expression clouded and he looked around, leaning close so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Be cautious of what you say, Jane. And don’t jump to conclusions based on hearsay.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and so too, her patience. “A good reporter will verify the rumors, you can be assured, sir.” Still, she couldn’t say why it perplexed her that the Hamptons had not even mentioned such macabre goings-on in their correspondence. “Still, I heard it plain as day. Someone said it was a body part.”

  He tucked his thumbs in his pockets, his lip curling in a brief smile. “People love to gossip, Jane. The longer you’re here, the more you will see that London is a great melting pot of many types of people. They arrive daily, bringing their beliefs, their way of life, with them. Frankly, not all of them agree with how the queen dictates the government.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered sternly. “Are you saying that these murders are motivated by”—she waved one hand—“politics?”

  “Sshh.” He frowned at her. “The streets have ears.”

  Jane sighed and noticed over his shoulder an opening near the barricade of solemn-faced Bobbies. She surged forward, determined to see for herself what the city agencies were trying to hide. She heard Wesley calling her name, but fought through the mob, making her way to the front.

  “Miss Goodwin!”

  Wesley’s voice carried over the heads of the crowd. She pressed forward, confident he would catch up. She faced the determined uniformed officers and pushed up on her toes to catch a glimpse beyond the broad shoulders of London’s finest. A few yards away, she spotted the dark-haired inspector. He was kneeling beside an object that he’d hastily covered with his own coat. Her thoughts raced with how she could get close enough to speak to him, but even as she considered her options, an ambulance with the words St. John’s Hospital painted on the side arrived. The drivers, holding white sheets up to shroud the object from public view, placed it in the wagon, and carted it away. Within moments of its departure, the congested group of gawkers began to dissipate as quickly as they’d assembled. Looking weary and slightly frustrated from his battle with the crowd, Wesley arrived at Jane’s side.