Sophie turned wide, hopeful eyes on her governess.
Mrs. Clarke nodded. “As you wish, ma’am.” To Sophie she said, “I have your nightclothes laid out in the other room. Let us get you ready for bed.”
“Sophie,” Catherine said, “get started without Mrs. Clarke. I need to speak with her for a moment.”
Her daughter tore across the chamber and flung herself into Catherine’s arms. “Thank you for the best birthday ever.”
Tears stung the back of Catherine’s eyes. “You’re welcome, pumpkin.” She kissed her nose. “Now off with you.”
Sophie skipped from the room, leaving two teary-eyed women behind.
“Why are you here?” Catherine asked in a quiet voice.
“To watch over your daughter.”
“Yes.” Catherine clasped her hands together. “That’s why Cochran brought you here. What I want to know is why you are here.”
A haunted expression froze the governess’s features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Catherine shuffled closer. “Don’t you?”
The governess shook her head, her lips firming to stop their trembling.
Closer still. “I recognize a mother’s fear,” Catherine pressed.
Mrs. Clarke’s eyes closed briefly. When they opened again, bleakness penetrated their depths. “Please don’t.”
“Why? There is no one to hear.”
A maniacal laugh burst from her lips. “There is always someone to hear, Mrs. Ashcroft. Never doubt it.” She threw off her grief as if it were a cumbersome mantle. “Now, if you will excuse me. I must attend your daughter.” With that pronouncement, the woman marched into the next chamber.
Catherine’s gaze cast about the nursery, recalling Sebastian’s warning never to underestimate her enemy. Feeling heartsick, she left her enemy behind to tend her daughter. Two doors from her bedchamber, she rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt.
In the middle of the dimly lit corridor stood Silas, looking more tattered than normal, with his neckcloth missing and an unflattering amount of flesh showing. The area around his mouth glistened in a way that turned Catherine’s stomach, and she could see he was holding something behind his back.
“Have you anything for my master?”
Why was he asking now rather than waiting until her return later this evening? Much about Silas tonight seemed stranger than normal. Thank goodness, she and Sebastian had been able to sneak away for a little while to discuss their next steps while Bellamere’s stablemaster fielded Sophie’s and Teddy’s many questions. Recalling Sebastian’s instructions, she said, “This afternoon, I found what looked like a catalog of names and locations, but everything appeared to be in some type of code.”
“How many traitors are on the list?”
Her heart froze in her chest. They had not discussed numbers. “I didn’t count them.”
His head tilted to the side and he seemed to be playing with something in his teeth. “What is your best guess, madam?”
What would be a believable number? One that wouldn’t be laughable or too extraordinary, but large enough to give Cochran pause? She released a slow breath. “If I had to guess, I would say between twenty and twenty-five.”
He stared at her, unblinking, for several bone-racking seconds. “When can you make delivery?”
“Within the next couple days, I suspect.”
“Not sooner?”
“I don’t see how,” she said. “The list is in his lordship’s bedchamber. It’s difficult to copy something so well hidden when I’m rarely left alone.”
“Then do not copy it. Bring the original.”
The longer they spoke, the more agitated he became. In a level voice, she said, “Mr. Cochran’s instructions were quite clear, sir. I am not to arouse Lord Somerton’s suspicions. If I take the list and he’s still cataloging agents, he will warn every member of the Nexus.”
As if Silas weren’t peculiar-looking enough, his right eye twitched when angered.
“Are we finished here, Mr. Silas?”
The twitching grew worse. He nodded but did not move out of her path. And his hand remained half hidden behind his back.
Catherine lifted her chin and strode forward. “Good night, Mr. Silas.”
His arm swung out, and Catherine saw something large and cudgel-like in his hand. She gasped, ducking beneath the cover of her arms, and waited.
Nothing happened.
Then came a disgusting sucking noise. Easing up from her crouched position, she saw the sound was coming from Silas’s mouth. He was ripping chunks of meat off a large bone with his jagged teeth. Juices from the succulent piece dripped down his chin and landed on his bare chest.
Bile shot into the back of her throat.
“Your reflexes are much better than his lordship’s.” He cocked his head to the side. “And you did not wail like the Irish girl.”
She pressed her back against the wall. “You’re the one?”