as badly as you please.” She turned and swept out of the room.
“You might have helped me,” Señora Alvarez said to Arthur.
“You didn’t need any help,” he answered. “And I feared the intervention of a mere man would make things worse.”
Miss Finch snorted a laugh.
“You were wonderful,” said Miss Moran. “Ada’s aunt always makes me quake in my boots.”
The señora made a pfft sound. She was always magnificent, Arthur thought.
Thirteen
Over three quiet days, the rescued girls recovered. With safety, good food, rest, and care, they regained their strength. Only Odile remained weak, and even she was showing some improvement. Their spirits were a different matter. These veered from tears to rage to anxious tremors as the group sat together in the earl’s drawing room. But Teresa knew how to comfort without discounting these reactions, allowing them to run their course. She understood, too, that the tales might need to be repeated more than once. She had found this for herself, long ago. Repetition weakened bad memories; their impact could slowly trickle away, like sand running from an hourglass.
Visitors from the theater, including Tom, called to cheer the dancers, and Lord Macklin, on his brief look-ins, treated them with grave courtesy. Teresa grew hopeful that they would be able to move on very soon to whatever came next. She longed for that with all her being because she was finding it maddening to be in the earl’s company but not really with him. They had less conversation than during his visits to the artisans’ workshop. His sense of honor had become a barrier in his own house.
On the fourth day, she was determined to catch him and broach the subject of the future. But at midmorning the peace of the house was broken by shouting from the lower floor. The noise brought all the girls to worried alert. Puzzled, Teresa went out to the top of the stairs and looked down into the entry hall. A man was actually grappling with the earl’s butler. As she watched, he struck out and knocked Chirt to the floor. Where were the footmen?
The intruder started up the stairs, coming very fast, and then Teresa recognized him. It was Lord Simon Farange, the man behind the kidnappings. They had expected that he would hear the gossip and deduce who had raided the house, but Teresa hadn’t imagined he would force his way in here. He snarled up at her, missed his footing, and caught at the stair rail to keep his balance. Teresa concluded that he’d been drinking. Surely only drunkenness would lead him to invade the earl’s residence.
Chirt was struggling to his feet below. He would bring help. Until then, it was up to her to protect her charges.
Teresa rushed back into the drawing room. “Lord Simon is here,” she said. Gasps around the room greeted this unwelcome news. They all knew his name by this time. “He is alone,” Teresa added. “And there are seven of us.” She went to the hearth and picked up the fireplace poker. She posted herself between the girls and the doorway.
Lord Simon burst in and stood swaying there. “Here’s a fine sight,” he said. “A huddle of whores gone to ground.” He laughed. “Even my lovely little Odile.” He pointed at her. “Do you imagine I won’t scoop you up the moment you pass through the front door? Did you really think to escape me?”
From the sofa, Odile made a soft frightened sound.
“Come on!” cried Poppy. With a sweeping gesture, she surged forward. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the others, except Teresa and Odile, joined her. In a mob, they threw themselves on Lord Simon, bearing him to the carpet. There they surrounded him, punching and kicking and cursing. The man seemed stunned by this response, scarcely able to defend himself.
Three footmen ran in with Chirt right behind them. Teresa held up a hand and let the pummeling continue for a little longer. Then she moved forward to pull the girls away. The footmen hauled Lord Simon to his feet and held him upright. He drooped in their grip, much worse for wear. He would have some bruises of his own, Teresa noted with satisfaction.
She turned to replace the poker and discovered Odile, sitting up shakily on the sofa and pointing Teresa’s pistol at the intruder. When had she taken the gun? The last Teresa knew it was shoved into the back of a drawer in her bedchamber. Had she even mentioned that? It seemed