Unraveled (Turner #3)(90)

Parford didn’t realize when they passed Blasseur’s Trade Goods & More, but Miranda surely did. There had to be a better way.

She was going to have to find it herself. Before Parford noticed her absence, Miranda slipped into an alley and stole away.

Chapter Twenty-three

MIRANDA GAVE UP AFTER a few seconds of tossing pebbles at Jeremy’s window. The tiny stones weren’t drawing attention. Instead, she searched in the rubble against the building for a rock. She had just found a likely candidate when the scrape of wood against wood sounded above her. She looked up. Jeremy leaned out over the sill.

“Miranda, what are you doing here?” Jeremy asked.

What she could see of his hair was tousled; most of it was hidden under a voluminous nightcap. A heavy nightshirt covered his torso.

“Where is Old Blazer?” Miranda hissed.

Jeremy frowned down at her from his window, rubbing his eyes. “God, Miranda. That’s all you have to say? Last I saw you, you said you were leaving town. After—” He looked about. “I heard you were set free. Why in God’s name did you stay, when you’d had the dangers spelled out so clearly?” He frowned down at her. “It’s not safe out. I’ll go down and let you in.”

“No, I—”

But he’d already ducked back into his room, and her words were swallowed in the screech of his window closing.

She waited at the back door. A few infinitely long minutes passed before Jeremy opened the door. He’d pulled on trousers and a shirt, but his feet were bare. He folded his arms about him against the cold, and jerked his head, indicating that she should come inside.

She tapped her toes stubbornly on the doorstep. “Where is Old Blazer?”

“Asleep. Listen—you can hear him snoring.”

She could, very distantly. Miranda shook her head. “Then I’m not going in. It’s not safe. He’s got to be furious at me right now. Jeremy, we need to do something.”

Jeremy rubbed his chin. “Furious? Why would Old Blazer be furious?”

“This whole thing…” She blew out her breath furiously. “God. I wish I’d never been involved. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Everything I do just digs me deeper, and now—”

Jeremy caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her inside. He shut the door quietly behind her. “Calm down. Take a breath. What has you so upset?”

“Smite,” she said. Just saying his name brought to mind her deepest fears. What if he’d already been killed? What if his throat was slit, and he’d been tossed—but no. She couldn’t think that. She couldn’t let herself.

“Lord Justice?”

She nodded. “There’s no good way to say this, Jeremy. The Patron had his men arrest me after I left your shop the other day.”

“I know,” he interjected. “I thought you’d had the good sense to leave town after you got free.”

She took a deep breath. “Lord Justice didn’t think much of the Patron using his constables and his court for personal gain. And so he came up with a plan to…to, um, to, um...”

“To bring the Patron to justice?” Jeremy’s voice grew a hint chillier. “That would comport with what I have seen on this end. Don’t tell me: it didn’t work as planned.”

She nodded. “The Patron took Lord Justice.”

Jeremy scrunched his hair with one hand and screwed up his face. “Damn it.”

“It’s worse than damning. His brother, the Duke of Parford, is threatening to turn Bristol upside down in the search.”

“Of course he is,” Jeremy muttered. “It wanted only that—she’s holding the entire city hostage now. I’ll get the message shortly.” He blew out his breath. “Miranda, I wish you weren’t here. But it is so good to have even one person to turn to. I can’t do this.” He began to pace the floor. “But I have to. But I can’t. I couldn’t do it even for George.”

“We can stop it,” Miranda said. “While all his men are busy with Lord Justice. Jeremy, I know he’s your grandfather, but the two of us could tie Old Blazer up, take him in right now. We could avert the entire crisis.”

Jeremy stopped mid-pace and cocked his head. “Old Blazer?” he asked. “What does Old Blazer have to do with any of this?”

There were no words to describe the feeling of sick, sinking vertigo that assailed Miranda. “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“You think Old Blazer is the Patron?” Jeremy asked.

All of Miranda’s certainty came to a tumbling halt. There had been that letter, written in the same hand as those prices. Jeremy had told her the Patron was Old Blazer. Hadn’t he?

Miranda shut her eyes, and an image drifted to her mind: Mrs. Blasseur, seated on a stool, cutting foolscap into strips.

Her heart stopped. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “I thought—”

“No,” Jeremy snapped. “You didn’t. You didn’t think at all. Old Blazer has no sense of discretion. Have you ever known him to keep his mouth shut?”

“Well, no, but—”

“He’s forever talking to people. And he won’t even do his part in the shop if he feels the slightest ache in his little toe. Do you really think he’d be the sort to work long hours on a thankless endeavor?”