Page 137 of The Marriage Method

It was Mrs. Pritchard.

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Nell’s cane fell from her hand as Mrs. Pritchard dragged her backward. It clattered to the hay-strewn floor, completely out of reach. She inhaled a choking gasp. The woman smelled of eau de cologne and acrid perspiration. A foul stench, as though she hadn’t washed in days.

Her right arm was tight around Nell’s neck, squeezing her throat. And in her other hand—

Nell emitted a reflexive squeak of protest as the blade of a straight razor pressed to her jugular.

“Don’t make a sound, my fine lady,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “And you!” she snarled at Miles. “Move a muscle and I’ll slit her throat.”

Miles stood frozen across from them. He didn’t move. Indeed, he didn’t appear to breathe. His attention was focused on Nell with hawklike intensity.

“Or maybe I’ll slit her throat anyway,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “It’d be no more than she deserves after destroying my business and sending the law after me.”

“It won’t solve anything,” Nell said.

Mrs. Pritchard poked her with the razor’s edge. “I said shut up, you. I’ve had enough of your false tongue.”

Nell felt a drop of blood roll down her throat. She swallowed hard.

Miles’s fists clenched at his sides. “You haven’t thought this through.”

“What’s to think about? I’ve no business because of her. No good name.” Mrs. Pritchard squeezed Nell’s neck tighter, briefly cutting off her supply of air. “I’ve had to go on the run like a dog.”

Nell coughed and choked. She pulled at Mrs. Pritchard’s arm to no avail.

A spasm of anguish crossed Miles’s face. It was gone in a flash, replaced by a look of murderous resolve. “If you had thought it through,” he continued, “you’d realize that the instant you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself.”

Mrs. Pritchard uttered a rasping laugh. “I’m dead either way, my fine fellow. All that remains is to decide how many of you I’ll take with me.”

Nell’s eyes watered as she struggled to breathe. “It was Amstead.”

Mrs. Pritchard nicked her again with the razor. Another drop of blood sprang out in its wake.

Miles took a reflexive step forward.

“Stay back!” Mrs. Pritchard commanded. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

“Amstead used you,” Nell said. “And now he’s discarding you like rubbish.”

Mrs. Pritchard stilled. Her foul breath gusted on Nell’s cheek. “What did you say?”

“It benefits him for the Crown to hang you,” Nell answered. “If you’re executed for killing Mr. Cowgill, Amstead’s secret will die with you.”

“She’s right,” Miles said.

“Don’t listen to them, Lily.” A man’s voice sounded at the door of the stables. He stepped inside. It was Innes. “They’re liars, the both of them. They’ll talk you in circles ’til they have you thinking black is white.”

“It’s too late, Jeb,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “Amstead’s not going to give me any more money. He told me so when I arrived yesterday.”

“Shut up, Lily,” Innes warned, coming closer.

“All that business about sending me to France,” Mrs. Pritchard went on. “It was for your benefit. I saw it in his face. He means to summon the magistrate. To see me hanged. Your own sister!”

Sister?

Nell stared at Innes. She saw it clearly, then. He and Mrs. Pritchard had the same tall build, long face, and thickening midsection. The same merciless eyes. She was amazed she hadn’t noticed the resemblance before.