“Who is that man?” he whispered.
“That’s Father Hubbard” was Annie’s hushed reply.
“The one in the songs?” Jack said, looking over his shoulder. Annie nodded.
“Yes, and when he—”
“Enough, Annie. What did you see in the hat shop?” I asked, gripping Jack more tightly. I extended my hand toward the overflowing basket of groceries. “Let me take that, Fran?oise.”
“It will not help, madame,” Fran?oise said, though she handed me the basket. “Milord will know you have been with that fiend. Not even the cabbage’s scent will hide it.” Jack’s head turned in interest at this morsel of information, and I gave Fran?oise a warning look.
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” I said as we turned toward home.
Back at the Hart and Crown, I divested myself of basket, cloak, gloves, and children and took a cup of wine in to Matthew. He was at his desk, bent over a sheaf of paper. My heart lightened at the now-familiar sight.
“Still at it?” I asked, reaching over his shoulder to put the wine before him. I frowned. His paper was covered with diagrams, X’s and O’s, and what looked like modern scientific formulas. I doubted that it had anything to do with espionage or the Congregation, unless he was devising a code. “What are you doing?”
“Just trying to figure something out,” Matthew said, sliding the paper away.
“Something genetic?” The X’s and O’s reminded me of biology and Gregor Mendel’s peas. I drew the paper back. There weren’t just X’s and O’s on the page. I recognized initials belonging to members of Matthew’s family: YC, PC, MC, MW. Others belonged to my own: DB, RB, SB, SP. Matthew had drawn arrows between individuals, and lines crisscrossed from generation to generation.
“Not strictly speaking,” Matthew said, interrupting my examination. It was a classic Matthew nonanswer.
“I suppose you’d need equipment for that.” At the bottom of the page, a circle surrounded two letters: B and C—Bishop and Clairmont. Our child. This had something to do with the baby.
“In order to draw any conclusions, certainly.” Matthew picked up the wine and carried it toward his lips.
“What’s your hypothesis, then? You don’t need a laboratory to come up with a theory,” I observed. “If it involves the baby, I want to know what it is.”
Matthew froze, his nostrils flaring. He put the wine carefully on the table and took my hand, pressing his lips to my wrist in a seeming gesture of affection. His eyes went black.
“You saw Hubbard,” he said accusingly.
“Not because I sought him out.” I pulled away. That was a mistake.
“Don’t,” Matthew rasped, his fingers tightening. He drew another shuddering breath. “Hubbard touched you on the wrist. Only the wrist. Do you know why?”
“Because he was trying to get my attention,” I said.
“No. He was trying to capture mine. Your pulse is here,” Matthew said, his thumb sweeping over the vein. I shivered. “The blood is so close to the surface that I can see it as well as smell it. Its heat magnifies any foreign scent placed there.” His fingers circled my wrist like a bracelet. “Where was Fran?oise?”
“In Leadenhall Market. I had Jack and Annie with me. There was a beggar, and—” I felt a brief, sharp pain. When I looked down, my wrist was torn and blood welled from a set of shallow, curved nicks. Teeth marks.
“That’s how fast Hubbard could have taken your blood and known everything about you.” Matthew’s thumb pressed firmly into the wound.
“But I didn’t see you move,” I said numbly.
His black eyes gleamed. “Nor would you have seen Hubbard, if he’d wanted to strike.”
Perhaps Matthew wasn’t as overprotective as I thought.
“Don’t let him get close enough to touch you again. Are we clear?”
I nodded, and Matthew began the slow business of managing his anger. Only when he was in control of it did he answer my initial question.
“I’m trying to determine the likelihood of passing my blood rage to our child,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. “Benjamin has the affliction. Marcus doesn’t. I hate the fact that I could curse an innocent child with it.”
“Do you know why Marcus and your brother Louis were resistant, when you, Louisa, and Benjamin were not?” I carefully avoided assuming that this accounted for all his children. Matthew would tell me more when—if—he was able.