Moonlight & Mechanicals (19 page)

Tom grinned. “No problem. You know, I’m younger than you, but there’s something I learned years ago that you might do well to figure out and sooner, rather than later.”

“What’s that?”

“That
family
is a word with a lot of definitions.” Tom spread his hands. “According to the law or blood, I don’t have a single relative to my name. I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was young. I met my grandfather exactly twice before he died, and because the inheritance was potentially tricky, Merrick and Caroline couldn’t adopt me legally along with the others. So if you look at family as just the people you were born to or even those you share a name with, I don’t have any at all.”

“But you do,” Liam said. “You’ve got a damn big and damn loyal family. We both know that, so what’s your point?”

“
That
is exactly my point.” Tom set his chin. “For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve admired you. Even idolized you a little when I was a kid. You’re one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met, except for maybe Piers, and he’s just plain scary. But when it comes to family, you don’t have a bloody clue. In fact, you’re downright stupid. You insist on defining yourself by a worthless bunch of idiots who’ve done nothing productive as far as I can tell and who’ve ignored you your entire adult life.”

“Blood will tell, as they say,” Liam said. “I don’t like to claim them as family, but I can’t deny I’m made from the same stuff. Like it or not, I’m still a werewolf.”

“Blood will tell?” Tom spread his hands. “That’s horseshit and you know it. What we are, who we’re born to, doesn’t define who we are. Are Piers and Nell like the mother who entertained sailors for money? Is Jamie destined to be a bigoted fool like the aunt who threw a five-year-old into the street because he has visions? How about Wink? Her father neglected her and her grandparents cut off her mother for marrying beneath her. Can you see Wink doing either of those, under any circumstances?”

“It’s not the same,” Liam said between gritted teeth. “Werewolves have instincts—we’re violent by nature.”

“And the Knights aren’t?” Tom shook his head. “Ballocks. You, Inspector, are a good, solid person, werewolf or no. I’ve seen you hold each of the Hadrian babies. You’re as wrapped around their little fingers as Nell is, for Christ’s sake. As to being a risk to Wink, ballocks again. Have you ever hit a woman in your life?”

“Of course not.” Liam sighed. “But I have come closer than I’d like and I haven’t had to live day by day with one, or with children either. It isn’t the same.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it? All I’m saying is don’t be a fool. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that a true family is a group of people who give a damn about each other. People who care enough to fight for you when you’re in trouble or to let you know when you’re making an ass of yourself. You’ve had that for years, though you don’t seem to realize it. You’ve been part of our family since the day you and Merrick found us in Wapping. Yes, seeing the jackass who sired you is probably going to be awkward. I’m sorry about that. I just thought you ought to know that your
real
family will be right there beside you.”

Liam swallowed the lump in his throat. It seemed today was his day to be lectured by those younger than himself, and damn if both of them hadn’t had valid points to make. After a moment, he nodded at Tom, who had just proclaimed himself family. It was perhaps the greatest compliment Liam had ever received. “Thanks.”

“No worries. You’d do the same for me.” Tom winked and rubbed his hands together. “Now, I believe you’re about to introduce me to Miss Lolly Luscious.”

Liam punched the younger man’s arm lightly as they got out of the hack. “Behave, pup.”

Tom grinned. “Make me.”

* * *

Wink studied another sheaf of printouts and sighed. “None of the men on Liam’s list own any suspicious property. We’re still whistling in the wind on this one, boys.” The duke had managed to get them a copy of the national property register on tickertape to load into the Order’s analytical engine so they could work from the Club. Kendall and his father had already left for Windsor with the royal family, so there would be no further help from them.

Jamie and Connor both groaned and went back to sorting through their own stacks of papers.

“Maybe I can help.” They all looked up as Piers sauntered into the room, looking dapper in a black frock coat and gray top hat with a black alligator-skin valise in his hand. He was shorter than either of the others, but still a good height, with a build more lean than muscular—nothing like the frail child he’d been. His medium brown hair was cut elegantly short and slicked back. Beneath silver-rimmed spectacles, his eyes were dark today, matching his fine cashmere suit. His hazel eyes were even more changeable than Wink’s, going anywhere from blue as Tom’s to almost as brown as Liam’s.

Obviously he’d bypassed the front door and avoided the Club’s steward. “I was able to make contact with the younger sons’ group at Cambridge. I’ve brought you a list of names, including the man who seems to be the recruiter.”

Wink scowled. “Your term isn’t over until next week. What are you doing here? Why the hell is everyone leaving school all at the same time?” She glared at Jamie as well as Piers.

Piers hung his coat and hat on a rack in the corner. His eyes sparkled with humor and wicked intelligence. Wink paused a moment to enjoy the sight of her once sickly little brother, now at eighteen, taller than her, and fit and lean. He came over to kiss her cheek. “I took my exams early. Told the dons there was a family emergency. Trust me, it’ll be fine. They’re not going to kick out their top student, after all. They waved a cheerful good-bye and said see you in the fall.”

Jamie stuck out his tongue. “Bootlicker.”

“Idiot. Have you been sent down again?” Piers scrubbed Jamie’s head with his knuckles. “Papa’s going to have your hide.”

“All right, boys, this isn’t the nursery,” Connor said. “Piers, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Piers reached into his valise and withdrew a notebook. “Here’s the list of names. The ringleader is a chap named Kersleigh. He’s organizing a picket line to protest at the races.”

“Kersleigh.” Wink’s fingers quivered as she snatched the notebook. “Well, we knew he was involved in this somewhere.”

“Anyway, I followed him to his lodgings,” Piers said. “The innkeeper said he’s there a couple times a month. Sometimes he’s alone, but once in a while he’s with another man. One Lord Trumball. Haven’t seen him, though, so I couldn’t tell you what he looks like.”

“Trumball. Does that ring any bells for anyone?” Connor asked.

They all shook their heads.

“I’ve got Debrett’s programmed into the engine,” Wink said. “If he’s actually a lord, we can find out quickly enough.” She sat down to the terminal connected to the massive analytical engine residing in one of the basement levels of the club and used a keypunch machine to enter the search request. “I’m working on getting newspapers entered, but we’re not there yet. Especially not the society pages.”

“Why bother with that?” Piers frowned. “If you want the last sixty years of the society pages catalogued in one place, why not simply telephone the dowager duchess?”

“Brilliant,” Connor said.

“Why didn’t we think of that?” Wink sent her brother a pleading look. “Piers, would you make the call?”

He shook his head. Wink looked to Connor and Jamie, but both of them glanced away, Connor studying the ceiling while Jamie busied himself in a sheaf of printouts.

“Oh, fine. Three big strong men afraid of one little old lady.” She shook her head at the lot of them. “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Fine, then. One of you read the Debrett’s printout when it finishes. I’ll go ring her grace.”

The telephone was in another room, actually an antechamber of the duke’s private office. Wink keyed in the numeric code for the ducal seat in Kent and spoke first to a servant, and then to Amy as the dowager was fetched. Well into her seventies, she’d begun taking afternoon naps, Wink learned, but thankfully, her mind was as sharp as ever.

The only problem was that her grace truly loved to talk. In her mind, the telephone was the greatest invention since the whalebone corset, since it allowed her to chatter even with those who weren’t nearby. Wink was forced to first give a report on each member of her family, on Kendall and the duke. Finally the duchess asked, “And how is that handsome young inspector of yours, darling? Has he come up to snuff yet?”

Liam would be horrified if he heard that, but Wink knew better than to try to correct the duchess. “Not yet, I’m afraid, but Inspector McCullough is well, your grace. He’s working with the Order on this Ascot business you know. If you don’t mind, I think you may be able to help us on a small related matter.”

“Of course, darling.” Wink could almost see her grin and rub her hands together. “Delighted to be of assistance.”

“Wonderful. Have you ever heard of a Lord Trumball?”

“Trumball? Hmm. It rings a bell. Let me see. Trundell—no, couldn’t be him. Senile old coot. Turnblat—no, that was just a nickname. Trumball. Oh yes, of course! We called him Lord Trumped-Up. I don’t know how he could be involved in your case, though. He was the same age as me, or thereabouts. I think he died half a dozen years ago.”

“Who was his heir?” Unless the title had gone extinct and was being used in a fraudulent manner that had to be their man. “And do you know the family name?”

“I believe the name is actually Trumball, dear. Prinny just popped a title on Old Trumped-Up’s so-called father to thank him. They married just before she popped.”

“Who married, your grace?” Wink could never quite keep up with the twists and turns of the duchess’s thought process.

“You wouldn’t remember them, dear. By that time, the Trumballs didn’t go out much in Society. Too much scandal you know. They never had any use for each other and both were always getting caught in one affair after another.” The duchess drew in a deep breath. “Very well. Here’s the brief version. Let’s see—the elder Trumball was a soldier, I believe. Can’t remember the man’s given name. The girl—Lucinda? Lucilla?—anyway, she was the daughter of some courtier or another and got a mite too friendly with the prince. When Prinny—he wasn’t regent then of course, just Prince of Wales—found out she was with child, he got her married off to Trumball and had him elevated to a viscount. This would be in about ’84 or so.”

“So the heir, who you said was your age, wasn’t really Trumball’s son?” Wink began making notes.

“Of course not. Quincy, his name was. Used to brag that he was the real heir to the throne as the oldest of all Prinny’s bastards and yet his actual title was so new it squeaked. That’s why we called him Lord Trumped-Up.”

“Heavens.” Wink wrote furiously. “That goes a long way toward explaining a grudge against the throne.”

“Yes, yes it could,” the duchess said. “Trumped-Up used to hate the idea of a woman on the throne. It was all about male superiority with him, never mind legitimacy. I’d presume his children would think the same way.”

“This is wonderful information. Do you know if he had any children?” Wink dipped her pen again. “Maybe even grandchildren by this point.”

“Trumped-Up married late, and it was a horrible mistake. That’s why I said they weren’t welcome in Society. They were both famous for catting around without bothering to be discreet. There was a son, I think. He’d be a little younger than Kendall. Now that I think of it, I believe there was also a bastard he took in, just to rub his wife’s nose in his
affaires
. Kirby or Curry, or something like that.”

“Kersleigh?” Wink swallowed hard.

“Yes, that could be it. Tell me, dear, are Trumped-Up’s sons involved in this plot?” The duchess sighed. “What a shame. He was such a wet noodle that I wouldn’t have believed it, but I don’t know the boys at all.”

“We don’t know for certain,” Wink said. “But I need to contact his grace with this information.”

“Well, naturally. So glad I could help. Give that nice inspector a kiss for me, will you?”

“Good afternoon, your grace. Thank you very much.” Wink shook her head and set down the receiver. She turned to the others. “I think we have our man—or more accurately, men.”

“Really?” Liam strolled in with a rolled-up piece of paper under his arm, Tom beside him. “Are we too late to help save the day?”

“Not if that’s the sketch of our mastermind.” Wink turned to the others. “According to her grace, Viscount Trumball and Kersleigh are half-brothers and their father may well have been a bastard of George IV. Maybe even the oldest son. Kersleigh was also born on the wrong side of the blanket, but the two were apparently raised together.”

Connor held up a piece of paper. “I’ve got the Debrett’s listing. Jeremy George Trumball, third Viscount Trumball, born 1826. Only legitimate child of Quincy Trumball, the second viscount, born in 1784. The family’s estate is over near Bath, so that can’t be the base of operations we’re looking for. Kersleigh isn’t listed.”

“No, they wouldn’t mention any illegitimate offspring. I wonder if we can turn up a portrait of Lord Trumball—and if so, will it match this?” Tom unrolled a sheet of drawing paper to reveal a rather average-looking man. He was perhaps a little overweight, with dark hair and eyebrows and a prominent Roman nose.

“Something about the nose reminds me of Kersleigh,” Wink said. “Don’t you think?”

“It is a rather impressive specimen,” Piers agreed. “And it does, kind of, remind me of some of the royal family.”

Tom shrugged. “But those features are common enough that the same could be said for half of England, and probably most Germans to boot.”

“Hell, even my father and brother could fit that description,” Liam said. “So you can add the Irish.”

Everyone nodded.

“Well,” Jamie said, “back to property records, I suppose. We’ll look for Trumball this time. It’s more than we had before.”

“I need to get back to the Yard.” Liam scrubbed his hand through his hair before putting on his hat. Lines of fatigue or strain marred his forehead and his shoulders drooped, though not enough that anyone but her was likely to notice. Was he just tired? Or was something wrong? “Telephone or send for me if anything new comes up.”