An Affair Without End (48 page)

He swung around and charged out of the room. The others looked after him in baffled silence. Then Camellia
clapped her hands together and let out a whoop. “Pirate!”

They found the earl on his hands and knees in the space beneath the backstairs. He crawled around, checking under the dog’s blanket and in every nook and cranny. Pirate stood watching him with great interest, wagging his tail. Eve, who had thought to bring a candle from the other room, bent down to bring light to the small, dark space.

A glint of metal at the edge of an old boot caught Oliver’s eye, and he pounced on it. “My God.” He sat back on his heels, staring at the object.

“What is that?” Camellia asked.

“It’s a jeweler’s loupe.” Oliver’s face was grim as he exited from the dog’s hiding place. “And I have a very good idea whose.”

He held it close to Eve’s candle, turning it so that the silver ring around it glinted. Something was engraved on the silver.

“GDB,” he said, his lip curling up in a smile that was chilling. “It’s Brookman’s loupe.”

“Brookman?” Gregory gaped at him. “Vivian’s jeweler?”

Oliver nodded grimly. “I’m certain of it. I was there when he handed it to her to look at a necklace. It’s quite distinctive; it has his initials here on the silver band. See?” He held it out to Gregory. “He must have had it with him when he went to Glass’s, and during the fight it fell out of his pocket. He knew it would identify him beyond any doubt. That is why he was so anxious to retrieve it.”

“But why?” Camellia asked. “If Vivian had had the loupe, she would have already known who he was. Why bother to get it back?”

Oliver shrugged. “I don’t suppose criminals are always logical.”

“He could hope that she hadn’t really examined the thing yet and so didn’t know the truth,” Gregory offered. “Besides,
as long as the loupe was gone, there wouldn’t have been any proof. Even with Lady Vivian’s word or yours, the Crown’s case would be weak without the loupe itself.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Oliver’s hand closed into a fist around the loupe, and he set his jaw, his eyes cold and glittering. “I know where Vivian is.”

He thrust the loupe into his jacket pocket as he strode toward the door. The others followed him, including Pirate, his nails clicking merrily on the marble floor of the entryway. They had not quite reached the front door when it opened and Fitz came in. His face was grim, and he shook his head.

“I went to Lady Kitty’s. She wasn’t there—nor the carriage. The servants said she’d gone to Bunting’s in the coach, and when I reached the club, her carriage was there. I talked to the coachman, who swore he’d taken Lady Kitty to Bunting’s and had waited for her the whole time. But there was clearly something smoky about the situation. The horses were heated; they obviously hadn’t been just standing about. It didn’t take long before the driver admitted that after he dropped Lady Kitty off, Kilbothan tipped him a yellow boy to lend him the carriage. He swore that he had no idea where the fellow went with the vehicle. He just whiled away the time in a tavern, and Kilbothan took his driving coat and the carriage. I believed him. Unfortunately, Kilbothan was not there, and I haven’t the slightest idea how to find him.”

“So Kilbothan was in on it, too,” Gregory exclaimed.

“Too?” Fitz asked.

“I’ll explain in the carriage,” Oliver said, starting toward the door.

“Let me get my pistols,” Fitz said. “They just might come in handy.”

“You’re right.” Camellia turned and started toward the stairs with him. “I’ll get mine.”

“Wait. No. Camellia, you ladies are staying here.”

Eve and Camellia looked at him with expressions almost identical in their obstinacy.

“Don’t be such a . . . a
lord
.” Camellia’s tone turned the word into an insult. “You know I’m the best shot here except Fitz.”

“I think we’ve both proven we are not going to fall to pieces in a crisis,” Eve pointed out. “And there’s something to be said for sheer numbers. This man is not going to think he can get away with harming Vivian in front of
all
of us.”

“Don’t waste time arguing.” Fitz tossed back the advice to his brother as he trotted up the stairs.

Oliver sighed. “Very well. It would be good to be armed. But hurry.”

In only minutes both Fitz and Camellia were back. Camellia had pulled on the dark cloak she had worn the night of Glass’s murder, and her pocket once again sagged with the weight of her pistol. They made their way out to the carriage in front and climbed in. Pirate dashed out with them and sprang up into the carriage before anyone else.

Oliver cast the dog a jaundiced glance, but said only, “I suppose you might as well go. You got us into this mess, after all.”

The others climbed in, and though it was a tight fit, they managed it. They made good time through the almost deserted streets, and the coach pulled up, as Oliver had instructed, half a block away from the jeweler’s store. They walked quickly and quietly the rest of the way.

“Seyre, I think it’s best he see only you,” Oliver whispered as they grew close. Gregory nodded and went to stand in front of the door while Fitz and Oliver took their places on either side of the door, out of sight. Eve and Camellia lined up behind them.

Gregory took a breath, then rapped loudly on the door.

Vivian came slowly awake. Her head ached abominably, and she recognized nothing around her. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was lying on a bed in a room she didn’t know, that she was gagged and bound, and that her bound wrists were attached by a short length of rope to one of the four posts of the bed.

Fear flooded her, and she began to struggle. The rope cut painfully into her wrists, but she managed to pull and wriggle her way up to a sitting position. She looked around the room. It was a small but tastefully furnished bedroom—and completely foreign to her.

Memories flooded back in—the note from Kitty, the carriage and Brookman, Kilbothan. Brookman had taken her back to his shop; she had seen that much before that wretched Kilbothan knocked her in the head. This bedroom was probably part of the jeweler’s living quarters above his store. Many shopkeepers lived above their work.

She sat for a moment, letting her head clear. Brookman was
going to use her to lure Oliver here, and if Oliver didn’t have whatever Brookman wanted, the man planned to kill them both. She had to get out of here and warn Oliver. She scooted across the bed to the post where the end of her rope was tied. If she could just undo the knot, though her wrists would still be bound, she would be able to untie the bonds at her ankles and get rid of her gag as well. Unfortunately, the knot was securely tied, and her fingers had grown cold and numb from being bound. After several minutes of fumbling with the rope, she was forced to acknowledge that she was unlikely to untie the knot like this. She leaned her head against the bedpost, willing herself to think.

Her hair ornament!
She had pinned a decoration in her
hair this evening—a cunning thing made with jet bangles and a black feather. It had looked quite dashing against her red hair, she thought, but the important thing now was that it had been too heavy for the hair comb attached to it, so she had secured it with an onyx-topped hatpin. It was not, perhaps, quite as lethal as some hatpins she had seen, but the shaft of the pin was at least three inches long, and the little onyx knob on the top gave it a grip. She could use it to defend herself if it came down to that, and she might be able to use it to work the knot loose.

It took a bit of contortion to reach the decoration, but finally she pulled out the pin. She slipped the pin into the knot and began to wiggle it. Her hands, she found, grew even more numb from holding them up to do the slow and wearying work at the knot. Gradually, however, the thing began to loosen. In just a few more minutes, she thought, the rope would ease enough for her to work her forefinger into the knot.

Suddenly a loud rapping came from somewhere below. Vivian’s head shot up and her numbed fingers dropped the hatpin. Frustratingly, it lay on the counterpane just beyond the reach of her bound hands. But she was too elated by the knocks on the door below to worry about that. Somehow Oliver must have figured out that Brookman had kidnapped her!

Of course it could be someone else, but it seemed unlikely at this time of night. And even if it was a stranger, he might rescue her—if only she could make him hear her. Vivian began to scream, but the gag muffled the sound effectively. She raised her feet from the floor and slammed them back down as hard as she could over and over. Then she turned and began to kick her feet against the wall.

Downstairs the knocking began again, even more insistently. “Brookman!”

Was that Gregory’s voice? Vivian’s heart leapt in her throat, and she hammered her feet against the wall as hard as she could, cursing the rope that bound her to the bed. She heard men’s voices outside in the hallway, followed by receding footsteps. A moment later, the door to the bedroom was flung open, and Wesley Kilbothan rushed in.

“Stop that!” he hissed, closing the door behind him and hurrying over to her.

Vivian ignored him, still beating her feet on the wall. He whipped a knife out of his pocket, and she froze, certain that he was about to stab her with it. Instead he sawed through the rope connecting her to the bedpost. Relief washed through Vivian. She turned, snatching up the hatpin from where it had fallen, and twisted, jabbing with all her strength at Kilbothan’s chest. The man flinched away, turning enough to take the hit in his upper arm. The pin plunged into the knob, and he let out a shout of pain.

“You bitch!” He pulled back his fist and punched her in the jaw.

For the second time this evening, Vivian lapsed into unconsciousness.

“Who’s there?” A man’s voice came from behind the closed door.

“Mr. Brookman?” Gregory managed to keep his voice lower and calmer than he felt. “Could you open the door? I need to talk to you.”

“It’s quite late. Come back tomorrow.”

“No! Please, open the door. It’s Lord Seyre, Lady Vivian Carlyle’s brother.” Swallowing, he made his voice sound as pleading and uncertain as he could. “Something’s happened to Vivian. She’s vanished and . . . and I think it might be the thieves Vivian talked to you about.”

“How terrible! But, really, I don’t know what I can do.”

“If I could just talk to you—I know Vivian discussed it with you. I told her not to get involved in such things, but she’s always so headstrong. I thought if you could tell me what you’d told her, I might be able to figure it out. Please!” Gregory waited a moment, then said, more forcefully, “Open up the door! I refuse to leave until I talk to you, even if I have to stand here and pound on your door all night.”

Beside him, Oliver turned and looked at the nearest store window. If Brookman didn’t open the door in the next few seconds, he would have to kick in the window and go in that way. But just then, the door opened a crack, revealing a slice of the jeweler’s face.

“Are you alone?”

Gregory flung himself against the door, sending the other man staggering backward, and he rushed inside, quickly followed by Oliver and Fitz. Camellia and Eve squeezed in after them, the dog on their heels.

“Here! I say! What do you think you’re doing?” Brookman huffed, tugging his jacket straight and looking indignant.

“Where is she?” Oliver growled, grabbing the other man by the lapels of his jacket and shaking him. “Where the bloody hell is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the jeweler flared.

“The hell you don’t!” Oliver smashed his fist into Brookman’s face and followed it with a jab to his stomach. “You want to tell me now?”

The jeweler folded, going down to his knees on the floor. Pirate growled at the man, his lips pulling back from his teeth. The door into the rear of the store burst open, and Wesley Kilbothan strode into the showroom, pistol raised. Fitz turned and squeezed off a shot, and the gun flew out of the other man’s hand. Kilbothan let out a cry and grabbed his hand. He started toward Fitz, murder on his face.

“Stop!” Camellia cried out, her word followed by the deadly click of a pistol’s hammer.

Kilbothan froze and swung his head toward Camellia. He narrowed his eyes in assessment.

“Don’t think that she won’t shoot just because she’s a woman,” Fitz told him lightly. “Besides, as it happens, I have a set of pistols.”