An Unlikely Alliance (11 page)

With that pronouncement she left the room. But Alexander knew she was wrong. He would find the criminal. There was no question of that. But he doubted that everything would ever be the same as it had been before.

After much pondering, Alexander finally concluded that the man they were after was either the greatest criminal mastermind in all of England or else a complete fool. It was the only possible explanation for why his earnest efforts, along with those of Luke, Bob Parker, and a host of investigators and informants, had not yielded the slightest clue to his identity. Only a genius could have covered his tracks so thoroughly.

Or perhaps they were overcomplicating matters. What if the man who had fixed the race was a novice? Someone who had no great scheme, someone who had simply fixed this one race and then disappeared back into civilized society? And the bungled attack on Magda—surely that spoke more of amateurish panic than calculated professionalism.

Had the last week been wasted? What if the clues had been there all along but he had overlooked them, blinded by his need to find devious schemes where there were none? Suddenly re-energized, he leaped out of his chair.

“Luke!” he called. “Damn it, where are you?”

Striding into the hallway, he began issuing orders. “Dugan, see that my horse is saddled and brought around at once. And a horse for Master Luke as well, assuming we can find him.”

The butler coughed politely and Alexander turned to find that Luke had crept up and was now standing at his elbow.

“The most excellent sahib has called and his faithful servant has answered,” Luke said, salaaming in the manner of a Hindu servant.

“Bother that,” Alexander replied. “It just occurred to me that we may too clever for our own good. What if this wasn’t part of some great scheme or criminal enterprise?”

Luke was quick to grasp the concept. “You think our man’s an amateur?” His playful manner slid away like water as he considered the idea. “Yes, yes, that’s possible. We could have overlooked someone like that.”

“I’m glad you agree with me,” Alexander said, turning to slip on the cloak that the footman held out for him. “Come along and let’s pay a call on Bob Parker. It’s before noon—he should still be at Bow Street. Then we’ll go back out and start investigating this from scratch. Throw away everything we think we know and just focus on the facts.”

Bob Parker was not to be found at Bow Street, but a clerk there was able to direct them to a dockside tavern where they found the investigator.

Entering the dark tavern, they found Bob conferring with an evil-looking, one-armed man who was apparently the proprietor.

“My lord, Master Luke,” Bob said, breaking off his conversation and advancing toward them. “I should have known you’d turn up. I was about to send a messenger to you.”

“Indeed?”

“Come back here. I think you’ll be most interested in what we’ve found.”

Apparently there had been a disturbance the previous night, for the remains of broken chairs still littered the floor and several tables listed sadly on their two or three remaining legs. The smell of spilled ale mixed with less savory odors in a noxious stench. Paying no heed to the smell, Bob Parker picked his way around the debris and led them to the back of the tavern.

“Here we are,” he said.

A body lay on the floor, scuffed boots sticking out from under the sailcloth that had been thrown over it in an attempt at decency. Alexander bent down and pulled back the cloth. The body was that of a middle-aged man with weathered features and graying hair. The body lay in a pool of dried blood, and from the stab wounds it was obvious how he had died. The lifeless gray eyes were open, giving the appearance of eternal astonishment.

Luke was the first to speak. “He doesn’t look like a criminal mastermind.”

Alexander replaced the cloth over the body, being sure to cover the face and that ghastly stare. “Are you sure this is our man?”

“Oh yes,” Bob said. “I had the stableboy, Ben, over here and he confirmed that this was the man who paid him.”

“Does anyone know who this was?” Alexander asked.

“His name is John Blackwell. Used to be a trainer himself up Newmarket way till his liking for the drink got him fired. He came to London and eventually wound up in a lodging house just across the way. He was in here yesterday afternoon, boasting of how smart he was and how he’d made a fortune from fixing a race. No one believed he’d have the guts to do such a thing and they all laughed in his face. So he left and when he came back a few moments later he was flashing gold guineas to prove what he’d done.”

“And his new friends were overcome by respect for his criminal genius,” Luke said ironically. “So overcome that they demanded he share his good fortune.”

Bob Parker sighed. “That’s about the size of it. Someone stuck a knife in him. The barkeep isn’t sure who, but a fight broke out over the spoils. By the time the watch got here there were three other dead gents to keep this one company. I had them taken away already, but I knew you’d want to see this one yourself.”

So it was over. It was oddly unsatisfying, and yet he had been on the right track. The criminal was an amateur and a fool. Only an idiot would have flashed gold in a dockside tavern.

“It seems too easy,” Luke said, echoing Alexander’s thoughts.

“That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Bob Parker said philosophically. “But it all fits. Mamzelle Magda even said the man who attacked her seemed like a dockworker. John Blackwell probably recruited him right here.”

“And you’re sure he acted alone?”

“Seems that way. Everyone here says he kept pretty much to himself, except for last night. We’ve spread your blunt around pretty liberally, but still no one’s come forward with any mention of his having a partner. If there was anything to say, someone would have turned informer by now.”

“Thank you,” Alexander said. “I appreciate your efforts. We’ll leave you to finish up here. Send me your report and don’t forget to include your expenses.”

“Very good, my lord. And give my best to Mamzelle Magda.”

Luke held his silence till they had collected their horses and were riding back home. “Why aren’t we celebrating? For a man who just solved a mystery, you don’t seem particularly happy.”

“I am pleased that it is over,” Alexander said. He just wished he could rid himself of the nagging feeling that there was something left undone, something that they were overlooking.

“And annoyed that it ended so easily. Who would have thought our villain would be stupid enough to get himself killed in a tavern brawl?” Luke observed.

“That, too,” Alexander agreed. He felt a curious sense of letdown. While he had been pursuing the wrong leads the case had solved itself. They hadn’t needed him. He could have been an indolent fop for all the help he had been.

“At least Magda will be happy that this is over. And I’m sure you’ll be glad to have her off your hands.”

“Yes,” Alex said. But this thought, too, brought him no satisfaction. Over the week of her stay he had grown used to her quiet presence. He had even sought her ought just for the pleasure of speaking with her, and under his tutelage she was developing into a formidable opponent at chess. But she still insisted on helping with the household sewing to repay him for her keep. Alexander had allowed it, but he had also forbidden his valet to place any garment of his in the mending pile.

He wondered what she would do now that the danger had passed. After this adventure she’d sworn her days as a fortune teller were over, yet positions were not easy to come by. If she wasn’t able to find employment, in no time at all she could find herself reduced to penury. It seemed a shame to have her leave, just when the shadows had disappeared from under her eyes and she had started to lose her unnatural thinness. Perhaps he could convince her to remain for a few days longer, just until she found a situation.

In any event she would be glad to hear that the danger was over. Suddenly he found himself looking forward to giving her the good news.

Back at the house he found Magda in her room, occupied as usual with some sewing chore. But her reaction to the news that she was now out of danger was somewhat less than the joyous celebration he had pictured.

“That’s good to hear,” she said, as if he had brought her news of the weather.

Her lack of reaction puzzled him. “I don’t think you understand. We’ve found the man who fixed the race and tried to kidnap you. You’re safe now, and Bow Street is convinced of your innocence.” He could hear the anger creeping into his voice, but he made no effort to moderate his temper. The least she could do was show a little gratitude.

“I knew I was not to blame,” Magda said, but there was no passion in her voice. Just the same dull listlessness that had greeted his pronouncement. “I am grateful,” she said and paused to take a shuddering breath. “I am grateful for what you have done.”

There was something wrong here.

“Have you told Luke? He will want to know,” she said hurriedly.

“He knows.”

“I think you should go tell him. Again.” There was another pause as she drew in a shuddering breath.

Moving closer, he could see the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead; she had dropped whatever she was sewing to hold one arm clutched around her middle. “Yes, go. You should go, now,” she babbled.

Concern for her now overrode his earlier pique. “Magda, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” he asked, dropping to his knees next to her chair. Taking her free hand in his, he found her pulse. It was far too rapid. With his other hand he brushed the curls away from her forehead. Her face was warm to the touch, but not warm enough to explain the beads of sweat on her brow or the glazed look in her eyes.

“I do not feel well,” she said, stating the obvious. “Just leave me alone.” She closed her eyes for a moment as a spasm of pain seemed to grip her, then swallowed convulsively.

“How long have you felt like this?” It must have come on suddenly, he thought. She had seemed fine this morning at breakfast.

“Not long,” she said, feebly attempting to push his hand away. “Please go. I don’t want you here.”

“I’ll ring for a maid,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. He stood up and crossed over to the bellpull to summon help.

Magda made a half-groaning, half-sobbing noise. He turned to see her lean over the arm of the chair and become violently ill. He grabbed the chamberpot and in two swift steps he was back at her side. Holding the chamberpot under her with his left hand, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders as convulsions wracked her body. It was agony to witness, but eventually the fit passed and she was able to straighten up.

Easing her back in the chair, he went to the washstand and splashed cold water on a linen towel, then came back and began to tenderly wipe her face.

“I told you to leave,” she whispered. She tried a smile but it was a feeble effort.

Dammit, where was that maid? Alexander yanked on the bellpull again, with a force that could have set church bells pealing. He wasn’t good with sick people, and he understood her desire to be alone. He was like that himself, hating anyone to see him when he was vulnerable.

“I think you’ll be easier if we lie you down. Do you feel up to being moved?”

Magda nodded. “I think so,” she said, leaning forward and grasping the arms of the chair as if to stand. He ignored her feeble efforts and lifted her in his arms, easily carrying her the short distance to her bed. Sweeping aside the satin coverlet, he piled the pillows for her head, then laid her down. Next he unbuckled her half-boots, a liberty she would surely have protested were she not so ill. He cursed the quirk of his mind that could notice the fineness of her ankles even as he worried over her condition.

He drew the coverlet over her. There was a soft rap at the door. It was about time. “Come in,” he said.

The door opened but the figure that appeared was not a maid but rather the butler, Dugan.

“My lord!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I rang for a maid, not a butler,” Alexander said testily.

“Yes, milord, but that is the problem. I was on my way to tell Miss Beaumont that several of the maids have taken ill, and the rest are too busy to run her errands. Of course, if I had known it was you—”

Alexander was quick to pick up on the implied disrespect. So Dugan thought Magda a bother, did he? It was time that someone set him straight. “In case it has escaped your notice, Miss Beaumont has fallen ill as well. I want someone up here to clean up this mess, and send a footman for the doctor.”

Dugan was smart enough to realize he had made a mistake. “At once, my lord,” he said. “I will see to it personally.”

A faint moan from the bed warned him that Magda was going to be sick again. He reached her just in time. It seemed her body was determined to rid itself of whatever she had ingested. The second spasm was not as bad as the first, but the shuddering convulsions that gripped her went on for much longer. He could do nothing but sit next to her, holding her in his arms and trying to lend her some of his strength.

“This is worse than dying,” she said finally. “I can’t imagine why you are staying.”

“You’re going to be all right,” he promised.

“I will never eat again,” she vowed weakly.

With that she leaned her head against his chest in apparent exhaustion. He continued to hold her, not willing to disturb her peace, while a housemaid cleaned up the mess and a footman arrived with fresh towels and water. He knew his servants were wondering at his presence in Magda’s room, but let them wonder. Looking down at her he could see that she had removed the bandage earlier today. The slash on her neck had healed to an angry red scar, but in time that too would fade.

More puzzling was her illness. It must have been something she ate, and it was surely no coincidence that some of the maids had fallen ill at the same time. But what could it have been? Tainted fish? Spoiled meat? Or something more ominous?

“That’s all clean now, my lord,” the housemaid Annie said, breaking into his thoughts. A stout, motherly woman, she had been part of the household for as long as he could remember.