Edith Layton (6 page)

Best of all, she laughed when something struck her as funny and not just because she was expected to, the way her cousin and the ladies he’d met since he got here did. And she was definitely interested in him, and for more than finding out who he was. He was never wrong about that.

He frowned. Her brother was gone, which was a tragedy. He wouldn’t think about tragedies now, he couldn’t. But he could consider how to find out if she really was who she claimed to be. That was doubly difficult if a man’s senses were involved, and his definitely were. His opponents weren’t stupid. He could never forget that. Interesting though, he thought, as he rode into the courtyard of the White Hart. This adventure was getting more interesting every hour.

He swung down from the saddle, handed the reins to a stableboy, and strode into the inn, headed for the taproom. The architect, Battle, had left, but he wasn’t ready for the solitude of his room just yet. He didn’t like being alone, wasn’t used to it, and only went to his bed when he knew he would sleep.

He paused at the door to the common room and looked in. He never entered a room he didn’t survey first. The taproom was like dozens of others he’d seen in the countryside here, with a low-timbered ceiling, dark wood floors, a long wooden plank of a bar with chairs drawn up to it, and a few tables at the sides of the room. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw three locals at the tap, holding forth on the state of the world, and another solitary traveler at one of the tables. He smiled. Even if no one spoke to him, he’d be far from alone and unnoticed.

He took a table by the wall, signaled the innkeeper for a pint, and sat back. He was approached before he’d finished half of it.

“Evening, sir,” the heavyset man said as he drew out a chair and joined him.

“I’m surprised,” Christain said softly. “I wouldn’t think you’d speak to me so openly. You don’t care if your employers know it, Mr. Murchison?”

The runner shrugged. “It makes no never mind if they do. I’ve ways of doing my job, and they’d best accept it. You took your mutton with them this evening, did you?”

“You know I did. Mutton, beef, and fish, and none of it poisoned, to my relief.”

“They wouldn’t be such fools.”

“But someone would?”

The runner looked at him from under his thick brows. “Aye, that’s why I’m here. You’re being studied by someone else now, lad.”

“The longlegs crouched over there, in the corner?” Christian asked smoothly. He raised a brow, indicat
ing, with the smallest tilt of his head, the table in the darkest corner, where a lanky fair-haired man sat in the shadows, huddled over his pint of ale.

The runner gave a crack of laughter. “Awake on all suits, aren’t you? Aye, he’s the one. There’s muscles there, though he’s lean, and he favors one of them long legs, but moves light withal. He’s been your shadow for a day now, but not shadowy enough, is he? There’s the rub, sir. I’d almost believe you were who you claim to be if you didn’t know shadows as well as you do.”

“Survival knows no class or rank,” Christian said with a wry smile. “I assure you, if you raised the Prince where I grew to manhood, he’d be a master of shadows too.”

The runner nodded, acknowledging that.

“And your investigations on my behalf?” Christian asked.

“Nothing new. You met the Lowell female?”

“Yes. Interesting that you didn’t tell me her name.”

The runner shrugged. “I never said I wasn’t working two sides of the street. Sometimes not giving information tells me more than giving it.”

“I congratulate you on your industry,” Christian said with a wry smile. “What have you learned by having me discover her name myself?”

“Nothing,” the runner said with another shrug. “It don’t always work, but it’s always worth a try. You could have done a heap of research. You might even remember her. That’s for me to find out. What did you think of her?”

“The obvious. She’s lovely, charming, kindhearted.” He smiled. “We got along very well.”

“She’s an innocent,” the runner said.

“I agree. Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill her.”

“It’s your pleasuring her, not killing her outright, that would do her in. She’s a good girl, the kind that can’t play with a gent. Her being easy with a stranger is manners, the mark of a real lady, even if she don’t have a title. She doesn’t expect nothing but the same from a fellow, neither. I’m only telling you this because I don’t think you’re used to such, where you come from.”

The younger man’s smile faded. “Sound advice coming from such a moral fellow,” Christian said with heavy irony. “But we all have weaknesses, don’t we? Different priorities, I expect. You may be prim as regards the ladies, but you have no compunctions about taking my gold as well as the squire’s, do you?”

“No,” the runner said easily. “Because I’m not working at cross-purposes. The answer I find will only make one of you happy, but I’m not diddling either of you while I’m at it. It’s only when I find the truth that one of you will have cause for complaint. And never doubt it: I will find the truth. I charge for my inquiries, but the truth can’t be bought. At least, not from me.”

He put both hands on the table. “I’m a Bow Street runner and proud of it. In the end, the law is my only employer. If you’re the earl, I’ll be pleased to say I worked for you. If not? The penalty for imperson
ation’s heavy, and if you take the title and move into Egremont and they discover you’re not who you say you are, I don’t doubt it would be the rope for you this time. Not a silken one like they have for the nobility, neither, not that it makes much difference to your neck at the drop, I don’t suppose. And much as I like chatting with you, it’s all the same to me. It’s work.

“Good night, sir,” the runner said as he used his hands to push himself upright. “And watch your back, because I do enjoy working for a double fee and would like to keep doing it for at least a little longer.”

“Oh, no worries,” Christian said. “I don’t trust anyone, Mr. Murchison, including you.”

Murchison bowed. Christian gave him a sour smile and watched him leave. He sat in silence a while longer, then, after yawning and stretching theatrically, he also rose and strolled to the door. One seemingly casual glance back before he left showed the tall man in the corner pointedly not watching him. He smiled and went up the stair to his room.

He was glad he hadn’t had time to hire a valet; he didn’t like the idea of anyone waiting in his room.

He eased open his door and stood silent a moment. When he was sure there was no one breathing there, he went inside. He locked the door, set a glass at the window again, stripped off his shirt and removed the sling that had been wrapped around his chest. He looked at the perfect deadly imprint of itself the pistol had left in his flesh and rubbed it. Then he washed from the bowl and pitcher on the table.

Clad only in his breeches and hose, he went to the bed and sat down. He slid his knife from his boot be
fore he drew them both off, then after putting knife and pistol in their nightly places, turned the lamp down and lay down. Only then did he relax.

It was going as well as could be expected, but he wished it would go faster. They’d sent a man back home to make inquiries, and he’d guess a dozen more letters, too. He’d expected that. It would take time to get answers. But they’d accepted all the papers he’d given them so far. Now he only had to wait. He put his hands behind his head and smiled. Things were looking up. This Julianne would make the waiting easier.

She was a good girl, Murchison said. That was something he’d have to discover for himself. What he already knew was that she had shining brown hair and big brown eyes, a pretty mouth and very fine breasts. He was very partial to those. No question, she attracted him, body and soul, and sex was about more than the mechanics of the thing; at least, so it was for him.

His plans were filled with danger, and there was nothing more he could do about them tonight. His dreams would be uneasy, as always, because his past was easily as lurid as his future could ever be. So he tried to put off his memories and forestall his dreams by thinking of nothing but the pure pleasure that would come to him if he were clever and lucky enough to accomplish what he’d set out to do.

He thought of the magnificence of Egremont, its riches, treasures, and honors…

But his last thoughts as he drifted to sleep were of Julianne Lowell, the woman sent to unmask him.

J
ulianne and Christian walked slowly through the squire’s rose garden in silence. Then, in mutual unspoken agreement, they went out the gate to the road. Julianne’s maid paced a distance behind them, but otherwise they were alone as they made their way along the lane, so intent on their thoughts they were blind to the beautiful early-spring morning.

It was a mild day, fragrant with the heady flowers of spring, the birds almost as mad with song as the bees were at their work. But neither human made a sound except for crunching the gravel underfoot. They were a handsome couple, he the epitome of a gentleman in his slate trousers and dun jacket, high beaver hat, shining half boots, neckcloth, and linen fine as any fashionable fellow on a stroll through Hyde Park. She wore a pretty peach gown enlivened by green ribbons at the waist and a straw bonnet to shield her complexion from the sun

Christian turned his head to the side, watching his companion. “I’m ready,” he finally said. “What are your questions?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what to ask.” She turned her face fully to his, and he saw that her eyes were as troubled as her voice. “This whole thing…It was awkward, the way my cousins left us together just now, awkward and embarrassing. I apologize. I mean, to invite you in, then have everyone suddenly remember all the things they had to do so they could leave us alone.”

“Not entirely alone,” he remarked. “They didn’t throw you to the wolf. Your maid is in easy calling distance if I decide to ravish you.”

“You know what I mean,” she said with a scowl.

“Too well,” he said, snatching a lilac blossom from a bush they passed. “As well as what they mean. They want to know if you can discover who I am.” He looked down at the blossom, tore a tiny floweret from it. “What’s wrong with that? I’d do the same if I were they, if maybe a little more cleverly. But as for you, I wonder…last night you seemed so sure of me, of who I am. What changed your mind?”

She looked stricken.

“They did, did they?” he asked, answering his question. He shrugged. “Again, I don’t blame them. But I’m surprised at you. To change so drastically in a night…Still, we didn’t have much chance to talk. Now we do. So what do you want to know? How can I restore your faith in me?

“Julianne,” he said in a softer voice, dropping the blossom to the path and concentrating on her, “don’t worry. What you think won’t mean much in a court of law. It’s unfair, and not something I believe, but it is the way of the world. Firstly, because law’s a man’s
game, and a woman’s testimony is always suspect. Men don’t trust your sex because of your gentler emotions, as though having a soft heart meant a soft head.”

He shook his own head in disgust, “As though Elizabeth wasn’t a wiser, sterner monarch than most men who came before her!. And I could tell you about some women I’ve met…” He smiled. “But I’d best not. They were brave and bold, but bolder, I think, than you’re used to hearing about. Speaking of which,” he said on a sigh, “many men think it’s easy to seduce women. That counts against females, too, although if it were true, the world wouldn’t be filled with whores, would it? There’d hardly be a need for the profession…Oh!” He scowled. “Not a word for polite company. Forgive me. I’m not used to polite company. But what
is
the right word to use if you’re talking to a lady?”

“There isn’t one,” she said, wondering if he could possibly be serious. There was such a thing as essential manners, and the antipodes were, after all, on the same planet. But Christian, she remembered now, had always had a sly dry wit. Her pulse picked up, along with her hopes.

“Right,” he said, “I remember. The unnamed profession. At least, it’s a woman’s occupation that men can’t mention in front of women. Strange, that, isn’t it? Oh well, I’ll get used to it, I suppose. I’ll have to. Forgive me again.”

“What do they call them where you came from?…Oh. Never mind,” she said, realized the trap. She tried not to smile, which made him smile.

“I’d tell you, but it’s probably worse. Now, as I was saying about women and the law,” he went on. “You don’t have to worry about your testimony. But even more important, if something isn’t on paper, it doesn’t really matter much who says it, man or woman. It can be argued and challenged, and in the end means little. So what I’m trying to tell you is that whatever you decide about me, it won’t decide my fate. Unless, of course,” he added, “you catch me in a lie that you can prove. But there’s little likelihood of that, isn’t there?”

She looked at him curiously.

“You don’t have any letters from me,” he said.

She couldn’t tell if that was a statement or a question. “No, but he did write you letters, though. You never answered him.”

“Letters?”

She ducked her head. “After. When he heard you were in…” She paused, it was hard for her to say the word to him. She’d never known a criminal before. Naming his prison seemed more offensive than his mentioning prostitutes to her. But there were no adequate euphemisms. “When you were in Newgate Prison,” she went on quickly, “he wrote to you. You never wrote back.”

“I never got any letters. But that doesn’t surprise me.” He straightened his shoulders. “Well, if you don’t have any questions for me right now, I have one for you. What happened to Jon? Tell me more please. Unless it’s too painful. I’d understand if it is.”

“Oh no,” she said. “Actually, it’s important to talk about it. He died, he didn’t vanish from all human
memory. At least I don’t want him to, he’s gone, but I want others to know who and what he was.”

She looked at him. The sunlight made her eyes glow gold as they studied his face, her expression suddenly deadly serious. “I don’t know if you’re who you say you are,” she said. “I don’t want to be a fool.”

“I don’t blame you. Tell me about Jon, then I’ll tell you about myself. And then you can try to trip me and trap me to your heart’s content.”

She winced.

“Julianne,” he said softly, “I remember you as a child. You remember me as a boy. Neither of us are those people anymore. I’ve already assured you that whatever you decide won’t settle my fate. But maybe I can tell you something to make you easier in my company. Jon was my best friend, and you were his sister, his charge, and so mine, too. I discovered that a little sister was as much of a treat as a pest, or at least you were.” He smiled. “It wasn’t always lovely, though. Especially when we wanted to be off without responsibilities and had to drag you along. And you wailed like a banshee at the drop of a hat. We didn’t dare let you carry on because your mother would have killed us. So you got your way. I hope that’s changed, by the way,” he added.

The glow of warmth she’d felt the night before reignited.

“But you were also amusing,” he went on. “You were easy to tease, a boy likes that. And you were wonderful for my self-esteem, because it was clear you wanted to be with us every minute. I had no mother and was an only child. With you and Jon I felt
as though I’d another family. Then my life suddenly changed. Friends and family deserted me and my father. England threw us out. That was shocking. But we were lucky, because otherwise we’d have been killed.”

She was astonished that he could say that and continue to stroll along, nothing in his face or voice hinting at the pain he must feel.

“So for a very long while I tried not to think of England or those old days at all. Then I heard about the inheritance. After I got over the surprise—and the instant reaction of wanting to throw all of it back into their faces—I came back. Now that I’ve returned I find I want more than the estate and title. I want to find whatever little bits are left of my old life.”

She reached out to him before she realized what she was doing, and snatched her hand back. One did
not
try to smooth the lines of pain from a strange man’s face. They were gone in a second anyway, and he wore his usual faintly amused expression as he looked at her.

He gazed at her with interest, his eyes showing nothing else. That was what she found so disconcerting. One moment it was like talking to an old friend, and in the next she was confronting a stranger, an attractive and somehow dangerous stranger

He was right, she had to ask questions. She
yearned
to ask them. She picked up her head. “I do have a question,” she said.

“Yes?”

“You were in prison, then sent to the Hulks. And from there to New South Wales, where you were put
in another prison. That must have been terrible. But, none of it shows. That is, there are no marks of it on you.” She fell still, embarrassed. It was a terribly personal thing to say, and she felt ashamed of herself for it.

It didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “That’s true,” he said, “I’ve few visible scars. That’s because my father protected me, and my…” He paused, and went on, “fellow prisoners tried to protect the younger lads. I
do
have a few scars I’d love to show you, though,” he added brightly. “But since I’m trying so hard to be a gentleman, I can’t do that…now.”

Her eyes flew to his, and she saw his dawning smile. Christian had always loved to tease her.

“Come, there must be more questions,” he said.

“There are, hundreds more. But what can I ask? What was the name of our dog? What was Jon’s favorite food? How did I wear my hair? Lord,” she said, shaking her head, “so many more questions I can’t think of them right off.”

He grew silent. She continued to walk alongside him, but her hands grew cold, and her heart sank. It was one thing to go for a stroll with an attractive gentleman who might very well be a dear old friend. It was another to find herself practically alone on a quiet country lane with a man who’d been a convict, and who now had a fortune to gain if she could vouch for him, and perhaps, no matter what he’d said, a harder time gaining it if she denied his claim.

“Scrubby,” he said, “Your dog was called Scrubby. He was a terrier who dug holes. Jon loved most sweets, but he especially liked pancakes with
jelly, and you, your hair was always braided.” He looked for her response.

She tried to subdue her elation, and succeeded. Bad questions! she chided herself. Anyone could have known Scrubby’s name, the dog followed them everywhere, just as anyone could have known she wore braids, and most boys loved pancakes.

“And our cousin Jerome?” she asked brightly.

He grew quiet, obviously thinking. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I don’t remember him.”

Her face flushed. She’d just invented him.

“Oh,” he said, watching her. “Does that sink me entirely?”

She shook her head. She thought he knew as well as she did that it didn’t.

“So. Any more questions?”

“I don’t know what to ask,” she said, avoiding his gaze. It wasn’t wrong to try to trap a thief, but she felt like a criminal herself for doing it. Or rather, for doing it so badly. She must have insulted him. Nothing in his expression implied that he thought so. But he was as good at keeping his thoughts to himself as she was not.

“You can always ask more later,” he said. “Will you tell me about Jon now?”

She looked at him.

“How did he come to join the army?”

She was happy to change the subject. “He wasn’t a political fellow, though he opposed Napoleon, of course. Still, he was content to read the news and follow events, until a recruiting officer came to the village, and he heard the music and saw the flags and
colors. Then he could talk about about nothing but the war. My parents tried to cool his enthusiasm. But then they took us for a visit to London, and Jon saw the massing of the troops outside the palace. After that, there was no holding him back. As my father said, Jon fell into step with the pipes and drums and never walked normally again. He couldn’t rest until he could buy his colors, and though my father was against it, no one could ever stop Jon from having his way, not when he got the bit between his teeth. You know Jon,” she said, with a wistful smile, before she could stop herself. “I mean…”

“Yes,” he said with the warmest smile she’d yet seen from him. “I do, and I did. And if I’d been here then, I’d probably have gone off to war with him. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being here now, when he is not.”

She dropped her gaze and bit her lip, unable to answer. It was too close to what she’d been thinking, and now, too unfair to contemplate.

“He was a genius at convincing people to do what he wanted,” he went on. “Remember when he wanted to go to the Gypsy Fair? No one had time to go, no one wanted to take us. But Jon was adamant and had our parents talked into it in a week.”

She stopped in her tracks. “You remember the Gypsy Fair?”

“Would I be likely to forget?” His eyes sparkled. “The green was transformed, it bloomed with tents and banners. I suppose now I’d think it tame, but then it was spectacular. We didn’t often have such enter
tainment. Remember the fried cakes, hot pies, gingerbread? The oysters and ices?”

She laughed. “I made such a pig of myself! But it was wonderful.”

“Yes, and so was the entertainment. Gypsy dancers, music, trained bears, conjurers, fire-eaters, tumblers, and fortune-tellers. The tents where ladies couldn’t go, and a boy had to be older to be let in. That really annoyed Jon and me. We tried to sneak in, but were caught. And, of course, there was the acrobat, the one who fell. I’ll never forget. I thought he was dead. But he got up and bowed, and walked away. Forget the man who made cards disappear up his sleeve and reappear behind my ear. That was my first experience of magic.”

She stared at him. There were always fairs in the summertime. A boy would have gone to several, and certainly one in his own backyard, so talking about it wasn’t proof he’d been to that one with her. But that fair and that day stood out in her memory. It was the first time she’d seen that Death didn’t confine himself to old people and sickbeds; it was the day the acrobat fell.

The acrobat had been up on a rope that stretched between two tent poles, a limber young fellow dressed in fool’s motley, a yellow-and-red tunic and yellow tights. He capered above the crowd and transfixed the eye. He’d been dancing on his rope, making the crowd laugh. She’d stood, neck bent back, looking up at him.