Redemption (28 page)

“But
why? Why would Julian kill Samson?”

“I don’t
know, but I suspect the answer to that question would lie more
within Samson’s home than Julian’s. I am not saying this is fact in
any way you understand, but a killer is hardly likely to leave
incriminating evidence in his own house, now is he?”

“You
have a mind like a steel trap,” Lizzie gasped with
pride.

Ben
chuckled and kissed her temple. “We need it right now though.
Anybody who can shed any light on this entire fiasco is more than
welcome to help us.”

“Do you
think that Julian borrowed money off Samson, and for some reason he
wanted it back so Julian killed him?”

Ben
frowned and thought about that. One thing he was becoming more
certain of was that the threat toward Lizzie didn’t come from Trent
or any of his cohorts, it came more from her step-brother. He
needed to speak with Barnaby.

That led
Ben to another thought: had Julian sent Lizzie to the wilds of
Derbyshire knowing that the house she was going to was so remote
that nobody could hear her scream if there was an
intruder?

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Later
that night, once the ladies were abed, Ben met with Barnaby in a
tavern on the west side of town. The dimness of the murky confines
was enough to ensure their complete privacy. It wasn’t that Ben had
anything to hide; he just didn’t want to be overheard or
particularly noticed by anyone.

“So,
what do you know?” Barnaby asked as soon as they were huddled
around a table.

If
Barnaby hadn’t approached Ben at the bar, Ben would never have
found him. The dockside workman’s clothing he wore were as grubby
as the rest of him. The coarse sleeves of his shirt were rolled up
and stretched taught over muscular biceps, and accompanied with
brown trousers that were liberally stained and frayed at the hems.
Ben himself was wearing workman’s clothing more befitting to the
area and was glad he had taken the time to change out of his normal
clothing because he too blended in with everyone else. However,
Barnaby’s disguise was so much like the locals’ clothing that even
Ben didn’t recognise him.

Taking a
sip of the watered brew the inn keeper called ale; Ben placed his
mug onto the table and carefully recounted everything he knew to
Barnaby. In spite of the dull roar of the patrons, Barnaby listened
intently to every word.

“Well,
word has it that although Trent is up to his eyes and ears in
everything questionable, he didn’t kill Samson. He is in the habit
of frequenting his own establishments each evening. He has a seat
in the corner of the main gaming room and remains there all
evening. Sometimes he entertains his ‘guests’, and does a bit of
business. At other times, he likes to keep a close watch on what is
happening. Rumour has it that on the evening that Samson was
killed, Trent was at his establishment all night. This has come
from several of the guests, you understand, not the man’s
employees.”

“But he
could have arranged for any of his employees to do away with
Samson. Would Trent get his own hands dirty?”

Barnaby nodded. “He could get his hired thugs to do it I
agree, but rumour also has it that there was a rather frosty
arrangement between Samson and Julian. They weren’t as well
acquainted as Julian would want you to believe. They had many a
run
in and at one point on the evening of
his death, Samson could be heard threatening Julian with revealing
‘the truth’ if he didn’t leave him alone.”

“Leave
him alone? The ‘truth’ about what?” Ben demanded with a
frown.

“I don’t
know,” Barnaby sighed. “To be honest with you, the more we dig into
this the murkier it becomes. One thing I think we all agree on is
that Trent didn’t kill Samson. The only person who was seen leaving
the gaming house shortly after Samson was Pendlebury.”

“Why
would he kill him though?”

“I don’t
know, but we know that Trent has connections with Pendlebury as
well. We just don’t know what those connections are yet,” Barnaby
sighed.

“Pendlebury said that he was caught in bed with Trent’s
sister and Trent blackmailed him.”

“Really?” Barnaby looked thoughtful for a moment when Ben
nodded. “I have been to the jail and spoken with the governor.
Apart from you, Lizzie, and her aunt, nobody else has been to see
Julian. He has sent letters to his sister but apart from that he
has not sent anything to anyone. He appears to be hiding out in
prison.”

“Has he
not tried to inform the authorities himself that Lizzie is alive,
especially once she had paid him a visit?”

Barnaby
slowly shook his head. “It seems odd, does it not, that someone
would willingly remain in prison for a murder of someone he knows
is alive, and indeed came to visit him? While she was there, why
didn’t he send for the governor and get her to prove who she was?
Why did he just allow her to walk away and blackmail him into
handing over what is left of his fortune? This is Julian
Pendlebury, the hard-hearted scroat who threw his relation out onto
the street without a backward look. No, something is wrong there,
Ben, my friend. Take it from me, Julian Pendlebury is a
liar.”

“He
wants to remain in prison,” Ben growled.

Barnaby nodded. “He has done something or seen something that
someone
might
want to silence him about.”

Ben
sighed. “Yes, Samson’s murder.”

“Now why
did you say that?” Barnaby murmured thoughtfully. “If Samson was
working for Trent in some way, and Julian killed him, that would
make Trent extremely mad.”

Ben took
the opportunity to explain what Trent had said to Lizzie when he
had accosted her in the street. The more he thought about it the
more he realised that the finger of suspicion was pointing firmly
toward Julian Pendlebury, and not Trent.

“Do you
think Pendlebury is the killer, or the witness?”

Barnaby
thought about that carefully. “I think that until we can find out
what he might be a witness of, he needs to be suspected as a
killer: Samson’s killer. Trent just won’t tolerate Julian trying to
frame him.”

“It
could be what Trent was trying to warn Lizzie about. He said that
Trent was a danger. I just assumed he was causing
trouble.”

“I think
he was most probably just forewarning Lizzie so she didn’t help
Julian get out of prison,” Barnaby mused thoughtfully. “If she left
London without helping Julian then the man would have to remain in
prison, and couldn’t do any more damage to Trent’s
reputation.”

“We need
to keep Julian in prison for the time being,” Ben
replied.

“You
leave that to me. Meantime, has Julian asked Lizzie to see him
again?”

“Well,
he did but she received the note this morning while I was with him.
I told her to ignore it. She isn’t going to the prison
again.”

Barnaby
nodded his agreement. “Has Pendlebury signed the transfer papers
for the houses yet?”

“I am
not sure. The solicitor is due to go. I can find out in the morning
if you want me to?”

Barnaby
agreed. “I can speak with the governor at the jail and get him to
keep Pendlebury there for a day or so more while I follow this
lead.”

“While I
am pleased about Julian staying in jail for a while for Lizzie’s
sake, why is it important Julian signs everything over to Lizzie?”
Ben frowned at the battered surface of the table, wondering what he
had missed.

“Because
if Julian signs everything over to Lizzie, he is planning to turn
his back on everything and he wasn’t lying about giving everything
to her just to get out of jail. He intends to cut all ties with
London and would undoubtedly vanish given half the chance. That
makes him guilty because men like Julian Pendlebury don’t turn
their backs on their family seat, and social connections, if they
are innocent.”

Ben
conceded he had a point. Even in debt, most people would use their
social connections to get by. “I got the impression he was going to
leave and not look back.”

“And get
away with Samson’s murder,” Barnaby groused. He snorted and shook
his head. “Not on my watch he won’t.”

“I will
keep Lizzie out of the way and will meet you in the morning once I
have news from the solicitor. In the meantime, do you need me to do
anything?”

“No,
just leave everything to us and keep Lizzie out of the way. She is
at McArthur House now?”

Ben
nodded.

“Good,
keep her there and make sure she doesn’t go to meet with Trent or
Pendlebury. Neither of them should come into contact with her. As
far as I am aware, Trent has no interest in her. He certainly
hasn’t made any noises about threatening her to get Pendlebury to
pay off his debts. In fact, no debts have ever been
mentioned.”

“So why
would Trent warn her then? When he accosted her on the street he
said he had to speak to her urgently. The card she was given –,” he
took it out of his pocket and handed it to Barnaby “- said that her
life depended on her meeting him.”

“Sounds
to me that you need to meet with Trent on her behalf and find out
what this man wants. It could be that Trent has proof that
Pendlebury murdered Samson.” Barnaby didn’t see Trent as some
mysterious benefactor though. There had to be something in it for
him because otherwise he wouldn’t waste his time on someone like
Lizzie.

“When do
you want me to do it?”

“I think
it would be best if it was done tonight, but watch your back. Trent
has friends in high places who may recognise me if I get too close,
so you have to go alone. If you go, you have no known connection to
the Star Elite, or anyone who works in the War Office,” Barnaby
reasoned.

Ben
nodded and could fully understand Barnaby’s need to preserve his
anonymity. His very life depended upon him being able to melt into
the public and watch people who really didn’t want to be noticed.
Besides, given everything Barnaby had done for him, this was the
least he could do in return.

“Do you
want to get this meeting with Trent over with now?” Barnaby asked,
suspecting that his friend would prefer to be back at McArthur
House where he could keep a watchful eye on his lady.

Ben
nodded. “I need some answers,” he declared firmly, and pushed away
from the table before Barnaby could reply.

Once in
the gaming house across town, Ben blinked against the thick haze of
smoke that hung heavily in the air and made everything difficult to
see, and wished he was back at McArthur House, in front of the fire
with Lizzie in his arms.

He had
taken the opportunity to change into his own clothes before he
came, but he still felt like he had brushed against the seedier
part of life and was tainted by it. Normally he wouldn’t even
consider frequenting such an establishment even once, just out of
curiosity. Not only was the place on the wrong side of town, but
its rather questionable connections to the criminal fraternity
within London was renowned. It was more than enough reason for
everyone, other than the hardy and desperate, to steer well
clear.

Those
hardy and desperate were now hunched over the gaming tables, avidly
fixated on losing what little fortune they had left. In a place
like this, even the smallest win was a major hurdle very few
managed to clear. It was only those round the tables, the desperate
and the needy, who didn’t seem to realise just how much the odds
were stacked against them. Essentially, gaming establishments like
Trent’s were nothing short of a way of pick-pocketing people. It
would be a lot quicker and easier if everyone just emptied their
pockets on their way through the door, because very few people
actually went home with any winnings.

Still,
that was their problem. Ben was here to see the man who owned the
place. The man who was right now, seated in the corner of the room
attempting to keep a rather hawkish eye on his empire.

“Trent,”
Ben growled as he approached the darkest corner of the room. He
threw a dismissive glance at a burly man who stood up threateningly
and turned his attention to Trent, who was studying him. “You gave
this to Elizabeth Pinner,” he added, holding the small white card
out to him.

Trent
studied it for a moment before he clicked his fingers at the burly
man who immediately sat down with all of the attentiveness of an
eager dog.

“Sit,”
Trent ordered.

Ben
dutifully sat and watched Trent pour him a slug of brandy. Rather
than take a sip, he cradled the cup and turned the full focus of
his attention on the man seated opposite.

“What do
you know about Pendlebury?”

“Why
should I tell you?” Trent challenged.

“Well, you accosted Miss Pinner in the street for some
reason. Unless you are into abducting ladies of the
ton
, you must have had a
good reason to scare her like that.”

Trent
dropped his pipe into a dish and braced his elbows on the table.
“Where is Miss Pinner?”