Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) (10 page)

“Now that we’re all here, someone damn well better tell me what is going on here,” Morris said.

Jamie took a glass from his brother. “I suppose Charlie told you there’d been an incident in the gardens?”

“And that’s all he’d say until you and Wycliffe arrived. I thought I saw you earlier.”

“I took the young woman in question home. I thought you’d want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

“
What,
damn it all? What should I keep quiet?”

“One of your guests was assaulted.”

“What? Who?”

“Miss O’Rourke. Rest assured, she is well and safely home. I cannot say the same for one of your other guests.”

“Damn cryptic of you, Hunter.”

“First, I wanted to see your guest list and ask if you spoke with Cyril Henley tonight?”

Morris reluctantly riffled through his desk drawer, brought forth a list of names three pages long. “Henley? I haven’t seen him for months. I do not think he was invited tonight.”

Since Morris did not seem willing to turn the guest list over, Jamie leaned forward and took it. He scanned the names until he found one he was looking for. Oddly, Henley had been invited, but so had Metcalfe. And that raised the question, why had Morris lied? He would have been the one to provide his wife with the specific names of friends he wanted invited.

“I encountered Henley in the garden,” he said. “He was the man who assaulted Miss O’Rourke.”

“Henley …” Morris flushed with a look half angry, half disbelieving. “Why would he assault Miss O’Rourke?”

Morris had to be aware of Henley’s reputation with women. “His reasons aside, Miss O’Rourke recognized him. He wore a leper’s costume to mask his identity. What of Stanley Metcalfe?”

“Er, yes. I believe Metcalfe was invited.”

“He, too, wore a leper’s costume. Miss O’Rourke danced with him. When Henley approached her in the garden, she thought it was Metcalfe.”

“But what has that to do with anything?”

“I chased Henley to the stables where he stole Grenleigh’s stallion and got away.”

“Grenleigh? Hell and damnation! He’ll have my hide.”

Charlie gave a grim laugh. “He is not too pleased, but I lent him mine. I warrant the horse will turn up in a day or two. Henley will not keep anything that would give his identity or location away.”

Morris drank the entire contents of his glass in a single gulp. “So this is it, then? Henley assaulted a girl who is safely home and took Grenleigh’s prize stallion which will turn up in a day or two?”

“Alas, there’s more to it than that. When I came back through the garden after chasing Henley, I stumbled across Mr. Metcalfe. He’d been stabbed in the chest and hidden in the bushes behind the arbor.”

“Is he all right?”

“Afraid not, Morris. He’s dead. The question is, how shall we handle this unfortunate event?”

Morris’s mouth moved but did not form any intelligible words.

Wycliffe finished his brandy and slammed his glass down on the sideboard with a resounding thud. “Metcalfe. Damnation! Another lead silenced.”

“So my question is this,” Jamie continued, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “Where did you send Henley’s invitation, and when did you last talk to him?”

“I…I…He came to me. Here. He’d heard about the masquerade and wanted to attend. ‘Twas he who asked me to put Stanley Metcalfe on the guest list. I did not see him tonight.”

So Henley had devised this plan to get at Metcalfe. Poor bastard. He’d never had a chance. But there was still another question. “Why would you oblige a man like Henley? Surely you’ve heard the rumors.”

If Morris had looked uncomfortable before, he now looked as if he were about to flee. “He was blackmailing me. I…I
was present at Daschel’s passion play. Or that’s what I thought it was. It was actually a—”

“We know what it was,” Wycliffe interrupted. “So he was threatening to expose you if you did not do as he asked?”

Morris acknowledged with a curt nod.

“There’s more,” Jamie guessed.

“I’ve been paying him. Large sums of money.”

“How?”

“He waits outside my club. Demands cash.”

Cash. Large sums of it. Why would Henley need large sums of money when he was living in Whitefriars? And was Morris the only one from whom he was extorting funds?

Morris was a member of Brooks’s, an elegant establishment in St. James Street. Henley would have to lurk in the shadows to avoid being recognized, but it could be useful to set a watch on the place. A glance at Wycliffe and Charlie told him that they were thinking the same thing.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Morris asked Wycliffe.

“If you were no more involved with the Brotherhood than you say, Morris, you needn’t worry. If you were…we’ll be back. At the moment we need to deal with the damage done tonight.

“The guests are beginning to leave. We will keep this quiet until tomorrow. Charlie, go to the arbor and make certain no one stumbles across Metcalfe meanwhile. Morris, encourage the guests not to linger. Remove the punch bowl and cork the wine bottles.”

“They will think I am penurious!” Morris blustered.

“Would you rather they panic when they learn there’s a dead body in your garden or sneer when they learn that you’ve been paying blackmail, and why? “

The man sank heavily into his chair.

“We have use for you, Morris. Keep your mouth shut and your head down and you may yet get out of this untainted.”

G
ina stood still, rooted to the little stool while Madame Marie pinned the hem of her new gown. But it was not the hem with its little train that concerned her. It was the provocative décolletage. True to her word, Madame Marie had crafted a gown that was sure to draw attention. Styles were changing, but Gina had not yet worn a gown with a neckline that curved over her breasts and dipped to a point midway between them.

She traced the curve of the blue French silk with one finger, studying her reflection in the looking glass. “Are…are you certain I will not cause a scandal?”

“
Mais non!
The style is perfection for your figure,
chéri.
Smaller bosoms and there would be no point. Larger, and it would make you look like a demirep, eh? Ah, but this much will tease the senses and disarm your suitors. The men—they will appreciate the titillation, yes? They will tell you anything you ask.”

“You…you’re certain I will not be banished from polite society?”

Marie, a lovely woman, gave a full-throated laugh. “You must tell me when you plan to wear this gown,
chéri.
The ladies of the ton will be crowding at my door the next morning, demanding a gown of the same cut.”

“If you are certain,” she conceded, not at all certain herself. She was glad that Nancy, waiting in the outer room for her, could not see the gown. If the maid told Mama, that would be the end of it.

Madame Marie called entry at a soft knock on the private door and Mr. Renquist entered, then halted in his tracks, blinking several times. Madame had been correct. His eyes went directly to her décolletage. Oddly, after a moment of embarrassment, Gina felt empowered, as if she were in control of the situation.

“Have I interrupted?”

“
Mais non, m’amour.
What do you think of our little Gina now?”

“That it is a good thing she has the protection of the Hunter family.”

“Ah, you appreciate the nuance?” Madame asked, tongue in cheek.

“Perhaps a bit too much nuance?” he ventured.

“Oh, la! You are such a proper one, François. Little Gina will ‘ave the ton eating from ‘er ‘and.”

Gina smiled, suspecting the modiste had been quite experienced before her marriage to Mr. Renquist.

“The male half,” Mr. Renquist muttered as he sat on a small chair in one corner while Madame continued to pin her hem.

“Have you discovered anything, sir?” she asked.

“Progress is slow, Miss O’Rourke. I’ve learned that, until recently, Mr. Henley occupied rooms above a public house in Whitefriars. But for sleeping, he was rarely there. Following
the raid two weeks ago, he disappeared, taking most of his belongings with him.

“Since then, he has been spotted from time to time at various establishments in Whitefriars, never staying one place very long. I gather that is the reason for his success in evading capture. Speculation has it that he has found quarters in more desirable environs but that he still frequents the pubs of Whitefriars.

“My sources were less forthcoming when I inquired as to Mr. Henley’s companions. Apart from various prosti—soiled doves, he has occasionally been seen with the worst scum Whitefriars has to offer, the Gibbons brothers among them. On rare occasions, he has been seen with gents, and rarer still, genteel ladies.

“I am devising a plan whereby I may be able to cross his path, Miss O’Rourke. Should that be the case, I shall follow him and send to you of his location immediately, but you should know that I am bound to notify the Home Office, as well.”

She nodded. She had no objection to the Home Office benefiting from Mr. Renquist’s investigations. In fact, if they could manage it on their own, she would not have become involved. But, should she find him first.

Mr. Renquist cleared his throat and went on. “Mr. Henley departed his last accommodations rather quickly, and the proprietor has a small box of items he left behind. If you are inclined, I shall purchase it from him for the unpaid portion of the rent.”

“Did you see what it contained?”

“The proprietor wished me to pay for that pleasure.”

“Then yes, please. Acquire it by any means. If it contains even the smallest clue …”

“Aye, Miss O’Rourke. Consider it done.”

Nancy tugged her sleeve, wanting to leave. “Oh, miss, should we really be here? Like as not, she isn’t receiving.”

Gina held her ground on the stoop of the Race home in Russell Square. “Then I shall leave my card. How can I not offer my condolences? Christina was very good to me when I had few friends in the ton.”

“Yes, miss, but—”

The door opened and a maid in a starched white apron answered.

“Is Miss Race at home?” Gina asked.

“She is, but she is not receiving this afternoon, miss.”

Gina took a card from her reticule and passed it to the maid. “Will you please tell her that Miss O’Rourke is here? I think she may wish to see me.”

The maid nodded and hurried away, leaving the door open but no invitation to step in.

Nancy tugged her sleeve again and whispered, “T’ain’t a good time, miss.”

“She may only have been a fiancée, but she is nonetheless bereaved.” James had not given her details of what had happened last night and Gina was desperate to assure herself of Christina’s safety. Pray she had not been present for the awful deed, or that Henley had not gone after her when his attack on Gina failed.

The maid was back and opened the door wider to admit them. Nancy looked down at the floor and went to sit on a small chair in the foyer, where servants were accustomed to waiting, while Gina followed the maid up a flight of stairs and down a corridor.

After a soft knock, the maid opened the door to admit Gina and closed it after her. The draperies had been drawn and the room was cast in gloom. She blinked to adjust to the darkness. “Christina?”

A deep and melancholy sigh answered her. “Thank you for coming, Gina. I wondered if you would.”

She followed the sound of the voice and found Cristina, still in her wrapper, curled up in a chair, at least a dozen handkerchiefs abandoned on the floor near her. She knelt beside the chair and took one of Christina’s hands.

“I am so sorry, Christina. I blame myself. Had I not asked for his help …”

“It would have happened anyway.” The girl looked down at her with infinite sadness in her hollow eyes. Her face was flushed and puffy from crying.

“But I forced him out of hiding. Had he stayed away—”

“Stanley has been hiding for weeks now, Gina. Mr. Henley was blackmailing him. It did not begin with you.”

“Blackmail? But what could Mr. Henley have held over Mr. Metcalfe’s head?”

“I cannot say. Other than his attendance at an event that went horribly wrong, Stanley was not the sort to engage in wrongdoing. I believe he felt complicit for something, though he swore he did not know the full measure of the consequences.”

The Brotherhood. Of course. Mr. Metcalfe had said as much to her in their short meeting. Had Mr. Henley been threatening to turn him over to the authorities if he did not pay hush money? But there had to be more. Mr. Metcalfe had readily admitted his involvement with the Brotherhood to her. He’d said he
knew
things. Things Mr. Henley would kill for.

“Did he ever talk about that night, Christina? Did he ever tell you anything that might damage Mr. Henley?”

She nodded, and her unbound dark hair fell over her face, shielding her as she began to weep again. “I cannot tell you without damaging Stanley’s reputation.”

“Did he tell you what the key opened? He hurried away before he could—”

“He only told me to give it to you, and that you would know what it opened.”

But she didn’t. Unless this, too, was something she had forgotten that night. But she could only press Christina for the one thing that might save her life. “Please reconsider, Christina. If Mr. Henley killed Mr. Metcalfe over the knowledge you hold, and then suspects you might know, too, he might want to silence you, as well.”

She gasped and pushed the hair away from her face to look at Gina. “Surely not!”

“I cannot be certain, but can we put anything past the man at this point? All I know for certain is that Mr. Henley must be stopped, by whatever means possible. Stanley would not want you dead, and your best protection is to tell the authorities, the Home Office and whoever else will listen. The more people who know the secret, the less reason Mr. Henley would have to kill for it.”

“I will not be leaving the house for several months, Gina. Can I be safe in my own home?”

Gina wished she could reassure her. Wished none of this had ever happened. Wished, too, that she’d never enlisted Christina’s help. She shrugged. “I do not know.”

Christina sniffed. “It would feel like a betrayal if I told now.” A fresh storm of weeping shook Christina’s shoulders. She buried her face in her hands and Gina could not imagine the depth of Christina’s sorrow until she thought of losing James. Oh, she was prepared to leave for Ireland and never see him again. But to know that he no longer breathed, no longer smiled? Intolerable, unbearable.

“If I could turn back time, I would rather die myself than be the cause of Mr. Metcalfe’s death or your grief. And, though I would never ask it again, I cannot ever thank you enough
for your help, and everything you’ve done. I will leave you now, but should you change your mind and decide to tell me Mr. Metcalfe’s secret, send to me and I shall come at once.”

Gina closed the door after herself, catching one last glimpse of Christina, her dark head still bowed over her hands.

A heavy mist descended, obscuring the light from the single lamppost at the end of the street. A dense fog would follow, and Gina shivered.

She’d begged off the affair she was slated to attend earlier, pleading a crushing headache. James had feigned disappointment, though she had read the relief in his deep violet eyes. And when the household had retired for the evening, she’d crept downstairs to “borrow” some clothing from the laundry tub. Now dressed in a gray woolen dress, brown boots a size too large and a frayed brown shawl over her head, she was virtually unrecognizable.

“Miss Gina?”

Or so she’d thought. “Is that you, Ned?”

The boy stepped out of the mist and pulled his cap off his tousled head. “Aye, miss. I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“I did not know how to dress. Will this be suitable?”

He grinned. “I ‘spose so, miss. Wasn’t takin’ you anywhere fancy tonight. One o’ the lads said ‘e saw Mr. H go in the Cat’s Paw. That’s a gin house near Petticoat Lane.” He stood back and squinted at her through the gloom. “They won’t let me in there, miss. Say I gotta shave first. But y’look like you belong there, miss. Won’t no one bother you if you keeps yer head down.”

“What shall I do?”

“Listen, miss.” He put his cap on and pulled the brim low over his forehead. “You orders somethin’ to drink, and then you just disappears into the walls and listen, if y’know what
I mean. Maybe you’ll see Mr. H, maybe not. Maybe you’ll ‘ear something about where ‘e is.”

Yes, she thought she could do that much. But what did one order in a gin house? She pondered that as Ned started off at a fast pace, leading her farther and farther from familiar surroundings. She wondered if she’d ever be able to find her own way home. “Will you wait for me, Ned?”

“Aye, miss. Outside.”

She took comfort from that much, at least, as her environs became poorer and more dismal. They passed taverns and public houses where raucous conversations carried into the streets and drunks lay where they’d been tossed. The women she’d seen were surely disreputable, since all women with a mind to their reputations would be safely home after dark in this area.

“Where are we, Ned?”

“Whitechapel, miss. Just around the corner.”

And, true to his word, he halted at a sign with a painted black cat raising one paw. Beneath it was a low door with a stone stoop to step over, and she wondered if that was to keep sewage out during a heavy rain. A dim light cast a yellow glow in a window just above the door. She was relieved the rising fog kept her from seeing more clearly. The stench was bad enough without having to see what caused it.

She took a sixpence from her boot. Would that be enough? Should she take off the boot and shake out a shilling? Sensing her hesitancy, Ned gave her a little push over the threshold.

Gina had never been in an establishment like this one. It was dirty, foul smelling and dark; she had to stop just inside the door to brace herself and take her bearings. A long counter against one wall served as the bar and had shelves behind it with bottles of various sizes and colors. Were they all gin? At least ten tables were scattered to each side of the door but only a few were occupied this late at night. Another door
opposite the one she’d entered was closed, and she wondered if it led to the privy or apartments where the light had shone just above the tavern door.

A man sitting at a table was staring at her and she quickly went to the bar and placed the sixpence on the grimy surface. The barkeeper, an unshaven man with few teeth and dirty hands, shuffled toward her, looked down at her coin, took a tin cup from the counter behind him and went to a barrel. He pulled the tap, seemed to measure the amount with one squinted eye and brought the cup to Gina.

She kept her head down and neither of them spoke. As he walked away, she breathed with relief and took her cup to a table near the door. She had passed the first test. Now, according to Ned, all she had to do was make herself inconspicuous.

After a moment, all interest in her ceased and the low tones of conversation resumed. Once she became accustomed to the drone of voices, she could distinguish a few words. Her eyes adjusted to the meager light of the few candles and the dirty oil lamp on the bar, and she noticed four men at a back table. Though she could not make them out, or catch their conversation, there was something hauntingly familiar in the tone.

As she strained to hear, she lifted her cup to her mouth and took a sip. She nearly choked. Struggling to catch her breath and not spit the swill back into the cup, she forced the liquid down her throat.