Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (29 page)

Marcus straightened. “Why the hell not?”

“Well, she’s a female,” Gillis huffed. “And, if you haven’t noticed, she’s lame.”

Marcus shook his head, amazed at the man’s obtuseness. Then he recalled how he’d pictured Cat when he’d first encountered her again in his father’s study. He’d been a fool, he realized, not to see the magnificent woman she’d become. Moreover, he couldn’t recall her leg impeding her in any real way. Thoughts of her perfectly formed porcelain calf flitted through his mind. No, she was sound in body and in spirit.

“Besides, it’s not in Miss Miller’s nature,” Gillis added. “She’s cautious. Understands the consequences of such foolish action. No.” He made a downward, cutting motion. “There is no way on earth it could be her.”

Gillis was right about one thing: Cat was cautious, and smart. It would take real inducement for her to embark on such a dangerous burglary. He’d done his larceny as a way of thumbing his nose at his father and all that he’d represented. That, and as a monumental challenge—just to prove he could do it. It had been a perfect training ground for his work for Wellington, he realized. But it had been reckless in the extreme. For Cat to undertake such folly she’d have to be compelled by something cataclysmic.

Did she really believe that the Caddyhorns were behind his father’s murder? His lioness was most protective of those she loved.
Those she loved
. Jared…She’d never asked Marcus about his trip to Reigate. The Hartzes had told him that Sir John Winston and his son had returned to town. Marcus’s anger seethed. If they had threatened Cat or her brother in any way…

Brother. A sister and younger brother
. The thought flashed in his mind like lightning. The servant had said fifteen years ago. But if he’d been wrong…I fit had been more like ten…And if Cat knew that his father had been investigating the Caddyhorns…The pieces slipped into place.

Cat had burgled the Caddyhorns’ house.

His hands clenched and unclenched as he fought to contain his fury. The idea of her alone, climbing that rooftop…He was going to kill her.

What had she been thinking to place herself at such risk? And for what reward? Her life was worth more than a thousand jewels! But his Cat never cared for trinkets, she had no material ambitions. She was doing it for her brother, for his father and for herself, he realized. Her brother needed funds to pay off Thomas Winston; for his father, vengeance; and for Cat, some small semblance of justice.

He couldn’t fault Cat. Hell, he admired the heck out of
her for her courage. His dear, lovely lioness had taken matters into her own hands, just as he himself would have done in her place. She had been doing so, apparently, for many years. She had to have been only twelve when she’d stolen her brother away from the Caddyhorns and found them a safe haven at Andersen Hall. Astute Cat had recognized the danger to them, it seemed.

Anger infused him. The Caddyhorns deserved a reckoning. Thomas Winston as well. And any other bastard who tried to hurt the woman of his heart.

Gillis’s eyes lit up and he raised a stubby finger in the air. “I know who did it! Miss Miller must have given the book to the real Baron Coleridge and
he
must’ve executed the burglary!” Slowly, his finger drooped. “But that can’t be. The real baron, if he were still alive, would only be about thirteen or fourteen or so.”

Marcus gripped the attorney’s arms, drawing his face close. “Don’t say anything to anyone about the journal, the thief, anything! Do you promise? On my father’s honor, do you swear?”

Gillis practically quaked, as he hugged his satchel to his chest. His eyes were wide with wonder. “On Uriah Dunn’s honor, I swear.”

Releasing him, Marcus spun on his heel and raced out the door.

Gillis watched Marcus rush from the portrait gallery, his eyes traveling over the closest painting on the wall.

“Dear Lord…” His paper case dropped to the floor with a
whoosh
of strewn foolscap.

The man had the look of Jared Miller. Older, bigger, but it was there if you knew to look.

Gillis pressed his hand over his mouth, tasting leather and bile. Uriah Dunn had been protecting the Miller children from their own relations!

With his heart pounding, Gillis got down on his hands and knees. Blindly, he picked up his papers and shoved them haphazardly into his case. Fury burned through him with righteous ferocity. “Vengeance will be yours, Uriah Dunn. I will see to it if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Gillis knew he was going up against ruthless black-guards. But that didn’t matter. He’d line up every resource, wield every weapon—

Gillis straightened. Realization smacked him on the head harder than Mrs. Nagel’s broom.

Slowly, he stood, pushed up his spectacles and adjusted his coat. Then, leaving the rest of his papers scattered about the floor, Gillis went to find Solicitor General Dagwood.

“F
or the last time,” Clarence Kruger bit out, leaning over the green chintz sofa where his employers sat, “if you think that you’re going to cut me out—”

“I swear I didn’t take them!” Lady Frederica Caddyhorn shrieked, shaking her fat arms so wildly, they quaked like blubber.

Kruger knew that her purple gown and trimmings cost more than his month’s wages and she was not about to bilk him. “I’m not a fool!” He pressed his fists so hard into the sofa’s wooden border that his knuckles ached. “You slept with the damned jewels under your head. Who the hell else could have taken them?”

“The Thief of Robinson Square!”

“Don’t give me that twaddle!” Kruger scoffed, crossing his arms so hard that his black coat pinched at the shoulders. “The thief hasn’t burgled in years and suddenly he makes off with the loot that we were planning to steal?” Tilting his head, he confessed, “I’ll admit the feather was
a nice touch, but no one, especially not anyone in this room, believes that you slept through a man entering your bedroom in the middle of the night.” Lifting a hand he studied his fingernails. “Why, it’s been so long, you’d have probably screamed with shock.”

Dickey Caddyhorn shot Kruger an irritated look expressing, “Don’t cause me trouble.” Well, Clarence Kruger would inconvenience his employers no bloody end, if Lady Frederica didn’t cough up his share of the booty.

Lady Frederica’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you—”

Dickey held up a hand. “Let me manage this, Kruger.” He turned to his wife, his sooty gray eyes imploring. “Why did you move ahead with the plan, Freddie, dear? The insurance certificates have only been in place for four months. We’d agreed on six, at least, before we acted—”

“Someone else must have taken them, I tell you.” Her voice had taken on that high-pitched whiny tone that she thought was cute. Kruger was sure that everyone else in the world found it as annoying as he did.

Lady Frederica’s gold turban slipped into her eyes and she shoved it aside. “Perhaps that new maid—”

Kruger had had enough of his pinch-fisted mistress. “Don’t take me for a fool! I selected your new maid myself, because she’s too beef-witted to cause trouble…
when we stole the jewels
.
We
. Not you!”

Dickey scowled up at him. “Don’t raise your voice to my wife, Kruger.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that she did this on her own?” Kruger scoffed. “The lady doesn’t fart without asking you first!”

Dickey stood, adjusting his maroon-and-fawn coat. “There’s no need for vulgarity, Kruger.”

The man of affairs smirked. Even to the top of his dark curly hair Dickey was still a handspan shorter and had to crane his neck to look up at his employee. Well, Clarence was top-sawyer to his employer in more ways than one. “And murder’s not vulgar?”

Dickey’s cheeks reddened and his slate eyes lanced to the closed door. “Guard your tongue,” he hissed. “The servants will hear.”

“I have more dirt on your family than any headmaster can dig up in thirty years.” Kruger banged his chest, demanding his just due. “I’m the one who found Furks. I’m the one who set it up—”

“If you’re so peacock proud about it, then why did you insist that I be the one to pay him?” Dickey snarled.

“Leverage. Your hands are now as dirty as mine.”

“I don’t know that that’s possible,” Dickey muttered under his breath.

“Didn’t you notice the name of the man accompanying the Solicitor General?” Kruger cooed.

Dickey frowned.

“No, of course you didn’t, did you. All you heard was Solicitor General and your mind went to mush.” Shaking his head, Kruger couldn’t fathom what Dickey would have done without him over the last thirteen years. “Major Dunn.
Dunn
. Sound familiar?”

Lady Frederica’s face drained of color. She looked to her husband. “Dickey?”

Dickey shrugged. “It could be a coincidence.” But a new pinch of worry marred his dark brow.

“Now, why do you think a Solicitor General would bring a man named Dunn to your home?” Kruger needled.

“Look, Kruger.” Dickey’s tone was glib as he held his hands open wide and set a broad, yellow-stained smile
on his face. He was drawing on his charming act, now. “We have always been in these things together. Equally involved—”

“Equally?” Kruger snickered. “Equally? You weren’t the one draggin’ through the snow chasing after those brats. You weren’t the one cleaning up after your son’s depraved messes, paying off every person with a greasy palm just so he didn’t wind up dead in an alley. Beating whores, cheating at cards, even horse thievery! But I suppose pilfering runs in the family, eh?”

Lady Frederica’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you talk about my Stannie that way!”

“Every charge you lay at our feet lands mud on your shoes, too, is all that I am saying.” Dickey pulled out his gold snuffbox and took a pinch. “We are in this together.”

“Then give me my share of the loot!”

Dickey sneezed twice and grasped the bridge of his nose, his eyes watering. Taking a handkerchief from his coat, he wiped his face. “We will get to the bottom of this, Kruger. I promise you.”

“Bottom?” Kruger pointed to Lady Frederica’s lardy rear. “There’s your bottom!”

“I’m warning you, Kruger.” Dickey glared. “Don’t think yourself so above station that you can speak to my wife that way. No one speaks about my Frederica like that!”

Except for him, of course. Kruger had listened to Dickey complaining about his whining, overindulged squab of a wife for years. The litany of complaints ran so long a bloody bookkeeper couldn’t tabulate them. Dickey had married Lady Frederica for her connections. She might be the daughter of an earl, but that obviously did not make her a great bed partner.

Thinking of all of the mistresses he had had to set up
and pay off over the years, Kruger’s fury boiled. “You’d better make good,
Dickey
. Or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Sweetling,” Lady Frederica cooed, reaching for her husband’s hand.

Dickey’s eyes flickered down to his wife.

“I swear on my love for you that I did not take those jewels.” She squeezed his wrist. “I wouldn’t do that. Not without you.”

Kruger recrossed his arms. “My point exactly.”

Dickey’s dark brows knitted and his wiry lips set in a hard firm line; a mulish look that Kruger knew well. “If my wife says she didn’t take them, then she didn’t take them. Now we just need to figure out who—”

“I’ve served you now for over thirteen years and this is how you repay me?” Kruger’s voice had risen to a shriek, all of the anger and frustration of serving these grasping ingrates bubbled forth. “There’s a Solicitor General downstairs. All I have to do is let him in on a few family secrets—”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Dickey sneered. “You’ll land in prison. We’ve got connections, money for barristers. What have you got, Clarence Kruger? Nothing. You’re nothing without us. And you’ll swing for certain if you open your big mouth.”

Lady Frederica hoisted herself off of the couch and turned her full form at Kruger. “How do we know that
you
didn’t do it?”

“What?” he sputtered. “How can you think that?”

Crossing his arms, Dickey tilted his head and glared at Kruger. “Yes. You knew the plan. Perhaps you’re the one who proceeded ahead of schedule.”

“Why would I do that?” Kruger ground out, so frustrated he wanted to spit nails. “When the insurance certificates are in your name?”

“There’s a fortune in jewels in that case—”

“Which I would get my share of, plus more,
when we made the claims.
”

Dickey wagged a stubby finger. “If I find out that you’ve double shuffled us—”

A knock resounded at the door.

Three pairs of eyes flew to the wood-paneled entry.

Lady Frederica grabbed her husband’s arm, but he shoved her off.

“There’s no need for melodrama,” Dickey chided. “It’s probably just Jenkins.”

But Jenkins never tapped on the door like that. Rule of thumb in the Caddyhorn household was for servants to announce the presence with a call, “Jenkins at the door, sir.” Then wait on their master’s pleasure. All around the household servants walked about exclaiming their whereabouts. Unaccountably, the Caddyhorns thought that this lessened the possibility of eavesdropping. Notwithstanding, they routinely closed doors and stuffed keyholes with an enthusiasm that bordered on fixation.

Another tap reverberated, harder this time. “If I might have a word, Mr. Caddyhorn,” came an unfamiliar male voice.

Lady Frederica’s eyes widened. “What shall we do?”

Dickey frowned. “I can’t believe that a Law Officer of the Crown would walk about our house unattended—”

Kruger checked his timepiece. “You’ve left him downstairs for over an hour…” His voice trailed off. Where had the time gone? A little stewing time was one thing for a guest, but over an hour? The man was probably furious.

“Dickey?” Lady Frederica whined. “What shall we do?”

Dickey swallowed, then set his shoulders. “Nothing, absolutely nothing. We are the victims here. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

Kruger snorted.

Dickey shot him a glare. “If we keep calm and hold together, then it will all work out just fine. Remember, you are Lady Frederica Caddyhorn. Let us not let anyone forget who your father is. So mouths shut and follow my lead.”

“Calm and together.” She nodded, adjusting her slipping turban. “Mouths shut and follow your lead.”

Dickey looked his way, and Kruger supplied, “I’m not stupid. Mouths shut. You do the talking.”

“Very well.” Clearing his throat, Dickey called, “Come.”

Bit by bit, the entry yawned open and a dark-haired gentleman with sharp, almost black eyes peeked in. “Ah, here you are.”

Where is a bloody servant when you need one?
Kruger silently groused. But he pasted a servile smile on his face just the same.

The audacious man used his black cane to push the door open wider and step across the threshold. Kruger was fairly certain who the man had to be, but he held his tongue, waiting to follow his employers’ direction.

The uninvited man looked at each of them in turn, his gaze assessing. He was dressed in a crisp navy coat with gold gilt buttons. Seeing the intricate knot of his tie and the shine of his black calf-high boots, Kruger noted that the gentleman was obviously of some means and fastidious about his appearance. Kruger wondered if he dealt with his legal responsibilities in the same fashion. He swallowed, tasting fear on his tongue.

Removing his tall black hat, the dark-haired gentleman nodded to the Caddyhorns. “Solicitor General Dagwood, at your service.”

“He did it!” Lady Frederica shrieked, pointing a stubby finger at Kruger’s chest. “He stole my jewels!”

“Why, you bloody hag!” Kruger leaped over the sofa and knocked the fat bitch to the ground, grabbing her fleshy throat in his hands.

Dickey jumped on his back, pressing Kruger obscenely against the lady’s corpulent breasts. If he weren’t so furious, Kruger would have been ill.

“Unhand her!” Dickey looked up at the Solicitor General. “He’s a murderer! Can’t you see? Help!”

“Get off me, you swine!” Kruger swung over his shoulder and cuffed his employer in the jaw.

The lout rolled over and crashed into the armchair, bleating like a goat. “He struck me!” Dickey shrieked, hugging his jaw. “Did you see that?”

Lady Frederica ripped her nails across Kruger’s face, burning his flesh. “Bitch!” He slapped her, and her head whipped back, giving him so much satisfaction he wished he’d done it a few years before. She let out a whimper, then fainted dead away.

Disgusted, Kruger removed himself from the rotund mound and stood. He righted his cravat, adjusted his black coat, then stepped before the Law Officer.

Dagwood’s countenance was the epitome of calm, as if witnessing such mêlées was common. “Who are you?” he asked, casually leaning on his black cane.

“My name is Clarence Kruger. I am Mr. Caddyhorn’s man of affairs.”

“I assume that you have a grievance with your employer?” the Law Officer supplied.

“They stole the jewels for an insurance claim.”

“Don’t listen to a word he says, Dagwood,” Dickey cried, using the armchair to push himself up to stand. “He’s mad. Has no idea of what he speaks.”

Kruger stepped closer to the Law Officer. “I have records and all the proof you’ll need.”

“Lies!” Dickey adjusted his coat. “Fallacious nonsense! He’s a madman. Didn’t you see how he attacked my wife? I want the blackguard arrested immediately!”

A pudgy man suddenly appeared at the threshold behind Dagwood. His eyes widened as his gaze swept from Dickey leaning on the armchair to Lady Frederica sprawled on the floor. He stepped gingerly through the door, his rumpled brown coat, wrinkled breeches and scuffed shoes fairly screaming “dowd.”

“These are the infamous Caddyhorns?” The disheveled man’s tone was derisive.

“Who the hell are you?” Dickey snapped, rubbing his jaw.

Dagwood turned to the pudgy man. “You’re not planning on representing these scoundrels are you, Gillis?”

Gillis. The lawyer. The one whose office he burgled. Kruger’s armpits began to sweat, as the reality of his fix set in. His mind scrambled for any means of saving his hide.

“Not in a million years,” Gillis answered Dagwood. He looked over at Dickey, declaring proudly, “I’m the man who’s going to watch you hang, Caddyhorn. And ensure that you swing high.” He stepped closer to Dagwood, his lips curled in disgust, as if sickened by the Caddyhorns. “They arranged Uriah Dunn’s murder—”

“He did it!” Kruger pointed his finger at Dickey, knowing that if he had to burn, he’d take every last Caddyhorn with him. “He met with Conrad Furks—”

“Don’t listen to a word he says, Dagwood! You can see he’s round the bend! Crazy as a loon!”

“—at the Rose and Crown Tavern.”

Dickey’s fisted hands shook at his sides, but he was obviously trying to appear unruffled. “My wife’s father,
the Earl of Ingham
, warned me about Kruger’s propensities
for flights of fancy. But I took pity on the poor man—”

“He paid Furks three hundred guineas! And I have record of the whole thing!”