The Sinner (15 page)

He removed the box from his pocket, placed it on her bed pillow, and left.

He went down to seek out Williams. He found the butler in his pantry, counting plate. Williams dropped two spoons when he saw the master of the house at the threshold.

“If you had sent for me, sir—”

“I am told that you have been having my wife followed when she walks out alone.”

“You had said . . . then she said . . . well, I did not know what else to do.”

“Where has she been going?”

“Most times she only walks in the park. Christopher—that is the footman I send—stays out of sight, but he makes sure she is not interfered with.”

“Most times, you say. Other times, where does she go?”

“She has paid calls on a house in Piccadilly, and also on Lady Mardenford here in Mayfair. She has on occasion visited St. Martin’s. A bit out of the way, but perhaps she wants a good walk first. That is where she went today.”

“She has returned?”

“When Christopher sees that she is going there, he comes home. He can hardly lurk in the portico, and we assume she is safe enough in a church.”

“Send for the carriage, Williams. And she is not to be followed in the future. I will not have her subjected to such undignified subterfuge.”

chapter
15

A
llow me to explain things to you,
again
,” Mr. Siddel said. “Finding the last investor is the hardest, because the most likely men have already been solicited. I urge patience, madame.”

“And I am saying that I know people who would be likely as well.”

“This is not a proposal that ladies should be confiding in drawing rooms. I trust you have not been doing so.”

“Of course not. I am not stupid, Mr. Siddel.”

For all their
sotto voce
efforts, their argument seemed to ring off the church walls. Only one other parishioner had entered since Fleur arrived, however, taking a pew far from them. Up near the altar a canon prepared for the next day’s service.

“I must say that I find your behavior since returning from France troubling,” Mr. Siddel said. “The frequency of your letters, your insistence on this meeting, your shrill demands to know the investors’ names—I find myself regretting my participation in the whole matter.”

Fleur gritted her teeth to avoid getting very shrill indeed. “And I find your delays in responding to my letters and your prevarication equally troubling, sir.”

“Are you questioning my honesty? Since you have no cause to do so, I must wonder about your judgment in other areas as well.”

“You keep using the language of my stepfather’s rumors today, Mr. Siddel. Is that supposed to put me off?”

“I merely make an observation. There is no logical reason for my prevaricating in this affair. I gain nothing until it is completed. Considering the long-term benefits once the land is sold, you should find some forbearance in the short term. Is this all Duclairc’s doing? Did you confide in him and he is pressing you to in turn press me?”

A loud “ssshh” from the canon riveted her attention to the altar. Their voices had risen loud enough to invite the scold.

“Mr. Siddel, my husband has no knowledge of any of this. If my demands have appeared excessive, it is because I fear we will lose the advantage. I would be grateful if you kept me better informed. For example, do you have any prospects regarding the final investor?”

“Actually, I do. I am so confident that he will agree that I will be meeting with all the others today, to introduce them to one another. I had arranged an earlier appointment, in the interests of maintaining secrecy, but your insistence on seeing me required that I change the time.” His tone implied that should the investors be angry, or should the meeting now become known, it would be her fault.

She rose and stepped into the aisle. “Then I should not keep you. I trust that you will let me know the results of your conversation.”

Mr. Siddel slid out of the pew. “I will inform you of progress when it occurs. If that does not please you, perhaps you desire to obtain another adviser, who will accommodate you better. If so, you are at liberty to do so.”

Of course she had no such liberty. As she sank back onto the bench, she admitted as much. Beginning over would be folly if the goal was so close.

Mr. Siddel knew that and could proceed as he chose. There was nothing she could do about it.

Or so he thought.

She listened to his steps clicking on the floor to the front portal. She waited for the thud of the door closing behind him, and slowly counted out two minutes of time.

She got up and followed.

Dante peered out the closed landau at the facade of St.-Martin’s-in-the-Fields.

If Fleur liked to walk alone, this was as good a destination as any, and better than most. At least she wasn’t visiting brothels again.

He knew he was reacting more strongly to this continued habit than was warranted, but that did not blunt his annoyance. He had only requested this change for her own safety and reputation, and he did not care for the implications of her disobedience.

When he confronted her about this, she would probably remind him that they were not really married, as she had when he told her to delay the school.

She probably had not obeyed him about that either.

His hand was on the carriage door, to go and get her, when the church portal opened. A man walked through the portico and down the steps and aimed south toward the Strand.

It was Hugh Siddel.

Dante felt his jaw tightening. His memory suddenly saw Fleur’s dismay that Siddel had been one of the men who saw her in that cottage bed, and Siddel’s own anger at the discovery.

A savage fury roared through him. Of all the men for Fleur to deceive him about, this was the worst.

The least infuriating explanation, and it turned his thoughts hot all the same, was that Siddel was involved in that land sale and possibly trying to defraud her the way Hampton had feared.

Other, far worse explanations had him almost reaching for the pistol hung on the carriage wall.

He forced some rationality. There was no proof they had a friendship, let alone a liaison. Fleur may have left the church long ago.

As if fate was determined to taunt him, the door of the church opened again. Fleur stepped out, encased in a simple hooded cloak. It was the kind of wrap women wore when they did not want to be recognized.

She paused beside one of the portico’s columns and peered around it surreptitiously. Then she walked down to the street. Staying close to the buildings and in their deep, morning shadows, she aimed in the same direction as Hugh Siddel.

A furtive quality in her pace and bearing pricked Dante’s curiosity.

He jumped out of the carriage, climbed up beside Luke, and took the reins. “I am in the mood to handle the ribbons myself this morning, Luke.”

“As you prefer.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest and sulked under the insult.

From his perch, Dante could see Fleur up ahead and in the distance Hugh Siddel turning east, on to the Strand. For some reason, Fleur was following the man.

Dante remembered a love affair from long ago. When the excitement dimmed, his lover had sensed his attention waning. She had followed him one day when he took his leave early, and had discovered him visiting another house and another woman. Society dined on the resulting scene for weeks.

He fought to keep speculation about Fleur and Siddel out of his mind, with no success. The heat of rage gave way to a calmer, more perilous ice.

He gave the signal for the horses to move, but held them in.

“Do you think one of the horses is lame, sir?” Luke asked. “We are going very slow.”

“I choose to go slowly. If it embarrasses you to have me up here, get inside.”

“No reason for
me
to be embarrassed, sir.”

Dante followed Fleur to the Strand. Up ahead, Hugh Siddel entered a shop. Fleur abruptly stopped to peruse a flower stall. As Dante reined in the horses more, he noticed something else. A hundred feet ahead of his horses’ noses, a well-dressed man also paused.

“Luke, see that man there with the high hat, the one standing idly on the corner up ahead on the left?”

“I see ’im.”

“Watch him for me. If he turns down another street, let me know. If he looks back and notices us, let me know that too.”

Luke gave him a curious look. “Are we following him? Is that why you are going so slow?”

“Not him, Luke. But I think that he is following someone too, and I want to know if I am correct.”

“Too? If you aren’t following him, who
are
you following?”

“A pretty lady.”

Luke pulled down the rim of his hat and folded his arms again. He exhaled a disapproving sigh.

Dante almost boxed Luke’s ears. Considering that the pretty lady whom he followed was his own wife, who had just had a secret assignation with a man he hated, he really wasn’t in the mood for that sigh.

Fleur had just convinced herself to take a peek in the tobacco shop when the door opened and Mr. Siddel came out. He paused to check his pocket watch. Tucking the watch away, he strode on with more purpose than previously.

He stayed on the Strand, which meant the passing bodies helped obscure Fleur’s presence. Even so, she tried to stay a good distance behind because, should he look back, he would probably recognize her hooded cloak.

After a rigorous walk, he angled toward the buildings and his head disappeared into one of them. It was The Cigar Divan, a popular coffeehouse.

That seemed a very public place to hold a secret meeting, but in some ways ideal. A group of men smoking, drinking coffee, and reading papers would not invite speculation.

She debated what to do. The investors were in there with Mr. Siddel, and she wanted to know if she recognized any of them. Then, should there be more delays, she would have the chance to conclude matters on her own.

Unfortunately, women did not frequent such establishments. She could not merely enter the front door unobtrusively and take a quick look. If she tried that, the reaction of the patrons would announce her arrival.

Turning at the next corner, she sought the alley behind the row of buildings. The front door may be forbidden, but perhaps the back door could be nudged open.

Following the smells of coffee and cigar smoke, she found the back of the establishment. The door stood ajar, to allow the spring breeze in. She peeked around its edge and into the back room of the coffeehouse.

Mostly it held sacks of beans and boxes of tea. A metal washbasin, murky from the dried leaves and coffee remnants of dirty cups, stood in the far corner. Two cauldrons of water boiled on hooks set in the small hearth.

The door to the coffeehouse’s public room faced her. Slipping in, she aimed for it. She eased it open and peered out.

A frock coat blocked most of her view. A man stood inches from her nose, his back to her. Just past his right shoulder, however, she could see part of Mr. Siddel’s face. He was sitting on a divan near the wall and talking to someone.

The man shifted his weight enough for her to see Mr. Siddel completely. She opened the door more, rose on her toes, and angled her head to try and catch a glimpse of his companions.

One came into view. A young man with blond hair and a long face.

Watching the door’s edge carefully, to make sure it did not touch the frock coat, she tried to make enough room to get her head through for a moment so she would be able to—

“See here, what are you doing?”

The voice made her swirl around. Another man had entered through the back door, carrying a sack of sugar.

“Stealing tea, are you?”

“I am not stealing—”

“Some went missing last week, and now you are back for more, I can see.”

“You are mistaken.” She tried to walk past him but he blocked her path.

The other door opened, and the man whose back she had just been facing came in. “What’s this?”

“Found this woman in here, Mr. Reiss, making sure you were busy, getting ready to steal. She probably already has a box of tea under that cloak.”

“My good man, I have no tea under my cloak and had no intention of stealing anything.”

“Oh? Then what did you intend? No reason for anyone to be here, let alone a woman,” Mr. Reiss said.

“I thought that I saw someone enter. Someone I haven’t seen in many years. I wanted to know if I was correct.”

“Did you, now? Who might this person be?”

Head muddled from the worst kind of excitement, she could not think of a good “who.”

“Go for the constable, Henry,” Mr. Reiss said.

The constable! “My brother. It was my brother, who has been gone many years. We thought him lost at sea. Imagine my shock when I saw a man who resembles him walk by and then turn into this establishment. Well, I had to know, didn’t I?”

Henry was halfway to believing her, but Mr. Reiss would have none of it. “Long-lost brother, eh? Conveniently seen entering this place on a day when you are wearing a cloak that is mighty handy for hiding goods. The constable, Henry. I’ll keep an eye on her until you get back.”

“Do not be hasty, gentlemen,” a new voice said. “I think that you should believe the lady, Reiss.”

Fleur knew that voice. Although it inspired incredible relief, it also made her stomach sink. Explaining this adventure to a constable would be easier than doing so to Dante. A constable might even believe her lie.

Taking a deep breath, she faced the back door. Dante stood just inside the threshold.

“Mr. Duclairc, sir. You know this woman?” Mr. Reiss asked.

“I have made her acquaintance. Imagine my surprise to overhear these accusations while I was taking a cut through this alley.”

“The evidence is rather strong, sir.”

“She has given an explanation, however. Furthermore, it is very obvious that she is not a thief, just from the look of her.”

“Thieves come in all sizes and types. The appearance of some quality only makes it easier to escape notice, and there are those who have figured that out.”

“I do not think she is one of them. I am sure that the lady has no goods hiding under her cloak. Why don’t you satisfy these two men on that count, madame.”

Making her prove she was not a thief was hardly a chivalrous act, but then, right now Dante did not look very courteous. She could not ignore that the darkness had not only risen, it dominated his spirit and gave him a dangerous presence.