What Happens in Piccadilly Page 17

  Callie felt tears threatening. She blinked at them, but a few slipped free regardless. “You’re not old enough to be my mother. You never were. How could you, at the age you were, take on the raising of so many young girls alone?”

  “I knew the truth of my mother, Callie. All along. I knew that she deposited me on my father’s doorstep without a backward glance. I’d been the product of her attempt to trap him into marriage and elevate her own standing in the process. And when I failed to serve that purpose, she was done with me,” Effie confided. “I always felt the lack… the lack of a mother’s love. And any child I encounter in my life who needs that as much as I did will always have it from me. That is my purpose in this world. To mother the children of other women who cannot, will not or have been deprived of the opportunity to love them.”

  Callie heard the sadness in her mentor’s voice. There was a longing in Effie that she hadn’t ever considered, that perhaps her school and the unwanted daughters of others weren’t quite enough for her. So she hugged her back, the two of them comforting each other in the stillness of the evening as the younger girls gathered below for their dinner. After a long moment, Effie drew back.

  “Now, there is another matter we must discuss… the Earl of Montgomery. I sense that there is more at play here than simply his wish to protect one of his employees,” Effie said. “Is there anything you wish to tell me, Callie?”

  Callie shook her head. “There is nothing to tell.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Caught, she could tell by the tone of Effie’s voice, Callie capitulated. “He kissed me.”

  “Just a kiss?”

  “Well, more than once… and perhaps a bit more than,” Callie admitted. Recalling his words from the night before, she added, “Nothing that has transpired has been irrevocable.”

  “I see.” Effie sat down on the bed again. “Did you want him to kiss you? And these other things, did you want them as well?”

  “Well, the first time I wasn’t expecting him to, but when he did, I didn’t mind it. Not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. And then the other morning, we were disagreeing about something and it just sort of happened. But last night—” Callie broke off.

  “Last night?”

  Callie sighed wearily, “It wasn’t a matter of him kissing me as much as that I kissed him. And I would have allowed him to do infinitely more. Things halted as they did only because he is an honorable man. And William asked him if he would marry me and now it’s complicated everything.”

  “Perhaps… perhaps not. I asked a friend of mine to check up on your charming earl,” Effie said. “And by all accounts, he is a very good man. That is rarer than you think. If his intentions toward you are honorable, and based on the concern he has shown for your safety, I can only assume they would be, there will be no more kisses or there will be a proposal in your future. You must think, Callie, which of those two things you’d prefer.”

  “And if I don’t know?” Callie asked.

  Effie smiled. “Then I’d advise refraining from either until you do. I’ll send up a tray with some cold meats and bread in case you get hungry later. Good night, dearest.”

  When Effie left, Callie continued to sit in her chair. The book lay forgotten by her side and she eventually fell into a fitful doze.

  *

  The pub on the waterfront was hardly the sort of place where Winn would typically spend his evening. But he’d been in search of a man by the name of Fredrick Davis, a former magistrate who’d been involved in the inquest into the death of Mademoiselle Veronique Delaine.

  “Montgomery?” the man asked as Winn approached the table in the back where he’d been told the man would be waiting.

  “Yes,” Winn answered. “You’re Davis?”

  The man grinned, showing several missing teeth. “Aye. One and only. Have a seat… a guinea per question.”

  He’d come prepared for just that. Winn removed one coin from his pocket and slid it across the table. “How did Veronique Delaine die?”

  “Maybe I don’t remember her?”

  “Then I’ll go now and take the rest of my coin with me,” Winn stated. “I’ve got enough questions for you to earn a tidy sum without playing any games.”

  The man’s gapped-tooth grin grew broader as he tapped the table. When a coin was placed at his fingertips, he slid it deftly across the table’s pocked surface where it disappeared into the pocket of a tattered waistcoat stretched over his rather rotund middle. “The actress… hard to forget that one. Looked like a broken doll laying in the road, she did. Pretty thing, but someone had done her up right before tossing her out there.”

  “Then she wasn’t struck by a carriage?” Winn asked, placing another coin on the table.

  “Oh, aye. But she was dead before that happened,” the man replied.

  Another coin. “How?”

  “The wheel cut her deep,” Davis said, gesturing to his abdomen. “But weren’t much blood. Smeared a bit but not gushing out the way it ought to have if she’d been alive when it happened. Seen enough corpses in my day to know that. No, Guv, she was dead before she hit the bricks, I’d say. Back of her head all smashed in though she was face down on the street. Shouldn’t have injuries to both the front and back sides of her, should she?”

  “Couldn’t that have happened when the carriage struck her? Perhaps she was caught up under the wheels?” Another coin slid across the table to vanish.

  Davis shook his head. “The carriage didn’t do naught but clip her. Driver saw her laying there and tried to stop. Swerved around her and damn near upended the whole thing. Anyways, wounds on the back of her head had bled something fierce. Back of her clothes was covered in the stuff and it was almost dry… but the front? A bit of mud and some smears of blood. Still wet.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d know who did it and how, would you?”

  Davis shook his head. “No, and you don’t have to pay if’n I don’t give an answer. I ain’t for robbing people. I reckoned at first it was a lover’s quarrel. Went to the theater and they said see the duke. So I did. Thought it’d be a quick thing to pin it on him, though I knew he’d never serve a day for it much less see the noose. Men like him—and you—don’t have to follow the law, now do they?”

  Winn slid another coin across anyway. “You said at first. But you didn’t think it was a lover’s quarrel after meeting him?”

  Davis took a drink from the tankard before him. “No. Telling that man she was dead near broke him. Never seen a man take on so. I ain’t much for having sympathy for no man, but it was clear he was torn up about it. Kept asking for the babe. First any of us heard about it. Told him there was no babe to be found near her and she must have left it with someone.”

  “Did you see anyone else when you went to speak with the duke?”

  “His mother was there… won’t forget that old bitch,” Davis said, his expression shifting into one of distaste. “She’d raise gooseflesh on the dead.”

  “How did she react to the news?”

  Davis shook his head. “Said it was good riddance… told him to stop taking on so, that he needed to find himself a worthy bride and produce an heir that wouldn’t bring shame to the family.”

  Winn suppressed a shiver. “You didn’t much care for her, did you, Davis?”

  Davis looked at him levelly. “I’ve seen a lot of killers in my time, my lord. Arrested men who’d taken lives as casual as taken off their hats in greeting. I’ve even seen some that enjoyed it. But I’ve never seen any person, man or woman, who could make my blood run cold the way that old bitch did. I knew… I couldn’t prove it. But I knew she’d done it. Well, ordered it done. That one has a heart colder and blacker than the depths of the Thames.”

  “Did you find any proof?”

  Davis shook his head. “I didn’t waste my time looking, my lord. What good would it have done? Who’d let a duchess swing from the gallows? And I didn’t want her turning that evil eye on me and mine. Not t
hat it matters now. The wife is gone, the bloody French took my son and my daughter has gone to the north with the man she married. I’m on my own now.”

  Winn removed several other coins from his pocket and pushed them across the table. “And if you were ever asked to testify, not in court, but to a group of trustees of the duke’s estate, would you?”

  The man nodded, pocketing his coin. “I’ve nothing left to lose, do I? You know where to find me.”

  Winn rose and exited the tavern quickly. He needed to speak to Miss St. James. But she wouldn’t welcome him coming to her so late at night, assuming he’d even be granted admittance. It would have to wait for the morning. Hailing a hack, he headed home. He was tired. Bone tired. But there were things that needed doing before he could seek his bed.

  Entering the house only moments later, he headed for his study. As preoccupied as he’d been with what had almost occurred the night before and with his meeting with Davis, he’d almost forgotten his resolve to remove the books from the top shelf lest his too-curious niece attempt to educate herself further. Neither of them would survive it, he thought, shuddering with horror.

  Stepping into the study, he reached for the tinder box to light the lamp but even as he did so, the lamp on his desk behind him flared to life. Turning toward it, he found himself facing Lord Highcliff. But this wasn’t the Highcliff he’d seen swanning about society. There were no garish waistcoats, no overly coiffed hair or cravat tied with such intricate detail that half the dandies of the ton had done themselves injury trying to replicate it. This man, with his black hair combed back from his forehead and dressed head to toe in unrelieved black looked very much like a criminal. Which was fitting, since he apparently was one and quite gifted at it.

  “Housebreaking, Highcliff?”

  The other man smiled, showing even white teeth that gleamed in the dim light. “I’d thought I might rattle you a bit showing up this way. It seems you’ve more mettle than I anticipated, Montgomery.”

  “I can do a fair approximation of a fit of the vapors if you’d like. Saw my aunt have them once. Terrifying… but before I oblige, kindly tell me what the hell you’re doing breaking into my bloody house!” Winn demanded.

  “Relax. I’m on your side… I have some information on your friend Burney… and on Averston. Are you aware they’re lovers?”

  He hadn’t been. “Since when?”

  “Recently, it would seem. Very recently. Were you aware that Averston has a long history of aligning himself romantically with young, desperate men who then subsequently vanish?” Highcliff asked.

  Intrigued, Winn moved deeper into the room. He caught himself before he took a seat facing Highcliff from the wrong side of his own desk. “You’re in my seat.”

  Highcliff rose then, grinning as he sketched a mock bow before he moved around the desk, vacating Winn’s own chair for him.

  Winn took his seat and then said, “Go on. I’m curious as to where this is leading.”

  Highcliff raised one finger. “Nathaniel Barber. Father lost everything when his copper mines imploded and killed dozens of workers. Became Averston’s protégé if you wish to term it such, and then three months later, he was gone. No word. No sign… for weeks. Then a badly bloated corpse turned up on the banks of the Thames. Identified only by the signet ring that wouldn’t come off his finger.”

  “It could be a coincidence. London is a dangerous city,” Winn pointed out.

  Highcliff raised a second finger. “Thomas Fairbourne. Bastard son of an impoverished baron, but charming enough to linger on the outskirts of society. Was suddenly everywhere Averston was. Thick as thieves. Then he, too, vanished. They found him in a ditch in Richmond. A pistol ball to his brain… all of his belongings were still accounted for.”

  “All right, you have my attention.”

  “Samuel Cavender. Father was a successful barrister, moving in polite society. Apprenticed as a clerk to Averston’s lawyer and then apprenticed to Averston himself as a man of affairs. He’s gone without a trace and his body has yet to be discovered.” Highcliff sank into one of the chairs facing the desk. “There are a handful of others. Six in total. Missing or killed under mysterious circumstances.”

  “So what, he takes these foolish young men as paramours and then murders them?” Winn asked. “To what end? It might not be Averston, you know?”

  “The dowager duchess?”

  Winn recounted the story from Fredrick Davis. “At the time that this occurred, Averston would have been a boy of fifteen. He might have done it, but it seems more likely to be her.”

  “Doesn’t mean they aren’t both capable of murder,” Highcliff answered. “And they both have motive in all of the cases mentioned. She can hardly rule society if word gets out about Averston’s persuasion. The trustees in charge of the fortune that your pretty little governess might inherit are sticklers for propriety. Scandal, especially the scandal of the Duke of Averston having male lovers would effectively destroy his standing with them. They’d never approve another request for funds he puts before them. We both know that.”

  Winn leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and considered things. “And Burney is young, handsome, stupid and desperate… and will very likely die for it. He’s already displayed an alarming lack of forethought. He tried to blackmail me. If he tries to blackmail either of them… I hesitate to think what the consequences might be.”

  “Do you really care? He has, after all, tried to blackmail you, threatened to expose Miss St. James to significant danger… perhaps it’s his just desserts!”

  “For having the audacity to love unwisely? For inheriting a mountain of debt from his wastrel father and trying to salvage what he can for the sake of his family? I fault his methods, Highcliff, but Burney… well, he’s Burney,” Winn said. The thought of the scandal this could create, the ruin it would heap on Burney’s mother and on poor Amelia was terrifying. There were other men of his acquaintance who hid such affairs, who lived half their lives in secret, but Burney was not that sort. He was too impetuous by far.

  “No, for having the audacity to think that his needs and wants are worth the life of someone else,” Highcliff said.

  A resigned sigh escaped Winn. “But he doesn’t realize it. I promise you that Burney is too naive to ever realize what Averston is or the dowager duchess for that matter… he won’t. Not until it’s too late.” And Burney, whatever he’d done and no matter how angry Winn was at him, didn’t deserve whatever outcome Averston or that hateful old woman had planned for him.

  “That’s a very magnanimous view given that Burney was set to and possibly already has betrayed the lot of you to Averston.”

  “He’s a grown man… an adult. But he isn’t, honestly. Burney will perpetually be a rapscallion little boy like my brother was,” Winn stated. “I can’t let him die just because he’s stupid.”

  Highcliff looked for a moment as if he were about to argue the point, then relented. “Fine. We’ll save the idiot, too. But if he gets himself in another scrape after this one, he’s on his own.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Winn rose from his desk. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Where?”

  Winn arched one eyebrow at him. “You’re the one with all the information. You tell me.”

  “White’s,” Highcliff answered. “I assume you have a membership?”

  “Of course!”

  “Good, because I’m only a member at Boodle’s.” Highcliff paused as they headed out the door, “I’ll have to change first.”

  “Yes, it wouldn’t do to be seen in public wearing a waistcoat that was anything less than glaring, would it?” Winn asked. “What exactly do you do, Highcliff, that warrants such subterfuge?”

  “Pray you never find out, Montgomery,” Highcliff answered.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was fully dark when Callie awoke. She was overcome by a sense of unease but the source of it, in that moment of waking confusion, was unknown to her. L
ooking around the room, lit only by the thin sliver of moonlight that penetrated the small crack between the curtains, she saw that the tray Effie had sent up for her was untouched on the table beside the door. She must have dozed off before it arrived. The fire had died down to nothing and the room was very cold. But it wasn’t hunger or cold that had awakened her. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced her. An overwhelming sensation of dread had overtaken her senses. The house was completely quiet, all the girls having long since been put to bed. Effie was likely still awake, doing paperwork in her office, as was her habit. That was typically how the latter hours of the evening were spent. Was that what had woken her? Had Effie stumbled in the hall as she sought out her own chamber? Were the girls out of their beds and up to mischief? No. Her experience was that the more a group of girls tried to be quiet the less successful they were at it.

  Whether it was instinct or simply that the earl’s paranoia regarding the Duke of Averston had managed to invade the darker recesses of her mind, Callie was instantly on alert. Huddled in the chair where she’d fallen asleep earlier, Callie hunkered under the small throw that she’d covered herself with. The chair faced the window and the door was behind her. Peering around the edge of the winged back, Callie eyed that door as if it were about to grow teeth and snap at her.

  But no, the truth was far worse. As she watched, the knob twisted and the door opened, just a crack at first, and then, very slowly, it swung inward. Ducking back until she was completely concealed, she made sure her feet were drawn fully into the chair and the edges of the throw concealed as well. From behind, no one would even know she was there. And if she were lucky, and they were stupid, they wouldn’t think to look further than the bed for her at this time of night. Squatting there, still and silent, in the corner of the chair, she made herself as small as possible. In truth, she willed herself not to even breathe.

  “Where is she?”