by Amanda Quick
“That should rouse a maid or a footman,” Dominic muttered.
But to Anthony’s amazement, no one came to the door to demand an explanation for the late-night disturbance.
“Try again,” Dominic said. “Harder, for God’s sake.”
Anthony pounded the knocker a few more times. Still no response. He took a step back and looked up at the darkened windows of the upper floors. “Perhaps whoever lives here gave his servants the night off.”
“This is a large house. I cannot believe that every single member of the staff would be given the same night off. There must be someone inside.”
“We’ve got to do something quickly,” Anthony said. “Maybe we should smash a window.”
“And get taken up on charges of housebreaking? I don’t think that is such a terrific plan. Wait, I’ve got an idea.”
Dominic let his small pack slide off his shoulder and lowered it to the ground. Untying the cord that secured the opening, he reached inside and drew out what appeared to be two sticks.
“What have you got there?” Anthony asked.
“A couple of tubes containing my new explosive formula.”
“Explosive formula?” Anthony hastily stepped back a couple of paces. “Hold on, here. What the devil are you doing?”
“I admit the mixture is still in need of refinement, but in small amounts like this it creates a very handsome display of fireworks. I brought the tubes with me tonight because it occurred to me that they might come in handy if we needed a distraction or a weapon of some sort in the event the hairdresser noticed us and tried something violent.”
“That was very farsighted of you.” Anthony watched Dominic strike a light. “Damnation, man, have a care with those things.”
“I’m using both of them because we need a disturbance that will arouse the entire street as well as anyone inside this house.” Dominic lit two strings attached to the sticks. “This should do the trick.”
He hurled the sputtering tubes far out onto the pavement. There was a short, tense moment during which the sticks sputtered and sparked.
Then, with a crack and a snap and an ear-shattering roar, the explosive-filled casings erupted.
Lightning danced in the street.
Bright strips of fire sparkled and flashed. The fireworks sounded like a dozen pistols fired at once, over and over again. The noise boomed off the walls of the town houses and echoed on the stones of the pavement.
“Very impressive,” Anthony shouted above the din.
“I’m trying to develop more variety in the colors of the display,” Dominic yelled back. “At the moment I’m limited to red, white, and greens.”
A window on the upper floor of a neighboring town house opened with a bang. A man in a nightcap leaned out.
“Fire,” he screamed. “There’s fire in the street. Summon the watch.”
Several more windows slammed open. Other heads appeared. The shout of fire went up across the square. A woman shrieked. Doors were flung wide. One of them was the door of Number 20.
“What’s this?” A woman with a head covered in sparse gray curls and a cap stood in the entrance, clutching a faded dressing gown around her thin body. She peered blearily at Dominic and Anthony.
“What’s going on here?” she demanded.
“There’s a murderer inside the house,” Anthony shouted.
“What’s that you say?” She cupped her hand to her ear. “Speak up, young man.”
“A murderer.” Anthony pushed past her into the front hall. “He’s come to kill someone.”
“Stand aside,” Dominic ordered, following Anthony into the hall. “We must stop him.”
“Now, see here, what d'ye think yer doing?” Alarmed, the woman fell back. “Help! Help! There’s housebreakers here.”
Anthony decided to change tactics. “The fire,” he shouted directly into her ear. “We’ve got to get everyone out of the house.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Fire, you say?”
“Is there anyone else here?” Dominic yelled.
“The master. Upstairs in his bed.” The woman glanced uncertainly up at the ceiling. “He can’t walk. He’ll be trapped up there.”
“We’ll bring him down,” Anthony promised.
He ran for the stairs, Dominic hard on his heels. They took the steps two at a time and emerged onto a darkened landing.
Anthony saw the flare of candlelight emanating from the door of a bedchamber at the end of a long hall. A cloaked figure appeared in the entrance of the room, silhouetted by the glare behind him.
“There he is,” he yelled at Dominic.
They charged forward. The intruder left the doorway and fled in the opposite direction. When he reached the end of the hall, he whirled to face them, the wings of his cloak flaring wide.
“Watch out,” Dominic said. “He might have a pistol.”
They slowed warily. But the intruder did not pull out a weapon. Instead, he yanked open another door and disappeared down the back stairs.
“Bloody hell.” Anthony launched himself forward again. “He’s getting away.”
“Tony, the bedchamber,” Dominic shouted. “He set it ablaze.”
Anthony became aware of the fact that the glow of light from the doorway of the bedchamber was too intense for a candle flame. He slammed to a halt, spinning around to stare into the room. Dominic was already inside, using a blanket to beat at the flames that leaped at the end of a massive four-poster bed.
A thin man in a nightcap cowered against the pillows, arms flailing helplessly. “Save me, save me! She tried to smother me. Tried to murder me in my own bed.”
Anthony seized a heavy quilt. Dominic grabbed the other end. They flung it over the bedding in an attempt to smother the flames.
The killer ran through the streets, barely able to think clearly enough to follow the map in his mind. When he could not run any farther, he ducked into an alley to catch his breath. He yanked off the blond wig and the cloak and dropped both on the paving stones.
Chest heaving, he stood for a moment, trying to collect his senses and his nerve. Bloody hell, but that had been close. Much too close this time. His heart was pounding, and he knew it was not just because of the mad dash to safety. He could no longer deny the fear. It surged through him, clouding his brain and making him want to vomit. Was this how it was for you, Zachary? Did you ever know this frantic, gut-twisting sensation?
He still could not fathom the fact that he had been so nearly caught in the act. Where had those two come from to loose that shower of fire in the street and hound him through the house, chasing him away before he could complete his business?
But he knew the answer. Miss Emeline and Miss Priscilla had lied through their pretty teeth. March and his companion had not only made significant progress in their investigations, they had identified him as a suspect.
March had set that pair to watch him tonight. They had followed him, hoping to catch him in the act.
The game was finished. March had won.
He glanced back at the little heap of clothing and the blond wig. That was all the evidence that existed to connect him to this night’s botched business. He would leave them here. Even if someone found the items, they could not be linked to him.
Nevertheless, he dared not take any more chances. March had friends in high places.
He moved cautiously out of the alley. When he was sure that there was no one about, he broke into a run again. He had a good head start. It would take those two some time to deal with the fire and make their report to March. He needed only a few minutes, he reminded himself. He had been well-trained in his craft. He was prepared for any contingency, even failure.
He would vanish for a while, he promised himself. Perhaps he would go to Paris for a year or two. Or mayhap Italy. When he returned the next time, he would come back as a gentleman. No one would recognize him, let alone connect him to the murders he had committed this summer.
The thought steadied h
is nerves as he fled through the moonlit night.
A short time later Anthony stood beside Dominic and peered glumly into the darkness of the back stairs. He slammed the palm of his hand against the wall.
“Damnation. We almost had him.”
“He set that fire to distract us when he realized we were about to awaken the household with the fireworks.” Dominic shoved his fingers through his hair. “He gave himself plenty of time to get away.”
“Well, one thing is for certain. He knows now that he’s been found out. He’ll no doubt have disappeared into the stews or bolted for some safe place where he thinks he can hide.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any point going back to his lodgings,” Anthony muttered. “He won’t be fool enough to hang around now.”
“I do not look forward to informing March that we flushed out our quarry and then lost him.”
“Neither do I.” Anthony closed his fist around the ring he had discovered on the bedside table. “But it is not as though we had a great deal of choice in the matter. That damned hairdresser was willing to burn down this entire house and everyone inside in order to make good his escape.”
“Come.” Dominic turned away from the staircase. “We’ve got to find March. I hope he has returned from his latest visit to the stews.”
Anthony swung around and followed him swiftly down the hall.
The killer entered his lodgings through the back door, the same way he had left a short while ago. He stood there in the deep shadows, breathing so hard that the air rasped in his lungs. The rage and fear were still pouring through him. He wanted to smash something.
“Damn him, damn him, damn him,” he chanted into the darkness.
He could not dawdle, he reminded himself. He had to move swiftly. There would be time enough for vengeance against March later. Time enough to prove that the man could be beaten.
He went into the bedchamber and shifted aside the picture on the wall. Placing the flat of his hand on a section of the wood, he pressed gently. The panel slid open on a soundless whisper of well-oiled hinges.
He opened the safe and took out the pistol, the letter, the remaining memento-mori rings, and the jewelry and money that his clients had given him in exchange for his services.
His next stop was the wardrobe. He would take only one change of clothing. He hated to leave the rest of his fine garments behind, but he could not afford to be encumbered with luggage. The tenets of his training were strict on that point. When flight was necessary, one fled with as little as possible.
He opened the door of the wardrobe and found himself looking into the face of his killer.
Before he could even react to the shock, the murderer put the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 29
Tobias held the lantern up so that the glare illuminated the back door of the hairdresser’s lodgings. Anthony and Dominic stood slightly behind him, watching tensely as he tried the knob.
“Unlocked.” Tobias handed the lantern to Dominic and took out his pistol. “I doubt if he is still here, but I do not want either of you to take chances. Stay behind me.”
“He will be miles away by now,” Anthony grumbled. “We almost had him, Tobias.”
“If he had not had the wit to set that fire, we would have caught him,” Dominic agreed.
“You did the right thing,” Tobias said. “You had no choice but to deal with the blaze. Do not blame yourselves for Pierce’s escape. If you had not interfered, Sir Rupert would be dead by now. The old cook as well, I suspect.”
He opened the door so suddenly that it banged against the wall. The lantern light slanted across the empty kitchen.
He moved warily through the small room. Anthony and Dominic followed.
“Give me the lantern,” Tobias said quietly.
Anthony handed it to him. He set it on the floor and used the toe of his boot to push it out into the narrow hall. No shadows flickered on the wall. There was no movement in the small parlor.
Tobias leaned around the corner. From here he had a clear view of the sitting room. Satisfied that it was empty, he stepped out into the hall, picked up the lantern, and, hugging the wall, went swiftly toward the door of the darkened bedchamber.
The scent of fresh death hit him before he saw the body on the floor.
“The hairdresser is still here,” he said flatly.
Dominic and Anthony came to stand beside him. They stared at the horrific scene.
“His head.” Dominic sounded odd. “His head. There’s so much blood and . . . and other stuff.”
“God have mercy,” Anthony whispered.
It occurred to Tobias that this was the first time either of the younger men had encountered violent death.
“Stay here, both of you,” he ordered.
He went cautiously into the room so as to avoid damaging any useful evidence. But there were no bloody footprints, no bits of fabric torn in a scuffle. No signs at all that anyone other than Pierce had been here tonight.
The hairdresser lay sprawled facedown in a dark pool of congealing liquid, lifeless fingers loosely wrapped around the handle of the pistol.
“He must have known that it was over.” Anthony swallowed audibly. “He realized that we were hard on his heels and that it was only a matter of time before we saw him hang. So he elected to cheat the gallows.”
“He took his own life.” Dominic wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “The gentleman’s way out.”
Tobias looked down at the dead man. “Just like his brother.”
Shortly before daybreak, Lavinia went with Tobias to give the news to Aspasia. She came downstairs at once when her sleepy housekeeper informed her that she had callers. She had obviously still been in bed, but Lavinia noted that she somehow managed to appear very fashionable in a dark satin dressing gown, soft kid slippers, and a little lace cap.
“Pierce shot himself?” Aspasia sank down onto the sofa. “Dear heaven. Just like Zachary.”
“After Anthony and Dominic nearly caught him in the act of committing murder tonight, he must have realized that it was finished,” Tobias said.
Lavinia watched him move to stand in front of the darkened hearth. She sensed the tension in him. He had been like this, restless and brooding, when she opened the door to him a short while ago. She had given him a large glass of the brandy he had provided for himself, but it did nothing to soothe his spirits. He told her the tale of the night’s events. She had elected to accompany him when he said that he was going to take the news to Aspasia.
“I don’t understand,” Aspasia said, clutching the edges of the dressing gown at her throat. She looked bewildered. “From what you tell me, he had a head start. Why would he not simply flee the country?”
“I cannot pretend to know his mind,” Tobias said. “But from the beginning, this entire affair has been about imitating his brother. Perhaps when he realized that he had been found out, he decided to leave this world the same way Zachary did.”
“By his own hand.” Aspasia closed her eyes briefly. “It is all so dreadful.”
“Tobias talked to an old woman in the stews tonight who once sold babes and children,” Lavinia said gently. “Several years ago she provided two young boys to a man who told her that he had no sons of his own and wanted apprentices to take over his business.”
“I think her client was the original Memento-Mori Man,” Tobias said, never taking his eyes off the cold hearth. “It appears that his apprentices did, indeed, try to carry on in his footsteps.”
“And now both are dead,” Lavinia said quietly.
The battered hackney carriage that had conveyed them to Aspasia’s address was waiting for them in the street when they left a short time later. Tobias handed Lavinia up into the cab and then got in and took the seat across from her. In the weak glow of the interior lamp, his face was stark and grim.
“I know how this case has plagued you.” She grasped the handhold to steady herself as the aging v
ehicle jerked into motion. “But it is over now.”
“Yes.” He looked out the window into the night.
She sensed the darkness in him and knew that he was in danger of sinking down into his own private little corner of hell.
“You will no doubt feel more yourself in the morning,” she assured him.
“No doubt.”
She searched her brain for some other means of breaking through the ice in which he had encased himself. When she came up with nothing helpful, she decided to take the forthright approach.
“Very well, sir, out with it. You are in a very odd mood for a man who has just concluded a successful inquiry into a case of murder. What is wrong?”
For a moment she did not think that he would respond. But eventually he turned his head to look at her.
“Pierce was not much older than Anthony and Dominic,” he said without inflection.
Quite suddenly she understood.
“And not much older than Sweet Ned either.” She reached across the small space and took his big hands in hers. “Tobias, you cannot save them all. You do what you can and that is all that you can do. It is enough. It must be enough. If you do not accept that truth, you will succumb to a sense of despair that will make it impossible for you to save anyone.”
His fingers clamped fiercely around hers. The storms in his eyes threatened to sweep her down into the depths. He did not speak, but after a while he pulled her into his arms.
They held each other until the hackney came to a halt at her front door.
Tobias got out, handed her down, and walked with her up the steps. She opened her reticule and found her key.
“There is something else,” he said, watching her fit the key into the lock.
She looked up quickly. “What is it?”
“This affair is not yet finished.”
“But Pierce is dead by his own hand. What else is there to discover?”
“The identity of the Memento-Mori Man.”
“But, Tobias, you said yourself, it is likely that he is no longer alive and, if he is, he will be quite elderly. Why do you feel you must find him?”