“An envelope.”
“What sort of envelope?” Christopher asked, doing his best to mimic the accent and mannerisms of a servant.
“You know well enough. Don’t be an idiot. I can stick you and take the envelope just as easy as waiting for you to hand it over.”
It was definitely Connolly. The arrogance was unmistakable. That made it all the more imperative that he didn’t look directly at him. He needed to hide his identity as best he could until Rutland arrived. He hunched his shoulders and hung his head, scuffing the toe of his boot on the pavement.
“I’m supposed to ask for proof that you’re the one I’m to give it to.”
“Have you lost your mind? Who else would speak to you about the damned envelope?” The irritation in Connolly’s tone might’ve been amusing under other circumstances.
“How am I to know?” Christopher kept his gaze on the man’s shoes, hoping Connolly didn’t see through his ruse. What was taking Rutland so long?
“Because I’m telling you.” Connolly turned away only to spin back again as if frustrated by Christopher’s response.
Good. Surely keeping him off balance by not doing exactly as he demanded would be of benefit.
“You can’t expect me to hand over the...goods without knowing for certain.” Christopher glanced in the direction of where he thought Rutland was but still didn’t see him.
“I know why you have the red flower in your hat and told you what I’m expecting you to give me.” The exasperation in the man’s tone pleased him. A distracted Connolly would be easier to capture. “What else would you have me do?”
Christopher clenched his jaw to hold back a response. There was so much more he’d have him do. Such as face his part in Lyndenhall’s death. Such as feel the same fear he’d caused in others. And much more. But that would have to wait.
He needed Rutland to witness him handing Connolly the envelope. With luck, he could get Connolly to say what the money was for. That shouldn’t be too difficult as the man had already displayed his fondness for bragging. Then he and Rutland would detain the criminal.
Christopher patted his pockets as though he’d misplaced the envelope, willing Rutland to appear. What could be keeping him? “Anyone might notice the red flower as no one else is wearing one. The envelope could just be a good guess.”
“Give me the damned envelope.” Connolly seemed beside himself, his tension a palpable thing, his demeanor much different than the last time Christopher had seen him.
Had he learned of Lyndenhall’s death and felt remorse? Yet that wasn’t enough. Christopher wanted him to feel the weight of guilt—a weight so heavy and suffocating that he couldn’t breathe.
“If you tell me a few details, I might be able to assist you. My orders were quite clear that I needed proof.” Christopher risked a glance in Rutland’s direction only to see that a throng of people blocked his view. It looked as if a cart loaded with barrels had overturned directly in front of the place he’d been waiting.
Christopher’s heart pounded. What did he do? Restrain Connolly and hope his cracked ribs held up? But Connolly hadn’t confessed to anything. Was it enough evidence that the man had recognized the significance of the posy and requested the envelope?
“If you wish to make certain no harm befalls your lord then you’ll hand over the envelope.” Connolly’s growl spoke of his upset. “Now.”
“You don’t understand the wrath I’d face if I gave what I have to the wrong person.” Christopher shifted away, swiping a hand across his brow to show his nervousness. Which in reality was growing by the moment because of Rutland’s delay.
The frustrated noise coming from Connolly wasn’t anything Christopher had heard before—part growl, part snarl. What pressure was the man living under that caused such desperation?
Even as the question crossed Christopher’s mind, he realized he didn’t care. There was no excuse for blackmail or any of the other schemes the man ran. Either a person stood on the side of right or on the side of wrong. There was no middle ground.
He need only think of Margaret to know that. What had she gone through in the minutes before the accident? Had she been frightened? Angry? Shocked? Surely her last minutes had been hell. Of that, he had no doubt. Thoughts of her children must’ve flooded her mind in those last few seconds.
The idea only made him more resolved to see Connolly punished. Charlotte and Ronald deserved no less.
“I’m the man you seek,” Connolly insisted. “Have no doubt. Give me the damned envelope.”
Christopher reached into his pocket, his movements slow as he searched for Rutland, hoping he could get past the chaos of the cart and barrels and the workers trying to clear it. Once he handed Connolly the packet, he’d soon realize it wasn’t the complete payment he was expecting. But surely that moment would provide the perfect opportunity for Christopher to restrain him.
With halting movements, his fingers closed over the envelope from inside his waistcoat.
Before he could fully withdraw it, Connolly snatched the envelope from his grasp. In his rush, he tore the paper, sending the contents into the air. Christopher watched in horror as the notes, mixed with the paper, fluttered to the ground, catching the attention of those passing by.
“What the hell?” Connolly grabbed one of the false notes, flipping it from one side to the other. “This isn’t money.”
“Look again,” Christopher insisted, despite his pounding heart. “It’s all there.”
“Not the amount I’m looking for.” Connolly snarled as he reached for two more of the actual notes before they glided to the pavement.
“That can’t be.” Christopher reached for Connolly, grabbing his arm and holding tight. “You’re mistaken. Look again.”
Connolly wrenched free, which sent a stabbing pain through Christopher’s side. “You’re the one who’s mistaken. Tell Millstone I don’t appreciate his games.”
Christopher grasped him again with a silent curse at his damned ribs.
The man escaped his hold even as he retrieved another note from the ground. A murmur went through those nearby as several grabbed the money.
Rutland reached them and lunged for Connolly, but the man spun away, using the crowd to evade them. The man moved like a weasel, writhing just out of reach even as he grabbed every note he could.
Before Rutland could act, a man tackled him. It took only a glance for Christopher to recognize Shaw, one of the men who’d attacked him at the racecourse. The two struggled on the ground, both landing blows.
It was as if time slowed as Christopher watched the scene unfold while still struggling to get hold of Connolly only to be blocked by someone reaching for a note. A disaster of the worst sort. That was all Christopher could think as the fabric of Connolly’s suit coat passed just out of reach of his fingertips.
“You?” Connolly stared at Christopher in disbelief as recognition dawned. “Leave off,” he demanded then his gaze shifted to something over Christopher’s shoulder.
A fist struck Christopher’s temple, causing his vision to fade for a terrible moment. He shook his head and threw a punch at the third man who’d joined the fight. His wild swing missed, but his next hook struck the man under his chin, sending him flying backward.
A crowd gathered around them. Some called out encouragement while others searched for the scattered notes. None offered assistance.
“Damn.” Rutland threw another punch then jumped up, chest heaving as he looked for Connolly.
Christopher grunted as someone brushed against him, jabbing him in the ribs. The fire along his side slowed his efforts to snatch Connolly. Yet the reminder of his close call brought anger bubbling to the surface. He lurched forward to grab Connolly’s collar, ignoring the pain. Now was his chance to see this to a conclusion. He had to catch Connolly before he escaped.
“Let go!” Connolly slid on a spot of the muck on the pavement and loosened Christopher’s grasp.
Christopher tried to re
gain his hold even as his knee hit the pavement. Connolly was quicker and reached his feet first. Before Christopher could get a better hold, he twisted free with Shaw’s help.
Then the two were gone, making their way through the crowd and out of sight before Christopher got to his feet. “Damn.”
“That did not go according to plan.” Rutland moved toward the remaining man lying unconscious on the pavement and nudged him with his foot. “At least he left a clue for us.”
Christopher pressed a hand to his ribs as he picked up the now empty envelope. “We almost had Connolly.”
“Between this man and knowing where Connolly lives, we’ll catch him soon.”
“Why is that less than reassuring?” Christopher shifted, willing the pain in his side to go away.
“There aren’t any certainties in this business.”
“I’d prefer you tell me a convincing lie.” Christopher detested the thought that all this had been for naught.
Rutland shook his head. “It’s never for naught. Though it sometimes takes time to reveal the truth.”
“I don’t have time.”
Rutland placed a hand on his shoulder. “We never do. My apologies for the delay in my arrival. A delivery man arrived and blocked my path.”
“What happens next?” Christopher’s thoughts had been so focused on this meeting that he hadn’t thought past it.
“We determine a new plan and hope Connolly doesn’t win the next round.”
Christopher stared at him in disbelief. “How can you deal with such poor odds each day?”
“The criminals might occasionally win a battle, but our job is to make certain they don’t win the war.”
Christopher scowled. “I refuse to let Connolly win again.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rutland said then turned to speak with the policeman who arrived on the scene.
Chapter Nineteen
“Since this was written, the police, under the energetic guidance of their new chief, have been making vigorous and successful warfare against public gamblers and gambling agents.”
~The Seven Curses of London
“Miss Tippin.” Markus, one of the footmen, stood in the doorway of the schoolroom. “The Marchioness of Millstone is calling and has asked to see the children, if it’s convenient.”
“Certainly.” Amelia did her best to hide her shock. “Is Viscount Beaumont in?”
“No, he’s out.”
“Very well. Please let her know we’ll be down directly.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow, suggesting she wasn’t sure what to think of the visit. That made two of them.
“We haven’t seen Grandmother in a long while.” Ronald’s narrowed eyes suggested he searched his memory for the last time without success.
“How kind of her to call.” Amelia waited a moment to allow the children time to gather their thoughts before she stood.
“Why do you think she wishes to see us?” Charlotte asked as she moved toward the door with Ronald directly behind her.
“Maybe she misses you.” She didn’t want to say much more than that and give them false hope. Surely their grandmother wanted to form a relationship with them despite the past year of absence.
“Will we have tea and biscuits?” Ronald asked.
“Shall we ask the marchioness if she’d like to join us for tea?”
“That’s a fine idea.” Ronald smiled.
How she wished life would remain so simple that an afternoon of tea and biscuits would make them happy. But they’d already learned of heartbreak. All she could do was try to provide them with a sense of stability to withstand the disappointments as well as to treasure the good moments and instill the hope that the good would outweigh the bad.
They entered the drawing room to find the marchioness looking out the window. She turned to face them. Her gown was a black paramatta silk trimmed in crape with a modest bustle. A matching hat with a narrow veil along the brim completed the outfit. The marchioness was still in mourning.
Yet the longing in her eyes as she stared at the children told Amelia everything she needed to know—it hadn’t been the older woman’s choice to stay away from her grandchildren.
“Good afternoon.” Amelia curtsied then placed a hand on the children’s shoulders to ease them forward.
“Good afternoon, Grandmother.” Charlotte curtsied as Ronald bowed. “How kind of you to visit us.”
The marchioness sniffed delicately as she blinked back tears. “I’m so pleased you were able to take the time to see me.” Her gaze shifted to Amelia. “You must be Miss Tippin.”
Amelia curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Millstone.”
Ronald studied his grandmother for a long moment as if comparing her to his memory. “Would you like to join us for tea?”
The marchioness shared a smile with Amelia. “That would be lovely.”
Amelia rang the bell as she watched the children from the corner of her eye.
“How have you been?” The older woman asked as she gestured toward the chairs.
“Well, thank you.” Charlotte sat on the edge of the chair, her back straight, ankles crossed beneath the chair, and hands folded on her lap like a proper young lady. “And you?”
Amelia couldn’t have been prouder. Her composure was admirable considering the difficult circumstances.
Ronald took a chair as well and sat straight, though Amelia guessed his posture had more to do with feeling awkward than displaying good manners.
“Well, thank you.” A wave of grief passed over the older woman’s expression, belying her words. “Will you join us, Miss Tippin?”
“I’d be delighted to. Thank you.” When Dauber came into the room, Amelia requested tea and refreshments. The approving light in his eyes reassured her that she was doing the right thing by visiting with the marchioness.
“How long have you served as the children’s governess?”
“Only a few weeks.” Amelia could see the marchioness was nearly overwhelmed by the children’s presence by the sidelong glances she continually gave them.
Did they remind her of her son? Did she feel guilty for not having been in contact before now? Or did she simply not know what to talk to them about?
Empathy filled Amelia. While she didn’t agree with the woman’s absence since the tragedy, she appreciated her presence now. The children needed her, and she seemed to need the children. Amelia hoped this was a new beginning.
“Ronald, would you like to share your experience about the trip to the zoological gardens?” Amelia asked. She was certain the marchioness would prefer to hear directly from the children as to what they’d been doing rather than her.
As Ronald told her about his favorite animals with his usual enthusiasm, Dauber brought in the tea tray. Amelia offered to serve, and the marchioness nodded, her attention focused on her grandson and his description of the elephants.
Charlotte joined in, adding her impressions as she sipped her lemonade, and soon their grandmother was chuckling with delight, the grief etched in her face easing.
A prickle of awareness came over Amelia, and she glanced at the drawing room door to see Christopher standing there, watching, his expression enigmatic. Did he not approve of the marchioness’s presence? Or did he worry as she did that if their grandmother didn’t visit again that the children would be hurt?
But if Lady Millstone was willing to take a step toward forming a bond with them, surely they needed to encourage it.
The pensive expression on Christopher’s face eased, and he stepped into the room, a polite smile on his face. Only then did she notice a bruise near his temple that she didn’t think had been there before. He moved more stiffly than he had when she last saw him. What had he been doing?
“Uncle Christopher!” Charlotte and Ronald set aside their plates to hurry forward to embrace him.
Tears threatened in the marchioness’s eyes as she watched.
“Lady Millstone.” He bowed while kee
ping a hand on each of the children. “How nice that you’ve called on us.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
“You met Miss Tippin?”
“I did. I’m pleased to know the children are in such good hands.”
“Will you have a cup of tea?” Amelia asked him when the silence drew long.
At his nod, she poured him a cup with a spoonful of sugar the way he preferred it. “Charlotte and Ronald were sharing stories of the trip to the zoo.”
“Ah.” He took a seat, his movements stiff, then reached for the teacup she offered, his smile more natural now. “That is a popular topic. Did they tell you of the rodent house?”
Amelia gave a mock shudder even as Ronald’s face lit with renewed excitement.
“They had rodents I’ve never heard of,” the boy exclaimed. “Some were bigger than a rat.”
The marchioness shifted uneasily. “I don’t think I’d care to see anything like that.”
“The Fish House was interesting.” Charlotte seemed to sense her grandmother’s distaste for the topic. “Several were quite colorful.”
The children continued talking while enjoying their lemonade and sandwiches. Christopher shared a smile with Amelia, causing her entire body to heat. How did one smile cause her to feel so much?
The marchioness’s gaze switched back and forth between Charlotte and Ronald as if she didn’t want to miss a word either one said. She held her teacup, but Amelia had yet to see her take a sip. Though pleased Lady Millstone was enjoying the time with the children, Amelia wanted a moment alone with Christopher to ask what had happened. He clearly had something else on his mind based on the way he stared across the room as if trying to work through a problem.
“Isn’t that right, Miss Tippin?” Charlotte asked, making Amelia realize she wasn’t listening either.
“I’m sorry?”
“We’re learning French,” the girl prodded.
“Yes. The children are becoming quite good at it. Perhaps you would both like to count to ten to demonstrate.”
As they recited the numbers, Amelia glanced again at Christopher who now scowled at the window. Something was definitely amiss, and she intended to find out what at the first opportunity.
Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9) Page 23