“You, sir, are even more intolerable than Daniel led me to believe,” he said stiffly, standing up and putting on his hat. “It is apparent you have no desire to help a lowly constable such as myself solve the murders of poor, unimportant boys from the streets when you could be saving the empire and gaining favor. Don’t let me keep you from the nation’s business. I shall go about mine. Good afternoon, sir.”
He turned to leave, unsettled by his uncharacteristic show of anger. He had only taken one step when he was halted by the sound of a slow clap behind him.
“Bravo,” Sir Barnabas drawled. “Damn me if you don’t sound just like Wetherald. Really, Daniel, I get speeches at home from Ambrose that always embroil me somehow in trying to save the world. Now you’re bringing it to my office as well? Is this a conspiracy against me? Doesn’t one of your doltish friends need rescuing? That’s at least entertaining more often than not.”
“You are in fine form today,” Daniel told him. “Much more churlish than usual. Any particular reason you’d like to share?”
“Hastings,” Sir Barnabas said. “Again. Always Hastings. The man is a thorn in my side.”
“Fire him,” Daniel told him. “Problem solved. Now help Robert.”
“You know I can’t fire him,” Sir Barnabas said impatiently. “I’ve invested a great deal of time and effort in training him. He is privy to state secrets. To my secrets.”
“Kill him,” Daniel said dispassionately.
“Daniel,” Robert protested, taking his hat off and going back to sit down. “You can’t just kill a man.”
“Why not?” Daniel asked. Robert was quite concerned at the genuine look of puzzlement on his face.
“I take the blame for that,” Sir Barnabas said, and Robert looked over to see a flash of regret on his face as he watched Daniel.
“Now who’s being melodramatic?” Daniel asked. “I like Hastings, by the way, so I won’t do it.”
“You don’t work for me anymore,” Sir Barnabas reminded him.
“No, I don’t. Does Simon?”
The question seemed to take Sir Barnabas aback. “No,” he answered, and Robert believed he was being truthful. “Why?”
“He blew up the compound, Barnabas,” Daniel said wryly. “We could have slipped out unnoticed, but he decided he needed to blow up the damn compound and free everyone.”
“Don’t look at me,” Sir Barnabas said defensively. “I’m not the one with a bloody conscience. Look to those bleeding hearts you surround yourself with. Or yourself, who took it upon himself to be the avenging angel of St. Giles, with Simon your ever-faithful hound, following in your footsteps? You of all people shouldn’t have been surprised by his act of martyrdom.”
“Martyrdom my arse,” Daniel grumbled. “I’m the one who got shot for it.”
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” Sir Barnabas said sadly. “It was bound to happen.”
“Wait. You’re the Angel of St. Giles?” Robert asked, confounded. At his question both Daniel and Sir Barnabas snapped their mouths shut, and it was quite obvious nothing short of an act of Parliament would get an answer out of them. He didn’t need one, however, since their silence spoke as loudly as any words could.
The Angel was a shadowy figure that had haunted the streets of St. Giles for several years, ruthlessly meting out justice when the law was unable or unwilling to do so. The constabulary had been unable to discover his identity and the criminal class had been unable to stop him. Robert was flabbergasted to discover it had been Daniel. And apparently Simon, of course. Add avenging angel to his list of accomplishments.
He did not wish to discuss Simon’s heroics again. Was there ever a man as perfect as Simon Gantry? As handsome and heroic and irresistible?
“What exactly did Hastings do?” he asked, bringing the conversation back around.
“Disobeyed an order,” Sir Barnabas said. “He killed a man he was supposed to bring in alive. I needed to question him. He had valuable information. Hastings has a nasty habit of killing first and asking questions second.”
“I…don’t think that’s possible,” Robert said, frowning.
“What an excellent constable you must be,” Sir Barnabas said sarcastically. Suddenly his face cleared and a smile broke that was almost as frightening as it was attractive in a predatory, feral sort of way. “Indeed, quite excellent,” he said thoughtfully. “Trained in the proper methods of suspect apprehension and interrogation, I presume. You do have an impressive arrest record. A veritable young star among the city’s constabulary.”
“How do you know that?” Robert asked.
Sir Barnabas went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hastings has already made contact with some informants concerning the murders,” he mused. “At least seven of the boys were well-known couriers for various employers. The spy network is being slowly choked off. The last boy, however, was not a courier. He was the spy. But no one seems to know who he worked for.”
“What? Spies?” Daniel said incredulously. “You knew why we were here? You’re already working this case?”
“Of course,” Sir Barnabas said, raising one eyebrow in a very superior look. “Don’t I always? Didn’t you expect me to? Isn’t that why you came?”
“So are you taking my case away from me?” Robert asked, his teeth clenched in anger. It was his case. Those boys were his. No matter what Sir Barnabas said, Robert would find their killer. This spy nonsense made no difference.
“Of course not,” Sir Barnabas told him. “You have been first on the scene at all the murders. You and Mr. Longfellow have gathered all the evidence. You have detected patterns. No. What I am proposing is a partnership. I shall send Hastings to you, and you shall work together.”
“Oh, Barnabas,” Daniel said, trepidation in his voice. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Will he have information that can help me solve these murders and prevent more deaths?” Robert asked Sir Barnabas.
“Yes.”
“Then send him to me tomorrow morning,” Robert said, ignoring Daniel’s warning.
“With pleasure.”
Sir Barnabas’s smile reminded Robert of a snake. He just hoped this decision didn’t come back to bite him before they were done.
Chapter 6
“You want me to what?” Simon asked, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”
He’d only just gotten out of bed and wasn’t sure he’d heard Daniel correctly. They were standing in the middle of his apartment and Daniel was, as usual, dressed quite smartly. Simon wasn’t even sure if it was morning or night. He was still in his nightshirt, his dressing gown barely tied and hanging open. He didn’t care how disheveled he looked. It was only Daniel and Harry, after all.
“It is eight o’clock in the evening. You have been sleeping for almost two days. I want you to go to Robert’s tomorrow and help him and Hastings solve this murder case he’s working on,” Daniel told him. “Aren’t you going to offer me a seat? My leg is throbbing.”
“Since when have I had to offer you a seat?” Simon asked, completely confused. “Don’t you usually just take one? Look at Harry.” He pointed at the other man who had made himself at home on Simon’s sofa. “Has the world gone mad?” He spun around in a slow circle. “Am I even home from Africa or is this a fever dream?”
“No fever dream,” Harry said. “Have you got a fever?” He stood up. “Come here, then.” He walked over and put his hand on Simon’s forehead, and Simon swatted it away.
“No, Nana, I’m fine,” he said. “And no, I will not go and offer to help Manderley solve some murder with that bedlamite Hastings. Are you drunk?” He sniffed Daniel’s breath, and this time it was Daniel who swatted him away.
“No, I am not drunk, unfortunately,” Daniel said. “Let me start at the beginning. I don’t think you were awake enough to understand that part when I arrived.”
“I don’t even have a recollection of any beginning,” Simon said with a yawn. He wandered o
ver to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of tepid tea. It would do for now. His back was aching something fierce. He supposed he ought to get used to that.
“You’re limping,” Harry said from beside him. “Do you need something for pain? Laudanum?”
“Absolutely not.” Simon had no desire to become a slave of another sort, one to that drug. “It’s just stiff when I first get up,” he lied. “You know how that is.” He winked and then made himself walk without limping so much and sat down in his favorite chair. It hugged him comfortably.
“Robert is working on a murder case which, it just so happens, Barnabas and his office are also working on,” Daniel told him. “Ten boys murdered in the last three weeks. Couriers masquerading as pickpockets, that old ruse. Robert was unable to go any further with the case, I suggested going to Barnabas, Barnabas suggested Robert partner with Hastings, whom he had assigned the case—presumably as punishment for killing another suspect—and now I need you to go and watch over the two of them and solve the murders before Hastings gets Robert killed or worse.”
“There’s something worse than getting killed?” Simon asked curiously.
“I was wondering the same thing myself,” Harry said.
“You are both being very obtuse,” Daniel told them irritably. “Bring me an ottoman. That one there,” he told Harry. “My leg is quite sore.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Harry admonished him. “You’ve been traipsing all over London today, first to see Barnabas and now Simon. You are in no condition to be doing so much. You ought to be at home in bed.”
“Where he’d be doing nothing, I’m sure,” Simon remarked drily. “But clearly I’m in the pink of health and perfectly fine to be jockeying about solving murders. Right. Tell me again, which one of us was kidnapped and tortured by pirates?”
“Are you going to live on that story forever?” Daniel said. “It’s already growing tedious.”
“I’ve been asleep for two days, you say?” Simon asked. “So that story is two days old. I can see what you mean.”
“You know if I were able I’d be more than happy to keep an eye on Robert and Hastings myself,” Daniel told him.
It was true, Simon did know that. Daniel liked nothing more than to root out evil and extinguish it. It was absolutely his favorite hobby.
“But I can’t. This leg is giving me a devil of a time. That idiot ship’s doctor should never have left the bullet in. I think it’s beginning to fester.”
“What?” Harry said, sitting bolt upright, worry creasing his forehead. “You didn’t tell me that.” He stood up. “Simon, take over this nonsense with Robert and Hastings. Daniel, I’m taking you home. Simon will report any news on the case.” He walked over and gently scooped Daniel up in his arms.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Daniel demanded, but he wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders just the same. Now that Simon was paying attention, he did sound tired.
“Fine.” Simon gave in with another yawn. “I will present myself to Robert tomorrow with some concocted story about why I suddenly feel the need to solve a murder. Do as Harry says and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got everything under control.” The knot in his stomach at the thought of seeing Robert Manderley again gave lie to his assurances, but Simon made sure his outward demeanor revealed nothing of the turmoil inside him.
“You never have anything under control,” Daniel said over Harry’s shoulder.
“Then why did you come to me?” Simon asked, crossing his legs and taking a sip of tea as he watched Harry somehow open the door without dropping his burden.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“That was your first mistake.” Simon smiled as the door closed on Daniel’s dismay. Then he set his teacup down and closed his eyes to get some more sleep. He’d need it if he was going to keep Manderley safe for Christy.
* * *
Robert glanced over Hastings’s head at the approaching figure and then had to look again, sure his own fevered imagination had produced a waking nightmare. Unfortunately, it was harsh reality.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Simon Gantry said pleasantly when he reached their side, leaning on his cane. “How are you all this fine day?”
His declaration that is was a fine day was so convincing, Robert had to look around the dirty alley, made odorous and infernally hot by the unusually warm weather, just to make sure he hadn’t taken leave of his senses.
“Gantry,” Hastings replied, saving Robert the trouble of acknowledging him. “What are you doing here?”
Yes, thought Robert. What are you doing here? And how did you find us? They were lost in the bloody bowels of the East End, at the first body drop location. The sun had barely risen and most respectable gentlemen were still abed.
“I heard you two were working on a rather interesting case,” Gantry said. “I thought I’d pop over and see if I could be of assistance.”
“Hmm,” Hastings said. “Just like that, eh? Thought you’d pop over? Sir Barnabas doesn’t trust me to show up and do as I’m told then?” His words were clipped.
“I haven’t talked to Sir Barnabas,” Gantry said, yawning. “At least, not about this. No, I spoke with Daniel and Harry.”
Robert gritted his teeth. “Did you?” They were the first words he’d been able to speak since seeing him.
“Oh yes,” Gantry said, grinning. It was clear he knew exactly how irritated Robert was at his arrival. “Daniel suggested I stop by and see if I could help. As you know, I’ve a bit of experience with this sort of thing.”
“You’ve only just returned from what must have been a harrowing and life-threatening situation. I appreciate the offer, of course, but you mustn’t put yourself out on my account,” Robert said with as much sympathy as he could muster. His emotions were rather jumbled at Gantry’s appearance. Christy would be happy again, now that he was out of danger, and for that Robert was relieved. But the old jealousy wouldn’t leave him alone. Yet, there was a part of him that was quite glad to see the other man, despite their past rivalry.
“No trouble at all, old man,” Gantry assured him, his smile never faltering. Robert noticed it didn’t reach his eyes. “Has Hastings killed any promising leads yet this morning?”
“Not yet.” Robert bit back a smile at Hastings scowl.
“I am tired of being treated like a recalcitrant schoolboy,” Hastings complained. “You’ve both been in the field. You know that situations arise in which unfortunate events occur. Death is often one of them. I much prefer when it is someone else’s and not my own.”
“I jest,” Gantry said, slapping Hastings on the back. “I’m sure you had a valid reason for killing whoever it was. The point Barnabas is trying to make here is that as one of his agents, you need to be better than that. Death is not an option; it is the last option when he deems it so.”
“Oh, really? Did someone forget to tell Mr. Steinberg that?” Hastings asked sarcastically. “His death toll is legendary.”
“Yes, well, that was Daniel’s specialty, wasn’t it?” Gantry said with a shrug. “He was rarely told not to. Come now,” he cajoled. “Helping the good constable solve a case like this surely isn’t a punishment. It’s well within your purview and is a good exercise of our logical abilities. So let us put our heads together and find the culprit. Yes?” He was so persuasive that Robert found himself nodding along with Hastings in answer to his question.
Robert turned away so as to hide his consternation at being reminded yet again of the lethal nature of his childhood best friend. He’d had no idea of Daniel’s wartime activities nor his vigilante past time here in London the last few years. The idea of Daniel as a lethal killer shocked him. Daniel was small, trim, immaculately dressed at all times, almost fussy in his mannerisms and attire. Not the sort of man who made one think of assassins and violence.
It was easier to think of Simon in such a capacity. Robert had seen his abilities the year before when together they had ch
ased down and apprehended one of the miscreants who had set fire to Daniel’s house, trying to kill him and Harry and Christy. Simon had easily caught the man and brought him down with several well-placed blows despite being the worse for drink. The man had not landed a single blow. Then Simon had handed him over to Robert to bring in. In his current condition, Simon was perhaps not up to the task, but when in fighting form he was a good man to have at your side, it was true.
Tall, strapping—Mr. Gantry’s form was the result of well-built musculature and not padded clothing. Robert had seen it that night. Simon had worn nothing but a pair of tight pants and a half-open shirt as they raced through the streets of London after the fire starter. There was a time Robert had thought Daniel and Simon involved in a sodomite relationship, as was Daniel’s way. He knew now they were no more than close friends. It was Christy with whom Simon had been intimate. Christy, Robert’s dear, beloved, sweet wife.
“Are you all right, Constable?” Simon asked, and Robert realized he’d been staring at him.
“Yes,” Robert said.
He looked away only to find Hastings watching him closely. Hastings’s face told him nothing, but Robert had the feeling the agent missed very little.
“Shall we continue?” he asked Hastings. “Mr. Gantry can catch up as we discuss what was found that day.”
“Of course,” Hastings said, his voice devoid of any judgment.
“Where is Mr. Longfellow?” Gantry asked, looking around.
“Here I am, Mr. Simon.” Thom stepped out of a doorway with a big smile. Simon returned it, and the two shook hands like old friends.
“I say, Thom, you look well,” Simon told him. “How is Lottie? And the children are well?”
“Fine as fiddles, Mr. Simon. Thank you for remembering them at Christmas. I ain’t heard from you and Mr. Daniel much the last year or so. Is everything all right?”
“You two know each other?” Robert asked in disbelief.
“Oh yes,” Simon said. “Thom is an old informant of ours. We recommended him highly to the department, as did Sir Barnabas. He would have made an excellent agent, but he didn’t want to stray far from the fold. Too many mouths to feed, eh, Thom?”
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