His Lordship's Secret
Page 22
He would collapse face-first onto the imagined bed, sinking deep into it and stretching out. It was so big his fingers wouldn’t even reach the sides.
“You poor thing,” would say a voice from behind him. That same person would start to gently remove his shoes and rub his aching feet through the silk of his stockings. “Let’s get you out of all this and see if I can’t find a way to make you feel better.”
Dominick couldn’t help the sad smile as he pushed open the door to his rooms and stepped through. There would be a light kiss to his shoulder and then… He froze.
Why had his door been unlocked?
He jumped back just as the light from his solitary window caught on a blade slicing towards him. A line of pain slashed across his stomach. He bellowed, striking out on instinct. His fist connected with flesh with a crunch. There was a howl of pain as his attacker fell back and Dominick advanced, shouldering his way into the room.
He risked a brief glance down. There was a long tear across the width of his waistcoat just between the fourth and fifth buttons. As he watched, the edges of the gash began to darken. He reached down and his hand came away red.
It couldn’t be too bad, he told himself, if his insides were still insides. He aimed to keep them that way. He squared he shoulders and brought his fists up. His opponent might be armed, but he was Nick “The Terror” Tripner.
His rooms were in shambles. The thin mattress was torn open, straw ticking everywhere, his few pieces of furniture smashed and overturned. He flicked a look to the loose floorboard. As he feared, it had been pulled up and his precious tin box upended, the last few coins scattered across the floor and Alfie’s cravat, stained with Dominick’s blood, crumpled and kicked aside. His eyes leapt to the shadow standing in the corner of the room, one hand clutched to its nose, the other holding out a knife.
“I don’t know why you had to make such a mess,” Dominick said more calmly than he felt. “You already knew where that box was from the last time you broke in, Baz.”
Baz Watts stepped into the light with a dark chuckle. The hand prodding his nose dropped. Dominick’s impulsive blow must have been more glancing than he’d thought. The hand holding the knife stayed up, unwavering and pointing directly at Dominick’s heart. His eyes glinted with hatred.
“I thought you might have wised up and hidden your valuables somewhere better after last time. But you haven’t got any have you? You’re either more of a cork-brained fool or a cheaper whore than I’d figured.” He squinted at Dominick, then laughed. “Or are you taking your payment in socks and sleeves now? ‘Another go for only a shirt, sir! You’ll be shocked at what a boot will buy you!’”
Dominick tried to ignore how closely Baz’s comments came to the truth. “I’m smart enough to know you were St. John’s accomplice.”
Baz scoffed. “Want a prize for that, eh? I tell you, it’s not nearly as fun as you’d think. I’m minding my own business in a hell when some rich toff comes up and asks if I’d like to make a real wage taking care of his cousin. I’d never tried blackmail before, had I, so I was certainly interested. Turns out it’s mostly just sneaking around and sending a few threatening letters. I offered to just slit the molly’s throat and be done with it, but no, this St. John wants his fancy lord cousin to suffer, don’t he? Get him all scared so he’d be willing to hand over as much money as we asked.”
Dominick had been slowly edging his way towards a broken table leg, not wanting to go up against a knife with fists alone, but something Baz said didn’t add up. This whole time, they thought St. John was trying to kill Alfie because he knew he wasn’t the rightful earl, but from what Baz had said it didn’t sound like St. John knew at all. “Wait, you said St. John was threatening him because he’s—”
“A molly?” Baz sneered. “A madge cull? A backgammon player? “A cata—”
“Enough!”
Baz laughed. “A tradesman such as yourself? I will say you getting involved fouled up our plans right proper. It was all thought out neat-like. St. John would bring his cousin down to the stews to take in a boxing match and oh, what do you know? They get separated in the crush. Then this nice little boy tart I’d found happens to lead Crawford to some quiet room where lo and behold! St. John comes stumbling in at just the wrong moment! Of course he’ll keep his cousin’s vile secret, for a price.”
Baz scowled and lunged forward with the knife. Dominick ducked and sidestepped just in time, but there was little space to maneuver in his cramped rooms and he wasn’t sure he’d be as lucky next time. The table leg was now firmly out of reach, so he furtively scanned the room for another weapon.
That Baz knew about Alfie’s preference for men was bad. That he correctly assumed that Dominick had been with him intimately was worse, but fortunately, he seemed oblivious to the idea that any feelings might have developed, at least on Dominick’s part. Perhaps he couldn’t even consider such things were possible between two men, or maybe it was just that there was nothing but bitterness and hatred in Baz’s own heart, so the concept itself was foreign. Whichever it was, it meant that if Dominick died here, gutted in squalor, Baz was that much less likely to go after Alfie as well.
Especially since, he now realised, Baz had called him “Crawford”, not Alfie. Could that mean in all his time working for St. John he never realised that the man he was being paid to destroy was the same little boy he had tormented ceaselessly for years?
Dominick sent up a muttered prayer of thanks. It was hard to see Alfie sometimes under all the layers and trappings of The Right Honorable Alfred Pennington the Earl of Crawford. At least until you felt the warmth of his smile under your hand, or watched his eyes fill with fear or joy. No matter what happened to Dominick himself, he swore Baz would never get close enough to Alfie to see either.
Baz was still talking.
“But instead he had to go panting into the night after you, didn’t he?” Baz spit. “That made my job a lot harder. If you’d have just taken up my offer in the pub to go in on it, it would have been a quick fix. But you’ve always been too stubborn for your own good. So I got creative. It was one thing to watch the two of you swanning all over London and see you spend the blunt everyone knew you earned on your back, but I had to prove it.”
Dominick nodded, “Which is why you stole my ring and gave it to St. John. He could say he found it in his cousin’s home and you wouldn’t even have to pay off any witnesses to say it was mine.”
He may have gotten the motives wrong, but everything else Baz was saying fit into the theory that had begun to form even before they’d broken into St. John’s house and he’d found his ring. He hadn’t forgotten Baz’s cryptic offer of a job, or the threats that had followed. Baz had all but told him he was being hired to do a rich man’s dirty work. St. John being found with his throat slit only confirmed his suspicions. He hadn’t said anything to Alfie because he didn’t want to worry him. Better for him to be safe and think it was all over while Dominick handled Baz.
As he’d crisscrossed London looking for Baz that afternoon, Dominick had hoped he could convince him the blackmail wouldn’t work now that they had the ring back, not to mention the proof of the fine paper found in St. John’s study, and the letters on that same paper in Baz’s own hand. If Baz walked away, then all the better. But if he didn’t…
Dominick let out a long breath to steady his racing heart. If he didn’t, then it was better Alfie wasn’t involved in what Dominick would have to do.
There was only one question that still bothered him.
“Why bother trying to kill Crawford before you got the money out of him? St. John gave him that bottle of poisoned port before they went to the match.”
Baz halted his steady advance.
“Poison? I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He cocked his head to the side and shrugged. “Not my style, is it? St. John must have been trying to scare him, I suppose. Or it was a case of putting the cart before the horse. Impatient old sod’s been nagging me wors
e than a fishwife to get this handled.”
“Is that why you killed him?”
Dominick expected Baz to laugh and start bragging about all the criminal cunning it took to knife a man in the dark, but instead Baz stood up straight, the knife lowering just a fraction.
Dominick tried to take advantage of his momentary distraction, but Baz danced back, bringing the knife up again. His free hand dropped back behind him, and Dominick watched it carefully. There would be a smaller blade in that hand now, dropped from a sleeve and ready to throw. If he wanted to stop Baz, he’d have to get in close.
“St. John’s dead? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. A man like that must have all sorts of enemies. Not me of course, I’m as saintly as a nun.”
And there was the laugh Dominick had been expecting, followed by a slow grin full of low cunning.
Baz wagged the blade in front of him back and forth. “I’d been thinking of playing the cousins off against each other to see who’d offer the most for my silence. But if the old gudgeon is dead… Well, I’ll just have to take my cut from the molly himself. Too bad for you if he’s not interested in paying. His fancy friends in society might not listen to me like they would have listened to St. John, but I’m sure the constables will. I know where he hid all the proof and once I’ve dealt with you, it will be the easiest thing in the world to retrieve it.”
Dominick didn’t react to the obvious gibe. Baz had had it in for him ever since they were children. Especially after watching Alfie being carried off to join the same fancy society he now sneered while Dominick ground his face into the workhouse yard. Keeping his eyes on Baz, he lifted his chin and reached under his shirt, slowly pulling out the cord. The ring swung in the air between them.
“Give it up Baz. I know where the blackmail material was hidden too, because I broke in and stole it. You have no patron and no proof. Best to just cut your losses now and walk away. You put your word up against a lord’s alone and I don’t think you’ll like how you fare.”
Baz looked as if he’d walked into a brick wall. Dominick wanted to crow in triumph, but the feeling was short-lived as the look of shock quickly changed to one of disgust. Baz spat on the floor.
“I guess I’ll just slit the bugger’s throat and be done with it then!”
He ran at Dominick, his hand flicking out from behind his back as he did so. Dominick leapt to the side, but there was nowhere to go. He hit the wall and felt the sickening sensation of metal against bone as something lodged against his ribs.
Instinctively he yanked on it and pulled it out. The throwing dagger was small, and had mostly got caught in the fabric of his coat, but had still sunk deep enough that this second injury was bleeding worse than the first. He swung out. His fist caught Baz’s forearm, blocking the strike aimed at Dominick’s heart. Dominick swung again, knocking his opponent back.
He roared in pain and fear, “I’ll beat you to death with my bare hands before I let you lay one finger on Alfie!”
“What did you call him?”
Too late, Dominick realised his mistake.
“What did you call him!” Baz screamed the question this time, spittle flying from his mouth. “It can’t… oh, I see it now. That simpering little git made a fine little lordling, did he? I knew there was something familiar about him but oh, oh this is too good.”
He began to laugh again, but there was something wrong about the tone, too shrill, too fast. There was no sanity in the sound. A chill raced down Dominick’s spine as he pulled himself once more into a fighting stance. He shuffled into position the best he could, his stomach and ribs burning, and made sure he was between Baz and the door. If Baz wanted to get to Alfie, he would have to go through Dominick to do it.
“Still the loyal dog, Tripner?” Baz snickered. He pulled yet another knife from somewhere hidden. “Were you sniffing his arse then too? This really is prime. I’m going to gut you for ruining my chance all those years ago, and then I’m going to carve the life he stole from me out of him, piece by piece. I’m going to make it last for hours. He’ll be begging for the end long before I’ve even started to take my share. I’m going to enjoy this.”
He stalked forward, no mad rush this time, but a determined attack. His madness seemed to have sharpened his mind to a solitary, destructive focus.
Dominick waited until he was within range, then bobbed down under the swing of the first knife and came up for an uppercut under the ribs. The hit connected, but so did the knife in Baz’s left hand, tearing into Dominick’s arm as he struck and weakening the blow. He ignored the pain and hit Baz with his other fist, hook after hook in quick succession. Baz fell back, out of range, but Dominick followed, forcing him to retreat further with each step.
Baz threw another knife. Dominick sidestepped out of the way, but it was only a distraction. The moment he broke eye contact, Baz charged.
They hit the floor with an almighty crash that shook the thin walls of the building. Dominick shouted in agony as his head slammed back against the floorboards. His vision swam, and he fought to stay conscious while blindly fending off Baz’s attack. He grappled, trying to break free, but Baz was on top of him, both hands wrapped around a dagger as he drove it down towards Dominick’s throat. Dominick threw his hands up just in time. He gripped Baz’s wrists tightly, and stopped the blade a hairsbreadth from his skin.
Baz laughed that feral laugh again, his eyes rolling like a mad horse’s. He leaned his full bodyweight onto the dagger. Dominick tried again to push him off, but he could feel his wounded arm weakening as blood trickled down inside his sleeve. His other injuries had already slowed him down and sapped his strength.
The point of the knife pressed against his throat, drawing up a single bead of blood. He was nose to nose with Baz now, the man’s stinking breath from behind rotten teeth filling Dominick’s lungs on each shallow inhale.
Dominick turned his head away and closed his eyes, not wanting to have to look at that as he died. He tried to think of Alfie, the way he’d looked that morning when Dominick brought in the sweet rolls. Or wrapped enticingly in that silk banyan he loved so much. Or lying on the kitchen floor laughing after they’d robbed St. John’s house. Or that first night they’d met, the very first night all those years ago, rubbing tears from his eyes with tiny fists and looking up at Dominick with so much courage for such a tiny boy.
Dominick smiled.
“There’s one thing you need to know, Baz,” Dominick swallowed and the blade sunk deeper. “Alfie didn’t take your place. You were never the Crawford’s first choice. I was.”
Chapter 26
“Oh Freddie, you will let me know if you hear anything? Dreadful business.”
“Yes, of course,” Alfie said, for what felt like the hundredth time today. He rose, hoping Mr. and Mrs. Stockton would take the hint that their visit was over, and nearly wept with joy when they did.
It took a moment for Charles Stockton to stand, the trend of overly tight waistbands not allowing for rapid movement. Alfie offered his arm to Mrs. Stockton and ushered her to the front door perhaps more rapidly than was chivalrous, having to lean slightly to the side to make way for her bonnet of truly commodious proportions. The door finally closed behind their condolences and less than subtle enquiries into whether he had been told any more about his cousin’s murder than was in the papers. He sagged against it.
He had barely been dressed and shaved when the constables knocked on his door to officially inform him of his cousin’s death and ask if he knew of anyone who might wish his cousin harm.
The whole ordeal had felt like it was happening to someone else. It was as if he was observing himself from a distance playing the innocent and lying about having no idea as to who might have done such a thing. And to hear that his cousin’s home had been robbed as well? What a shock. He’d offered to help in any way he could, of course. But really he hadn’t been to his cousin’s home in months and was sure he would have no idea what, if anything, had been taken.
Vultures, the lot of them. Not a single one would he have counted as a friend, and now they were all offering a shoulder to cry on, in exchange for a bit of gossip about the crime. They seemed to fall into two groups and he wasn’t sure which was worse. The first were Reginald’s drinking cronies who kept saying what a dreadful business it was, but did Alfie happen to know if any markers had been found in the ransacked house? Alfie made a note to amend the letter to his solicitors to expect to hear from several creditors as well.
The second group was the society mamas who clucked about how difficult it must be for him to lose his last blood relation and only months after his mother had died. Their sympathy was rather undermined by the presence of the eligible daughters they had brought with them and heavily weighted comments about what a shame it would be if the Crawford bloodline ended without an heir. As the visits went on, he was tempted to tell them it had, that the real earl had had his throat cut two nights ago on his way home from a Covent Garden brothel, and that they were throwing their precious daughters at an orphan from the stews and a sodomite to boot.
The looks on their faces might almost have been worth it.
The hall clock struck five, and he wiped his hands across his face. The only good part was that he hadn’t had time to think about Dominick all day. He felt guilty over the way they had left things, which made no sense. Dominick had been upfront from the beginning that he was just there to do a job. Now that the job was over, of course there was no reason for him to stick around.