Her Majesty’s Scoundrels

by Christy Carlyle

  Edward lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then offered her his arm.

  Alyssa looped her arm through the crook of his elbow and walked with him into the ballroom.

  For the first time in more than a year, she felt as if her world had righted.

  Chapter Eight

  Edward entered his club and looked around the room. The man he searched out sat at a table on the far side of the room. Thankfully, the Earl of Mannfield was alone.

  “Your Grace,” Mannfield greeted when Edward approached his table.

  “Mannfield.”

  The Earl of Mannfield stood, then pointed to an empty chair next to him. The moment Edward sat, an aged steward brought a glass and a bottle of brandy.

  “Is this a social call,” Mannfield asked, “or business?”

  Edward smiled. “Actually, both. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken.”

  “Yes it has. So tell me, how are things with you? I saw your heir at the Paigeworth ball the other night, but didn’t see you with him.”

  “No, I let he and his wife go without me.”

  “I had a conversation with Lord Sheffield that night. He’s an impressive young man. Takes after his father,” Mannfield said with a smile.

  Edward and Mannfield spoke in generalities for several minutes before Edward shifted their conversation to the reason he’d sought Mannfield out. “I’m interested in some property I hear you own,” Edwards said.

  Mannfield’s eyebrows rose. “Really? What property would that be?”

  “The property on Conner Street.”

  “Conner Street?” The earl paused as if having to think. “I don’t recall owning any—” His eyes opened wider. “Oh, yes. It was a former boarding house. I won it in a card game with the late Earl of Justing.” Mannfield leaned forward. “Thought I had it sold little more than a year ago. To Lindleigh. That was just before his death. Haven’t thought of it since.”

  Mannfield took a swallow of his drink. “Are you interested in purchasing the property?”

  “I may be.”

  “Whatever do you want it for?”

  Edward tried to portray a nonchalant attitude. “I wouldn’t want this to get out,” he said.

  “Of course, of course.”

  “I’ve been considering doing some philanthropic work. It was brought to my attention that there’s a great need in that area of London for perhaps an orphanage. Or a home for children.”

  Mannfield laughed. “You’ve gone soft, Your Grace. You think to help more of the scum from St. Giles to survive to be a plague upon the rest of us.”

  Mannfield’s attitude irritated Edward. How could anyone so blessed with wealth and the finer things in life have such meager compassion for those with so little? “Perhaps I have, Mannfield. But I don’t see where it’s the fault of any innocent babe that’s born in poverty.”

  “Well, if that’s the way you look at it, that’s your business. Far be it from me to stop you from throwing your wealth away on a worthless cause.”

  “You would be willing to sell the property, then?”

  “I’ll not only sell it to you, but I’ll make you a bargain in the process.”

  Edward lifted his glass and sealed the bargain he’d just made with a toast.

  “I’ll inform my solicitors, Elsberry and Son, to draw up the papers, Your Grace. You may call on them tomorrow to make the final arrangements.”

  Edward finished his drink, then rose from the table. He was thankful to leave Mannfield. His lack of compassion left a sour taste in Edward’s mouth. And yet…Mannfield wasn’t so different from any other London nobility. His unwillingness to help those who needed it most was the same as the rest of Society.

  Had he been so different?

  That he hadn’t, sickened him.

  Edward sent word to Mannfield’s solicitor the following morning requesting a meeting. He was surprised when the senior Elsberry and his son answered that they would be willing to come to Townsend House to meet after lunch. Edward then sent a message to Nick to join him. He asked his son-in-law to come early enough that he could fill him in on everything.

  “Your Grace,” Nick said when he entered the study.

  Edward sat in one of a cluster of four chairs he’d arranged for the visit with Elsberry and his son.

  “Nick, come in.” Edward pointed to the chair next to him and Nick sat.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to contact me, Your Grace. I know something is wrong and was hoping you’d realize you only had to ask for my help.”

  Edward smiled. “I apologize. I should have contacted you long before.”

  “You have now. That’s all that’s important.

  Edward nodded. “As you know, at times Her Majesty has had need to call on me to assist her. One of those times arose a couple of weeks ago. Her Majesty asked me to keep my eyes and ears open for any word on a ring of smugglers that are bringing in French wines.”

  Nick smiled. “Perhaps if Her Majesty would lower taxes on French wines there wouldn’t be such an effort to smuggle the wines without paying such high tariffs.”

  Edward couldn’t stop the smile that matched Nick’s. “Don’t make the mistake of telling Her Majesty that. She takes immediate offense when the subject is brought up. Except, this time there is more than the smuggling of French wines and liquors.”

  Nick shifted in his chair as he listened more intently.

  Edward continued. “The French government has lodged a complaint that a number of jewels have been stolen. They believe the thief is a British citizen, and that the jewels are being smuggled to England to be sold.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Yes, and to make matters worse, one of Her Majesty’s special agents has gone missing. He is presumed dead, but Her Majesty recently received a ring she’d given the lad’s father that was passed on to him upon his father’s death.”

  “She believes this agent is still alive?”

  Edward nodded. “She wants me to find him.”

  “And how does Lady Lindleigh fit into this?”

  Edward shifted his gaze to Nick. “What makes you think the lady fits anywhere into this?”

  “Call it gut instinct.”

  Edward rose. “You have excellent instincts.” Edward walked to the tea tray and poured two cups of tea. He took one to Nick, then sat back in his chair and drank from his cup. “I’m inclined to think Lindleigh was not directly involved. More likely, he stumbled upon something that caused his death.”

  “Do you know what that was?”

  Edward rose to get a piece of paper from his desk, then handed it to Nick.

  “What is this?” Nick asked when he scanned the paper.

  “It’s a piece of property Lord Lindleigh intended to purchase. He was going to open a children’s home.”

  “I see.” Nick handed the paper back to Edward. “It’s in a perfect location for a children’s home. No area in London needs the help any more desperately.”

  “I know.”

  “What connection do you think this property has to the smuggling, or to the agent’s supposed death?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps nothing. But I intend to find out.”

  Edward felt Nick’s focus. “How do you intend to do that, Your Grace?”

  “I intend to buy the property.”

  “You are going to open a children’s home?”

  “Yes. I’ve decided Lindleigh had an excellent idea, and someone needs to go through with his plan.”

  “And that’s why you want me involved,” Nick said. “You think that in the process of buying the building, Lord Lindleigh might have stumbled onto something that got him killed.”

  Edward smiled. “Your instincts are again excellent. But Nick, I cannot in good conscience send you into the midst of a dilemma that may have already proven fatal for the Queen’s agent.”

  Nick ignored the comment with a wave of his hand. “You mentioned that some solicitors will join us. Will the
se solicitors be able to sell you the property from the owner?”

  “Yes. They’re bringing the deed with them.”

  Edward filled his son-in-law in on anything else he might need to know, then paused when he heard commotion at the front door. A moment later, Edward’s butler rapped on the door.

  “Mr. Herbert Elsberry, and Mr. Byron Elsberry to see you, Your Grace.”

  “Show them in, Bierly.”

  Edward studied the solicitors when they entered. He’d met the senior Elsberry several times before and had dealt upon occasion with the man. He’d always impressed him as an honest and intelligent sort. He knew nothing about his son, other than from looking at him, he shared several of the same physical features as his father.

  His dark coloring was the same, as was his tall build. But the younger Elsberry was more muscular than his father, and more attentive to the latest fashion.

  The elder Elsberry looked as if he’d purchased his clothes a decade or two prior. Byron Elsberry, on the other hand, obviously made use of Bond Street’s more fashionable tailors.

  The most noticeable difference, however, was the assessing blackness of the younger Elsberry’s eyes. There always seemed to be a twinkle in the elder Elsberry’s gaze, a warmth that hinted at an underlying kindness. That benevolence was absent in the son’s eyes.

  “Your Grace,” the two solicitors greeted from the doorway.

  “Please, have a seat,” Edward said, pointing to the two empty chairs beside him. “Allow me to present my son-in-law, Nick Stillman. Nick, Mr. Herbert Elsberry and Mr. Byron Elsberry.”

  Greetings were exchanged, then the two guests took their seats. A maid entered to refresh the tea tray, and they visited a short while before they turned to the business at hand.

  “The Earl of Mannfield expressed your interest in the property on Conner Street, Your Grace,” the elder solicitor said.

  “Yes. I’m considering turning the building into a home for orphaned children.”

  “Have you considered this carefully?” the younger Elsberry asked.

  “Is there a reason you believe I shouldn’t go ahead with my venture?”

  “Several, Your Grace.”

  “Such as?”

  “The location. Conner Street isn’t in the best area of London.”

  “Which makes it perfect for an orphanage for underprivileged children.”

  “The condition of the building, Your Grace. Have you toured the location?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve gone around it, but couldn’t get inside. I hoped that you would have a key so I could inspect the establishment. Perhaps we could go there now. That would help me decide whether or not I’m interested in sealing the purchase.”

  “Yes,” young Elsberry answered. “Father has the key with him. If you have the time, we could go there now. Before it gets dark.”

  Edward was grateful that they would have the opportunity to see the inside of the building. If smugglers were using the building, perhaps a surprise visit would catch them unawares.

  “We’ll meet you at the premises at half past the hour,” Edward said, giving his guests time to get there.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” the elder Elsberry said rising to his feet. “I personally hope the Conner Street property meets with your expectations. An orphanage in that section of London is greatly needed.”

  “We shall see,” Edward said as he rose.

  He watched the father and son solicitors leave the room and exit his home.

  Then he went to his desk and retrieved his pistol.

  Chapter Nine

  Edward and Nick toured the old boarding house with Herbert and Byron Elsberry. The building was in remarkably good condition, considering where it was located, and how long it had been vacant.

  Edward concentrated on discovering any sign that the place was being used for smuggling, but didn’t see any evidence that it was…or that it had been. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a hidden cellar, or an underground entrance that they didn’t know about.

  “Have you decided what you wish to do?” the elder solicitor asked when they left the building.

  “I’d like to think about it for a day or two,” Edward said. “Perhaps come back another time when I can evaluate how it can be transformed into a children’s home.”

  Herbert Elsberry looked at the darkening sky. “That can be arranged Your Grace. There were certain areas you were unable to see as well as you might in the light of day.”

  “Are you still convinced this is the best location for an orphanage, Your Grace?” Byron Elsberry asked. “If you give me some time, I’m sure I can find a better location for what you want.”

  “No, no. This location is perfect.”

  The younger Elsberry smiled stiffly. “Very well, Your Grace. Stop by our offices whenever you wish to use the key. I’ll be happy to accompany you.”

  Edward and Nick bade farewell to the two solicitors, then each headed to their own conveyances. It wasn’t until the Elsberry carriage left that Nick spoke.

  “Was it my imagination, Your Grace, or did the younger Mr. Elsberry seem anxious to find you a different place to put your orphanage?”

  “That’s what I thought, too, Nick. It might be worthwhile to do some checking into why the son would want to steer me in another direction.”

  “I’ll do that first thing tomorrow.”

  Nick stepped back to allow the driver to hold the door and Edward took a step up. He entered the carriage, then stopped.

  “What is it, Your Grace?”

  Edward picked up the folded piece of paper on the leather seat, then sat. “Someone left us a message,” he said after Nick followed him into the carriage.

  “Can you read it?”

  “No. It’s too dark.” Edward opened the carriage door enough to speak to his driver. “Stop beneath the first street lamp, Henry.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The carriage lurched forward, then stopped beneath the first light.

  “What does it say?” Nick asked.

  Edward handed the note to his son-in-law, then issued orders to his driver. “Take us to St. Bartholomew’s Churchyard,” Edward said. “Use the east gate. And hurry.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t a trap?” Nick said when the carriage rolled forward.

  “No.”

  The carriage turned into St. Bartholomew’s Churchyard and followed the path they were instructed to take. Suddenly Henry brought the carriage to a halt and called a warning. Edward reached for the pistol in his jacket pocket, then followed Nick from the carriage.

  “Up ahead, Your Grace,” Henry said.

  Edward looked ahead. A crumpled form lay in the center of the path.

  Edward and Nick ran to where the man lay.

  “Do you know him?” Nick asked, rolling the young man over to see his face.

  Edward looked at features that seemed familiar. He noticed a resemblance to Jacob Winslow, Her Majesty’s former guard. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but it was possible that the man on the ground might be his son, Joshua.

  “Let’s get him into the carriage. We’ll take him to Townsend House.”

  They got the young man into the carriage. Edward tried to fit all the pieces of this puzzle together but it was impossible. There were too many unanswered questions.

  Who’d left the quite well-written though hurried note for them to find the man Edward thought might be Joshua Winslow? What did the property on Conner Street have to do with the smuggling operation, and with Lord Lindleigh’s death? And who was responsible for bringing the young man Edward prayed was Joshua Winslow to St. Bartholomew’s Churchyard?

  Nick held the young man steady as the carriage rumbled across the streets. It was impossible to see how badly he was injured, or even where his injuries lay. As soon as they arrived at Townsend House, Edward sent for a doctor, then had his footmen carry the man to a room upstairs.

  Nick followed closely behi
nd the men carrying the stranger. When the footmen placed him on the bed, Nick removed the man’s soiled jacket and shirt. “Do you know his name?” Nick asked as he worked on the man.

  “I believe this is Joshua Winslow. He’s the man Her Majesty ordered me to find.”

  Nick turned the man to his stomach and saw the bullet hole in his shoulder. From the black and blue on his shoulder, it was possible the bullet hadn’t been removed. Edward knew he’d be lucky if he didn’t suffer an infection. And a fever.

  Nick turned the lad over and Edward’s breath caught. The lad had been severely beaten. There was hardly a place on his body that wasn’t horridly bruised. There were also several knife cuts that would have to be tended.

  “It’s too bad someone didn’t get him help when he was first injured. It looks as if he was used as a punching bag at Gentleman Jim’s.”

  “Do you think he’ll survive?”

  Nick lifted his gaze and Edward saw the worry in his eyes. “He’s young. He looks as if he was healthy before he was attacked. And someone at least gave him water, and…” Nick leaned down and smelled the young man’s mouth. “…from the smell of his breath, he’s been given laudanum to help with the pain and keep him unconscious.”

  Servants rushed to and from the room carrying cloths and water and bandages and salves. Finally, the doctor arrived.

  “Doctor Fleming.”

  “Your Grace. Mr. Stillman.”

  “Doctor Fleming,” Nick greeted.

  “So what have we here?” the doctor asked lowering his gaze to the prone figure on the bed. “Bloody hell,” he whispered when he saw his patient’s condition. “Someone took a definite dislike to this young man.”

  “Yes,” Edward agreed.

  The doctor removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves as if he anticipated that the work he needed to do would take a long time. “You might as well wait elsewhere, Your Grace. There are enough of your staff here to assist me.”

  Edward nodded. “Send someone down if you need anything.”