by Rebecca King
Ronan rolled his eyes. ‘The damned world has gone mad. First Joshua, then Roger. Now Daniel’s getting married. You have all lost your damned minds.’
‘I don’t know. Given the looks that young woman was giving you, Ronan, your days of bachelorhood are numbered,’ Dean teased.
Ronan spat an insult at him that made Dean roar with laughter. The men continued to tease each other about who was going to marry next as they made their way into their new, blessedly temporary base.
‘It’s a nice house, this,’ Peregrine murmured as he peered into the hushed luxury of the sitting room. ‘It’s bigger than you think from the outside.’
‘It’s a mansion,’ Ronan muttered. ‘It’s too big for one man to live in, probably very expensive to run, and more of a status symbol than a place a man can relax in. I mean, you would need a veritable army of servants to run a place like this, wouldn’t you?’
‘He is just worried that if he says he likes a house like this we might tease him about having one of his own,’ Daniel drawled. ‘Of course, if he ever did buy something like this, he would then have to find himself a wife to run it, and an army of servants to provide for her.’
‘I am not getting married. Jesus, one young woman stares at us because she is a bloody nosy neighbour and you all go mad. Can we get off the topic of marriage, please?’ Ronan growled.
‘Yes,’ Roger replied, his mirth fading. ‘I suggest we all have a meeting before we unpack.’
Once the men were sitting around the kitchen table, Roger opened the latest missive from Sir Hugo. ‘It says here that Charles Rodgers, Lynchgate’s nephew, has been found dead. He hung himself, apparently.’
‘Are you sure that Lynchgate didn’t have anything to do with his death?’ Peregrine asked.
‘He could have killed him, but sadly Lynchgate has been in Leicestershire this whole time. We saw him head back to Malden only yesterday, don’t forget. There is no possibility that he could have gone to London, murdered his nephew, and then made it back here in just a couple of days. Lynchgate can’t have killed his nephew. Charles Rodgers must have had something to hide and decided to take his own life when he learnt that Lynchgate’s empire was crumbling. Sir Hugo is investigating what Rodgers was doing in the days before his death. Hopefully, Rodgers will have left some incriminating papers behind; letters from Lynchgate, or Sminter, that kind of thing.’
‘Was he married?’ Daniel asked.
Roger shook his head. ‘No, so information about what he has been involved in might well have died with him. If Rodgers was involved in anything illegal, his clerk of business is unlikely to know anything about it, but Sir Hugo will question him anyway. What we have to work on is the fact that Lynchgate no longer has the support of his nephew.’
‘He is going to need Sminter now more than ever,’ Ronan said.
‘And the local magistrate, Wardle. He is as corrupt as Sminter,’ Luke added.
‘Before we venture into how we are going to bring this investigation to a satisfactory conclusion, I will go over everything we have learnt so far. David Lynchgate has tried to extort money off Reynold Muldoon of Muldoon’s Cotton Factory only for Muldoon to then die and leave everything to Lynchgate’s daughter, Tabitha. Lynchgate tried to kill his own daughter, Tabitha, when his henchmen failed to do so, to try to get his hands on the cotton mill she inherited when Tabitha refused to allow him access to it. When that failed, Lynchgate decided to break into his daughter’s factory and steal goods and equipment which he has sold to various other factories and customers up and down the country. We have arrested most of Lynchgate’s henchmen during a skirmish at the factory but as you all know, Lynchgate escaped. Thankfully, we located him and followed him here, to Malden, where he owns his mansion. We do know that Lynchgate has had the help of his cousin and local judge, Walter Sminter, who is as corrupt as his cousin and lives in Malden as well. Court records have revealed that Sminter has given several local criminals lighter sentences for crimes involving burglary, armed assault, theft, and God only knows what else and that those criminals then went on to work for Lynchgate. I don’t doubt Sminter has helped Lynchgate in other ways, we just don’t know how yet.’
‘Sminter might have been advising Lynchgate on how to take control of the workhouse,’ Ronan suggested.
‘Indeed. We do know that Sminter, Wardle, and Lynchgate work together, so they must all be arrested for the deaths of several of the workhouse’s occupants whose bodies show signs of having been beaten in the days prior to their deaths. Medical examination has confirmed that some of the recent victims were suffocated. All the deceased were also emaciated. What we don’t know is why they were starved because there should be enough funds in the coffers to provide everyone with adequate sustenance. We need to find out why the victims died. Did they see something, protest too much about their poor treatment or the lack of food, or try to leave? We also need to find out where the money for their food has gone. Unfortunately, what we cannot do is get inside the workhouse without a fight. Lynchgate has turned it into a fortress. Some of the Governors have claimed that Lynchgate has been trying to force them off the Board of Governors to stop them asking questions. He has also been blocking everyone from touring the workhouse, meeting with the workhouse’s occupants, or looking at the financial ledgers. Now, he won’t even let them into the building. So far, despite numerous attempts from all the Governors, all access has been denied by the workhouse’s current Master, a man called Oswalde Gorman, who answers to nobody but Lynchgate. We must find out what we can about Gorman. Find out where he lives, gentlemen, and who his family are. I want to know what connection he has to Sminter and Wardle, and where Wardle is right now. Moreover, I want Lynchgate found. All three of them are in the village. Find them. As soon as Lynchgate appears he must be arrested. We have enough evidence of his crimes at the cotton mill to put him behind bars for a long time, but Sir Hugo wants him facing charges for everything he has been up to, especially at the workhouse. However, it isn’t necessary for Lynchgate to retain his freedom while we investigate what has been going on in there. We should arrest Lynchgate, and then remove Gorman. The workhouse’s occupants being murdered is enough evidence of brutality going on inside those walls for us to arrest those in charge of running the place no matter who killed the victims. For now, we need to decide who is going to do what, and make sure that we are all here at dawn for a daily briefing.’
‘I’ll keep an eye on Sminter’s house,’ Ronan offered when nobody else seemed willing to.
‘Try to avoid the neighbours,’ Roger warned, issuing him with a pointed look. ‘The last thing we need is an inquisitive local drawing Lynchgate’s attention to us, or Sminter’s. While Gorman rarely leaves the workhouse, he is no less of a threat because many of the workhouse’s guards live in the village and will listen to gossip, so be wary of everyone. Don’t let any of the locals know about what we are doing. Avoid them at all costs. We are not here to be neighbourly or find wives.’
‘Do we shoot to kill if we are challenged?’ Ronan asked hopefully.
Peregrine burst out laughing. ‘It’s just not sporting to shoot any eligible female who happens to glance your way, old chap.’
The men guffawed when Ronan threw a curse at him. Eventually, Roger answered. ‘You can shoot any of them if they pose a danger to anybody’s life. Do what you need to do to survive. It would be better if we could get the bastards behind bars, if only so they suffer the indignity they have subjected the workhouse’s occupants to. The workhouse’s occupants and their families will feel vindicated if they know the real culprits, Lynchgate and his cronies, are serving time behind bars for the thefts and murders. However, we all know that Lynchgate is dangerous.’ Roger shuffled the papers and slid them back into the folder before him. ‘Right then, let’s get settled and then go and catch our criminals,’ he announced before dismissing the group and leaving them to sort out their rooms and horses in that order.
An hour later, Ronan left the hous
e and re-saddled his horse. While he wasn’t going far, just a few feet away from the safehouse, he needed his horse readily available in case Sminter left home in a hurry. Unfortunately, he had to ride past the young woman’s house.
A flash of pink material caught his eye. He knew immediately who it was - the rather striking young woman who had been watching him avidly earlier. She was still in her garden.
Watching me no doubt.
Ronan muttered a curse when he discovered that he was right. While he quickly averted his gaze, he wasn’t swift enough to avoid catching a quick look at her standing on her terrace, watching him as intently as she had earlier.
‘Damned nosy neighbours,’ he grumbled, not caring if she heard him.
Annoyed, Ronan continued past her house without acknowledging her. He hoped the young woman lost interest in him the second he disappeared because he had to double back and find somewhere to hide his horse nearby. He could only hope that she didn’t see it. Her presence on the terrace meant that he had to be extra careful to stay out of sight himself when he returned to the carriage track directly outside of Walter Sminter’s house to find a place to hide.
Once he was well hidden without anyone having seen him, Ronan studied the houses before him and contemplated his life. He was pleased that, thus far at least, life had favoured him with wealth and a position with the Star Elite. It kept him busy, so busy in fact that he had no need to set up a home of his own. If he ever did, which he couldn’t anticipate ever happening, Ronan knew that he would never settle in a place like Malden. It was far too quiet, with not much going on except gossipy neighbours. Still, the houses were large, secluded, and wonderful family homes – to anybody who was contemplating settling down.
But I am not, Ronan sternly reminded himself. Giving himself a mental shake, he forced his attention back to where he was and why. He knew that all he had to do was look over his shoulder and the Star Elite’s new safe house would still be visible.
As would that nosy neighbour’s house.
Ronan shuddered. He hated to contemplate a life that had nothing in it except watching everyone else going about their business. It was when he started to wonder how bored the young woman must be that Ronan realised just how impossible it was to stop thinking about her.
‘I am here to do a job, and a job I shall do,’ Ronan hissed aloud, squaring his shoulders determinedly before resting them against a huge chestnut tree.
And I am not going to be able to do it if I keep thinking about her.
Determined not to glance in her direction anymore, Ronan kept his gaze trained on Judge Sminter’s house. Deep in the back of his mind, though, he was curious about her, the stunning young woman in the house a few doors down. He had to wonder who she was, and why she appeared to be living all alone.
Geranium studied the stranger who was doing a very poor job at hiding as he studied the backs of the houses. She suspected he had no idea that his black shirt stood out like a beacon amongst the green foliage. Curious to know what he was doing, she crept across the garden, to the wall bordering the carriage track. It was difficult to tell which house he was staring at but whichever one it was didn’t bode well for the safety of the properties, or the people inside.
In all the years I have lived here, I have never seen anybody standing under that tree watching the backs of the houses like he is. He is a criminal, of that there can be no doubt.
‘God, he is handsome,’ Geranium breathed only to mentally wince when her voice met her own ears.
She hesitated, positive that he would have heard her. Not a sound could be heard. In the carriage track, several feet away from the quiet residential street, nothing stirred. It was early evening, a time when most people were enjoying a quiet evening beside the fire. The only people who were out were on their way to the tavern for a quick ale or two before bed.
Except for me. I am out here, hiding in the bushes, watching a handsome stranger.
Feeling somewhat foolish, Geranium forced herself to focus on why she had to challenge the man. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep in her bed tonight if she knew he was out here, watching her bed chamber window. With a disgusted huff, she squared her shoulders and forced herself to quietly open the gate. A quick, furtive glance at the man assured her that he was looking the other way. Geranium took the opportunity to dart across the carriage track, to the bushes on the opposite side. Immediately, her skirts became caught by several determined fingers of bramble. By the time she had wrestled the fine material free, Geranium found that the man had vanished.
Now where have you gone?
She began to shake more violently as she glanced wildly around in search of him. Her heart pounded in her ears until he reappeared. He was wandering casually through the bushes beside the narrow cart track, now looking at all the houses. Thankfully, he was heading toward the main road, away from her. Geranium took the opportunity to search for a place to hide while simultaneously keeping a wary eye on his retreating back and searching for a weapon, which she found in the form of a broken tree branch. Her eyes glinted with determination as she watched the man retrace his steps. Lifting her club, she waited for him to reach her.
It didn’t come as any surprise that the handsome stranger returned to his hiding place beneath the old chestnut tree. Geranium studied the houses and tried to pick out which one he was watching. At first, he appeared to show rather a lot of interest in Mr and Mrs Unwin’s house at the far end of the row, but as Geranium edged closer, she saw that he was really watching Judge Sminter’s house.
What a foolish burglar you are, she mused in disgust.
Geranium wondered if she should go and warn Judge Sminter but knew that calling upon a bachelor at this time in the evening, even on official business, would risk capturing the attention of the gossips.
‘God, that is all I need,’ Geranium breathed.
Well, I cannot let you just stand here deciding which house you are going to break into. You might decide to choose mine if you don’t like the look of any of the other homes.
With her decision made, Geranium did the only thing she could think of and hefted her club. Thankfully, he didn’t hear her creep toward him. He didn’t even notice that she was standing right behind him. With her heart pounding, Geranium lifted her club high above her head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth and slammed her make-shift weapon against the back of his head. Unfortunately, the sound of the club meeting his skull was horrifying. She cried out and immediately dropped her weapon before slamming her fists into her mouth to stifle her scream.
‘Ow! Shit!’ Ronan spat. Clutching the sore spot on the back of his head, he whirled to glare at his attacker. He swore again when he saw who it was.
‘God, I am sorry. That must have hurt,’ Geranium gushed sympathetically only to remember that she had meant it to hurt him. Sucking in a breath, she squared her shoulders and glared at him. ‘You deserved it,’ she snapped defiantly.
Ronan stared incredulously at her. ‘What? Why? What in the Hell did I do to you?’
‘I warn you now that I have seen you and know what you look like, and I am going to warn Judge Sminter that you are watching his house,’ Geranium informed him. ‘On second thoughts, I should just let you try to break into his house. It should give the other prisoners in the gaol something to laugh about.’
‘What should?’ Ronan asked dazedly, wondering if he had missed something. He rubbed at the lump on his head and looked at his fingers to see if there was blood.
‘Having a burglar amongst them who was stupid enough to try to break into a judge’s house.’
‘What in the Devil’s name gave you that foolish notion?’ Ronan demanded. ‘I haven’t broken in anywhere. Although I should damned well take you to the magistrate and have you arrested for attacking me.’
‘Me attacking you?’ Geranium blustered, inwardly cringing with remorse because that was exactly what she had done.
Ronan jabbed a finger at the club at her feet
that she had used to hit him.
‘Well, you are watching the houses. What interest do you have in them if you don’t intend to break into them?’ Geranium demanded. ‘Do you see anybody else out here behaving as suspiciously as you?’
‘Yes! You!’ Ronan snapped. ‘Moreover, you are attacking people with clubs.’ He shoved one blunt finger under her nose. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t haul you to the magistrate right now. You are lucky you didn’t kill me.’
‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. I couldn’t do such a thing,’ Geranium protested.
‘Really?’ Ronan snatched the weapon off the floor and tested its weight. ‘This is heavy enough to do some damage to someone if you kept hitting them with it. But I suppose you know that already.’ He raked her with a scornful look. ‘Where is your husband, by the way? Does he know you go about attacking random men in the street?’
‘I am not married,’ Geranium snapped, tipping her chin up with a defiant sniff.
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Ronan growled, his voice rich with masculine disgust.
‘Well, really.’ Geranium tried to ignore the wealth of hurt building deep within the centre of her chest. It was a long-standing bone of contrition with her parents that she had never married. It wasn’t because of a lack of suitors. She had just never found someone who, well, who made her feel, but she didn’t say as much to the stranger.
Geranium forced her thoughts away from her personal problems and glared balefully at the man before her. It didn’t take a genius to realise that he was livid. It wasn’t until he slapped her makeshift weapon into the palm of his hand that her gaze fell to it. When she looked up at him, she saw the threatening look on his face, and instinctively took a step back.
‘Well?’ Ronan snapped.
‘Well, what?’
‘Are you going to apologise?’
‘For what?’ Geranium snorted.
‘Attacking me,’ Ronan growled. ‘You just hit me, remember?’