“Mr. Pruitt. What a pleasure,” she cooed as she swept into the room. “I hope you’ve had a chance to dry off some?”
“I have, thank you. Your staff has taken care to see that I am both warm and dry.”
“As they should.” She gestured to a seat across from where she settled herself. “What brings you out on such a night as this? Might you be working on something for the enchanting Mr. Pendragon?”
No wonder he had liked her so much more than I. “Indeed,” I answered rather coolly.
“And how is dear Colin? Pity he couldn’t come himself.”
I froze the smile on my face and forced myself not to launch my tea at her. “Yes . . . well . . . I’m afraid he has more important things to attend to tonight,” I shot back cheekily.
She laughed. “I’m sure he does.”
Her laughter made me feel foolish. “He wanted to come himself,” I quickly backpedaled, “but he’s quite involved in a new case, which is why I have had to impose upon you this evening. He’s wondering if you might have knowledge of a titled woman he is most eager to find.”
“How amusing!” Her eyes flashed with merriment. “Dear Colin sent you to ask me about another woman?”
I chuckled as though there was the slightest amusement to be found in her words before saying, “Her name is Lady Dahlia Stuart. Have you heard of her?”
“Let me think. . . .” She tilted her head and sighed. “Dahlia Stuart . . .” She turned and stared disinterestedly at the fire. “I do believe I have heard of a woman by that name,” she conceded after what felt a protracted time. “Though I’m not at all sure about that title.”
“It’s what we have been told.”
“No doubt.” She gave a thin smile. “It may be what she calls herself, but then everyone knows how cheaply titles and a whiff of respectability can be had these days.”
“Of course,” I answered in a tone so dry it nearly caught in my throat. “Do you know her by some other designation?”
“I know her exactly as you refer to her, though I don’t believe she has come by her title properly.” She stared off vacantly. “I suppose she does have a vague sort of charm—”
I tried to keep the excitement from my voice as I continued to press her. “Would you happen to know where we might find her?”
“Lancaster Gate, I think. Not exactly the domain of those most noble, but I do believe you will find her slouching about there somewhere.”
“Outstanding.” And now an honest smile came easily. “I cannot thank you enough,” I said as I set my teacup down and stood up. “Mr. Pendragon will be most grateful.”
“Oh”—a Cheshire grin overtook her face—“I do hope so. Please give him my very best.”
“Of course.” I nodded as I headed for the door.
“Do let him know I’m here should he ever get lonely. . . .” She chuckled.
“Piss off,” I hissed under my breath.
CHAPTER 10
Shauney’s pub looks as likely a place for mice to seek solace as humans. Shauney himself is a rail-thin, black-haired Irish bloke from County Cork with skin the color of paste, enormous brown eyes, and a smattering of whisper-light freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose. He likes to brag that his modest upbringing taught him to thrive in squalid conditions, and so it is with his pub. Yet Shauney’s generous demeanor encourages patrons to look past the stacks of empty bottles lining the walls, the spittoons full enough to reach the ankle of any unlucky sod who happens to plant a foot in one, and the utensils and glassware that have had little more than a passing acquaintance with soap and water. But it is the food that is the pub’s greatest attribute. For despite Shauney’s scrawniness, his wife, Kathleen, with her flyaway red hair and ginger-spotted complexion, is an extraordinary cook.
The moment I made my way inside, the scents of stewing cabbage and corned beef, lamb shanks simmering in a rich tomato sauce, and warm soda bread swamped my nose. There were five or six people deep at the L-shaped bar to my left, and the wooden booths flanking the wall to my right were equally overflowing. Even the tables running down the center were awash with happy, drunken people shrugging off the burdens of another day.
I looked about but did not spot Colin, which was hardly surprising given the crush of patrons. With a weary sigh, I began pressing myself between the clots of people, glancing from side to side as I struggled to find the top of Colin’s dusty blond head. As I neared the back wall I finally heard my name above the din before spotting Colin beckoning me from the rearmost booth. He was wearing an odd, lopsided grin, and as I struggled to make my way over to him I glimpsed a bit of dark hair and the broad shoulder of someone sitting across from him. I changed my trajectory, barely avoiding one of the girls hauling two fistfuls of ale, before I was able to see, with great surprise, that it was the gruff Sergeant McReedy in Colin’s company. He looked decidedly more amenable at the moment, and I could tell by the empty tankards on their table that they’d been drinking and, given the number, plenty.
“You remember Sergeant McReedy?” Colin popped out of the booth to let me slide in. “A credit to his regiment and a hell of a dipso.”
“Ach . . .” He waved Colin off sloppily. “You flatter me.” He slammed his pint onto the table and laughed so hard that a bit of ale dripped from his nose.
“We’ve been talking about the case,” Colin said through a lethargic inebriation I spotted instantly as a fraud. “You’ve some catching up to do.”
Sergeant McReedy snickered, turning in his seat to get the attention of a harried barmaid slamming ales onto a nearby table. “Let me get ya somethin’.”
“Don’t trouble yourself—” I started to say, but Colin’s fist thumped my thigh and I knew he meant for me to join his mock revelry. “I’ll get the young lady’s attention myself. . . .” I gave a hearty chuckle as I beckoned for a server.
“That’s better,” Sergeant McReedy snorted. “I like someone who knows when ta give it up and join them that’s gettin’ blistered.” He saluted his mug at me and tipped it back. A familiar barmaid weaved her way to us just as Sergeant McReedy flipped his empty glass upside down. The fifth one thusly arranged. “You got anythin’ on that tray for me an’ me friend?!”
She dropped two of the dark ales onto the table and held her hand out to Colin for payment. “You’re really packin’ ’em away tonight, Mr. P.,” she said as she counted out change.
“Well . . .” He handed her a few extra pence with a pointed glare. “Nothing wrong with a bit of hops now and then.” She took the pence with a noncommittal shrug and moved away.
“A touch a sass.” Sergeant McReedy leered after her.
“A touch a sass,” Colin echoed, hoisting his glass and toasting the sergeant, only to roll his eyes the moment the young man’s head tilted back.
“Sass.” I lifted my ale. I started to take a sip just as I caught Colin shifting his glass to his left hand and smoothly lowering it beneath the level of the tabletop. Before I could figure out what he was doing the glass reappeared, lower of volume, and gleefully banged onto the table as though he had just enjoyed a hearty pull. I leaned back and stole a glance beneath the table and spied a spittoon nestled between his feet.
“I’d like to propose another toast!” Colin reached over and grabbed my mug just as Sergeant McReedy slid his gaze back. Now aware of the game, I snatched up Colin’s half-filled tankard and lifted it up and, with little more than a taste on my breath, appeared to be well on my way to getting bloody, buggery drunk. “To your Captain Bellingham,” Colin said. “A kind and courageous man.”
“A hell of a leader.” The sergeant smacked his mug against ours.
“And to his wife,” I felt compelled to add.
“Dreadful awful,” Sergeant McReedy agreed before bottoming his glass and waving another barmaid over.
Colin waited until he’d been served again before speaking up. “The sergeant was just telling me he served under the captain for three years.”
“That’s right.” He heaved a sigh and stared off. “You get to know a man in that time. He was solid. I never had any quarrel with him.”
“Nor, it seems, did any of his men. But you mentioned his wife’s brother. . . .”
“Ach . . .” He scowled and downed another slug of ale. “Thomas Mulrooney. A bastard sergeant in the Irish Guard. A real tosser.” My ears perked at his mention of the Irish Guard, reminding me of what Maw had said about a brawl between them and the officers of the Life Guard a few months past. “Never had nothin’ good ta say about the captain.”
“Did they ever have an altercation?” I tried to ask blithely.
The sergeant’s eyes flicked over to me with such intensity that I dropped my gaze and took a drink. “It’s the Guard, not a schoolyard,” he growled.
“Of course.” Colin smiled. “And what about Major Hampstead? Did Captain Bellingham ever confide anything to you about the major? Something in passing perhaps?”
“The Guard doesn’t natter like a bunch of old women,” he scoffed, still holding himself tight. “If he had an issue with the major he wasn’t talkin’ to me about it.”
“I just wondered if you heard any rumblings. Men have been known to complain from time to time, you know.” He chuckled.
Sergeant McReedy stared off a moment and then drained his glass. “I’m done,” he said as he thumped his tankard onto the table and slid from the booth.
“One more?” Colin smiled.
The sergeant wouldn’t meet his gaze as he shook his head and stalked off without another word, disappearing in the phalanx of people long before it would have been possible for him to reach the door.
“You certainly know how to empty a booth.” Colin eyed me. “What was that about?”
“I heard there was some sort of brawl between some men in the Irish Guard and a few of the Life Guard officers a couple months back. Happened at a tavern on the east side named McPhee’s. When he mentioned Mrs. Bellingham’s brother being in the Irish Guard and not liking the captain”—I shrugged—“I thought there might be a connection.”
Colin’s brow creased. “Hard to believe there wouldn’t be. And Lady Stuart . . . ?”
“Lancaster Gate.”
He beamed. “What would I do without you?!” He reached under the table and squeezed my hand. “Let’s go home. I’ve had quite enough of this place for one night. I’ll get Mrs. Behmoth to scrounge something up for us and we shall share what information we’ve learned tonight, as I’ve not been entirely without success myself.” He prodded me before I could press for a hint, and for the first time since he had accepted the case I allowed myself to consider that maybe, just maybe, he really would be able to solve these murders in the two and a half days we had left.
CHAPTER 11
In spite of her having been the family’s scullery maid, it is true that Mrs. Behmoth served as the primary maternal influence for Colin after his mother’s death when he was seven. She was not Sir Atherton’s first choice for such a pivotal role in his young son’s life, but after trying one nanny after another and seeing Colin pay them little heed, he’d finally had no choice but to resign himself to the attachment between Colin and Mrs. Behmoth. I am certain it was easier for Sir Atherton to simply give in. Some things have not changed.
To this day I do not profess to fully understand the bond between Colin and Mrs. Behmoth, and yet I would have bet that Colin could never have convinced her to sully her kitchen at this hour. And I would have lost that bet. Not only did she prepare sandwiches for us, but berries and clotted cream as well. Nevertheless, the moment our plates were empty we were summarily thrown from her kitchen with warnings not to return until beckoned for breakfast.
“Now tell me . . . ,” Colin said with a yawn once we got up to our bedroom, “. . . however did you manage to find the elusive Lady Stuart?”
“A most unlikely source,” I answered as I slipped out of my clothes, carefully folding the clean things and placing them back in my armoire while my underthings got tossed into a straw basket Mrs. Behmoth had provided for that purpose. “You remember Abigail Roynton . . . ?”
“Ah.” He smiled. “The lovely widow from the Arnifour case. An inspired thought on your part.” He tugged his undershirt and breeches off, flinging them in the general vicinity of Mrs. Behmoth’s basket. Before crawling into bed I ensured they completed their rightful journey. “Does she know the Stuart woman?”
“She said she’s familiar with her and that she very much doubts the veracity of her title.” I went on to share what little Mrs. Roynton had told me, adding in what I’d heard from Maw Heikens about the brawl between the guardsmen at McPhee’s, though I was careful not to mention Maw herself. Luckily, he did not press me on where I had learned that specific bit of information.
“You have become quite the sleuth.” He smiled as he reached out and pulled me to him. “One of these days you will be handling these cases without me.”
“I very much doubt that.” I chuckled as I rested my head on his chest. “And what did you learn this evening?”
“Nothing quite as useful as you,” he muttered with a great yawn.
“I should like to decide for myself whose information is the more useful,” I said, snickering, but he didn’t answer and a moment later I felt his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm and knew he had drifted to sleep. I was tempted to wake him, certain I would never be able to sleep without hearing what he had discovered, but before I could rally myself to do so found myself opening my eyes to morning light and staring at Colin’s side of the bed, now vacant. Wednesday had arrived.
I peeked at our bedroom clock and found that it had progressed no further than six twenty-five. An unseemly time to start a day. I heaved a heavy sigh and I slid out of bed, recoiling irritably at the feel of the cold wood floor beneath my feet. Once cocooned in my robe and slippers, I headed for the study to see what he was up to. The smell of beans, sausage, eggs, and bread drifted up from below, which markedly improved my mood.
I found Colin already dressed and hovering by a voracious fire. There was a tray of tea and milk on the table, but his attentions were absorbed by the large hunting knife he was buffing to a meticulous sheen with a soft wad of cotton. “You’re up early,” I remarked with no more than a whisper of enthusiasm as I stumbled to my chair.
“I’ve a lot on my mind. Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” I seized his cup and took a greedy sip of the musky Earl Grey, grateful to feel it warming my insides as readily as the nearby fire worked on the rest of me.
“Mrs. Behmoth . . . ,” he called downstairs, “. . . you’d best make that breakfast for two.”
“Fine!” she bellowed back. “And if the mice in the walls want somethin’ ta eat in another little while you be sure an’ let me know that too. I’ll just stay here cookin’ breakfast all bloody day if it suits ya.”
“Is there ever a time she isn’t foul?!” I groused. “And just what is it you’re off to so early?”
“The clock is ticking.” He set the point of the knife blade down on the mantel and spun it like a top, its freshly honed steel glinting like a jewel in the burgeoning sunlight streaming through the windows. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“She is almost certainly putting a hole in the mantel.”
“Are you going to be disagreeable all day?”
I heaved another sigh as he headed for the staircase where Mrs. Behmoth could be heard pounding up. Cups, saucers, silverware, and china clanged precipitously until Colin managed to swoop down and seize the tray from her.
“Ya gotta put one a them damnwaiters in,” she muttered, following along behind him.
“Dumbwaiters.”
“ ’Cause one a these days . . . ,” she kept right on prattling, “. . . somebody’s gonna fall down them stairs and I think we all know who that’s gonna be.”
He shook his head as he set the tray between us. “We’ll look into it as soon as the week’s over.�
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She glanced at me and said, “You look like somethin’ a cat hacked up.”
“Thank you!” I snarled.
“This looks delicious,” Colin interrupted as he parceled out the food. “I’ll bring the remnants down as soon as we’ve finished.”
“I’ll live fer the moment,” she muttered as she headed back with her usual indelicacy.
“Do not say a word,” he warned, handing me a plate. “There are far more important things to be discussed this morning than the state of her demeanor.”
“What is the plan for today?” I conceded.
“First we’re going to Major Hampstead’s office. His cat-and-mouse games are irksome and it is time I extract some elemental details about Captain Bellingham from him or I shall demand to see the captain’s personnel file. After that we will meet with Mrs. Bellingham’s brother. We must determine whether there may be something amiss with him and his Irish Guard.” He shoved his plate onto the mantel and took up polishing the hunting knife again. “Where did you say Lady Stuart lives?” he asked after a minute.
“Lancaster Gate.”
“Excellent. Then we shall pay a visit to the captain’s muse as soon as we have finished with his brother-in-law.”
“Has anyone confirmed Captain Bellingham’s affair with Lady Stuart?”
“Not precisely. All we have so far is Sergeant McReedy’s assertion that Captain Bellingham had been seeing a good deal of Lady Stuart recently. He admitted that he’d not met her, nor did he know where she lived, but he did confess that the captain had spoken about her on several occasions recently.”
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