Murder in Bloomsbury

by D. M. Quincy

  “No doubt you say that to all of the ladies,” she responded airily.

  Admiration glimmered in Roxbury’s keen gaze. “But with you, my lady”—he bent over her gloved hand—“it is always meant most sincerely.”

  “Mr. Catesby was kind enough to escort me,” Lilliana said. “I do hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. Any friend of yours is most welcome here.” Roxbury turned to greet Atlas with gracious amiability. “Catesby. Delighted to see you again.”

  “Roxbury. Your garden is to be admired.”

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries before moving on to allow Roxbury to greet his other guests. They strolled past young men and women playing at archery.

  “Look,” Lilliana said. “There is Lavinia Fenton.” The young lady in question aimed and fired, her arrow landing slightly right of the center of the target.

  “She’s a good shot,” he observed.

  “You’d better have a care. She’s likely to aim Cupid’s arrow at you.”

  Atlas scoffed. “She’s a child.”

  “A comely child of marital age.”

  “And I am a man without a title or a fortune.”

  “You have other attributes.” She withdrew her hand from where it rested on his arm. “I shall leave you to it.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “I will mingle while you question Lavinia.”

  “Why don’t we speak with her together?”

  He did not look forward to being alone with the cheeky girl. Especially if she truly had designs on him. The last thing he needed was to be leg-shackled to an infant.

  “She seems remarkably eager to please you.” She tapped him lightly on the arm. “Use some of that considerable charm of yours to coax the necessary information out of her.”

  He frowned after Lilliana as she glided away. She’d no doubt find herself in Roxbury’s company before too long. The marquess made little secret of his esteem for the lady.

  “Mr. Catesby.” Lavinia appeared before him. She looked quite fetching in a becoming white gown and jaunty bonnet. “Are you perchance looking for me?”

  “Lady Lavinia.” He made her a bow as she curtseyed. “You’re quite skilled at archery.”

  “Yes,” she replied with a meaningful look. “When I put my mind to it, I always hit my target.”

  He resisted the urge to loosen his cravat. Although light flirtatious banter would be appropriate at this juncture, he judged it more prudent to stick entirely to the matter of the investigation. “I visited Holywell Street and learned something of great interest.”

  “Is that so?” She took his arm. “Shall we walk?”

  They began a circuitous route around the garden as he posed his question. “You went there, did you not, with Davis to buy inappropriate materials?”

  “You have caught me.” The side of her body brushed up against his. He did not believe the contact was accidental. “Yes, I did go. I was very interested to learn more about what passes between a man and a woman.”

  He distanced his body from hers. “A man and a woman who are wed.”

  She shot him a naughty look. “Are you suggesting all of those pictures depicted married couples?”

  He stifled a sigh. This girl was trouble in every way. If her father were wise, he’d have her married off before she caused a scandal and brought the entire family to ruin. “Roxbury found you there—you and his daughter—didn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes sparkled as if she thought it was all good fun. “The marquess was livid. He thrashed Davis and ushered me and Adora out to his carriage.”

  “You’d paid Davis to take you both there.”

  “Yes.” She pouted. “All we wanted was to have a bit of fun. I never realized the marquess had such a temper. He is usually so agreeable.” They passed a group of young people laughingly engaged in a competitive game of croquet.

  “I gather the visit to Holywell Street is the reason your father released Davis from his position without references.”

  She nodded as they stepped around a ball being chased after by a young gentleman. “He was most infuriated.”

  “I suppose you had a motive for not telling me this earlier?”

  “Certainly. I wanted you to have a reason to come back and see me.” She batted her lengthy lashes. “Without Lady Lilliana present.”

  “This is a very serious business.” He punctuated each word with a sharp edge. “A man is dead, and his sister is in mourning. Gordon Davis’s demise is not child’s play.”

  “She is very old, you know.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Lady Roslyn. I know you admire her. But she’s probably almost thirty. That’s practically ancient.”

  He drew a deep breath, struggling to keep his temper in check. “Is your father here?” He hadn’t seen Merton during their walk through the garden. Now that he’d confirmed the Holywell visit with Lavinia, he intended to take the opportunity this rout presented to speak with both Merton and Roxbury about Davis’s alleged extortion scheme.

  “My father? No, he’s gone out to the country for a few days. Why?” Her smile was sultry and beckoning. “Do you wish to speak with him about your intentions?”

  Had she completely taken leave of her senses? “Absolutely not.” He lost all courtesy and regarded her with open incredulity. “I am far too old for you.”

  “Papa is twenty years older than Mama.”

  “I have no intention of wedding.” Least of all to such a saucy baggage of trouble. He deliberately changed the subject. “Is there anything else you’ve neglected to tell me about Gordon Davis and your interactions with him?”

  “Not that I can think of.” She squeezed his arm. “Now since I’ve answered your questions, I think you should reward me by escorting me to the dining room for some refreshment.”

  He was trying to think of a gracious way to refuse when one of Roxbury’s footmen appeared. “Mr. Catesby?”

  “Yes?”

  “The marquess requests you attend him in his study. If you could please follow me.”

  “I’d be delighted to.” Not only did Atlas want to speak with Roxbury about the incident on Holywell Street, but the marquess’s summons provided the perfect reason to excuse himself from Lavinia’s presence, which he did happily before following the footman into the house.

  * * *

  “Ah, Catesby, there you are.” Roxbury was ensconced in a velvet armchair with his legs elegantly crossed, a silvery haze engulfing him while he sucked on a smoking cheroot. “Do join me.”

  The footman closed the door, leaving them alone. It took Atlas a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark room after coming in from out of doors. The space was everything one would expect of a wealthy marquess—large and well appointed with sumptuous furnishings and dark, shiny surfaces. He took a seat opposite Lilliana’s suitor. “What can I do for you, Roxbury?”

  “You can tell me what your intentions are toward Roslyn.”

  The man certainly was direct. “I fail to see how that is any of your concern.”

  Roxbury stared at him. “It is very much my concern because I intend to wed her.”

  “Are you betrothed?”

  “Not as of yet.”

  “Then I cannot fathom why we are having this discussion.”

  “We are speaking because I hope that, as a gentleman, you will not take advantage of Roslyn’s gratitude.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “She has told me what occurred in Slough.”

  Atlas remained silent. He had pledged never to speak of the abomination Lilliana’s late husband had subjected her to.

  Exhaling a lungful of smoke, Roxbury examined his cheroot. “She assures me you behaved in a most gentlemanly manner after coming to her rescue. I do hope that you will continue to do so.”

  Again Atlas declined to respond. He felt no compunction at all to defend his character to this man.

  Roxbury continued. “It is natural
that Roslyn would feel beholden to you. I gather that is why she continues to receive you and appears intent on introducing you into society.”

  Atlas let out a startled laugh. “I assure you, I have no interest in society.”

  “I gather you would not say the same of the duke’s sister.” Atlas’s grip on the chair’s armrests tightened. When he remained silent, Roxbury went on. “I have everything to offer her. Wealth, position, and rank.” He paused. “If I may be frank?”

  As if Atlas could stop him. “Please.”

  “It is not my intention to offend you, but as the fourth son of a baron, you have nothing to offer the daughter and sister of the Dukes of Somerville.”

  “And yet, you felt the need to summon me here.”

  Roxbury’s lip curled. “As my marchioness, Roslyn would be protected if what occurred in Slough were to become public. I could shield her with my name and rank.”

  Atlas forced himself to ease his grip on the chair’s armrests. “It is up to Lady Roslyn to decide whether she will have you.” He pushed out his next words. “If she does, you both will have my sincere felicitations.”

  “Thank you.” Roxbury took a long inhale of the cheroot, which had burned down to almost nothing. “I am confident that she will accept me—in time. You should know that I always protect what is mine.”

  Atlas held the other man’s gaze. “I wonder how far you would go to protect what is yours.”

  “As far as necessary, I’d expect.”

  “Would you kill for your daughter?”

  Roxbury straightened, his glare menacing. “What are you about?” he growled. “Do you dare to threaten Adora?”

  “Me? Of course not. But you seemed to think Gordon Davis posed a threat.”

  Roxbury’s expression steeled. This time he was the one to remain silent as Atlas continued speaking.

  “I know you found him on Holywell Street with your daughter and Lavinia Fenton, Merton’s daughter. I also understand you paid him for his silence on the matter.”

  Roxbury calmly took another long draw on his cheroot before responding. “And your reason for revisiting this unfortunate incident is?”

  “Davis is dead. From arsenic poisoning. His sister believes he was murdered.”

  That prompted an incredulous laugh out of Roxbury. “And you think I killed the man?”

  “I don’t know what to think as of yet, but I must follow all leads.”

  “And this is not personal?” Roxbury asked tightly. “Does Roslyn know you are pursuing this matter?”

  “She does. As a matter of fact, it was Lady Roslyn who asked me to look into Davis’s death. Her maid is the victim’s sister.” He could not resist adding, “I had not been in contact with her for almost a year when she reached out recently to request my assistance.”

  Roxbury quickly masked his surprise. “I see.”

  “Did you pay Davis for his silence?”

  Roxbury hesitated. “Do I have your word that this goes no further?”

  “You do.”

  “Then yes. Merton and I each paid a handsome sum to keep the footman quiet.” He stubbed out his cheroot. “However, we also made certain he wouldn’t work in Mayfair again. We were loath to inflict him upon any unsuspecting household with impressionable young ladies in residence.”

  “That’s very understandable. When was the last time you saw him?”

  “About a year ago, shortly after the Holywell incident. We met here. I paid him and sent him on his way.”

  “Did you not worry that he would return and ask for more once he ran out of funds?”

  The marquess’s face darkened. “I saw to it that he would not dare.”

  “And how did you manage that?”

  “I told Davis that if he came back, I would see him brought up on theft charges.”

  “Theft?” Atlas blinked. “For what?”

  “For stealing the money he extorted from me.”

  “You’re referring to the blunt you gave him to keep him quiet.”

  Roxbury dipped his chin. “Davis understood that, given my position in society, a charge like that would see him transported.”

  “Whether or not it was true.”

  “Exactly. That’s the only approach that type of filth understands.”

  Atlas couldn’t disagree. “Did Davis ever come back and ask for more?”

  “He did not. He knew better than to cross me again.” The marquess came to his feet. “I do have guests I must see to.”

  Atlas rose as well. As he followed the marquess to the door, Roxbury paused.

  “As to your question earlier, about whether I’d kill for someone I loved.”

  “Yes?”

  “I believe I would.” Roxbury pulled the massive door open. “Given the opportunity, I would like nothing more than to call Roslyn’s husband out for what he did to her. The scoundrel certainly deserved it.”

  Atlas followed Lilliana’s suitor out the door. “On that, at least, we can agree.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “There really is no need to visit faraway lands when the fruits of those lands can come to you.” Charlton turned to Atlas. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I do not,” Atlas returned. “A museum is hardly the same as seeing foreign provinces with one’s own eyes.”

  They entered Mr. Bullock’s Museum in Piccadilly, which was quite the sensation in London if the crowds were any indication. The exotic animal exhibits in the center of the rooms seemed to draw the most visitors. The beasts—elephants, zebras, and various creatures from other continents—had been preserved, stuffed, and mounted, still incredibly lifelike long after their deaths. Curiosities from Africa and the Americas—fish, shells, minerals, and botanicals—filled the glass display cabinets lining the walls.

  Charlton paused before the enormous stuffed pachyderm. “I say, in those lands you visit, are many animals running around?”

  “Yes, they are ambling down the streets.” Atlas did not hide the sarcasm in his words. “One of my hosts had a pet donkey that joined us for meals.”

  “Ah, you jest.” Charlton wandered over to a glass case to examine the rocks and minerals within. “But here in London, I have certainly broken bread with a number of asses in my time.”

  “As have I.” Atlas chuckled. “Your point is well taken.”

  “Where will you go next?” Charlton asked. “Have you decided?”

  “I’m thinking of India.” He’d received a note on the matter just that morning from Edward Hughes, an acquaintance at the East India Company. “There’s a spot for me aboard a ship leaving London in a matter of weeks.”

  “India?” Charlton grimaced. “How long would that journey take?”

  “I’m told it is a voyage of about five months, possibly six.”

  Charlton shuddered theatrically. “Why you would choose to leave the comfort and civilization of England for heathen lands truly escapes me.”

  “Nothing is for certain at the moment. The investigation keeps me here for now.”

  “Is it the investigation that draws you to Town?” Charlton smirked. “Or perhaps a certain lady?”

  Atlas chose to ignore the blatant insinuation. “I gave Lilliana my word that I would find Davis’s killer, and so I shall. I cannot leave London until that obligation is met.”

  Charlton made a skeptical humming sound in his throat as they wandered into the next room and stopped before a floor-length cloak made of red, black, and yellow feathers, a cape of honor worn by a tribal chief in the South Pacific.

  “I’ve no engagements for this evening,” Charlton said as they studied the garment. “Care to join me for supper at my club?”

  “Why not.” Atlas had no plans beyond staying in and working on his puzzle. “What time?”

  “I’ll come around for you at nine, shall we say?”

  A vaguely familiar voice remarked behind them, “How many birds had to die, do you think, to produce this rather magnificent garment?” Atlas turned, and the be
at of his heart lost its steady pace.

  Charlton reacted first. “Lord Nicholas. A pleasure to see you again.”

  Nicholas Lennox bowed. “We meet again.”

  Atlas tried not to stare at his sister’s son, but it took effort. Although Nicholas looked more like his father, a man Atlas hated more than any being on the planet, a trace of Phoebe was evident in the young man’s guileless smile.

  Atlas swallowed, his throat tight. “Indeed we do.” He had a hundred questions for the boy. But also none. Where did one begin after twenty-one years with so much left unspoken between them? The boy didn’t even know who Atlas was.

  Atlas grappled for a way to fill the silence and quickly found one. He had wanted to speak with the young man about Trevor Archer, to confirm that Nicholas had indeed paid Archer’s debts, but had not seen a way to approach the son of his greatest enemy.

  He decided to grab this unexpected opportunity. Putting the puzzle together, filling the holes in the investigation into something orderly, would also calm his mind—and the riotous emotions assaulting him. Atlas had never truly learned how to cope with the extreme reactions his sister’s death had ignited within him. “I am pleased to have happened upon you, Lord Nicholas.”

  The young man smiled. “How may I be of service?”

  “Trevor Archer told me something interesting the other evening at Mrs. Leach’s.”

  “Is that so?” Nicholas inquired politely. His manner, gentle and agreeable, was so like this mother’s that it took Atlas’s breath away. “And what was that?”

  Atlas forced an even tone. “He said you paid off his gaming house debt.”

  Color bloomed on Nicholas’s cheeks. “It was nothing.”

  It was hardly nothing. “Did Archer speak the truth?” Atlas asked. “Did you pay all his debts?”

  “Yes, he was in very deep, and I am fortunate to have more than ample funds. My father is most generous with me.”

  Atlas gritted his teeth at the mention of the boy’s bastard of a father. Did Nicholas know Vessey had killed his mother?

  Charlton quickly stepped in. “What brings you here?” he asked Nicholas. “Are you an admirer of the exotic?”

  “I admit to being curious about the world outside of England,” Nicholas answered. “Unfortunately, due to the war on the continent, my grand tour was canceled. I had so looked forward to it.”