Slightly Shady

by Amanda Quick

  “Damn it to hell.” Tobias rubbed his leg.

  Smiling Jack allowed that news to sink in before he continued. “There’s one more thing you might want to know.”

  “About Sally?”

  “No.” Jack lowered his voice even though there was no one else in the room. “It concerns the Blue Chamber. There are some rumors circulating.”

  Tobias stayed very still. “I told you, the Blue Chamber is finished. Azure and Carlisle are both dead. The third man has gone to ground but not for long. I’ll have him soon.”

  “What you say may be true enough as far as it goes. But what I’m hearing on the streets is that there’s a private little war being waged.”

  “Who is involved?”

  Jack shrugged. “Can’t say. But I hear the victor intends to take control of whatever is left of the Blue Chamber. Word is, he plans to rebuild the empire, which fell apart after Azure died.”

  Tobias looked at the fire for a long time, thinking about that.

  “I owe you for this information,” he said eventually.

  “Aye.” Jack smiled his grisly smile. “You do. But I’m not worried. You’ve always been one to pay your bills.”

  The fog had grown more dense while he had been inside The Gryphon. Tobias paused on the step. The lights of the tavern were reflected by the swirling mist hovering in the street. The eerie orange glow was oddly bright, but it revealed nothing.

  After a moment he started across the street, resisting the urge to pull the high collar of the ancient coat up around his ears. The thick wool would block some of the chill, but it would also limit his side vision and muffle the small sounds of the night. In this neighborhood it was only prudent to take full advantage of all of one’s senses.

  He moved quickly through the weak glare created by the fog and slipped into the deep darkness beyond. There appeared to be no one else about. Hardly surprising on such a night, he thought.

  Once free of the weird glow of The Gryphon, he was able to make out a small, dim circle of light suspended high off the ground. Judging it to be the lantern of some conveyance, he made for it, staying in the center of the street, well clear of unlit alleys and darkened doorways.

  Nevertheless, for all his precautions, the only warning he got was the soft, sliding rush of a man coming up very swiftly behind him. Footpad.

  He fought the instinct to turn and confront the assailant, knowing all too well that this one was probably only a distraction. London footpads frequently hunted in pairs.

  He veered to the side, seeking the protection of the nearest wall to put at his back. Pain shafted through his left leg but the sudden change of direction served its purpose. It caught the man behind him by surprise.

  “Bloody hell, I lost ’im.”

  “Light the lantern. Light it, mate. ’Urry or we’ll never find ’im in this bloody fog.”

  That settled the question, Tobias thought. There were indeed two footpads working together here. The angry voices pinpointed their positions.

  He drew the pistol from his pocket and waited.

  The first man swore loudly, struggling with the lantern. When the light sputtered and flared, Tobias used it as a target. He pulled the trigger.

  The roar of the gun boomed in the street. The lantern shattered.

  The footpad yelped and dropped the light. The oil flared high as it spilled onto the paving stones.

  “ ’Ell’s teeth, the bastard’s got a pistol.” The second man sounded aggrieved.

  “Well, he’s fired it now, ’asn’t he? So it’s no more use to ’im.”

  “Some coves carry two.”

  “Not unless they’re expectin’ trouble.” He moved into the flickering light cast by the burning lantern oil, grinning demonically, and raised his voice. “You, hidin’ there in the fog. We come to deliver a message to ye.”

  “Won’t take long,” the other man said loudly. “Just want to make sure ye realize it’s a very serious message.”

  “Where is he? I can’t see a bloody damn thing.”

  “Quiet. Listen, ye great, blatherin’ fool.”

  But the vehicle at the end of the street was in motion now. The rattle of wheels and the clatter of shod hooves on stones sounded very loud in the night. Tobias used the noise to cover his movements.

  He shrugged out of the tattered greatcoat and draped it loosely over a nearby iron railing.

  “ ’Ellfire, the bloody nightman’s comin’ this way,” one of the footpads snarled.

  Not a nightman’s wagon, Tobias thought, moving to intercept the oncoming vehicle. Please, don’t let it be a nightman’s wagon. Anything but that.

  The jiggling lamp was almost opposite him now. The figure on the box shouted and slapped the reins against the horse’s rump, urging the animal into a brisker trot. Tobias grabbed a handhold as the wagon rumbled past.

  The foul smell of the cart’s contents hit him with the force of a blow. The nightman had been hard at work going about his business of emptying privy cesspools and collecting rubbish from the households and businesses of the neighborhood.

  Tobias tried to hold his breath as he hauled himself aboard the moving wagon.

  “Couldn’t you have found some other equipage?” he demanded as he dropped onto the seat.

  “Sorry.” Anthony gave the horse another encouraging slap. “By the time your message reached me, there was very little time. I couldn’t find a hackney. On a night like this they’re all taken.”

  “There he is,” Tobias heard one of the footpads shout. “Over there by the railing. I see his coat.”

  “I was forced to start out on foot.” Anthony pitched his voice above the clatter of hooves. “Came across a nightman and offered him some money for the use of his vehicle. I promised to return it within the hour.”

  “Now we’ve got you,” came another shout from the footpads.

  Steps echoed on the paving stones.

  “What the bleedin’ ’ell? He got away. He must be on the bloody nightman’s cart.”

  A shot thundered in the night. Tobias winced.

  “Don’t fret,” Anthony said. “I’m sure you will be able to secure another coat as unfashionable as that one.”

  A second shot thundered in the fog. The nightman’s horse had had enough. This was most certainly not part of the normal routine. The beast flattened its ears, lurched forward, and broke into a canter.

  “He’s gettin’ away, I tell ye. We’ll not get paid for this night’s work if we don’t catch him.”

  After the footpad’s words died down, Tobias said to no one in particular, “It seemed like such a simple, sensible plan. All I asked was that you secure a hackney and wait in the street outside The Gryphon, just in case there was a problem that necessitated my hurried departure.”

  “An excellent precaution, given the nature of the neighborhood.” Anthony worked the reins, playing the role of coachman with enthusiasm. “Just think what might have happened if you hadn’t sent me the message to meet you here.”

  “Do you know, for some reason, it never occurred to me that you would choose a nightman’s wagon.”

  “A man’s got to work with whatever is available. You taught me that.” Anthony grinned. “When I couldn’t find a hackney, I was forced to make do. I thought I demonstrated initiative.”

  “Initiative?”

  “Right. Where do we go now?”

  “First we return this splendid coach to its rightful owner and pay him for the use of it. Then we shall head straight home.”

  “It’s not that late. Don’t you want to go to your club?”

  “The porter would never let me through the door. In case you have not noticed, we are both sorely in need of a bath.”

  “You have a point.”

  An hour later Tobias got out of the tub, dried himself with a towel in front of the fire, and put on his dressing gown. He went downstairs and found Anthony, also freshly scrubbed and garbed in the spare shirt and trousers he kept in his old room upstair
s.

  “Well?” Anthony lounged in a chair, feet stretched out to the hearth. He did not turn his head when Tobias entered the room. “Let’s have it. Do you think they were genuine footpads?”

  “No. They said something about having been paid to deliver a message.” Tobias shoved his hands into the pockets of the dressing gown.

  “A warning?”

  “Apparently.”

  Anthony tilted his head slightly. “From someone who does not want you making any further inquiries?”

  “I did not hang about long enough to ask. It’s possible the message was from someone who wants me to cease my investigation. But there is another suspect.”

  Anthony gave him a knowing look. “Pomfrey?”

  “I didn’t put much credence in Crackenburne’s warning about him. But he may have been correct when he told me that Pomfrey might seek revenge for what happened at the theater.”

  Anthony thought about that for a time. “Makes sense. Pomfrey’s not the sort to do things in an honorable fashion.” He paused. “Will you inform Mrs. Lake about what happened tonight?”

  “Bloody hell, what do you take me for? A lunatic? Of course I’m not going to inform her about this evening’s adventure.”

  Anthony nodded. “I thought you might say that. Naturally you wish to keep her in the dark because you do not want to make her overanxious for your safety.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it,” Tobias said with feeling. “I’m not going to tell her about the encounter with those two men because I am quite certain she would use the occasion to read me a lengthy lecture.”

  Anthony did not bother to conceal his amusement. “Rather like the one you read her when you discovered that she had gone off to Huggett’s disguised as a scrubwoman and got into a bit of a scrape?”

  “Precisely. It strikes me that it would be extremely unpleasant to be on the receiving end of that sort of tongue-lashing.”

  Lavinia was halfway through breakfast when she heard Tobias in the hall.

  “Don’t bother, Mrs. Chilton. I know my way around the place. I can announce myself.”

  Emeline picked up the butter knife, smiling. “It would appear we have an early visitor.”

  “He has certainly given himself the run of our house, has he not?” Lavinia forked up a mouthful of eggs. “What the devil can he want at this hour? If he thinks I’ll listen to another lecture on how I must not make a move without informing him, he can think again.”

  “Calm yourself.”

  “It is impossible to be calm where Mr. March is involved. He has a talent for roiling the waters.” Lavinia stopped munching as a thought struck her. “Good heavens, I wonder if something terrible has happened?”

  “Nonsense. Mr. March sounds quite fit and in excellent health.”

  “I meant, I wonder if something terrible has happened regarding our investigation.”

  “I’m certain he would have sent word if that had been the case.”

  “Do not depend on it,” Lavinia said darkly. “As I pointed out in Italy, Mr. March plays a deep game.”

  The door opened. Tobias strode into the breakfast room, filling the small, cozy space with the energy and force of his masculine presence. Lavinia swallowed her eggs very quickly and tried to ignore the little thrill of awareness ruffling her nerves.

  What was it about him that sent these little chills of excitement through her? she wondered, not for the first time. He was not a big man. No one would describe him as handsome. He rarely bothered to employ the refined manners one expected of a gentleman, and he clearly needed a new tailor.

  On top of everything else, although he seemed to be interested in her in an earthy fashion, she was not at all sure that he liked her very much. It was not as if they shared some ethereal, metaphysical bond, she thought. There was no poetry in their association; on the contrary, it was a matter of business and a rather spectacular sort of lust. At least it was spectacular from her point of view, she amended. She was not at all certain that it was anything out of the ordinary for Tobias.

  Lavinia wondered if the strange sensation she felt when she was near Tobias was an indication of an attack of nerves. It would not be the least bit surprising, she thought, given the strain she had been under lately.

  Irritated by that possibility, she crumpled her napkin ferociously on her lap and glared at him. “What are you doing here so early, Mr. March?”

  His brows rose at the peremptory greeting. “Good day to you, too, Lavinia.”

  Emeline made a face. “Pay no attention to her, Mr. March. My aunt did not sleep well last night. Do sit down. Would you care for some coffee?”

  “Thank you, Miss Emeline. A cup of coffee would be very welcome.”

  Lavinia watched the cautious way he lowered himself into a vacant chair. She scowled. “Did you strain your leg again, sir?”

  “A bit too much exercise last night.” He smiled at Emeline and took the cup she had just filled for him. “No need to concern yourself.”

  “I wasn’t concerned,” Lavinia assured him in lofty tones. “Merely curious. What you choose to do to and with your leg is entirely your own affair.”

  He gave her an amused look. “I am in complete agreement with that statement, madam.”

  Quite suddenly the memory of how his legs had slid between her own that night in the carriage flashed through her brain. She met his eyes across the table and knew with horrible certainty that he was also thinking of the passionate interlude.

  Fearing she was turning an embarrassing shade of pink, she hurriedly forked up some more eggs.

  Emeline, blithely oblivious to the undercurrents, smiled graciously at Tobias. “Did you dance last night, sir?”

  “No,” Tobias said. “My leg does not take well to dancing. I engaged in another form of exercise.”

  Lavinia tightened her fingers around the fork until her knuckles whitened and wondered if Tobias had been with another woman last night.

  “I have a busy day planned,” she said brusquely. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain why you felt compelled to visit us at this extremely early hour?”

  “As a matter of fact, I too have plans for the day. Perhaps we should compare notes.”

  “For my part, I intend to speak to Mrs. Vaughn and ask her if she would be willing to give me her opinion of the waxworks in Huggett’s upstairs gallery,” Lavinia said.

  “Indeed.” Tobias gave her a politely inquiring smile. “And just how do you intend to smuggle her into that chamber if she does agree to examine them? Will you disguise her as a scrubwoman?”

  His condescending attitude goaded her. “No, as a matter of fact, I have thought of another way to get into the gallery. I believe it may be possible to bribe the young man who sells the tickets.”

  “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed, sir.” She gave him a bright little smile.

  He set the coffee cup down hard onto the saucer. “Damnation, Lavinia, you know very well I don’t want you going into that gallery alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. I will be accompanied by Mrs. Vaughn.” She paused delicately. “You are invited to join us, if you wish.”

  “Thank you,” he said dryly. “I accept.”

  There was a short silence. Tobias reached across the table and helped himself to a slice of toast. Lavinia caught a flash of white teeth when he took a bite.

  “You have not said why you came here this morning,” she reminded him crisply.

  He munched thoughtfully. “Came by to see if you would like to accompany me while I make inquiries about a woman named Sally Johnson.”

  “Who is Sally Johnson?”

  “Neville’s most recent mistress. She disappeared the day before yesterday.”

  “I don’t understand.” He had her attention now, however. “Do you think there is some connection to our investigation?”

  “I cannot say yet.” Tobias’s eyes were shadowed. “But I have got a very nasty feeling
that there may be a link.”

  “I see.” Lavinia thawed slightly. “It was good of you to stop here this morning to inform me of your plans and to ask me to accompany you.”

  “As opposed to the secretive manner in which you handled your inquiries at Huggett’s yesterday, do you mean?” Tobias nodded. “Indeed. But then, perhaps I take our agreement to work as partners more to heart than you do.”

  “Not bloody likely.” She tapped the tines of her fork against the edge of the plate. “What is this all about, Tobias? Why are you asking me to join you today?”

  He swallowed another bite of toast and fixed her with a steady look. “Because if I am so fortunate as to find Sally, I will wish to speak with her. I have no doubt but that she will be more forthcoming with a woman than with a man.”

  “I knew it.” Bleak satisfaction settled in the pit of her stomach. “You came here this morning not because you wished to work as partners but because you need me to help you conduct your own inquiries. What do you expect me to do? Put Sally into a mesmeric trance and coax her to speak freely?”

  “Must you always question my motives?”

  “Where you are concerned, sir, I prefer to proceed with utmost caution.”

  He smiled faintly, eyes gleaming. “Not always, Lavinia. I have known you to make one or two exceptions to that rule.”

  eighteen

  The house was a narrow structure with two floors above-ground and kitchens below. The neighborhood was not the best, Lavinia thought, but it was clear of the stews.

  It had not taken long to determine that Sally Johnson was not at home. Tobias had come prepared for that eventuality.

  She stood with him in the tiny front area below street level and watched him insert the end of a metal tool between the kitchen door and its frame.

  “Neville appears to have been only moderately generous to Sally,” she observed. “This is certainly not the grandest of houses.”

  Wood and iron groaned as Tobias applied judicious force to the bar.

  “When you consider that Neville took her out of a brothel, this place no doubt looked like a mansion to her,” he said.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”