by Adele Clee
“I have hired a runner to watch him in my absence.”
With a host of questions filling his head, Valentine wasn’t sure which one to ask first. Why did Kendall not just shoot the rogue and dump his body in the Thames? And why had Kendall called Valentine out when he had more important problems?
Even for a man with some intelligence, it still proved baffling.
Valentine cleared his throat. “May I start by asking about the threat that prompts you to pay the blackmailer?” No sooner had the question left his lips than he felt Ava’s penetrating stare search his face. “What hold does the man have over you?”
Perhaps Fairfax had witnessed fraudulent business deals.
Jonathan looked at Ava, his eyes softening with what appeared to be compassion.
“Does it have something to do with me?” Ava suddenly asked.
A nervous silence hung in the air while Valentine awaited an answer.
After exhaling a weary sigh, Kendall said, “It is not so much that Fairfax holds a secret, but that he has made threats regarding the safety of my family.”
“You mean me,” Ava blurted. “Fairfax has threatened to hurt me.”
“He has.” Kendall’s tone was full of regret.
For the second time this evening, a fury to rival that of the devil’s burning rage burst to life in Valentine’s chest. If Kendall did not have the courage to snuff out this blackguard, Valentine would. He would see to it that Fairfax hadn’t a breath left in his lungs let alone enough to make despicable demands.
Through the chaos of his mind, a thought struck him. He turned to Ava. “Might I be right in thinking you once thought yourself in love with Mr Fairfax?”
Hell, it killed him to utter the words, no less imagine that her heart once pined for another. So much for the calm, rational approach. The sooner he dealt with Fairfax, the better, for his heart was liable to give out.
“Not in love with him, no,” she answered honestly. “Perhaps it was more of a mild infatuation, one quashed when I realised his intentions were far from honourable.”
Valentine saw the truth in her eyes, eyes that still held a hint of fear. “And he harmed you in some way?”
Ava gulped. “He tried to force a wedding, if you understand my meaning.”
The blood froze in Valentine’s veins. “Then there is little point discussing the blackmail because I am going to kill him anyway.”
Honora gasped. “Lucius, do not lower yourself to this man’s standards. There must be another way to get rid of him.”
“Fairfax wants the licence Father secured to access the mines,” Kendall said. “By all accounts, Father promised him a partnership. He also demands the return of the ruby he says was promised to him upon our father’s death. Payment for his services.”
“But that is ridiculous,” Ava protested. “Father would never—” She stopped abruptly. A frown marred her brow. Numerous times she shook her head as the worry lines grew more pronounced.
Valentine touched her arm. “What is it?”
“Mr Cassiel mentioned the mine. He said that my mother couldn’t rest, that she wished us to continue her legacy, and asked what was needed to work in the Mines of Lavrion.”
Valentine contemplated the information. One might think that Cassiel did possess powers of an otherworldly nature. But the watch, the vial of frankincense, all the questions relating to the same topic, cast doubt in Valentine’s mind.
“One might think that he did hear the voice of my mother,” Ava added, mirroring Valentine’s fleeting thought.
“Or one might think he is employed by Mr Fairfax to discover if you know the whereabouts of the licence.” Valentine studied Ava’s face, knew the moment she accepted his explanation as being the rational one.
“Mr Fairfax is a man of great cunning,” Honora said. “We must deal with him, and quickly.”
First thing in the morning, they would call on Miss Faversham. A woman with such a nervous disposition would break easily. Once they knew the whereabouts of Cassiel, Valentine would deal with that problem before advancing on Fairfax.
But there were still a few questions bouncing back and forth in Valentine’s mind.
“Aside from all of the problems with Fairfax, Mr Kendall,” Valentine said in a hard tone for he would have a truthful answer. “Why would you add to your troubles by calling me out?”
Honora huffed. “You speak of that silly duel.” She looked down her nose at Kendall. “Go on, tell him.”
An embarrassed flush coloured Jonathan Kendall’s cheeks. He snatched the tumbler and downed a mouthful of brandy. “Lady Durrant paid me to call you out.” His shoulders sagged, and his grey eyes brimmed with mortification. “At the time, I was desperate to meet Fairfax’s weekly demand, though Portia thinks I am addicted to the gaming tables.”
“She paid you?” Ava asked incredulously. “And you took that woman’s money?”
Valentine knew of Portia’s deviousness but had not realised how low the lady would stoop.
“Mr Kendall came to me the day before the duel, when he finally found the courage to take the advice given by his father,” Honora said, shaking her head at the fool sitting at her side. “I assured him that Lucius had too much integrity to shoot a man without cause and that all he had to do was delope.”
Valentine supposed he should be flattered that his mother had faith in his character despite the fact she hadn’t trusted him with the truth.
“Lady Durrant did not want Valentine dead.” Ava sounded annoyed. “The woman wanted to make him jealous. A blind fool could see that.”
“I played her game,” Kendall said, “for my own ends.”
Valentine gritted his teeth. “And all the time you were playing games, scrambling to pay the blackmailer, lying to conceal the truth from your sister, you left her vulnerable to an attack from unexpected quarters.”
Kendall dragged his hand down his face and sighed.
“Hence the reason I told the tale about the theft,” Honora said.
“Told a tale, Mother? You sent your son on a fool’s errand.”
Honora lifted her chin and with an air of hauteur said, “Someone had to watch Aveline while her brother made a trip to Frimley, while he attempted to find the funds to pay those rogues at the Pit. He refused all offers of financial help and so what else could I do?”
Valentine eyed her suspiciously. Did his mother have another motive for throwing him in Aveline Kendall’s path? Did she hope he might come to admire the lady as she did?
“Are there any other secrets either of you wish to divulge?” Valentine said when the long-case clock in the hall finished chiming four. If they were to make an early start in the morning they needed sleep, although sleep would be the last thing on his mind once Ava stripped out of her clothes and slipped into bed beside him.
Honora looked at Kendall and shook her head. “Will you help Mr Kendall, Lucius, help him bring this villain to justice?”
Valentine did not need time to contemplate the question. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect Miss Kendall.”
“Excellent.” Honora clapped her hands and came to her feet. “Then let us part and get some much-needed rest. We can resume this conversation in the morning.”
“A sensible idea,” he said in a mocking tone.
“I am glad you agree.” Honora crossed the room. “Aveline, allow me to escort you upstairs to find a suitable bedchamber.”
Valentine jerked his head back.
Ava glanced at him, and then at his mother. “You want me to stay here tonight?”
“Of course.” Honora arched a brow. “You cannot stay with Lucius. Gossip is rife. I refuse to give Lady Durrant more reason to spread vicious rumours about my family.”
Ava nodded. “Very well.”
What else could she say?
It pained Valentine to think of sleeping without her tonight. He needed her in his bed, needed the closeness, the heightened level of intimacy that existed when two people
were in love.
“When this is over, I might tell Lady Durrant what I think of her meddling,” Ava said.
“When this is over,” Valentine replied as a plan formed in his mind, “we shall show Lady Durrant how wrong she was to assume you are anything less than a lady.”
Chapter Nineteen
“How are you progressing with the reading task, Miss Faversham?” Ava spoke softly, avoiding the real questions burning in her mind, for she doubted they would get anything from the girl if she crumpled to the floor a blubbering wreck.
Despite it being rather early in the day for a house call, no one turned away a viscount. While Honora took tea with the major and Mrs Faversham in the drawing room, Valentine and Ava occupied the sitting room at the rear of the house.
“I am on the second volume of The Monk. Mrs Madeley has the first volume, and then I think she is to pass it on to you, Miss Kendall.”
“And what are your thoughts on the novel so far, Miss Faversham?” Valentine asked, staring at her over the rim of his teacup.
Matilda’s bottom lip trembled, and she could not hold Valentine’s gaze. “On the novel? Oh, it is not for the f-fainthearted, my lord. Particularly when one shares a n-name with a character.”
“Particularly when that character is corrupt and responsible for Ambrosio’s descent into sin,” Valentine added, setting his teacup and saucer on the side table. “Deception is a trope rife in gothic novels, rife in everyday life, too.”
“I’m afraid I rarely venture from the house, my lord,” Miss Faversham said. “Reading about such things in n-novels is the limit of my experience.”
“That surprises me.” Valentine sat forward. He appeared calm, in complete control of his emotions, much like the day of the duel when he forced his way into Ava’s hackney cab and spoke so openly about love.
Matilda’s eyes widened. “Oh, and why is that?” She was about to take a sip of tea but froze with the cup a few inches from her mouth.
Perhaps Matilda expected a compliment about being more confident than she gave herself credit. She most certainly was not expecting Valentine to broach the subject of the mystic.
“You have no qualms contacting an unmarried gentleman. One might wonder how you came to make the acquaintance of Mr Cassiel.”
The china cup clattered on the saucer as the girl’s hand shook. She paled. Silence descended when she failed to respond.
“Well?” Ava said, keen to encourage Matilda to answer. “Did you not say you found his advertisement in the newspaper?”
“Yes.” Matilda nodded, setting her drink back on the tea tray. “That is correct.”
“Which newspaper?” Valentine enquired.
“Pardon?”
“Which newspaper prints such an advertisement when most people find the notion of contacting the dead offensive, against Christian beliefs?”
Matilda tried to force a smile. “I cannot remember.”
“Did you want to contact the dead?” Valentine pressed.
Ava recalled Matilda’s reluctance to participate. And yet, now she came to think of it, the girl had not seemed fazed by the mystic even though his appearance might be considered unusual.
“You had met Mr Cassiel before that night,” Ava said. It was the only explanation to account for Matilda’s lack of reticence around the gentleman. “It was your suggestion we hire him.”
“No.” Matilda shook her head.
“We met with Mr Cassiel last night,” Ava said, knowing she had to tell a tale to draw the truth from Matilda’s quivering lips. “He mentioned you were acquainted prior to that first meeting.”
“Yes,” Valentine added. “He persuaded you to approach Miss Kendall with the idea of a seance.”
The girl looked to be drowning under the weight of questions, drowning from the knowledge that she could not save herself no matter how long she held her breath.
“We are in love,” she suddenly blurted. Matilda gasped as if the words eased the searing pain in her lungs. “We met in the bookshop, meet there when Mother permits me half an hour to peruse the shelves.”
Ava’s frustration dissipated.
Miss Faversham was a victim of deception, too, it seemed.
“Angelo is in need of money.” Matilda glanced over her shoulder to the door. She lowered her voice. “We are to elope once he has saved the necessary funds.”
Valentine relaxed back in the chair. No doubt he thought the gesture might encourage Matilda to speak more freely. “And so he prompted you to find him work, knowing you meet at my mother’s house on a Friday.”
“I didn’t think it would do any harm,” she confessed. “As enlightened ladies are w-we not looking to further our minds?”
“We are,” Ava said. Matilda would suffer greatly once she learnt the truth about the mystic. Clearly, the thought of escaping her parents’ home proved too tempting to resist. “Though that does not explain why Mr Cassiel broke into my house, or the fact Mrs Stagg said you were his accomplice.”
Matilda froze. Her breath came in rapid pants.
“We know what Mr Cassiel was looking for,” Valentine said.
The girl hung her head. A sniff turned into a sob. Her shoulders shook from the sheer force of her release. “I didn’t w-want to do it.”
“Why would you treat my belongings with disrespect when I have been nothing but kind to you?” It hurt to think of the hours Ava had spent trying to restore Matilda’s confidence only to feel the sharp stab of betrayal.
Matilda raised her gaze. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed red. “I knew nothing of his plans. Y-you have to believe me. He left a note in the garden, in the usual place, and I snuck out of the house to meet him on the corner of Mount Street.” A sob choked her throat, forcing her to gasp.
“You could have refused to enter Miss Kendall’s house,” Valentine said coldly.
“He told me to wait outside the house while he spoke to Miss Kendall. I didn’t know he had forced his way inside … not until I heard a commotion and ran to investigate. Then it was too late.”
“I want his address,” Valentine demanded in a voice that would make the strongest man crumple. “I want it now. Else I shall stride into the drawing room and inform your parents that you are guilty of aiding a criminal.”
It was as if Satan had risen to poke her with his fiery trident. Miss Faversham jumped from the chair, her whole body trembling so fiercely she struggled to catch her breath. “What will you do to him?”
“We want to ask him some questions about his associate, that is all,” Ava said, trying to get through to the girl. “We believe a friend or family member may have influenced him.”
She dashed the tears from her eyes. “You think Angelo was forced to act so dreadfully?” Hope clung to every word.
“That is what we are attempting to establish,” Valentine said in a calmer tone.
After a brief pause where Matilda muttered to herself, she finally said, “Head to Cheapside. You will find Angelo in Coleman Street.”
“And the number?” Valentine stood. Clearly, he was in a hurry.
“Don’t tell him I told you,” Matilda blurted.
Valentine straightened to his full height. “The number.”
“Five, Angelo lives at number five.”
It was noon by the time Ava and Valentine reached Coleman Street with Mr Drake in tow. Valentine insisted on calling for his friend, explaining that should anything untoward happen, he would not leave Ava at the mercy of the blackguard Cassiel.
“Do we have a plan?” Mr Drake asked as they navigated the busy street, dodging wild dogs and filthy children eager to earn a penny.
They had left Valentine’s carriage in Basinghall Street for they did not wish to alert Mr Cassiel of their arrival.
“I thought we would knock on the door and wait for a reply,” Valentine mocked.
“What, before beating him to within an inch of his life?” Mr Drake looked rather pleased at the prospect.
“Something l
ike that.”
They came to a halt outside Burton’s barber and wig-making shop.
“This is number five.” Valentine glanced up at the three-storey building. “Cassiel must lodge in a room above the shop.”
“It might make it more difficult to gain entrance,” Ava said as a cold shiver ran the length of her spine. Mr Cassiel had a strange command over her senses. The thought of seeing him again left a lump in her throat.
Valentine and Mr Drake looked at her and smiled.
“Trust me, we will gain access to Cassiel’s room,” Valentine said before pushing open Burton’s door.
They all entered the shop.
One of the gentlemen seated on a wooden bench—there were five men in total—looked up from his newspaper and scanned Valentine’s pristine attire before sighing.
The fellow shook his head and turned to the man seated beside him. “Looks like we have a longer wait than expected. The quality always move to the front of the queue.”
The barber loomed over a man reclining in a chair near the window. He swept a lethal-looking razor the length of the poor fellow’s neck. Razor in hand, he glanced at the door, his eyes growing wide as he, too, perused their clothes.
“May I help you?” The barber wiped the blade on the white sheet draped over his customer’s clothes before approaching them.
Ava grimaced upon seeing the spots of blood splattered over the sheet. Thank the Lord she had no need to feel the scrape of a blade at her throat.
Valentine whipped a card from his pocket and flashed it to the barber. “I seek access to the apartments above. I seek a gentleman by the name of Cassiel.”
Having glanced at the only piece of information on the card he deemed important—Valentine’s title—the barber bowed awkwardly. They all leant back to dodge the man’s sweeping arm for he seemed to forget he brandished what those in the rookeries called a weapon.
“There’s no one lodging here by that name, milord.”