by Adele Clee
All eyes in the room were upon them as silence descended.
“You’re certain?” Valentine withdrew a few sovereigns from his pocket and thrust them into the barber’s open hand. “The gentleman has ebony hair, thick eyebrows. He favours black clothes and a red cravat.”
The barber pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze in thoughtful contemplation. After a time worthy of a few sovereigns, he had a sudden epiphany. “Yes, I think I know the fellow. He lodges with Lilly on the top floor.” The barber gestured to a door on the far wall. “Though she’ll still be abed.”
“Then I had best wake her,” Valentine said. He placed a guiding hand on Ava’s back as they crossed the room and exited the shop via the door. They climbed the wooden staircase, found only one door at the top and so knocked.
Beyond, the room was silent.
Giving a huff of impatience, Drake hammered his fist until they heard a woman’s shrill voice calling for them to wait.
The door flew open.
“Do you have to knock so loudly?” The blonde-haired woman rubbed the back of her hand across heavy-lidded eyes. “Anyone would think the house was ablaze.”
They had definitely dragged her from her bed. Why else would she answer the door wearing nothing but a thin chemise?
“You are Lilly I presume?” Ava said, ignoring the sight of the young woman’s nipples protruding through the flimsy shift. “We are looking for Mr Cassiel. It regards a matter of great importance.”
“I might be Lilly. Who’s asking?” The woman opened her eyes fully. After blinking numerous times, she stared at the hulking figure of Mr Drake. “Well, ain’t you a big fellow.” One could not mistake the admiration in her voice. She glanced at Valentine. “Lord Almighty, have I died and gone to heaven?”
Ava knew how Lilly felt. Valentine was an exceptionally handsome man. But he was her man, and Lilly could put her eyeballs back in their sockets.
“We seek Mr Cassiel,” Valentine said, looking Lilly keenly in the eye.
“He ain’t here.”
Ava forced a smile. “You mean he is out?”
“No, I mean he left this morning and ain’t coming back. Maybe you should ask the dead where he’s gone as they know more than I do.”
Valentine muttered a curse.
The thought of Mr Cassiel roaming free to cause mischief left an empty feeling in Ava’s chest. What if he was at her home in Park Street, threatening her servants, tearing the place apart? What if he stalked Jonathan, watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce? What if he had written to his employer, Mr Fairfax, seeking his assistance?
Ava touched Valentine’s arm. “We must hunt for clues as to his whereabouts,” she said in a hushed voice. “I cannot rest until we understand the part he is playing here.”
Regardless of the fact they were in company, Valentine cupped her cheek. “Rest assured I will do everything in my power to bring you peace.”
How she wished they were alone. She would kiss him deeply to show her appreciation, to thank him for being strong and dependable.
Valentine turned to the woman ogling them at the door. “How much to grant me access to your home? How much to tell me everything you know about the man named Cassiel?”
A smile touched the woman’s lips.
Money opened doors. Anyone who worked for a living understood the need to forgo loyalty if it meant filling their stomachs and keeping warm come winter.
“His name ain’t Cassiel. I can tell you that for free.” She wrapped her finger around a lock of blonde hair and cast a coy grin. “Ten pounds, and you can rummage through what’s left of his belongings.”
So Mr Dariell was right when he accused the mystic of using a fake identity.
“Agreed.” Valentine retrieved a note from his pocket. “Here’s twenty pounds. I want you to show me his belongings, tell me what you know of his movements these last few days.”
Lilly accepted the note. She checked the amount and then hastened away with her windfall, leaving the door open, an invitation to enter.
The apartment comprised of a large room with a rickety poster bed in one corner, a wing-back chair flanking the fire and a small table with two wooden chairs. The place was so cold one might freeze to death in their bed. The material panels hanging from the bed frame were once blue and now looked a dirty, muted grey. Washing—a chemise, a man’s shirt and white stockings—hung on a rope tied from one bedpost to a nail in the wall.
A small basket of wood by the fire drew Ava’s attention. The broken pieces looked familiar. She picked one up and examined the grain.
“I told him they were too good to burn,” Lilly said, locking the money away in a box she kept under a floorboard near the bed. “I was supposed to take them to the pawnbroker, but he smashed the pretty box when he came home last night.”
“The vanity box?” Ava’s heart missed a beat.
Lilly nodded. “He burnt the sloped desk, too.”
“Do you know how he came by the items?” Valentine said.
Lilly shrugged. “They’ve been here for a week or more.”
A hard lump formed in Ava’s throat. Her stomach lurched at the thought she may have been at home asleep while Mr Cassiel crept around her house. Her mother kept her private papers inside the writing slope. Had Cassiel been hunting for the licence?
“He took most things with him,” Lilly continued. “Though he left the morbid clothes he wore when entertaining the nabobs with his tricks.” She gave a curt nod. “No offence.”
“So you agree the man is a fraud,” Mr Drake said, unsurprised.
“He’s an entertainer, like me. Oh, he knows how to put on a good show.”
“You’re an actress?” Valentine said as he wandered about the room, examining the threadbare furnishings.
Judging by the fact Lilly continued to parade about in her undergarments, Ava suspected Valentine was being polite. There was every chance Lilly worked the streets.
“I’m an actress, a dancer, anything the manager wants me to be,” Lilly replied.
“You said Cassiel was not his name,” Ava said. She hoped his real name might provide a clue as to his connection with Mr Fairfax.
“George Black is his name. Black of name, black of heart. That’s what I said to him when he left without so much as a by your leave.”
George Black?
Ava scoured her mind, trying to recall a connection to her father, to anyone who worked for him.
“Has he always been a mystic?” Valentine enquired. He came to stand before a wooden chest in the far corner of the room. For some strange reason, he inhaled deeply. “Does this belong to Mr Black?”
“I’ve only known him this last month.” Perhaps embarrassment forced her to add, “When the rent’s shared it leaves more to spend on coal.” Lilly crossed the room to stand beside Valentine. “There’s nothing in there but his silly costume. He said black made him look more devilish.”
“May I look inside?” Valentine asked.
Having paid twenty pounds for the privilege, Ava would insist upon it.
Lilly knelt down and raised the lid. “I’ll take his clothes to the pawnbroker.” She pushed the black garments to one side and delved deeper into the chest. “Mr Burton downstairs might buy the wig, whiskers and eyebrows.”
“The wig?” Drake stepped closer to the chest.
Ava froze. She did not want to examine the rogue’s belongings. But what if she missed a vital clue?
“George liked to dress for the role. Why he wore those disgusting things on his face is no one’s guess.” Lilly pulled the bushy black brows out of the chest. “Mouse skin, that’s what they’re made from.”
A sense of trepidation caught hold of Ava and held her in its firm grasp. “What colour is Mr Black’s hair?” she said as Lilly pulled out the black wig that brought images of the mystic flashing back into her mind.
“Brown.”
“He wore these shoes, too.” Lilly handed them to Valentine.
He stud
ied them for a moment, turned them over in his hand. “Is there a reason for these wooden blocks?” Valentine removed a small wedge and handed it to Mr Drake.
“Men use them to make themselves appear taller,” Drake said, examining the item. “Though I have no need of them myself.”
Valentine placed the shoes back in the chest. He drew his hand down his face and sighed.
The tension in the room grew with each new revelation. Every piece of the disguise stripped from Cassiel, left a clearer image of a man who seemed just as familiar.
Valentine reached into the chest and dragged out the bright red cravat. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. “This smells like a mixture of animal fat and some medicinal ointment.”
Ava wanted to move closer, to be of assistance, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“George used that to cover his scar. The ointment helped stop the irritation. He had a soft wax for his face and then patted it with powder. Gave him skin as pale as a ghost.”
“His scar?” Ava’s voice was barely a croak.
Lilly nodded. “Oh, he had many, from the mining accident abroad.”
A heavy, suffocating silence descended.
The room tilted and swayed before Ava’s eyes.
Lord, no!
She did not want to think what that meant.
Had a ghost from her past—the wicked man who haunted her dreams—donned a disguise to continue his torment? It was not a coincidence that Cassiel insisted on dim lighting, that he conducted his seances in the dark. She felt the truth of it deep in her gut. It explained the discomfort she felt in Cassiel’s presence. Dressed as Cassiel, Mr Fairfax had touched her, laid his hand on her shoulder, gripped her knees.
Nausea roiled in her stomach.
Valentine met her gaze.
In a second, he was at her side, his strong arm wrapped around her shoulder.
“Thank you for your assistance, Lilly,” he said. “We have learnt all we need to know. But if I can ask one more question.”
“For the price you paid you can do what you like.”
“Would you happen to know if Mr Black has relatives in Frimley?”
Lilly frowned. “No, but he stayed at the coaching inn just outside Frimley. He said the rabbit stew was the best he ever tasted. Better than any of the food he had in Greece.”
Chapter Twenty
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.” Mr Drake sat back in the carriage and watched as Valentine tucked Ava’s hair into the white wig purchased from Burton’s barber and wig-making shop. “God’s teeth, the man is unstable.”
“I don’t like it, either,” Valentine replied. His fingers shook as he pulled Ava’s wig into position. He had insisted on the disguise to hide her identity.
“There is every chance Mr Fairfax had something to do with my parents’ deaths,” Ava said, noting the panic in Valentine’s eyes, the same panic that coursed through her veins, too. “He will continue to hound me unless I do something to stop him.”
It had taken the best part of the three-hour journey to convince Valentine as to the merit of her plan. In the guise of Mr Cassiel, Fairfax had met both men and would bolt for the hills as soon as he locked eyes with them. Ava was the only one who had a chance of speaking to the rogue, of luring him out of the coaching inn so that Valentine could deal with the scoundrel.
Ava knew what that meant.
Valentine would kill him.
Valentine would forever have the man’s death on his conscience. Ava loved him too much to let that happen which was why she had kept part of her plan secret.
“I intend to speak to him, to tell him we know nothing of the licence and that we cannot help him. When I storm out of the inn, he will surely follow.”
Hidden in the shadows—for darkness was already upon them—Ava had peered through the window to see Mr Fairfax seated at a round table in front of the fire. Her legs had almost buckled in shock.
“Rest assured, I shall watch your every move,” Valentine said. “Should I sense you’re in any danger, I will charge in there as if the devil is at my heels. Is that understood?”
“It is.” Ava forced a smile. “There is nothing to fear. What can he do in a room packed with patrons?”
Mr Drake shook his head. “I still don’t like it.”
“It is the best solution.”
Mr Drake narrowed his gaze as he considered her words. “Then before you go, let me tell you that you are the woman my friend has been waiting for, the one he deserves. You would die for him. I see it in your eyes.”
Mr Drake did not know how close he had come to speaking the truth. There was every chance she would lose her life tonight. But she could not think about that now.
“And she knows I would give my life for her in a heartbeat,” Valentine replied though he kept his gaze fixed on Ava.
Ava inhaled deeply before she lost courage and changed her mind. “Ten minutes is all I shall give him. Be ready and waiting in the courtyard.”
As she reached for the door, Valentine took hold of her arm and drew her around to face him.
“Close your eyes, Drake,” he said as his mouth came crashing down on hers.
He kissed her as though it might be the last time—with love, with passion, with a profound tenderness that touched her soul.
“Take no risks,” Valentine pleaded. “If you’re worried, promise me you’ll leave.”
“I promise. Now you must let me go.” A sudden surge of emotion brought tears to her eyes. She turned away and exited the carriage. Raising the hood on her travelling cloak, she marched towards the White Hart Inn.
People glanced up from their mugs and tankards at the sound of someone entering the inn. Mr Fairfax was no exception. He studied her for longer than most, narrowed his gaze suspiciously as she moved towards him.
“Mr Fairfax,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice calm and even. It took every effort to look at him. “Forgive me for not enquiring after your health sooner.” She gripped the top rail, pulled out the chair and sat down. “My brother has only recently informed me that you survived the mining accident in Lavrion.”
Ava studied him beneath the glow of candlelight while he sat in stunned silence.
How had she not noticed the similarity with Mr Cassiel? Yes, his hair and side whiskers were much lighter, his brows thin, his lips pale. Indeed, the absence of thick brows altered the shape of his forehead. Still, in the depths of her soul, she had known to be wary. Now she understood why she felt so terrified in the mystic’s presence.
“Aveline, you look as beautiful as ever. The white wig is rather becoming.”
Oh, she was immune to his sycophantic flattery.
“What a shame your actions do not match your lofty praise.”
Mr Fairfax smiled. “Well, I doubt you came here to make polite conversation. Did Jonathan tell you what I want?” He sipped ale from a mug as he stared at her intently.
“The same as what you’ve always wanted. Access to the mine. A share of my parents’ business. For some reason, you think it is your due.”
Arrogance flashed in his eyes, eyes that did not seem as dark and menacing as she remembered. “Your father wanted a partner. He let me believe he would reward me for years of loyal service.”
“And yet he failed to grant what you believe you deserved. There must have been a reason for his reluctance.”
He stared at her as he drummed his fingers on the table in the annoying way she remembered. “Perhaps I was lapse in my accounting. Perhaps your father’s spies corrupted his mind against me.”
Talk of her parents brought grief to the surface. She placed her clasped hands on the table for fear of reaching over and slapping the scoundrel until he admitted the truth.
“My father distrusted your motives, and he was right. But you have no right to make demands on his estate. No court of law would support such a claim.”
He reached across and touched her hand. Every fibre of her being
recoiled in disgust. “We are not in a court of law, Aveline. I make my own rules. You know that.”
As he leant closer, she saw the scar peeking above his cravat, saw the faint pockmarks on his cheek that he had hidden with wax, powder and thicker whiskers. The sight brought thoughts of the accident to the fore.
“Did you k-kill my parents?” Ava did not want to hear the answer, and yet she longed for the truth. Uncertainty played havoc with the mind, led one to concoct horrific stories. “You did. There is no point denying what I know is true.”
Mr Fairfax’s hand slipped from hers as he sat back in his chair. Still, she felt cold to her bones. He contemplated the comment for some time.
“Hamilton tried to kill me.” He snorted as if the incident was amusing. “Your brother told him of our little tryst in my room. He called me to the mine and attacked me.”
Painful images invaded her mind. Horrific images no one should associate with kind, loving parents.
“Did you kill them?” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“Not directly.”
“What sort of answer is that?” Anger pushed grief aside.
“I may have pulled a pistol, may have shot the rocks above their heads. How was I to know the area was unstable? How was I to know the roof would collapse?”
Ava closed her eyes. Tears welled.
How was it possible for her heart to break all over again?
Her parents were together when they died, she told herself. Neither would have wanted to live without the other, and so she had to find comfort in that.
“Then tell me how you’re alive.” The loathing in her voice conveyed the depth of her disdain for this man.
“I crawled to the next tunnel, but your father stopped to help your mother.” The hypocrite had the gall to make the sign of the cross. “Luck was on my side.”
“But you were presumed dead.”
Mr Fairfax shrugged. “My injuries were such that I lost my memory for a time. Someone from a nearby village found me and took me in. I spent a year there until I made a full recovery.” He raised an arrogant brow. “Then I decided to return to claim the bounty your father denied me.”