by Sharon Green
Once she was settled by a window with a cup of tea beside her, Rianne deliberately made herself think about the new circumstances. She had wondered why Machlin had given her all that money, and at first, when she'd had trouble in the gunsmith's shop, she'd thought it might be to embarrass her. These London people considered it scandalous for a lady to have anything to do with money, and Machlin might have wanted her to learn that the hard way. It would have been just like him…
But then she'd realized that he was the one who would be most embarrassed, to have people talking about the outrageous thing his wife had done. They were people he knew, ones whose opinions he seemed to care about. That had meant he had to have had another reason, specifically the one she obviously hadn't wanted to see.
Could anyone possibly argue the truth of that? She didn't think so, not when you looked at the facts. All that money, given to a woman who couldn't spend it without making a spectacle of herself … given at the same time as a gift of jewelry and an unexpected amount of freedom … along with an overheard conversation that made sense no other way and a sudden lack of interest on the part of her previously very attentive husband.
Machlin was telling her as politely as possible that he'd found another woman who interested him more, a woman who was surely a proper lady, and one he might come to love. When the hunt was over he expected Rianne to be gone, and had even given her the means to do it. All the talk about getting her opinion on the disposition of her inheritance had been just that, nothing but talk.
The tea she sipped at was warm, as warm as the golden sunshine just beyond her window. Rianne, hadn't wanted to wonder where he'd been all night, and now she didn't have to. He'd been with a lady, a woman who was that in truth rather than just in name. He'd finally gotten tired of all the trouble she caused, more trouble than her beauty could justify. He'd appreciated her beauty, but had never been overly concerned with it.
And so she had taken the first step toward leaving forever. The velvet and cotton she'd bought… She'd need something to wear on the voyage to the colonies, and that something certainly couldn't be gowns. She still couldn't afford a maid, and without Angus and Cam she'd never be able to dress herself. She'd wear her special outfit of breeches and shirt when she left, and during the voyage would have plenty of time to make more. Breeches from the velvet and shirts from the cotton, a wardrobe that would take little time to sew.
Rianne put the teacup down and closed her eyes, the pain so deep in her breast that it was a wonder she didn't cry out. She didn't want him to have another woman, she wanted him to love her. It wasn't likely to happen, but she was still weak enough to pray that it would. Maybe tonight at dinner … if she asked him to stay home and he did … that could mean he really didn't prefer that other… Please, God, let it be that way…
But he didn't even come home for dinner, which told all the story Rianne needed to know. She prepared everything she would very soon need, then got numbly into bed. Her dreams were filled with terror and pain, but that meant nothing at all as waking was filled with worse. Sometime during the night she resolved to do exactly as Machlin wanted her to, without embarrassing him with a scene. She was strong enough to do that, surely, at least until she was out of his sight…
Bryan took breakfast in his rooms the next morning, the morning of the day. He'd had very little sleep the last two nights, but all his efforts had paid off. He knew where to be tonight, and most of his preparations were made.
"Come in," he called to the knock at his door, and Jeff Banyon did so, raising his brows in surprise at the way Bryan was practically inhaling his breakfast.
"Would you like me to send for more of that?" Jeff asked, one brow still raised. "As far as I know, that isn't the last of the food in the kitchens."
"Don't worry, I'm only eating like it was," Bryan said with a grin. "I don't really believe it, so you can relax. I haven't had a decent meal since lunchtime yesterday."
"And it's almost lunchtime today," Jeff observed, taking a chair not far from him. "I hope all that sacrifice paid off."
"Ask me again tomorrow at this time," Bryan replied, all amusement gone out of him. "I'm fairly sure I've located the right man, but there's very little actual evidence against him. Everything points to him, but only in a circumstantial way."
"That's definitely not good," Jeff mused, studying his expression. "Can you tell me anything about what you learned?"
"Certainly," Bryan agreed with a nod, going back to eating. "I visited that friend of my father's, but not until I had a talk with Magistrate Fielding. The magistrate helped me to get a look at the pertinent Bank records, and we found some things of interest. To begin with, do you remember our friend Tremar, the man who worked for the Bank of England?"
"The one who was killed by the man you killed," Jeff said. "What about him?"
"We discovered that he bought his highly placed position about six months after the Bank lost a very large shipment of gold," Bryan answered. "It was gold being sent to France and Spain to balance accounts with banks there, and the shipment details were known to no more than a handful of men. Tremar was one of them, but another man disappeared shortly before the shipment was stolen. Everyone assumed that that second man, who was never seen again, sold the secret he had of the shipping details before running off with his ill-gotten gains. This happened about ten years ago."
"What do you know that doesn't agree with that?" Jeff asked, frowning. "There has to be something, or you wouldn't have mentioned it."
"You know it too, if you stop to think for a minute," Bryan reminded him. "Remember what I told you about that scene Rianne witnessed as a child? I'm willing to wager that the man she saw tortured to death was the one who was ultimately blamed for selling the information on the Bank of England gold shipment, even though he died without speaking. The man who had been directing the torture said something about having chosen the wrong one to deal with, and now needed someone else. Tremar was the someone else, and rather than needing to be tortured simply sold the information. The dead man was blamed, and my quarry walked away with most of the gold."
"With no one the wiser," Jeff said, leaning back in his chair. "Tarnish the name of an honorable man, and then go blithely on your way. The whoreson probably laughed when it worked out so well."
"He won't be laughing when people learn the truth," Bryan said, comfortably grim. "The world will know about the man who died with his honor intact, but they'll also have to know about some others who sold their honor for gain or out of shame."
"Who are we talking about now?" Jeff asked. "Besides Tremar, I mean."
"Robert Harding, for one," Bryan answered, watching Jeff's immediate surprise. "I'd thought it was just a matter of unmanageable debts, but Harding was dancing to a blackmailer's tune. That, I discovered, included paying over most of his wealth on a regular basis."
"And you found that in his bank records?" Jeff asked, even more surprised now. "How could it possibly have been entered? 'Blackmail, payment thereof'?"
"Not quite, but almost," Bryan said with a chuckle, pouring another cup of coffee. "Every quarter for more than ten years, ninety percent of his income has been turned over to an 'investment advisor' named George Haynes. That part is perfectly aboveboard, but not the fact that there's never been so much as a copper deposited as returns. It all went out, and nothing ever came back."
"You'd think he would have been smart enough to change investment advisors after the first year or two," Jeff commented dryly. "But you were right about that being only circumstantial proof of blackmail. There's no law against being bad in business if the people whose money you lose don't complain. Is that all you got?"
"Not quite," Bryan said with a headshake. "We had to do a lot of cross-checking, and that's what took so much time. Once a pattern began to emerge I appealed to Magistrate Fielding for help, and then it went a little faster and easier. What we got is as follows:
"The dates of large deposits to the account of this same George Hay
nes coincide with a number of the reported robberies of gold and silver shipments. Shortly after these deposits, transfers were made to certain accounts which turned out to belong to people who were involved with the particular company which had just been robbed. But these people getting the payments were never suspected of complicity in the crime. In every instance, someone else had already been accused and arrested."
"Fielding must have loved that," Jeff put in. "Imagine sending a whole string of people to Newgate - or the gallows - and then finding out you'd been had. But I still can't believe this Haynes would just deposit stolen money like that, or transfer what have to be payoffs. What if someone noticed?"
"There wasn't much chance of that," Bryan told him. "Our friend Reginald Tremar was in charge of Haynes's account, and as long as Tremar's figures balanced, the Bank minded its own business. They're very discreet with their larger depositors, and George Haynes qualifies for that sort of treatment. Now that Tremar is dead, however, and not just dead but murdered, there's reason to look into everything he was handling."
"So if Haynes was the one who got that stolen gold shipment from the Bank, he used Tremar in two ways," Jeff said with a thoughtful nod. "First as a source of information on the gold shipment, and later, after Tremar bought his higher position, to keep his financial information private. If he was that useful, I wonder why Haynes had him killed."
"At this point we can't be certain, but I do have a theory," Bryan said, finally pushing away his food plate. "From what my friend Pinky Sedgwick said, Tremar had been drinking rather heavily. If he was known to talk too much when he drank too much, he would suddenly become a liability rather than an asset. He meant to impress the people at Alicia's party, and if he became desperate enough - as he probably would have - he might have resorted to mentioning the secret things he knew. And even if he kept quiet this time, what about the next time or the time after that? Haynes decided not to risk it, and so had him killed."
"So much for thieves sticking together," Jeff commented. "Was there anything else?"
"Only one thing," Bryan said. "When we found the copy of Harding's will, I made the mistake of thinking none of the names in it would match the man I'm after. One name does match, and that's the name of the executor."
"Don't tell me," Jeff interrupted with a snort. "If it isn't George Haynes, I'll resign my post with you and take up embroidery. Is that his real name, or a conveniently adopted alias?"
"That we don't know yet," Bryan admitted, taking another swallow of coffee. "The man's account at Bank of England shows he's incredibly wealthy, but it's everyone's opinion at the Bank that he's from the lower classes. Without that wealth it might have been possible to charge him with something, but with him having the wealth charging him would be a waste of time. Sending him to Newgate on anything but a capital conviction will let him buy his way out again, and that will be the end of our effort. We need more, and this is the part I had to be talked into. Fielding wants to catch him attempting murder against someone of standing."
"Who could that possibly be - " Jeff began, and then, looking at Bryan's expression, the answer became clear. "You don't mean your wife," Jeff protested. "I know she's the natural choice and she'll want to do it, but - If you're right next to her, he's hardly likely to try."
"That was my argument," Bryan growled, forcing a chilling fear back down. "Along with pointing out that I had no intentions of leaving her unguarded to give that scum a chance at her life. Fielding quietly remind me how many people were dead because of the man, shipment guards, people who refused to speak under torture, those like my brother Ross who were forced to suicide, accomplices like Tremar who became liabilities. Then he asked me if I really wanted to have to guard my wife for the rest of her life, never trusting anyone even if they were friends. After all, since Haynes likes to use blackmail, anyone could become his victim. I didn't have to think about it long to know he's right. If we don't get Haynes, Rianne will never be able to stop looking over her shoulder."
"If it were me, I would call him out," Jeff said, his light-blue eyes glittering like winter ice. "With someone like that it would probably be more slaughter than duel, but I can't think of anyone who's done more to earn it."
"If I thought there was any chance of his facing me, it would already be done," Bryan agreed. "The point you're forgetting is that in a matter of honor, both parties have to have honor. Haynes would arrange for someone to stand for him, and I'd end up killing a helpless dupe instead of the man I want. And while we're on the subject of violence, tell me about the attack that slime sent against my wife. When I first heard about it, I said to hell with the research and was about to come back here. That was the second time Fielding talked me around, pointing out that I had adventurers on the job good enough to protect the king, and I had to admit he was right. And Harris said you took care of it alone, so I want the details."
"It wasn't as heroic as you're making it sound," Jeff said, thawing just a little. "It was yesterday afternoon, after Mrs. Machlin and I got back from her shopping trip. I was at my desk working, and two men came through the terrace doors. They'd avoided the men on watch, then apparently went looking for someone to lead them to their victim. They had knives and I was alone, so they were feeling very brave. I killed the first one fast with a fist punch to the throat, intending to save the second for questioning, but he refused to cooperate. He came at me so fast with that knife, I'd forced it around and into him before I knew it. Afterward I was really annoyed."
"I can imagine," Bryan said with a grudging grin. Jeff Banyon prided himself on never killing unless it was necessary or desirable, and that second man had ruined his intentions. "But as long as Rianne is safe and doesn't know what happened, I'm just as pleased. Did she spend that money I gave her down to the last penny, or did she actually save some?"
"Well, actually, there was something of a problem there," Jeff temporized, his eyes suddenly compassionate. He obviously found it easier to talk about killing and death, which made Bryan just as suddenly worried.
"What sort of problem?" he asked. "She didn't take it into her head that the money was really mine rather than hers? I could have sworn she believed what I said - "
"Bryan, it wasn't her," Jeff interrupted. "It was something we should have both considered, but for myself I don't have enough experience shopping with women. With the very first thing she bought, the clerk nearly threw her out of the shop for not billing the purchase to you. When he saw I wasn't amused he took her money, but still acted as though she'd committed a crime. After that she lost interest in looking, and finally had me pay for the only other thing she bought. When we got back, she went straight to her rooms without even stopping for something to eat."
"Damn," Bryan breathed, then added a few stronger words under his breath. "I can't believe I didn't think of that. I wanted her to enjoy herself for once, on her own terms, and instead I made things worse. Nothing I do with her seems to go right. I've never in my life felt like such a gawky, unhandy boy, but with her I can't seem to be anything else."
"When a woman doesn't demand things from a man, it seems to be harder on him," Jeff observed gently. "How are you supposed to act when you don't know what's expected of you? You try to do your best, then spend your time wondering if that's good enough. After this is over, you'll have to ask her to be a little less reasonable."
"Reasonable," Bryan echoed with a smile that had no humor in it. "Yes, when this is over I'll be sure to try it. Right now I'll have to figure out some way to apologize to her for putting her through that sort of embarrassment. She doesn't know this city but I do, and I shouldn't have let that happen. But to get back to our original conversation, I want you along tonight when we go to Ranelagh Pleasure Gardens. Magistrate Fielding and I have a plan to make Haynes try for the cheese in our trap, but it's going to be tricky."
Jeff leaned forward to listen carefully while Bryan spoke, agreed he understood what his part would be, then left to begin preparations. Bryan leaned
back in his chair and sipped the cooling coffee, more than reluctant to go looking for Rianne. He had to tell her what they'd be doing tonight, but it was the need for apology that kept him from rushing to see her. He didn't believe how much he'd missed her over the last two days…
But how do you apologize for hurting someone who has already been hurt more than any mortal should be? By saying it was an accident, that he'd really meant to please her? Bryan cursed as he pushed the coffee away and got to his feet. It had to be done so he would do it; he just wished he wasn't so certain he would mess it up…
Jeff Banyon paused outside Bryan's rooms, trying to decide if he'd done the right thing. He'd told Bryan about Rianne's "first purchase," but not that the purchase was a pair of pistols. He remembered what Bryan had said about not wanting the girl to have pistols, but damn it all, he knew she hadn't bought them for herself. Hadn't the shopping trip been enough of a disaster? Was he also supposed to ruin the surprise of the gift she'd bought?
Jeff stood and stewed for a minute, then resolutely headed for his own rooms. Right now he had things to do. If he decided later that he'd been wrong, he'd correct the error then…
Rianne was feeling almost calm when she walked into the small dining room for lunch. She'd spent the entire morning sewing and thinking, and she'd finally been able to see everything in the proper light. Of course Machlin had found a woman to really care about. Why shouldn't he? He had never made any promises to her, and just because she had been born to lose the people she loved didn't mean others had to go through life alone. When the time came she would simply get out of his way, the best repayment she could give for the times he'd saved her life.
"Well, good afternoon," Machlin said pleasantly as he rose from the table. "I haven't seen you in so long I almost feel like a stranger again. Have things been going all right while I was away?"