“Then he not only has been watching you, but he found you by following me to the school,” Simon ground out. “Had I left you alone, he’d still be futilely searching for you.”
Laura shook her head. “You couldn’t know.”
“I should have known,” he countered. “You warned me of the danger you faced that first night. I didn’t take enough precautions to keep you safe.”
She felt his anger and knew it was directed inwardly. “We can do nothing about that now. And we do not know for certain how he found me. It will be a time waste to speculate. We need to figure out what brought him out of hiding tonight.”
He expelled his held breath. “I’m more curious to know why he let you go and what he intends to do next.”
A memory tugged. “I thought I saw something at the manor the night we spent together. I made myself believe that it was you standing beneath a tree outside the attic window. It wasn’t, was it?”
He shook his head. “I tended the horses, nothing more. If he was there, and has been stalking you, then there is little about either of us that he doesn’t know.”
“This could put you in danger, too. It would certainly give him reason to come out of the shadows,” Laura said. Her heart twisted. “If he sees you as my lover and an obstacle in his way, he may kill you to have me.”
Simon cupped her face. “Do not fret about me, love. We Harringtons are a hearty lot. I do not plan to die with a knife buried in my back.”
Laura placed her hands over his. The puzzle grew more confusing with each new piece. “He would have had many opportunities to kidnap me. Tonight was part of some vile game.”
Simon nodded. “Passion, greed, desperation are all possibilities. We shall return to Collingwood House when His Grace meets with Crawford. Perhaps between the four of us, we can get our answers.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Henry is a common name,” His Grace said after the foursome gathered a day later in the library at Collingwood House. “I suspect I know eight or more in my circle. And there are certainly several with dark hair. It isn’t much to work with.”
Laura had spent the better part of the morning trying to remember everything she could about the mysterious man. She’d spent hours in his company but paid him little mind. Her thoughts during those days were mostly on working through opportunities to escape.
“He had an ordinary face.” She glanced at Mister Crawford. The investigator and His Grace had gone over the guest list and found nothing unusual. Before the duchess left for the school, she went through the guest list, too, and tried to remember the names of the guests of her guests. There were very few she didn’t know and certainly no one who fit the description of Henry and his clothing.
Neither the duke nor the duchess remembered more than a few faces they didn’t recognize. And no one stood out as particularly interesting, and certainly not threatening.
It solidified their belief that Henry had been following Laura.
“I think it is time I visit Westwick’s town house,” Crawford said. “Though the house has been abandoned by most of the staff, I believe there are a few servants still in residence.”
“Hasn’t someone stepped forward to claim the estate?” Simon asked. “Usually a death has family members salivating over the prospect of adding to their coffers.”
Crawford shook his head. “The inheritance has yet to be distributed. The court wants to see the matter of the murder settled before they render a ruling.”
“Do they suspect a family member in the murder?” Simon asked. “That would be an interesting twist.”
“That is unlikely. According to records, most of his family is either dead or old,” Crawford said. “There is a distant cousin who would be pleased to inherit the title, but there may be very little fortune to be gained. Westwick burned through his inheritance at a staggering pace. The barristers are still untangling his muddled financial records.”
“I would not be surprised to know Westwick was teetering on financial ruin,” Laura said. “There wasn’t anything, no matter how costly, that he wouldn’t purchase if he desired it enough.” She screwed up her face. Her stomach soured. “Perhaps he hoped to stave off creditors by selling me.”
With her emotions no longer raw, she could coldly talk about Westwick as if she were discussing a stranger. Her scars were still fading and she hoped one day not to see them every time she stood naked before a mirror.
“It’s possible,” Simon agreed. He looked softly at Laura. “You were his most valuable possession. It would have taken desperation to force him to part with you.”
A shimmer went through her as their gazes held. There were moments when his eyes fell on her that felt almost like a caress.
She tore her gaze away. “I did not feel valued.” Her hand came up to the hidden scar on her collarbone. Simon had kissed the spot with such tenderness. “Though he did consider me his possession.”
A flash of emptiness filled her eyes and was gone just as quickly. Though Simon knew Laura’s pain was fading, it would take time for her to completely recover.
The fire in his chest burned. For the thousandth time, he wished the earl were alive to take his punishment.
Crawford’s voice brought him back to the present.
“I know the address of the town house,” Crawford was telling His Grace. “I’ll go there now and see what I can find out from the servants.”
“I’ll go, too,” Simon added. He wanted to be directly involved in the investigation. Truthfully, he wanted to be the one who found this Henry. That way he could be on hand to wring his scrawny neck for what he’d done to Laura.
“I have an appointment, so I’ll leave you two to the matter.” His Grace glanced at Laura. “You are welcome to remain here until they return.”
Laura nodded pensively, her eyes brooding. Then she shook her head vigorously to clear it and stood. “You will take me, too.”
The three men stared before a heated debate began about whether she’d be at risk. Simon was adamant that she stay at Collingwood House. Laura was adamant she wouldn’t. Crawford stood back for a moment before joining the argument.
“Her personal knowledge about the house and staff could benefit us if we search the house,” Crawford said. “If Westwick had secrets, Miss Laura would be better able to flush them out. She will notice if anything is amiss.”
His Grace broke in, “Her face is well known by the servants. They could alert the Bow Street Runners.”
In the end, Laura won. “I promise to wear a bonnet, keep my face covered, and refrain from speaking. As Crawford said, I have knowledge of the household. I can help.”
Simon grumbled under his breath during the hackney ride to Cheapside, up the walkway, and to the door of Westwick’s town house. “If even one servant recognizes you, the Runners will be on your trail before the coach is halfway back to Eva’s mansion.”
“Have faith, Simon,” Laura urged. “We will conquer both the house and my demons and survive brilliantly.”
“You are taking a serious risk,” Simon whispered to her as Crawford clacked the knocker.
Laura peered out from under the bonnet brim. “I know. You have said so at least two dozen times.”
True, and it clearly didn’t matter. She was determined to return to the place of her confinement to look for clues and vanquish ghosts. Proving her innocence was more important than the unpleasant memories the house would bring.
“You can still wait in the coach,” he said.
“I think you should not worry so much or you will sour your stomach,” Laura remarked tartly. “I will be careful to avert my face. But you cannot expect me to hide away when my future and life may depend on what we find out today.”
Simon pondered her words and couldn’t fault her argument. If it was he who was in trouble, he’d feel the same.
“Remember, not only might the servants alert the Runners, but Crawford and I could face arrest for helping you if you make a misstep.”
Laura nodded. “I will be the perfect woman of mystery. Not one servant will know me. I promise.”
In spite of her declaration, his chest tightened when a grizzled old butler answered the door.
“Yes?”
Crawford introduced himself and explained the reason for his visit. He kept silent on the identities of Simon and Laura.
“This should not take long if you cooperate,” the investigator said firmly. “Round up the servants and I will conduct interviews.”
The butler drew to full height. He still couldn’t look Crawford in the eyes. “There are only four of us and we know nothing about the murder. We have no master at the moment and I cannot let you wander about the house. We are in mourning.”
Laura peeked at Hamm and bit back a smirk. She recognized the waistcoat the man was wearing. It formerly belonged to Westwick. The servants likely waited only long enough for the body to be removed before stealing what possessions they could take without rousing suspicion.
There was no mourning here.
“I did not ask for your permission, my good man,” Crawford said. “You either let us in or we will find a Bow Street Runner and let you explain how a man of your income can afford such a fine pocket watch.”
Hamm paled and his hand fell involuntarily to the watch hanging on the bob just inside his coat. His jaw worked beneath mottled skin.
Slowly, the fight left him. He said nothing as he stepped back and swung the door wide. “Excellent choice, my good man,” Crawford said. “And I never saw the watch.”
Crawford, Simon, and Laura trailed inside. She faltered as the familiar aroma of Westwick’s favorite candle scent took her aback. The candles had been imported from the Orient, and she hated the musky smell.
Simon touched her arm and barked at Hamm, “Leave us.”
The command sent the butler skittering off in the direction of the kitchen. Crawford followed.
“It is not too late to wait in the coach,” Simon said, placing a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Crawford and I can do this without you.”
For a moment she hesitated. It would be simple to accept the offer. Instead, she steeled her spine and patted his hand. “I need to face my fears. It is time to flay Westwick from my mind. There is no better place to do so than the scene of my captivity.”
Simon smiled. “You have great strength, My Lady.”
“I would hold your opinion until we have finished here,” she said, looking up the staircase. “I may yet run screaming from this house.”
He chuckled. “As long as you do so without alerting the staff to your identity, screaming is acceptable.”
Laura expelled a hard breath, looked at him askance, and straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
The house was as she remembered it—masculine décor, dark, somewhat brooding. The wallpaper was still worn and the drapes frayed. She knew Westwick had kept the town house as a place to play his vile games out of sight of society. She assumed he had a respectable residence elsewhere, though he never spoke of it to her.
She heard raised voices coming from the kitchen as Crawford questioned the servants.
His threat had hit its mark. Likely all the servants had stolen from their dead master and wouldn’t want a close inspection of their possessions. They’d tell him what they knew, if only to be rid of him.
“A silver picture frame is missing,” she said as they passed a gilt side table. “It held a painting of his mother.”
When she arrived at the library, Laura hesitated on the threshold and touched the scar on her shoulder.
“I find it fitting that he died here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “This was the room he considered his sanctuary and where he plotted most of his evil deeds.”
She stepped over the threshold. Crawford joined them.
Without Westwick to infuse evil into the room, it was almost like any other library. Dusty books lined the shelves, a large desk sat in one corner, and a rug lay before the fireplace. She jerked her eyes away from the rug, tamping down unpleasant memories.
“Laura?” Simon stepped close.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Where was he killed?”
Crawford walked to the desk. “Here.” He waited for Laura and Simon to walk over and pointed behind the desk. “The Runners report indicated that a footman found him stabbed to death behind the desk. Rumors have been buzzing about whether the servants sent for the Runners immediately, or waited an hour or two to make sure he was good and dead.”
Her mouth twitched. “I would have waited.”
She knew saying such a thing was cold and scandalous. However, she also knew the two men understood her bitterness. Though she’d kept most of the tales of suffering from Simon, and had never spoken frankly to Crawford about her past, they both knew of her abuse and wouldn’t judge her for speaking frankly.
“There are bloody patches on the rug.” Crawford stepped around the desk. Simon followed. “His last moments were gruesome.”
Laura left them to examine the spot, for in spite of her relief that Westwick would no longer haunt her, she didn’t want to see the blood. She wandered around the room, looking for anything out of place.
“You don’t really think the killer left clues to his identity here, do you?” she asked. She touched the books, knowing the earl never read. The books were more to give the impression of a learned man than to actually teach him anything useful.
“Probably not,” Simon answered. “Whatever clues were present were carted off by the Runners.”
Crawford agreed, “We will probably find nothing. However, I’d like to get a greater understanding of the man.”
“Knowing he was evil isn’t enough?” Laura quipped dryly.
The investigator smiled. “Not if we are to add to our suspect list.” He claimed a pen and parchment from the desk and opened the inkwell. “According to the butler, Hamm, Westwick had shady business dealings that angered investors. Several had come here to confront the earl. We will also add abused former lovers. Perhaps even one of the maids got tired of his tyranny and killed him. We cannot discover the truth without first looking in all the corners of his wicked life.”
The pen scratched across the page as Crawford made notes.
Laura touched a book and nodded. “There will not be enough hours in your day to investigate all the people he wronged. Westwick was a vile man. The list must be endless.”
“Hamm should be willing to help me trim the list.”
After a thorough examination of the books, Laura wandered into the hallway, leaving the men to their investigation of the contents of the desk. A maid poked her head out of the parlor, saw Laura, and skittered back inside. Laura kept her head down as she walked up the stairs and trudged toward Westwick’s room. Once outside, she took a few deep breaths before pushing the door open.
The first thing she noticed was that the sheets and coverlet were askew. The second was that her stomach rolled as she stared at the large bed. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door frame, willing herself to be strong. She’d once suffered his attentions in that bed with stoic silence and passionless dread. Not once, in all the time she’d spent in this room, had she felt anything other than revulsion in his arms.
Thankfully, that was over. This was just a room like any other master’s chamber, large and ornately decorated.
Striding purposefully inside, she began a search of the room. She peered in every drawer, inside the wardrobe, beneath the mattress, looking for anything that might lead to the reason behind the killing.
There was very little to find: clothing, boots, and a few drawings of naked women hidden in a rosewood work box. She ran her hands beneath the mattress, discovering a pair of loaded pistols. She smiled wickedly. If only she’d known of their presence sooner, it would have saved her much aggravation.
“There you are.” Simon arrived as she laid the pistols on the bed. “I was concerned that you had gotten into trouble.”
Simon moved to the bed and lifted the pistols. He examined them. “These are fine, indeed. You should take them.”
Laura frowned. “What will I do with them?”
He handed them to her. “Sell them, keep them, use them to deter Henry from threatening you; you decide. The earl owes you more than he can ever repay. And since the servants have likely stolen all of the household monies, you should take these. They have some value.”
She considered his argument, then slipped them into her pockets. The pair bumped against her legs. She scrunched up her face, her eyes dancing. Without another word, she walked to the fireplace, where a statue of an elephant sat—an ugly and distorted artist’s rendering of a magnificent creature.
“I’ve always hated this thing.” She held it up. It was small but weighty. “Westwick boasted that it was made of pure gold. It should go far to finance my new life.” Her mouth twitched. “Suddenly, I find it a beautiful piece.”
Simon chuckled as she clutched it to her breast.
“Take whatever you like,” he said. “Burn down the house. Westwick is gone. Who will care?”
Laura’s heart lightened. “I think the elephant will suit me well enough. It can help me pay Crawford’s fee.” She shot him a knowing look. He grinned. “Thank you for making yourself an accomplice to my thievery.”
“What else would I be?” He was rewarded with a grin. “If you’d like, we can stuff the coach full of stolen goods. The servants are already fearful of arrest. They will not protest.”
She shook her head, amused. “I think I shall settle for the pistols and elephant.”
Leading him into the hallway, she headed for the staircase. “I have had enough of this house to last my lifetime. I would like to leave now.”
Simon went to fetch Crawford. The investigator had learned nothing about Westwick to whittle the list down to a firm suspect. As they walked to the coach, Crawford explained that the volume of men and women who hated the earl was endless.
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