A Simple Case of Seduction

by Adele Clee

  “Must you go in there alone?” Mrs Chambers blurted. Her breath came a little quicker. The visible pulse in her neck and her overly bright eyes conveyed fear for his safety. “Can you not take Bostock with you?”

  Other than Bostock, no one else cared if he lived or died — not until now.

  Without thought, and much to Bostock’s surprise, he took hold of Mrs Chambers’ hand and gripped it tight. “Bostock must remain with you. I’ve worked the streets for years. No harm shall come to me here.”

  The urge to kiss away her fears took hold.

  Bloody hell!

  Only one person had the ability to hurt him, yet the lady had no clue as to the power she possessed.

  “If you have any regard for my welfare, stay in the carriage,” he reiterated before opening the door and jumping to the pavement. He waited for Bostock to slam the door shut and then made his way into the inn.

  Unlike the air of unruliness out on the street, inside the atmosphere was more subdued. The small, select crowd sat around on crude wooden benches listening to a one-armed man sing a sailor’s ballad about riding the rough seas.

  As always, the Turner brothers were seated at the round table in the far corner of the room, slightly obscured by a thick, swirling mist of tobacco smoke. Daniel introduced himself to the man blocking his path, a scrawny fellow with a scar running from forehead to cheek. The man glanced behind, received a nod from both brothers and allowed Daniel to pass.

  “I trust you received my note.” Daniel had paid the errand boy triple the usual fee in the hope of it reaching the brothers promptly. Only one of them could read, but a man was wise not to draw attention to the fact.

  “So you want to talk to the landlord of The Mariners,” the brother with small lifeless eyes and an oval head said. Some people were known to take on the characteristics of their beloved pets. This brother — no one knew their given names — had a bull terrier who’d bite you before raising a bark.

  “As I stated in my note, my friend, Thomas Chambers, drowned in the Thames three years ago. He frequented The Mariners, though I suspect purely on matters of business. New evidence leads me to believe his death was not an accident and so I hoped the landlord would answer a few questions about the night in question.”

  There was little point lying to these men. In the criminal underworld, relationships were based on trust.

  “And if the landlord knows something but never spoke up?” The brother with golden hair and angelic blue eyes — the far more dangerous of the two — smiled. “You’d be asking him to betray his kin.”

  Daniel shook his head. “I do not see how. If it’s a simple case of a mugging gone wrong, then I have no hope of proving it in a court of law. Any information the landlord imparts can be denied.”

  “And if you discover your friend was murdered?”

  “Again, any information given can be refuted. The truth is all I seek.” And a means to protect the only person who mattered to him. “You have my word that I will not involve the authorities. But if need be, if matters become complicated, I may have no choice but to take a life to save my own.”

  The brothers turned away, their heads but an inch apart as they conducted a hushed conversation. Daniel stood patiently and waited. His success as an enquiry agent depended upon knowing when to fight for a cause and when to show restraint and patience.

  “Every man ‘as a right to defend ‘imself,” the ugly brother eventually said. “And we understand the need to punish them as wronged you.”

  “And you did us a great service we can’t ignore.” The pretty brother gritted his teeth. “That bastard Mackenzie got what was coming to him never you fear.” He shook his head, his angry expression suddenly masked by a calm facade. “But you don’t need to meet with the landlord.”

  Daniel cursed inwardly.

  To go against the brothers’ wishes would be an act of lunacy. But keeping Daphne Chambers safe was his priority and definitely worth risking their wrath. He’d visit The Mariners and accept the consequences.

  “Then I must respect your decision.” Daniel inclined his head though wanted to knock what was left of their teeth down their throats.

  “You don’t need to speak to the landlord,” the angel repeated, “because we’ve done it for you. Never let it be said that the Turners don’t reward loyalty.”

  “Or pay their dues,” the other brother added.

  “You’ve spoken to him about Thomas Chambers?”

  “If that’s the name on the note, then yes. It’s been a long time, but Jim remembers those patrons with quality. It’s not often he’s asked to open his best bottle of port. He remembers talk of the tragedy. Your man was a nabob with a golden mop and a beak of a nose?”

  Daniel nodded. The beak he referred to was the mark of many an aristocrat. “What did the landlord say?”

  They beckoned him closer. “Your man met the same woman there every month or so.”

  Daniel’s throat tightened at the thought of telling Daphne her beloved husband had been unfaithful. Anger flared. Thomas was a bloody idiot for entertaining another woman when he had a gem like Daphne at home.

  “When you say Thomas Chambers spent time with a woman are you speaking of the working kind?” The service must have been exceptional to account for the regular visits.

  The brothers sniggered. “The beauty’s particular about who she takes to her bed, Jim said. Seems she prefers sailors and the like to men of quality.”

  “Does the landlord know her name?” If she still worked the docks, there was every chance they’d find her. But three years was a long time in the life of a whore. There was every chance she’d caught the pox or been transported for theft. On average two hundred criminals a month were shipped out to New South Wales.

  “They say she goes by the name Lily Lawson.” The brother puffed on an expensive cigar and blew the smoke in Daniel’s direction. “The Carron is due in tomorrow. Lily’s always hangin’ about when the Carron docks. Can’t promise you’ll find her though. Course, your man Thomas travelled back and forth to France on the Carron many times according to Jim.”

  What business did Thomas have in France? His income came from land not trade.

  Daphne was right. Had this information been available three years ago, Daniel would have investigated the matter thoroughly.

  “One more thing before you leave, Thorpe.” The pretty brother stood, the chair legs scraping against the floor. He sauntered over, and Daniel tensed his stomach muscles expecting a swift blow. The Turners were fair men but often needed to prove a point. “Does that make us even for you givin’ us Mackenzie?”

  “You owed me nothing for Mackenzie.”

  The brother chuckled, his pleasant countenance spoiled by the sight of rotten teeth. He slapped Daniel on the upper arm and glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you see where intelligence gets you. Had he said anythin’ different he’d ‘ave left empty-handed.” He turned back and gripped Daniel’s shoulders. “Word is there’s a pretty price on your head, Thorpe. Someone wants rid of you and quick.”

  Bloody hell!

  As if he didn’t have enough problems to deal with. But it wasn’t the first time someone sought retribution.

  Daniel steeled himself. “There’s always a price on my head.” Trading information had saved him from many a scrape and scuffle.

  “We’ve spread the word you're one of ours. Never let it be said the Turners don’t look out for their friends.”

  “Then you have my gratitude.” Daniel gave a curt nod though he knew the brothers’ support came at a price. “And my loyalty should I hear any news that might be of interest.”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d say.” The pretty brother exhaled, his sickly sweet breath evidence of a liking for strong spirits. “Now as Jim doesn’t know where this Lily lives, you’ve no choice but to watch The Mariners. Jim’ll give you the nod when he sees her, but we swore there’d be no trouble. See as you keep to our bargain.”

  “Yo
u have my word.” Daniel stepped back and inclined his head. To linger would be a mistake. “Thank you. Allow me to wish you both a pleasant evening.”

  “I expect it will be pleasant as long as you keep your head,” the pretty brother said. “I’ll escort you to the door. Wouldn’t want you to have an accident on the premises.” The scrawny guard stepped aside to let them pass.

  As they reached the door, Turner tapped him on the arm. “You know the Carron picks up supplies from the chandler whenever she docks. Always interesting stuff to be found there.”

  All ships restocked their supplies once they reached port. The fact he mentioned the obvious made it a point of interest. As did the fact he mentioned it out of earshot of his brother.

  “I hear some of them shops have rooms to rent,” Turner continued.

  “Then I’ll bear it in mind when I visit the docks.”

  “Bear it in mind should you ever have to choose a favourite brother.” Turner gave a toothless grin, turned on his heels and marched back to his corner.

  Once outside, Daniel sucked in a breath for the thick smoke still clung to his throat. Rapid blinking was the only way to soothe his dry eyes. Squinting in the gloom, he noted Murphy parked a little further along the street.

  Turner’s words echoed in his ears as he strode along the pavement. So Lily rented a room above the ship chandler. It would be a damn sight easier to apprehend her there than at the docks. The visit to the Turners had proved productive and saved them hours of work.

  Yet one pressing problem remained. How would he tell Daphne that her husband sought more than cheap ale on his visits to The Mariners Tavern?

  Chapter 10

  The news that the Turners had provided the information necessary to proceed with their investigation — and so there was no need to interrogate the landlord of The Mariners — brought a pang of disappointment.

  Daphne sighed

  Not that she wanted to sneak around the filthy docks at night, or jostle with drunken sailors. But the need to discover the truth surrounding Thomas’ death burned in her chest, now more than ever.

  Since leaving The Compass Inn, Thorpe had said little, other than insist they all return to the modiste shop despite the late hour. Shoulders hunched, he stared out of the carriage window, tugging and reshaping his beard while contemplating heaven knows what. When they reached New Bond Street, he hung back in the shadows and scoured the street with keen eyes before following her into the house.

  Perhaps he’d discovered something unsavoury and had important information to impart but required privacy to do so.

  Perhaps the near fatal accident with the cart in Covent Garden — an event Daphne banished from her mind every time the memory surfaced — gave him serious cause for concern and so he planned to act as her chaperone, planned to stay the night.

  The muscles in her core pulsed at the thought of seeing his huge frame sprawled in her bed. Daphne shook her head. Why on earth had she pictured such a thing? Why had her body reacted instantly?

  Three years spent alone had taken its toll. But, truth be told, Daphne had been lonely long before that. Her father’s death left a hole in her heart that Thomas failed to fill. A marriage needed more than respect and friendship to satisfy on a deeper level. Consequently, the physical aspects proved awkward, unfulfilling.

  So why did she feel a spark of desire in Mr Thorpe’s company? Was their relationship not based on respect and friendship too?

  A growl emanated from Thorpe’s stomach as he removed his greatcoat and hung it on the coat stand next to the parlour door.

  “Heavens, you’ve not eaten all day,” Daphne said, grateful for the distraction. They had been so preoccupied with gathering information they’d not considered food. “Well, you’ve had nothing during the time we’ve been together.”

  “I find I have no appetite when working.”

  Mr Bostock tutted. “It's important to keep up your strength. A man can’t think straight when he’s hungry.”

  Thorpe snorted. “It’s not as though those eager for revenge will lure me into a dark alley with the promise of a meat pie.”

  The mere mention of food roused a grumble from Daphne’s stomach too. “Betsy usually leaves something for me in the kitchen if I’ve been working late.” Indeed, the delicious smell of cooked root vegetables wafted up from downstairs. “I’m sure there’ll be enough for us all.”

  “There’s no need to feed me, Mrs Chambers,” Mr Bostock said. “I’ve already eaten. The Cock serves the tastiest beef stew and dumplings for miles around.”

  Judging by the width of the man’s neck, it looked as though he’d swallowed a whole hock of beef.

  A loud thud on the door brought Betsy, her hands wrapped in towels as she carried an iron pot. “Sorry, I had no means of knocking and had to hit the door with my foot.” Betsy’s gaze turned indifferent as it drifted over Mr Thorpe. But her expression brightened as she scanned Mr Bostock’s towering frame.

  Thorpe’s associate rushed forward to offer assistance. “Let me help you with that.”

  “There’s a trivet under my arm.” Betsy jerked her head towards her right shoulder. “If you could put it on the table that would help.”

  Measuring over a foot taller than Betsy, the man’s red face revealed his embarrassment at manoeuvring his large hand around her slight frame. In spite of Mr Bostock’s robust appearance, the fellow was timid around the fairer sex, more a gentle giant than an ogre.

  “You’ve been out most of the day,” Betsy said, placing the heavy pot on the metal stand. “Knowing you, food will have been the last thing on your mind.”

  Thorpe inhaled deeply and gave a satisfied sigh when Betsy removed the lid and the mouth-watering smell filled the room.

  “There’s plenty of stew to go around.” Betsy brushed her hands down her skirt and moved towards the door. “I’ll just nip to the kitchen and fetch the bread.”

  “I’ll come and help,” Mr Bostock said.

  Betsy’s gaze travelled over the man’s broad chest. “If you want to,” she said with a coy shrug.

  “Before you go.” Thorpe cleared his throat. “Did you have any visitors this afternoon?”

  “Visitors?” Betsy glanced at the ceiling as she considered the question. “Well, Mrs Crowther came for her four o’clock fitting, and Mr Johnson delivered a box of threads.” Betsy pursed her lips. “Oh, and a gentleman called and gave me ten pounds to pay for the repair to the window. But I’m sure you knew that already.”

  “Ten pounds?” Thorpe rubbed his chin. “Is that not a little steep?”

  Betsy shrugged. “He said it was for the inconvenience.”

  “I see.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence.

  Through a series of odd facial expressions, Daphne reminded her friend that Mr Thorpe deserved recognition for the return of the stolen gowns. And for solving the crime of the broken window.

  Betsy pursed her lips. “You have my thanks, sir, for bringing the matter to a swift conclusion. Although I’ll not be able to sell Miss Cartwright’s gown, I can reuse the material. I sent word to Mrs Armstrong-Clarke this afternoon, and she is happy to take receipt of the mourning dress.”

  Thorpe’s expression remained impassive. “And I trust you feel more at ease here at home. A lady’s safety is always a priority.”

  He glanced at Daphne. Strength radiated from every fibre of his being. She wondered if touching him would be akin to caressing the marble statues one found at the museum. Would he respond as her fingers slid over the muscled contours? Or would he be as cold and detached as those lifeless classical figures?

  “Well, the stew will be cold before you’ve taken a mouthful?” Betsy opened the parlour door and jerked her head to Mr Bostock. “We’d best go and get the bread.”

  The couple left the room and closed the door.

  Left alone, the surrounding air in the parlour thrummed with nervous tension. It was not her imagination. Mr Thorpe looked about the room, at
the empty grate, at the pot of stew on the table, at anything to avoid catching her eye.

  There was something he wished to say, but it was not like him to be hesitant.

  “While you made it clear there was no point questioning the landlord, you failed to mention what you learned from the Turners.” Daphne watched him intently, in the hope his reaction would reveal something of his inner thoughts. “From your solemn mood, am I to understand it was not good news?”

  Thorpe gestured to the chair. “May I sit?”

  “Of course.”

  He waited for Daphne to sit in the chair opposite before dropping into his seat. The wooden legs creaked under the pressure.

  “As you rightly said, a gentleman of Thomas’ status must have had a reason to drink in a lowly tavern like The Mariners.” Thorpe shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “The quality of his bloodline did not go unnoticed. The landlord recalls his visits clearly. The nature of Thomas’ death, coupled with his aristocratic breeding, make him an easy man to remember.”

  Thorpe had never looked so anxious, so uneasy. “Did the landlord share any insight as to why Thomas might have been there? Was he to meet with someone?”

  Thorpe dragged his hand down his face. “You’re acquainted enough with my methods to know I speak my mind. Before I reveal what I discovered, I want to tell you that while the truth is often painful to hear, the heart is happier for it in the end.”

  Daphne shuffled to the edge of the chair. “Thomas has been dead three years. The passage of time lessens the blow, makes the truth more bearable. Whatever you have to say, do not spare my feelings.”

  An uncomfortable silence ensued.

  “Thomas met a woman at The Mariners. It was a regular arrangement by all accounts.” He sucked in a breath, his broad chest expanding before her eyes. “As to the reason for their business, no one knows.”

  Daphne chuckled albeit weakly. There were few possibilities to account for Thomas’ actions. “There are only a handful of reasons why a man of his quality would spend time slumming at the docks. Smuggling, spying, and seducing tavern wenches. One thing I can say with certainty is that Thomas was not a criminal. Whatever he was doing there had to be legitimate.”