“Both, I suspect,” he’d said. “Do you mind?”
“I’ve having too much fun to mind,” she’d answered.
“Don’t get used to it,” he’d told her, “It will stop when they see my heart is pure.”
She’d laughed in delight.
But even so, he’d felt a twinge of discomfort. “Does the prospect of scandal bother you?”
“It might,” she’d admitted, “if I stayed here. No. Not even then. My friends would know the truth, and that’s all I care about.”
He’d been pleased by her answer while secretly amazed at her candor, and against all expectation, found himself worrying about her reputation. He should have known then. When had he worried about anything but his own business? Even so, it had been a waste of time. He’d been worrying about her reputation, never realizing he’d have to worry about her very life.
He drew a painful breath as he stared at the house he’d soon have to enter. If he had to sell his soul to protect her, he would. He couldn’t begin to understand the force of his feelings, emotions that had been building for weeks, and they came to him in a torrent, blinding him to his own personal danger.
Danger? What danger? he mocked himself. Danger of his life? No. Only that he wouldn’t get to throw their defeat in their faces. He’d finish them off anyway…
But what if the bargain they made was that he couldn’t?
He’d agree, if he had to, he knew, feeling his heart grow heavier. He stared at the door, knowing he’d soon have to walk in and beg from his father’s murderers. Because they’d slain his father as surely as if they’d used their own hands instead of forcing him to use his own.
Alasdair tried to assume an expression that might be cold and bland enough to deceive them. He was a master of deception, but it wasn’t easy. He hadn’t felt pain in so long. Now it threatened to unman him, because now he’d have to beg and bargain with his father’s murderers and his own despoilers. Because they’d stripped honor and decency from his life just as surely as they’d destroyed his father.
He had to do it. For Kate and for himself, if he was ever to live easy in his own mind again. Since when had he worried about living easy in his own mind? He marveled at the power of his newfound emotions, and in that moment almost hated her for forcing him to this. But he had to save her though it meant he’d lose his heart’s desire—both of them. Surely once he’d contracted with them he’d lose Kate, too. Of course they’d tell her all.
He had no choice.
He stood and stared at the gray house like a man preparing to go to his hanging. Just so, he told himself, and so it could be done with style and grace. Condemned men did it every week in London, walking to their deaths with devil-may-care smiles on their faces. If they refused to embarrass themselves before the crowd come to see how gallantly they could die, so could he. He had only to blind that inner eye of his, kill his emotions, freeze his blood and numb his expression so they couldn’t guess how much it took for him not to scream. They must never guess how much it cost to swallow injustice, hatred, and pain, and meekly submit to them.
He could. He’d done it before. He could again. He must.
He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the sound of someone running up to him until the fellow gasped, “Sir Alasdair? Sir? There’s a message for you!”
Alasdair spun around and saw his footman, Paris, panting from exertion, holding out a crumpled paper to him. He took the paper and read it rapidly. “Who delivered this?” he asked harshly.
“A lad who turned and ran the second he gave it into Hoskins’ hand. I was sent to find you and show it to you as soon as I could. I’ve been looking for an hour, sir. I was on my way to Lord Leigh’s again, when I just happened to see you.”
“You’ve done well. Now go home. I’ll be back within the hour.”
“Do you have any need of me, sir?” Paris asked hopefully.
Half the household must have read the note, Alasdair realized. They’d scented danger, why else would they send a strapping footman running to him, instead of one of the boys who’d been hired on for just such work?
“Not at the moment,” he told his eager footman. “Thank you anyway. Now, go and have everything ready should I need to set out immediately after I get back.” If I get back, he thought as Paris ducked his head in a bow, before he ran back the way he’d come.
Alasdair read the note again, as relieved as alarmed. It only told him where to go to discover more information. Considering the source, it might be a false claim. But it could come to something. He was momentarily reprieved. He didn’t have to plead to the Scalbys yet. They weren’t mentioned. And he had a clear course of action to take.
Alasdair turned and strode away, his long legs carrying him away from the tall gray house, his thoughts keeping pace with his wildly racing heart.
And so he never saw the parted curtain in a high window of the town house slowly drop back when he was at last out of sight.
19
The tavern was dark inside, even at midday. The smoke and haze never cleared, which was one of the place’s attractions. A man could find never-ending night somewhere outside of death there—but not that far from it either. Alasdair ducked in from the street and strode inside, causing sudden silence as all the denizens of the place eyed him. He scanned every dark corner, looking for the man he sought.
But he wasn’t there this time, nor was his giant bodyguard.
Alasdair went to the tap. “Where’s Lolly?” he asked the barkeep without preamble.
“Gone,” the barkeep said.
“So I’ve heard, but not from me,” Alasdair said in a grim voice, putting the rumpled paper on the scratched and dented counter. “I’ve a message from him, asking me to meet him here.”
The barkeep glanced down at the paper nervously. “Mebbe,” he said. “But he ain’t here to say no more. And that’s truth!” he protested quickly when he saw the look in his inquisitor’s dark and angry eyes. “Look. You could ask Rosie, but I don’t know who else could answer you—would answer you, now.”
“Rosie?” Alasdair asked impatiently.
“My dear sir,” a hoarse voice interrupted.
The barkeep, freed from Alasdair’s glowering gaze, slipped away.
Alasdair turned to see a mild-looking man of middle years smiling at him. The fellow was bland, dressed in neat ordinary clothing, and had thinning hair and forgettable features. He looked like a second clerk in an inferior countinghouse.
“May I be of some help to you?” the man asked.
“If you can produce Lolly, then yes,” Alasdair said. “I’ve come in answer to his summons.”
The man shook his head. “Summons? He summoned you, sir? The very thing that was poor Lolly’s downfall,” he said sadly. “Presumption. He assumed far too much and presumed even more. How like him to have acted with such effrontery to a gentleman such as yourself.”
Alasdair frowned. “You speak in past tense?”
“Oh, indeed I do. It’s impossible for you or anyone else to speak to him now. Unless you are of divine origin. Lolly is off somewhere troubling the angels now. Or their counterparts, below.”
“And you know this for a certainty?” Alasdair demanded.
The man didn’t back away from that murderous glare. “I know this because I witnessed the end of poor Lolly’s reign,” he said softly. “One might say I precipitated it. But please, never quote me, for I’d deny it—vigorously.”
Alasdair studied him. The fellow was too bland, too cool, too forgettable. He’d met such men before. They were good at what they did, and what they did didn’t bear studying too closely. Gang leaders in this district came and went. The only unusual thing about the business was the quality of the man who had obviously replaced Lolly. “Would you know anything about this?” Alasdair asked him, handing over the note.
The man scanned it, then gave it back. “Yes. A little, I think. You are Sir Alasdair?” At Alasdair’s terse nod, the ma
n bowed.
“Honored to meet you, sir, if under unfortunate circumstances. It may be I could discover more about this message, given the proper encouragement. Would you care to join me and discuss it?” he added, indicating a table in the rear. “I am Mr. Rose, but my associates call me Rosie.
“Had I known what Lolly was about in this instance, I’d certainly have delayed…the matter of his leaving,” Rosie said as he settled in his chair at the table. “He was indeed, cut off in the fullness of his sins. But,” he added, “that doesn’t mean that with time and effort I can’t discover all…for a fee, of course.”
Alasdair looked at him with scorn. Before he could rise from the table again, Rosie added, his mild expression belying the sharp look in his colorless eyes. “I don’t speak in vain, sir. I’ve taken over all of Lolly’s obligations, so to speak. I have only to call in certain informants to know more.”
“And you’ll find out that quickly and easily?” Alasdair asked bitterly.
“No. But I have a good chance to discover all, if only because it’s such an unusual crime, sir. You may not believe it, but it’s not in our line. It’s far too dangerous. Snatching gentry morts isn’t our usual business down here. There are too many other ways to make money than meddling in the gentry’s affairs. All of you are intimately related to the law in one way or another, if not the throne itself. We may relieve you of your watches, purses, and the odd jewel or two, but not your friends or family. Trouble the rich unduly? I should think not. That way lies Newgate, the topping cheat, or a one-way passage to the Antipodes.
“Everyone knows about your altercation with Lolly the other night, Sir Alasdair. It was one of the things that alerted me to the fact that poor Lolly was reaching too high and too far, and not paying attention to business. Personal feelings don’t put bread on the table. Vendettas can be undertaken only with persons of similar rank. It’s too costly otherwise, and our business is money, and with the least amount of risk. It’s hard enough to fork a purse or fence a handkerchief, and both actions, though trivial, can cost a man his life. Taking a daughter of the gentry is simple suicide.
“Now, if Lolly was accountable for this, Sir Alasdair—and I don’t know if he was, no matter what his note says—because he’d want to bedevil you whether he was responsible or not, wouldn’t he? It might be that he did it, or it just might be that this was too good an opportunity to vex you for him to pass up. We heard about the matter almost as soon as you did, and everyone claims not to know a thing—although I’m certain I’d find out more if I were given encouragement,” he added with a thin smile.
“But if it was Lolly’s doing, then it looks like he was acting out of personal spite in this matter as much—or more—as for the gelt,” Rosie continued, lapsing into thieves’ argot. “Another mistake. Business should be purely business. And so rest easy, my dear sir, because since others involved in our trade also subscribe to that notion, I doubt the young woman has met with any harm—if she was taken at Lolly’s command, and is being held awaiting his instructions. Which shall never come now. But I can take over the matter and settle it to your satisfaction, if you like.”
Alasdair stared at him, weighing him. “If she was taken at Lolly’s command,” he repeated.
“Yes. And even if not, because I’ll make every effort to find her, and that will be considerable. I don’t intend to cheat you, sir. You have a certain reputation too, Sir Alasdair,” Rosie said. “You’re a dangerous man and a wily one. So I assure you that if she’s discovered by your efforts before I can find and deliver her to you, I will, of course, issue a refund.”
He paused, for the first time searching for words, his gaze wandering the room as he did. Then he leaned forward, fixing Alasdair with a steady look. “I ask only that if I’m wrong, and she has come to grief, that I not be held accountable for it, because it would not be a thing of my design or making. My men will not harm a hair on her head, I promise you.”
Alasdair nodded. “Then we have an agreement. But you must know that I pay for information as well as for action, and just as handsomely. So since you’ll have nothing to lose either way, tell me, do you have any idea of who is responsible?”
“Did I, Sir Alasdair,” Rosie said sincerely, “I’d have had your money in my pocket a half hour ago.”
Leigh watched Alasdair take another turn around his study, noting his friend’s clenched fists, disordered hair, and burning eyes. “Alasdair,” he finally said, “we’ve got everyone we know looking for her, as well as Bow Street. Now you’ve got this evil Rosie person, too, and he must have his hordes of villains searching for her. So don’t tear yourself apart. It can’t do her any good.”
“Tell me what can,” Alasdair asked bitterly.
“Luck, I suppose. A warning from this Rosie person to the ones who abducted her. And good sense coming to her kidnappers, even if they don’t get that word.”
“Luck,” Alasdair said with a grim smile, “warnings, and good sense. Kate has been stolen away, Leigh. Stolen and likely imprisoned and God knows what else as well. All on a fine summer’s day, while she thought she was going to meet me! That eats away at me like acid, I can’t think straight when I remember that. She got into that coach believing I’d be at the door when it stopped again. I don’t want to imagine what she found instead. And I can’t stop doing it.”
He looked at his friend with rage and pain. “She was abducted by God knows who, and only God knows where she is and what’s happened to her. The thing’s all over town now, too. Everyone knows, so her reputation will suffer even if she hasn’t.” His face grew darker and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’d like to knock their gossiping heads together. It’s madness how a woman’s honor doesn’t depend on her actions, but by what Fate does to her. Madness and cruelty. I never realized it.
“Leigh,” he said, his eyes stark, “bedamned to that. The thought of what she might be suffering is near killing me. And it’s my damned fault, and I can’t do a damned thing about it!”
“Sir Alasdair?” his butler said from the doorway. “Mr. Frederick Loach is here to see you. Will you receive him?”
“Frederick, here?” Alasdair asked, looking up. “In the open? Then he has news. Show him in!”
The Honorable Frederick Loach stepped into Alasdair’s study tentatively, letting his walking stick feel the way before him like a blind man worried about obstacles. “Good afternoon, Sir Alasdair,” he said nervously. He slid a glance at Leigh but gave Alasdair his full attention. “I came here only because I thought it would be faster than asking you to meet me and…”
“Yes, yes,” Alasdair said impatiently. “What news?”
Frederick shot another glance at Leigh.
“Lord Leigh has my full confidence, and so should have yours,” Alasdair said, “get on with it.”
“Miss Corbet was taken by a man in the employ of one Lolly Lou, a low villain from the slums,” Frederick reported breathlessly. “I’ve been told you know this Lolly person and in fact were angry at him. It’s thought that revenge for your humiliating him was his motive for stealing Miss Corbet away, since it’s been noted you’ve been paying particular attention to her lately.”
Alasdair didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes obviously terrified Frederick.
“I don’t usually come to people’s homes, it’s not a good idea for a man in my position,” Frederick began to babble. “Secrecy’s my hallmark, discretion is my byword, I keep myself least in sight for good reason. Talk about how I earn a few coins here and there isn’t good for me, not for my occasional business, nor for my health, if you get my intimation. Because there are people who might be angry with me, but I had to let you know and…”
Alasdair lowered his head but raised a hand, like a referee signaling defeat. “Have done, I know. Thank you,” he said. “Is there anything more?”
“No,” Frederick said sadly.
Alasdair suddenly looked up. “At least have you heard who this man Lolly em
ployed may be? Or any word of where he is? Where she is?”
“No,” Frederick said eagerly, “but I’ve irons in the fire, I’ve people listening, and as soon as I know, you shall!”
“Yes, thank you,” Alasdair said, the fire in his eyes quenched. He dug in his pocket, withdrew a wallet, and handed Frederick a wad of banknotes so thick that Leigh’s eyes widened.
“You have to pay your informants,” Alasdair told Frederick. “This should take care of it, and you. I also know it’s not good for you to be seen coming from wherever you’ve been and going straight to my house, so I thank you, and will understand if you must leave at once.”
Frederick looked at the stack of bills in awe before taking them and thrusting them into his jacket. He bowed low. “Thank you for understanding my haste to be gone. I’ll keep you informed,” he added, turned, and hurried away.
“You paid him that much for news you had already guessed?” Leigh asked when he’d gone.
“But he didn’t know that. Coming here was a brave act, for him,” Alasdair said bleakly. He gazed out the windows that looked out on the street. The afternoon was growing darker than it should have been. “He frittered away his fortune, now he has to sell gossip in order to live. A man can only do what he’s capable of, and if he tries to do more, he ought to be rewarded. A storm is coming,” he noted absently.
A freshening wind was beginning to paw at the leaves on the trees outside. The sky was filling with fat black clouds, growing so suddenly dark it gave the pavements and buildings an eerie silvery look. Pedestrians were quickening their pace, with a late-afternoon thunderstorm clearly on its way.
“I must be going,” Alasdair said dully, “if I want to miss the rain. It looks like it will keep on through the night.”
“Where are you going,” Leigh asked, though his friend’s expression showed him the answer too well.
Edith Layton Page 23