He was an average-looking sort, of middle years, whose pallor seemed to indicate some sort of ailment was part of his lot in life. “You are Lady Russell’s companion, I think,” he said with a smile. “I am your neighbor on Henrietta Street. Mr. Giles Corey.”
Georgie realized then that she’d seen him on their street. “Of course,” she said with a smile. “I’m Mrs. Georgina Mowbray, though I suppose you already know that.”
“I do indeed,” he said with a nod. “I had thought to meet you sooner, but I’ve been holed up in my house with the exception of the lending library this past week. This bad chest of mine strikes at the most inopportune moments.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Georgie said, thinking that his attitude was much more positive than hers would be under similar circumstances. “Do you find that the waters help?”
He shrugged. “I can’t really say that they make much of a difference. I think I’m going to have to remove to Italy or Greece in the next month or so. England’s climate is decidedly unhealthy for those with lungs as bad as mine are.”
Georgie was about to voice her sadness to lose him to the Continent, when Mr. Corey’s expression turned serious. “I am glad to have come across you here, Mrs. Mowbray, because I wonder if you might know anything about a man I’ve seen of late lurking in the mews behind our row of houses.”
All thoughts of trivialities fled as Georgie took in her neighbor’s demeanor. “You’ve seen someone in the garden too?” she asked, trying not to let her excitement show in her voice.
Mr. Corey nodded. “I have,” he said. “I thought perhaps you might know him since he seems to be standing there at the behest of someone in your household.”
“Why would you think that?” Georgie asked, surprised that he would think Robert’s look-alike was there at the behest of someone in Lady Russell’s household.
“Oh, I simply assumed,” Mr. Corey said quickly, “that since he ended up in your back garden that he was there guarding the house or something.”
At Georgie’s puzzled look, he went on. “I wanted to know if you could ask the fellow to stop trampling my herbs. Or rather my cook’s herbs. She’s the most pleasant woman imaginable but when her garden is trampled she’s nigh impossible to live with.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know who the man is, Mr. Corey,” Georgina said. “But do you perhaps know whether he is there every evening or just some evenings? Is there a pattern to it, I mean.”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Corey said with enthusiasm. “He’s out there every night. Without fail. I should go out there and ask him to give off stomping on my cook’s herbs myself, but I am in poor health, you see.”
Georgie interpreted this to mean that he was afraid. Which she did not blame him for in the least. Of course a strange man in his garden frightened him.
Thanking Mr. Corey and promising that she’d do her best to see that the damage to Mr. Corey’s garden came to an end, she hurried over to where Lady Russell chatted with her friends.
* * *
While Georgina and his aunt and cousin were at the Pump Room, Con visited the office of the magistrate for Bath and its surrounding area. Before leaving the theater last night, he’d informed the manager of the dead man’s presence, and true to the adage “the show must go on,” the man had waited until the performance was over and all the theatergoers were gone before contacting the authorities. Now, however, the investigator was determined to learn whatever he could from Con.
When he’d been shown into the man’s office, Con had expected that he’d be speaking with someone a bit older than the man before him. In his early thirties, Michael McGilloway was as thin as a rail and his neck hardly looked strong enough to hold up the large whiskers he sported, much less the ears that protruded from either side of his head.
“Tell me again just what you were doing on the roof of the theater?” Mr. McGilloway asked, his sizable mustache quivering from the force of his question.
Trying to maintain his patience, Con repeated the answer to the same question he’d already been asked twice. “Mrs. Mowbray and I were searching for the man who has been stalking her. Since he disappeared into the corridor with the stairwell in it, we guessed that if he hadn’t left the building he had to have gone onto the roof.”
He had hoped to simply inform the man that he and Georgina were available for questions should they arise. As an earl, he was unaccustomed to having his word as a gentleman questioned, but the fact that this man kept asking the same questions again and again implied that that’s just what he was doing.
“Who is this Mrs. Mowbray to you, my lord?” the investigator asked, leaning back in his chair. “Is she your mistress that you would disappear with her into a darkened corridor?”
While he was already annoyed, the man’s disparagement of Georgie’s good name sent Con’s temper from a simmer to boiling. “Watch your tongue, man,” he said through clenched teeth. “Mrs. Mowbray is a lady and a friend of the family and if you value your position you will speak of her with the courtesy to which she is entitled or our business is done here.”
Seeing that he’d crossed a line, the investigator held up a staying hand. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but you must understand that I have to ask these questions no matter how upsetting they might be. What if, for instance, the man on the roof were the lady’s husband?”
“We have already established that the lady’s husband is dead,” Con said, exasperation evident in his tone. “First, Mrs Mowbray saw the man who has been following her. Second, she tried to follow him but was accosted by four men. Third, when I had extricated her from the situation we went to the roof to see if her stalker had taken refuge there. Finally, we found a dead man on the roof. A dead man who appeared to be one of the four men who accosted her.”
“Yes, my lord.” McGilloway nodded like an approving parent. “Those are all the same points you’ve given me before. But if you have some other, deeper relationship with Mrs. Mowbray, then what is there to indicate that it wasn’t you who killed the man who accosted her on the roof?”
“Aside from the fact that it was only one of them who was dead and not all four, each of whom I wanted to flay within inches of their lives when I saw them attacking her?” Con asked curtly. “Is that what you wished me to say?”
“Exactly what I wished you to say, my lord,” McGilloway said, rising from his desk. “You said precisely what I needed to hear.”
Con stared openmouthed at the man. “I don’t follow.”
“Well,” McGilloway said, coming around his desk to sit on the edge. “If I were to see a lady I held in affection surrounded by four young men, like yourself I’d have wanted to tear each of those four limb from limb. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to choose one of the four for punishment.”
The man’s explanation began to make some sense.
“So, because only one of the men was found dead on the roof, you believe I cannot have been the one to kill him,” Con said, stroking his chin. There was some logic in the man’s conclusion.
“I merely asked if she was your mistress to determine just where your affections lay,” McAllister. “Your response answered my question.”
Shaking his head ruefully, Con had to admit that he was impressed. “You know your business, McGilloway,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”
Offering Con a short bow, McGilloway said, “I’ll still need to ask Mrs. Mowbray some questions, but for the time being, I am satisfied with your responses and you are free to go.”
At his words, Con paused. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t need to question Mrs. Mowbray now.”
McGilloway had the grace to look apologetic. “I had hoped that might be the case, but since she was the only one to see the stalker—and I’ve a notion that he might be the one who killed that young fellow on the roof—I shall need to speak with her. It can’t be helped, I’m afraid.”
Taking his leave of the other man, Con stepped out into the street and headed in the direction
of Angelini’s studio.
Whenever Con was in Bath he made it a point to get a match in. Though the art of fencing was perhaps not so popular as it had been earlier in the century, there were still enough men who wished to learn at the hand of someone like Signor Angelini that the man was able to keep himself quite well, even in Bath.
He stepped into the main room of the studio to see a couple of matches already under way. Con retired to the dressing room to remove his coat and boots and was surprised to see Lord Archer there doing the same. “What are you still doing here?” he demanded of his friend.
“Not still,” Archer replied. “What am I doing back?”
“What are you doing back?” Con said, feeling rather like a parrot. “I thought you were headed back to London.”
“I was,” Archer said, allowing one of the assistants to remove his boot. “I did go back, but found myself retracing my steps not long thereafter.”
“What’s happened?” Con asked in a low tone. “Did you learn something?”
His boots removed, the other man stood and flexed his shoulders. “Hardly,” he said with an exasperated expression. “I was, rather, required to accompany the young dowager here.”
Con’s brows snapped together. “Oh, no. Please tell me that you didn’t bring Perdita here to muddy the waters.”
“Then I shan’t tell you,” Archer said, taking a couple of practice lunges with an imaginary foil. “Though you will regret not being aware of it when you find she’s muddied your waters.”
“It’s not as if I don’t already have enough to deal with, considering that Georgina refuses to leave matters to me,” Con groused. “Now I shall be forced to deal with Perdita. You are a bastard, you know.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of it,” Archer said without affront. “I don’t look a bit like my siblings.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Con retorted. “What the devil am I going to do now? Do you even realize what a coil you’ve brought Perdita into?” He told his friend about what had happened the night before at the theater, and about how he and Georgina had found the dead man on the roof.
Archer whistled. “You weren’t joking when you talked about muddy waters,” he said. “Though I daresay that Perdita’s arrival here will soothe Georgina’s feelings a bit. Those two are thick as thieves and are always ready to run to one another’s aid when they need it.”
Con let his shoulders droop a bit. “I suppose that’s something,” he said with a sigh. “And I could do with your help in all this, so if having Perdita means having you here as well, that’s good too.”
“I didn’t know you cared, old man,” Archer said with a laugh. “Though you shouldn’t make it sound as if we’re a package deal. I merely agreed to accompany the young dowager here at her request. If the duke had needed me in town, I should have been forced to send her alone.”
Con shuddered at the idea. “Do not frighten me with scenarios like that. Isabella as well? Perdita alone is as terrifying a prospect as ever I’ve imagined.”
“You’re the one who was betrothed to her,” Archer said with a shrug. “Though I do feel the need to point out to you that you’re speaking of the woman I love.”
“How is that going?” Con asked innocently.
“Now who’s the bastard, Coniston?” Archer asked, turning his back on the earl and stepping out into the studio.
“I believe that would be me,” his friend responded, following. “Quite definitely, me.”
Ten
It was almost time for luncheon when Georgina, Clara, and Lady Russell returned to Henrietta Street.
Exhausted from her first venture out in days, Lady Russell decided to take her meal in her bedchamber, exhorting Georgie to leave her in peace. “I do not need to be coddled like a child,” she insisted with exasperation. “Leave me to eat in peace and quiet. I vow I heard enough chatter in the Pump Room to last a lifetime. I’d forgotten how talkative Mr. Huntingdon can be.”
Releasing Lady Russell into the care of her maid, Georgie and Clara untied their bonnets and gave them to the butler, who informed them that Lord Coniston was waiting for Georgie in the blue sitting room with another gentleman. Thinking that it was the investigator from the magistrate’s office, Georgie told Clara to go on to luncheon without her, and smoothing her hair and wiping her hands nervously on her skirt, she stepped into the sitting room.
“Surprise,” Perdita said, rushing forward from where she’d been seated on one of the two long couches before the fireplace and wrapping Georgie in a tight hug. “I know you hate them. Surprises, I mean. But this one couldn’t be helped. I heard about the trouble you’d been having with the man who resembles … well, that man, and I had to come.”
“I’m the guilty party, Mrs. Mowbray,” Lord Archer Lisle said from his position just behind Perdita. “Coniston consulted me about the matter, and knowing the duchess would wish to be informed, I … well, informed her.” To Georgie’s amusement the man ran a finger between his collar and his neck. Leave it to Lord Archer to apologize in such a way that she couldn’t be angry with him.
“Technically,” Con said from his position before the fireplace, “the blame is mine. I am after all the one who told Lord Archer, so if you are to rake anyone over the coals it should be me.”
“I’ve never heard such a load of rubbish in my life,” Georgie said as she and Perdita took seats next to one another. “You’re all so busy taking blame that you don’t stop to consider that I might be glad for your inability to keep a secret.”
“It’s only that we love you, dearest,” Perdita said, squeezing her friend’s hand. “And knowing what Isabella went through in Yorkshire and later in London, I couldn’t allow you to remain here in Bath suffering alone. I could never forgive myself.”
“I understand,” Georgie said, her heart full as she realized just how much she’d missed her friend. “Though I hope that this doesn’t rise to the level of awfulness that Isabella’s incident did, I must admit that I’m unnerved by the things that have happened here.”
“Can you tell us what exactly has happened?” Lord Archer asked, his brows drawn as he stood next to Con before the fireplace. “We’ve heard about the incidents from Lord Coniston, of course, but I’d like to hear your own impressions if that would be agreeable to you.”
So, in her own words, Georgie related to them everything that had taken place in Bath from the moment she’d seen the man who looked so like her husband standing in the garden, to finding the body on the roof of the theater, to now.
As she related her tale, Perdita became increasingly disturbed, gasping when Georgie told her about the dead man, and finally reaching out to hug Georgie when she told how frightened she’d been when she saw the body.
“This is awful,” Perdita said with a shake of her auburn curls. “Simply awful. I cannot believe that this person would go so far as to kill a man simply to frighten you.”
“I’m not sure it was simply to frighten me,” Georgie responded, patting her friend’s hand. “I suspect that the man on the roof was guilty of crossing the man who looks like Robert in some way. He’d have to be utterly mad to kill for any other reason.”
“Don’t be so sure of it,” Lord Archer said quietly. “There are men who think nothing at all about taking another’s life. I do not think your villain is one of those, however. But I shouldn’t rule out the possibility completely.”
“We’ll know more once we’ve heard from Mr. McGilloway, the magistrate’s investigator,” Con said, his eyes intent. “I suspect that we’ll find some sort of falling-out between our man on the roof and our man from the garden. But until then, we can’t jump to conclusions.”
“When I think about how close you came to falling into this man’s trap,” Perdita said with horror. “Well, it doesn’t bear thinking on.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Georgie reassured her friend. “In fact, I’m better than fine. For the first time since Robert’s death, I feel in control of my own destiny. Even if
it does mean that I’ll need to vanquish this mystery man before I can truly embrace it.”
“Any news from the Pump Room?” Con asked, stretching his long legs out before him. “You looked as if you had something on your mind when you returned.”
Remembering what Mr. Corey had told her, Georgie related to her friends the tale of the man their neighbor had seen crossing his garden into theirs. “And since Mr. Corey said that the look-alike is there every night, we should be able to catch him at it tonight, shouldn’t we?”
“How?” Perdita asked, her nose wrinkled.
“My dear Perdita,” Georgie said with a wolfish smile, “because I intend to set a trap!”
“Good God,” Con said, shaking his head. “Of course you can’t set a trap. At least not on your own.”
“Of course not,” Georgie said with a grin. “I’ll be with you,” she said. Turning to Archer and Perdita she added, “and the two of you.”
“Why do I get the feeling that this is not going to end well,” Con muttered.
“Don’t be such a cynic,” Perdita chided him. “We’ll do splendidly, won’t we, Archer?”
To Georgie’s amusement, the other man gave Con a look of apology before nodding at Perdita.
“Excellent!” she said. “Now we’ve only to make plans for our midnight ambush.”
Before the others could comment, however, the butler stepped into the room and announced that a Mr. McGilloway had called and wished to speak to Mrs. Mowbray. Telling him to show the man in, Georgie was grateful that she wasn’t alone to answer the man’s questions about the death the night before. Not only was she terrified of saying the wrong thing, she was also worried that if she took a verbal misstep she might find herself facing more trouble than she was prepared to deal with.
* * *
From his position against the mantelpiece, Con observed McGilloway enter the room. To his amusement the man who was so self-assured with him earlier in the day was somewhat nervous outside of his own usual surroundings.
“My lord,” he said, stepping forward to bow before Con, who then introduced the newcomer to Lord Archer. His greetings to the men completed, he turned to first Perdita and then Georgie. Pausing over Georgie’s hand, he looked carefully at her face before allowing her to take her hand back.
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