A Rake by Midnight

by Gail Ranstrom

  Drew settled back in his chair, a bland expression on his face, a sure sign he expected trouble in one form or another. Jamie took his glass to the fireplace, stood with his elbow propped on the mantel and glanced toward his younger brother, Charles, who was prowling the room with restless energy. “I think Charlie and Wycliffe’s presence here gives you away. Something about the Brotherhood, is it not?”

  The Blood Wyvern Brotherhood, they called themselves. As members of the ton, they had thought themselves above the laws of decency and God. Only a week or so had passed since the last attempt of the covert section of the Home Office had failed to round up the remaining members of the ritualistic cult. Well, partially failed. They’d brought in all but a few unimportant dabblers and the one man at the top—the most evil of them all—Cyril Henley.

  Drew nodded his confirmation. “We wanted to wait until the women had retired for the evening.”

  Jamie thought of Miss Eugenia, ready to flee with her embroidery in hand. But he would not expose her. If she could not sleep, at least they had that much in common.

  “Wycliffe wants to send you both abroad,” Drew told him.

  “Abroad? Me and Charlie?” Jamie turned to his superior. Why would Wycliffe send them away in the middle of an investigation?

  “There has been no sign of the Brotherhood,” Wycliffe told them. “No whispers. No sightings. And no more women have gone missing. With his cohorts captured, the secretary suspects Henley has left the country. Or perhaps someone else has disposed of him for us.”

  In Jamie’s experience, which was prodigious, the Home Office wouldn’t be that lucky. Men like Cyril Henley were like cockroaches. They survived all attempts to eradicate them, then came back to infest the world with their own sort of filth.

  Wycliffe interpreted Jamie’s silence for skepticism and nodded. “I doubt it, too, Hunter. But the secretary is convinced he has left England. Gone to France, Germany, Italy or perhaps even the Americas. He is bound to find followers and victims enough wherever he goes, as long as he does not make the mistake of trifling with the ton again. But this mad dog is our responsibility.” Wycliffe paused to take another drink from his glass. “And that is why I recommended you to the Foreign Office.”

  Jamie opened his mouth to speak, but Wycliffe held up one hand to halt him. “You want these curs caught as badly as I do, Jamie. You, Charlie and Andrew know more than anyone else about this case. Andrew is married and does not work for the Home Office. You and Charlie are all we have left of the men who have been on this case from the beginning. If Henley is gone and the Brotherhood crushed, who better to send after him?”

  Charlie stopped his pacing. “Transfer to the Foreign Office? Now there’s an intriguing notion. Another day, I might be tempted by the proposition. But not at the moment. There are too many loose ends here. And I’ve fallen behind on my paperwork.”

  Jamie almost laughed. When had Charlie ever cared about paperwork?

  “What do you say, Jamie?” Wycliffe asked.

  “I think it is highly unlikely that Henley has gone anywhere.” No, he would be thinking himself impervious to the Home Office. It was far more likely he was biding his time, waiting for the Home Office to put the case aside in favor of more urgent matters. He met Wycliffe’s dark gaze. “I think I’ll pass.”

  Wycliffe sighed. “I believe the secretary is expecting your acceptance. He has made arrangements.”

  “Tell him to arrange someone else.”

  “I thought you wanted to advance.”

  “Not at the expense of this case. Henley has not gone anywhere.” Jamie noted Drew’s distress and the look on Wycliffe’s face and realized there was more to this than they were telling. “Why are you so anxious to get us out of the country?”

  Drew sighed and sat back in his chair. “There is a price on your head.”

  “Henley?”

  Wycliffe finished his brandy and stood. “Him, or any of the other cases you’ve brought to justice recently. I thought you’d be better off out of reach for a while. Take time to think about it, Jamie. Make yourself scarce. I will stall the secretary while you reconsider.”

  Jamie was no coward, but the thought that someone wanted him dead badly enough to pay for it was sobering. Henley would be looking for any way to stop Jamie from coming after him. “Give me another week, Wycliffe. I’ll make my decision then.”

  His superior nodded. “Take care in the meantime.”

  Charlie gave a low whistle as they watched Wycliffe take his leave. “I wonder just how many people want you dead, Jamie,” he ventured.

  Jamie chuckled. “I can envision a queue from parliament to St. Paul’s. But I have no intention of leaving the country. The bastard is here. In London. I feel it in my bones. Henley would never abandon his hunting grounds. I’d wager everything I own that someone is hiding him. His family, perhaps, or friends. Each time we get a lead, or think we’re closing in, he disappears in a puff of smoke.”

  Drew looked doubtful. “How do you propose to find him?”

  “Draw him out. There’s a bounty on my head? Good. I shall make myself visible. And when he comes after me…”

  “Setting yourself up as a target is a rotten idea, Jamie. He won’t come for you himself. He’ll hire cutthroats. And I don’t want you dead.”

  Charlie began to pace, his head down. “Can we talk you out of this?”

  Jamie pointed to his ears. “Deaf.”

  “Talk to Lockwood about this, Jamie. He still has connections at the Home and Foreign Offices, and he may have insights or be privy to information—”

  Jamie took a deep breath. He did not want to involve their eldest brother, Lord Lockwood, in this quagmire. He had a wife and new child to think about, not to mention the duties attached to his title. “Not unless we are desperate. But this has to end now. Two months ago we thought it was over but they rose again. Last week we got the rest, but not Henley. I swear, the man is as slippery as an eel. As sure as I’m sitting here, Henley will find other hearts as dark as his own and rebuild his cult. He has a taste for killing now.” And pray God he did not come after Eugenia to finish the job.

  Drew combed his fingers through his hair and sighed. “There is a bounty on your head. Go, Jamie. Transfer to the Foreign Office. Make it a holiday. Let someone else handle this.”

  Jamie looked down into his glass again. Good sense and reason told him Drew was right. However. “I’ve been on this case from the beginning, Drew. I intend to see it through to the end.”

  “’Pears to me it’s more personal than that.”

  Jamie tossed the remainder of his wine down and stood. Damn Drew’s perception! “I want that blasted scum dangling from a rope for what he’s done, and justice for—” he stopped himself from saying Eugenia and substituted “—for all their victims. And I bloody well want an end to all the secrets and lies.”

  “It always comes down to that with you, does it not—needing to know every last detail, every last truth? Why, Jamie? What drives you to that?”

  “Truth never fails. There is no argument against it. It is the only rampart that remains when all else is crumbling. Truth tames chaos. It is just, honest and right. You can stand by it unashamed, depend upon it. If I did not stand for truth, what else would matter?”

  “I pity when you finally learn that some questions are better left unanswered, and that the truth does not always serve you best.” Andrew pushed his glass away and shook his head. “The world is not as black and white as you think, brother, and the truth is a double-edged sword. If you chase after it, be damned sure you are prepared to get cut.”

  “Living with lies could never be better,” he said with unshakable certainty. “C’mon, Charlie. It appears I am going to need you to watch my back.”

  Chapter Two

  Gina had expected shock, perhaps even outraged protests, but not stunned silence. Apart from the heavy rain outside the windows and the decisive tick of the tall case clock on the wall opposite the fire
place, the library was silent. Not even the clink of a teacup being replaced in its saucer broke the spell.

  She glanced around the circle at the faces of her friends. Her sister, Isabella, looked as if she were sitting atop a coiled spring, ready to catapult off the settee and restrain her. Lady Annica, a darkly beautiful woman, wore a puzzled frown; Lady Sarah’s expression was curious with a tinge of sympathy in her violet eyes—eyes so like her brother’s that it always caught Gina by surprise. Grace Hawthorne, whom she had just met today, was more difficult to read, but Gina thought there might be a small crack in her serene countenance.

  Gina cleared her throat and prayed she could keep her voice steady. “I was given to believe this group might be of some help in the matter. If not, then I apologize for broaching the subject.”

  A collective sigh was expelled and Isabella rose. “Gina! Are you mad?” She hurried to the library door, tested the lock, and returned to her chair.

  “Nearly so,” Gina admitted. Indeed, there was very little difference between true madness and what she’d been feeling for the past two months. “But I have come to believe that finding Mr. Henley is the only way I can change that.”

  “How do you propose to do that, dear?” Grace Hawthorne asked as she set her teacup down and smoothed her sky-blue skirts.

  “I do not know how much you may have heard about my family’s recent problems, Mrs. Hawthorne, but they have been extraordinary. The dust has settled a bit, what with Isabella and Lilly marrying, but I am still…” Gina stopped to clear her throat again, which was frequently raw since Lord Daschel had nicked it with a knife. “Still at odds.”

  Grace, who had been out of the country with her husband, gave a little smile of encouragement and Isabella hastened to finish Gina’s explanation. “Almost as soon as our family arrived in London in May, our oldest sister, Cora, was kidnapped and murdered. Gina and I undertook to find the killer when the authorities had given up. Cora lived long enough to tell us that her killer was a member of the ton. With that as our only clue, we sought out men who fit that description and who had an interest in…in dark rituals and self-indulgence. Gina came close enough to be kidnapped by Mr. Henley as the next ritual sacrifice. But there were complications.”

  Gina looked down at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. “Most of the men were arrested, and Lord Daschel, the man who murdered Cora, was killed. Then a fortnight ago, all the others were found and arrested but for their leader, Cyril Henley. I have been feeling so…unsettled. So vulnerable. And worse—increasingly angry. When I leave the house, I cannot stop looking over my shoulder or settle the nausea in my stomach. I cannot bear the thought of going through the rest of my life like this. I must do something to bring an end to it. And I fear nothing will end it until the villain is caught.” Through the thoughtful silence that followed her declaration, Gina heard Lady Annica sigh.

  “We understand more than you might think, Eugenia. You have come to the right place. The Wednesday League is prepared to assist women in your circumstances. We have certain resources and can work in ways that the Home Office cannot. But tell us, as precisely as possible, what you want to accomplish.”

  “Immediately after that night, I recalled nothing. Within a few days, memories began to return, but some of it still eludes me. I doubt it will ever come back entirely, and perhaps that is a blessing. But I want…” She could not tell them that she wanted the answers to what had happened to her. That she wanted the truth—all of it—good or bad. They would tell her to leave well enough alone. But there was something else she wanted, too. “I want…justice.”

  Lady Annica smiled. “We shall see that you get it, Eugenia, one way or another.”

  “I must be a part of it,” Gina told them quickly. “I cannot sit idly by, waiting for someone else to free me from this poisonous feeling. Twice, the authorities have failed to capture him. How can you help me succeed when others have not?”

  Lady Sarah stood and came to rest her hand on Gina’s shoulder. “Give us a chance, Gina. We’ve succeeded in equally difficult circumstances. And what would you do? Haunt the Whitechapel streets alone? Prowl the rookeries after dark? That would be far too dangerous. Of course you will be involved in every aspect of the investigation, but surely you see the sense in allowing someone else to go about in your place.”

  “Please, Gina,” Bella entreated. “What if something happened to you, too?”

  If something happened? A sharp pain pierced Gina’s brain. If? Oh, why couldn’t she remember? Small bits and pieces, fleeting fragments, were all she had. She took a deep breath and pushed the uncertainty of the past two months away. “I do not want to waste another moment feeling like this.”

  “Give us a reasonable length of time, Gina,” Grace appealed. “If we are not successful within a month, we shall find some way to involve you further.”

  That was more than Gina had expected, though not as much as she intended to take. No, she intended to confront those men, and she intended to have her answers. She took a deep breath and nodded. At least she would be moving forward.

  Lady Annica stood. “Excellent! Shall we adjourn to La Meilleure Robe? I shall send ahead to Madame Marie requesting that she ask Mr. Renquist to be there.”

  “We are going to a dressmaker?” Gina asked in disbelief.

  Grace leaned over and patted her clenched hands. “Madame Marie’s husband is a Bow Street runner, dear. Quite the best of the lot. If he cannot help us, no one can.”

  Madame Marie, the French émigré owner of La Meilleure Robe, had been known to turn down clients on a whim. One was considered very fortunate to have a gown fashioned by the modiste to the aristocracy. The O’Rourke girls had been privileged to have had a number of their gowns made by her when they’d first arrived in London—gowns that had been meant to launch them in society but remained unworn in their wardrobes.

  Gina was treated to a vastly different experience on this visit. She and Bella were ushered into a comfortable back dressing room which almost resembled a parlor where the other ladies were waiting. There were side tables and comfortable chairs arranged in a semicircle facing a small dressmaker’s platform with mirrors behind.

  When they were seated, Madame Marie entered from a side door and spread her arms wide. “La! ’Ow long ’as it been, ladies? Many months, yes? I pray you ’ave not gotten into more trouble.”

  Lady Annica removed her gloves and bonnet. “Not us, Madame. A friend of ours needs help.”

  Marie’s glance skipped across the gathered faces—Lady Sarah, Grace Hawthorne, Charity MacGregor, Lady Annica, Bella and Gina, herself. Madame’s gaze settled on Gina, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Was it so obvious?

  “François will be ’ere in a moment. ’E will want to ’ave the story from the beginning, eh? Be comfortable, and I shall tell the girls to bring tea. We must chat afterwards, yes?” And with that, the handsome Frenchwoman disappeared through the side door again.

  Gina sank into a chair beside Lady Sarah. She was having misgivings about recounting her story—or at least what she could remember of it—to a man. The tale was difficult enough to share with another woman.

  Bella came to her and took her hand. “You are very brave to be doing this, Gina. Do not let that courage fail you now.”

  Brave? Thank heavens they did not know the fear she lived with daily. The fear that Henley would come after her again. But she would conquer that fear for her rough justice. “Mama mustn’t suspect.”

  Bella laughed. “Oh, you may be certain of that. I cannot even imagine what she might do—after she recovered from her swoon, of course.”

  “You may trust us all,” Lady Sarah told her, slipping one arm around Bella’s waist as she leaned close. “Everything that transpires in this room is utterly confidential.”

  Lady Sarah was the sister of Lord Lockwood, Andrew, James and Charles, and she was reassured to know that none of what was revealed here would be repeated to any of them. Relief brought a smile to
her lips.

  “Furthermore,” Lady Sarah continued, “since you have said that you wish to be involved, you will have to enter society, Gina. It is the only way to gain access to the information we seek. We shall arrange for you to attend all the best functions, the more extravagant balls and crushes, and whatever other events that seem appropriate.”

  “Oh, I…”

  “You met the Thayer twins at my oldest brother’s house before…well, before. They have just arrived back in town after their summer holiday. Hortense and Harriet are quite lively and they know simply everyone and everything that goes on. In their company, you would have entrée to anywhere you wish to go.”

  Gina also recalled that the Thayer twins were singularly beautiful with their combination of copper hair and startling green eyes. But were they discreet?

  The thought of entering society left her short of breath, but she had no time to protest when the side door opened and a maid carrying a tea tray entered, followed by a pleasant-looking man of average height. This would be Francis Renquist, Madame Marie’s husband. His hair was sandy brown and his blue eyes had crinkle lines at the corners. Instinctively, Gina knew she could trust him.

  “Ladies,” he greeted them with a small bow, and when he straightened he rubbed his hands together. “I understand you have something for me?”

  The maid left the tray on a side table and closed the door behind her, after which Lady Annica spoke. “We need to find some men, Mr. Renquist. Some particularly elusive men.”

  His bushy eyebrows rose. “What have they done, my lady?”

  “Have you heard of the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood, sir?”

  The color drained from his face. “How are you involved with these men?”

  “We are not involved,” Lady Sarah soothed. “Nor do we wish to be. We merely wish to locate the last of them, after which we shall inform the authorities where to find him.”