A Rake by Midnight

by Gail Ranstrom

  He’d declared his intention to escort her home every night. But what if she did not stay at home? What if she met with Ned, instead? She’d sneaked out at night before and managed quite well before she’d run afoul of Mr. Henley. And she’d learned her lesson there—never again would she go anywhere with someone she did not know very, very well.

  “Ned, how late are you about at nights?”

  “Don’t usually sleep until dawn, miss. Some o’ my best pickin’s are in the wee hours when the gents are deep in their cups and not payin’ attention.”

  “Then would you meet me after midnight? I could help you. Perhaps I could disguise myself and gain entry to the places you cannot. I will reimburse you for your losses and also pay anyone else you think may help. But we mustn’t involve too many people. The more who know, the more likely our secret will get out.”

  He seemed to consider the matter for a moment, then brightened. “Aye. There’s a few I know ’oo could ’elp. An’ they won’t tell, neither. When do y’ wanna start, miss?”

  The Morris masquerade was tonight. She was attending with the Thayer twins, but she could beg a headache just before midnight, allow James to escort her home, then sneak away as soon as his carriage disappeared around the corner. But tonight she had important business. If fortune favored her, once she spoke with Mr. Metcalfe, she would have no need of Ned’s services. She would have all the answers she needed.

  But Gina had learned nothing if not to be cautious. “Tomorrow night, Ned? Quarter past midnight?” Wherever she found herself tomorrow, she would be sure to be home by then.

  “Aye, miss. I’ll wait for ye down the street.”

  “Stay hidden, Ned. The neighbors are a bit nosy.”

  The atmosphere in the Morris ballroom—indeed, in all the rooms the masquerade spilled into—was lively and gay. More than half the attendees wore elaborate costumes. Others, like Gina, wore bright colors in lieu of a costume and merely sported a mask or a domino. Her mask was crafted from silk sewn with yellow feathers and sparkling jewels to complement her bright yellow gown and she dangled a yellow feathered fan from her left wrist. Hortense had dressed as a shepherdess while Harriett wore a nun’s habit. And James, who had arrived to escort them true to his threat, wore a domino with his usual evening attire. When he had delivered them safely to the ballroom, he’d excused himself to greet some of his friends in the billiards room.

  Under the protection of disguise, and relieved of the usual restraint of propriety, the gathering was rife with hilarity and spontaneity. And, unless Gina missed her guess, all were imbibing more than the usual amount of punch laced with alcohol, along with wine and ale.

  She wondered how she might find Miss Race in the crush, but removed her mask often enough to make certain Christina could find her. But, so far, not a single trace of a leper. Surely Mr. Metcalfe would not fail to come. Christina had told her how anxious he was to speak with her. She felt the key hidden in her bodice and said a quick silent prayer that her long nightmare would end tonight.

  “I do so love masques,” Hortense said, shifting her hooked staff to her other hand. “Though I do wonder how I shall dance with this thing.”

  Mr. Booth, another guest who had deigned to wear a domino rather than full costume, approached them with a rakish smile. “I have always had fantasies about dancing with a nun. You must have pity on me, Miss Thayer, and fulfill my dreams at last.”

  Harriett laughed in a way no nun would ever laugh, both seductive and pleased. “Granted, Mr. Booth. But mind your manners, sir. I have friends in high places.”

  Hortense chuckled as Mr. Booth led her sister away. “And Harri has always had fantasies about Mr. Booth. Two wishes satisfied with one dance.”

  “Let us hope that everyone’s wish comes true tonight.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Gina? What do you wish for?”

  Answers. The truth. “Happy endings,” she murmured.

  “Amen,” Hortense agreed. “And sooner would be better. But I think you need not worry over that. James Hunter has very obviously set his intentions on you. Any girl would be mad to refuse him. Charm, looks, wealth. What more could you ask?”

  What more indeed? “He has not proposed yet, Hortense, and may not. And should he, I have not decided what my answer will be.” There. That should cut short the wagging tongues of the ton and not raise any unrealistic expectations.

  “Mark me, he will be back to claim a waltz. You will see him often before it is time to go and he calls for his carriage.”

  “I hope he will not hover,” she said. She did not want Mr. Metcalfe to be hesitant to approach her.

  She caught sight of Christina, in an elaborate peacock mask, just entering the ballroom. She was on the arm of a man Gina hadn’t met and she wondered if this was the elusive Mr. Metcalfe. But where was his leper disguise? She waved and caught Christina’s eye.

  Hortense followed her glance and grinned widely. “Oh! ’Tis Christina and her cousin, Mr. Marley. He knows every dance ever and has the most devilish wit. Almost as devilish as Charles Hunter’s. How lovely, they are coming our way.”

  The man in question bowed deeply to them as Christina made the introductions and then he promptly swept Hortense into the rollicking reel, leaving Gina to hold her staff. When they were alone, she asked, “Where is Mr. Metcalfe?”

  “He said he would meet us here,” Christina told her.

  Mr. Metcalfe was clearly afraid of something. Even his costume had likely been chosen to veil his identity. She took a sip of punch, wondering what could cause him to be so cautious.

  When the dance ended, Mr. Marley returned Hortense and claimed Christina with a promise that Gina would be next. A quick glance toward the punch bowl told her that Harriett was still occupied with Mr. Booth. When a figure dressed in a long black robe with a cowl pulled low over his face and a small bell around his neck approached her, her heartbeat sped. Mr. Metcalfe, at last!

  He held his hand out to her without speaking and she returned Hortense’s staff. Once on the dance floor, the leper turned and lifted his cowl just enough that she could see his face. Yes, this was the man who had been at the tableau with Christina. The dance was a waltz, which would allow them to talk without the interruptions of a reel. Very wise of Mr. Metcalfe.

  “Miss O’Rourke, I implore you to drop this matter at once.”

  Whatever she’d expected to hear, it was not this earnest plea. “I cannot, sir. I am committed.”

  “You are ill prepared for what lies ahead. You cannot succeed.”

  “You do not even know what I plan, sir. How can you presume—”

  “Because I know Henley. Far too well.”

  Gina almost panicked when she noted James on the sidelines, watching her. Had he come to dance with her? Or had someone alerted him?

  “I cannot let him get away with what he’s done to my family.”

  “And to you, Miss O’Rourke?”

  Her cheeks burned. “You were there…that night?”

  “To my shame.”

  She tried to pull away and caused him to stumble, but he held tight and resumed the step. “You must believe me, Miss O’Rourke. That was the first night I attended one of Daschel and Henley’s ‘passion plays.’ I was appalled when I realized what was going to happen. But…there were so many there that I could not expose myself by going against them.”

  “Yet you were willing to allow them to defile and murder me?”

  “Murder? I did not know about the murders until the following day, when the news spread like wildfire through the clubs and hells of town.”

  Oh, how she dreaded the answer, but she could not stop herself from asking. “How many? How many ‘postulants’ knew who I was?”

  “Perhaps a handful. Perhaps less. I was not certain until I saw you here tonight. Most of them were so far gone in their cups and with the hashish Daschel had burning in the incense bowls that they wouldn’t have known their own mothers. Henley laced the wine with opium, you kn
ow.”

  Opium—enough of it—would explain her drugged state and her inability to remember what had happened to her in the hours before the ritual began. That, at least, could be the answer to one of her questions.

  “Still, I cannot let him get away with it,” she murmured more to herself than to Mr. Metcalfe.

  “Believe me, I understand. But you must leave this for others. Others more ruthless.”

  “I can be as ruthless as I must, Mr. Metcalfe.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “You are not a match for a man of Henley’s ilk. You have no idea—”

  “Then, pray, enlighten me so that I will not go into battle unprepared.”

  There was a long hesitation while Mr. Metcalfe evidently struggled with his conscience, then continued in a lowered voice. “Henley is a patient man. He has been waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to finish off his enemies. I am one of his loose ends. I know too much. I know who—” He stopped as if afraid he’d said too much. But when he continued, his words surprised her.

  “And you, Miss O’Rourke, are top of his list. London is not safe for either of us unless, or until, Henley has been dealt with.”

  “By whom? Who is left to deal with him, Mr. Metcalfe? The Home Office has failed twice. If not me, if not you, then who?”

  He shook his head as if to deny her words. “I am merely trying to stay alive until he has been caught. I’d advise you to do the same.”

  She squeezed his arm to make her point. “I need your help, Mr. Metcalfe. Tell me what you know that makes you fear for your life. Tell me anything you know that could bring him down. Tell me what lock your little key fits and what I will find there.”

  “I’ve already said too much.”

  The dance ended and Mr. Metcalfe released her, glancing over his shoulder with a harried look. Before she could form a protest, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd almost instantly.

  At least she finally had an answer to one of her questions. Now she knew why she couldn’t remember the events of that night. But there was still so much more she needed to know. If she could not remember herself, surely there was someone, somewhere, who could fill in those lost hours.

  Her head whirled with the implications of Mr. Metcalfe’s warnings. She needed a moment to think, to gather her composure and plan what she should do next. As the next dance began, she crossed the dance floor to the wide terrace doors and slipped through, ignoring the couples gathered there and others strolling along the paths. She needed to find just a single moment in a quiet place.

  She stopped at an ivy-covered arbor and gripped the lattice-work until her knuckles were white. Gradually she became aware that she’d punctured her thumb on a hidden thorn. She shook her hand. “Ouch!”

  Mr. Metcalfe appeared out of the shadows and came to her side. Had he decided to tell her about the key?

  He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He licked the little droplet of blood. Shocked, she pulled her hand away. “Sir!”

  He produced a handkerchief from the folds of his black robe and she accepted it reluctantly.

  “Delicious,” he said.

  A chill spiraled up her spine. That was not Mr. Metcalfe’s voice! Instinctively, she spun around to make a dash for the terrace doors, but the leper’s hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked back against a hard chest.

  “How nice to see you again, my dear. You look just like a pretty little canary. I wonder if your neck will be as easy to break.”

  Henley! Dear God!

  He began dragging her backward. “But you and I are like the phoenix, m’dear. We have both risen from the ashes, eh? Though I shall rise and soar whilst you shall burn again. Poor little bird.”

  A sound, half moan, half muted scream, rose from her throat and he clamped his hand tighter, mashing her lips against her teeth and closing her nostrils.

  Henley’s breath was hot and foul against her cheek. “Ah, and here comes your erstwhile savior. How fortunate for me. Now, if I only had a pistol. My, my. Yes, a knife will have to do again.”

  James was looking for her, turning in every direction, but he could not see them in the shadows of the arbor. Henley could slash him when he walked past! “Eugenia? Miss O’Rourke?”

  Henley chortled. “So proper? Are you not his whore yet?” he asked in a raspy voice.

  She brought her heel down sharply on his instep and pulled away at the same time. “Jamie!” she screamed.

  He turned toward her voice and came running at full speed. Henley uttered a foul curse and ran in the opposite direction.

  Jamie reached her and gripped both her arms as he looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  She forced her tears back as she nodded and pointed in the opposite direction, her throat raw. “Henley!”

  “Run to the house. Do not stop until you are there. Find Charlie and tell him what’s happened.” He took off in pursuit and she thought she heard him utter an equally foul curse.

  Chapter Nine

  The gardens were empty near the back mews. No sign of Henley, damn it all! The man could not have doubled back or Jamie would have seen him. He arrived at a scene of confusion at the stables.

  “…just took his lordship’s stallion and rode off,” one groom was saying to another.

  Jamie could still hear the hoofbeats in the distance. “Who?” he shouted.

  The stable hands turned to him. “A leper, sir. Dressed like a leper. I was just saddling Lord Grenleigh’s stallion when the man ran up, knocked me on my arse, took the reins and rode away. What’ll I tell his lordship, sir?”

  Jamie couldn’t think of that now. Only that Henley had gotten away again and by the time his coach was made ready Henley would be enjoying a pint in whatever hole he hid in. “Have my driver ready my carriage and bring it around front. I’ll give Grenleigh the news.”

  “Thank ye, sir.” The stable master tipped his cap with a look of profound relief.

  Damn Henley, that misbegotten son of Satan! Jamie strode back through the gardens, his head down, hoping to find some clue, some hint of Henley’s presence or an indication of where he’d been. In the shadows of the arbor, the toe of his shoe skimmed something soft and pliable. He looked down, startled to see something that looked suspiciously like a hand.

  He knelt and parted the shrubbery. A man’s body, covered partially by the foliage, had been hidden beneath the branches. Dreading what he might find, he rolled the body over. Bloody hell…Stanley Metcalfe. The very man Jamie had been searching for this past week. Henley had gotten to him first.

  Metcalfe’s pale blue eyes were still open and his mouth gaped in a silent scream. A quick inspection of the still-warm body revealed that the crimson-stained vest had a clean cut through to the flesh. Metcalfe’s death had not been easy. Had Eugenia seen the body?

  “Holy Mother of God,” Charlie whispered over Jamie’s shoulder. “What happened?”

  Icy cold pierced Jamie’s heart. “Where is Eugenia?”

  “Inside. I calmed her, told her to say nothing, and took her to the Thayers with instructions not to leave the ballroom. Then I came to find you.”

  “She told you Henley—”

  Charlie nodded and knelt beside him. “Shall I assume he melted into the night as is his wont?”

  He gave his brother a rueful smile. “Not quite. He stole Grenleigh’s prize stallion.”

  “Not very sporting of him, was it?”

  He ignored the attempt at levity. “He had her, Charlie. God only knows what would have happened….” He looked down at Metcalfe’s body again, knowing that Henley had planned something of the same sort for her.

  “But he doesn’t have her now,” Charlie said in a deadly calm voice. “And we shall see to it that he never has that chance again. Meantime, we will have to inform Wycliffe and our erstwhile host. ’Twould seem the party is over.”

  “Not yet.” Jamie passed his hand over Metcalfe’s face to close his eyes before he stood. “Let me take Eugenia
and the Thayer girls away first. I need to talk to her before the Home Office interrogates her. And the Thayers do not need to be a part of this. My carriage should be waiting around front. Once I have them home, I will come back and we shall handle this as discreetly as possible. Oh, and tell Grenleigh he’ll have to find other transportation tonight, will you?”

  Charlie helped him arrange the branches again to shield Metcalfe’s body from immediate discovery. “You know what this means, do you not?”

  “That Henley is growing bolder. And that boldness must be a measure of his desperation.”

  “He will only escalate from here. He’ll get careless and, sooner or later, we will catch him.”

  Jamie clenched his fists. “He’ll come after Eugenia again.”

  “And you, Jamie. He has already tried to stop you, and he won’t quit now.”

  Gina hid behind her vivid yellow mask, careful to betray no outward sign of distress, though she’d been seething with suppressed anxiety. Where was James? Had Henley used his knife? Was James dead in an alley somewhere? And how had Henley known where to find her?

  Hortense and Harriett had been teeming with questions when they’d seen how shaken she was. She’d settled for a version of the truth, telling them only that she’d been accosted in the gardens by a man in a costume. They had steadfastly flanked her since that moment, refusing dances and making inconsequential conversation to cover Gina’s lack of attention. She could only watch the terrace doors and pray that James was safe.

  She nearly collapsed with relief when she saw him come through the terrace doors and scan the ballroom until he caught sight of her. But the look on his face was not reassuring as he came directly to their little group. She managed a smile as he approached, certain he would not want her to give their business away.

  Hortense sighed when he offered a slight bow. “Oh, here you are! Did you catch him?”