Secrets of the Heart

by Candace Camp

  “Well?” Rachel said somewhat defiantly. “It is the truth.”

  “Yes. It is. I think someone far more clever than our friend Birkshaw is behind this.”

  “And when you said that to Anthony back there, that perhaps it was not aimed at him, what you meant was that by using Anthony he was aiming it at you.”

  Michael nodded. “I was foolish not to pay more heed to the highwayman’s warning. I was so far from discovering anything that I felt sure no villain would have seriously thought he was in danger from me. I wrote the warning off as the highwayman’s wanting money. I came to London only because as long as there was even a possibility, however remote, that someone might harm me, I feared that he might try to do it through you.”

  “And he did work through me, didn’t he?” Rachel said. “Why else would he have sent Anthony to visit me? He must have hoped that it would reawaken your dislike and mistrust of the man.”

  “Yes, and I fell right into the trap.”

  They walked along for a few more moments in silence before Rachel said in a troubled voice, “Michael…if some person is planning all this, and if he is trying to make you believe that Anthony killed his wife, then he is using him as a sort of decoy, isn’t he? To distract you and get you working on this murder instead of tracking him down?”

  “It would seem so,” Michael agreed.

  “What a monstrous thing to do!” Rachel exclaimed. “That would mean he has taken an innocent man and made it appear that he is guilty of murder. Anthony could be put to trial, even hanged. And it would mean that this criminal killed the footman, as well, because that is the primary piece of proof against Anthony. And he would also have killed Anthony’s poor wife, or he would not have been able to set up the whole thing.”

  Michael nodded. “I suppose that Mrs. Birkshaw could have simply died from natural causes, as everyone believed at the time, and that our villain simply saw the opportunity to turn my suspicions against Birkshaw. But certainly he would have had to kill the footman in order to leave the suicide note implicating Anthony. And, in all probability, he engineered the whole thing. I would suspect he hired the footman to kill Mrs. Birkshaw, then killed him to throw suspicion on Birkshaw.”

  “What a heartless, cold-blooded man he must be!” Rachel cried in a low voice. “To destroy people like that—not even out of hate or anger but merely to throw you off the scent! It is abominable.”

  “Yes, I agree. The man is inhumanly cold and calculating.”

  They continued to their house, thinking their own thoughts.

  But later that night, as they were sitting in the music room after supper, as Rachel was idling over the keys of the piano, lazily picking out a tune while Michael read, she turned to him and said, “I am sorry, Michael.”

  “What?” He looked up blankly from his book. “Sorry? About what?”

  “That he has used me to hurt you,” she said. “Whoever is doing these things. That he used Anthony to divert you.”

  Michael shrugged. “It is scarcely your fault that his mind works that way.”

  “No, but it is my fault that you had reason to be jealous of Anthony. It is because of me that you dislike him.” She paused, then asked tentatively, “Are you indeed that jealous of him?”

  Michael brows shot up. “Jealous? Of course I am jealous of him.” His voice roughened, and he stood up abruptly. “It scores my soul to know that he is the love of your life.” Though he knew that Rachel did no longer love Anthony, he could not forget that Anthony, not he, was the only man to hold her heart.

  “But I do not love him!” Rachel exclaimed, aghast. “I have not loved him for—oh, years and years. I don’t even remember when I got over feeling the hurt. Frankly, I am not entirely sure that I ever loved him. I didn’t really know him, you know. We were always surrounded by parents and friends and—well, it was never a natural situation. I had no way of knowing what sort of man he really was. All I knew was that my heart fluttered whenever I saw him. It was probably as my mother said, merely an infatuation.”

  “There is no way of knowing, I suppose, since you were not allowed to follow your heart.” Michael was turned away, not looking at her.

  “There is no feeling in me for him any longer,” Rachel told him. “When he came here to ask for your help, I wondered what I would feel when I saw him, but the truth was, I felt nothing. Whatever I felt for him, love or infatuation, it died long ago. And, believe me, nothing I have seen of him since that day has awakened any renewal of it.”

  “Rachel!” Michael strode across the room to her and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet and kissing her fiercely.

  Then he pulled away and swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, not caring if any of the servants saw them. All he could think of was Rachel and his need to be inside her, to kiss and caress her until both of them were teetering on the edge of the dark vortex of passion.

  They made love hungrily, passionately, like people too long denied the pleasures of their bodies, coming together at last in a wild cataclysm. Afterward they slept, curled together.

  Michael awoke some time later, stirred to consciousness by the chill in the air. He got up and pulled the covers up over both of them. Rachel murmured in her sleep and snuggled up against him. He curled his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, feeling a happiness and peace he had never known before.

  He lay there in the dark for a long time, thinking about love and jealousy and times past, of enemies and friends, and when at last he fell asleep, he knew what he would do.

  * * *

  “I think I may know how to solve this investigation,” Michael said the next morning over breakfast.

  Rachel stared at him, his words chasing away the last cobwebs of sleep. “What? How?”

  “We may be able to smoke out the criminal.”

  “How?”

  “I will tell you in a little while,” Michael said, a smile touching his lips at her impatient expression. “But I need to talk to Perry about it, so it will be easier if I wait and tell you both at the same time.”

  “Perry? Perry Overhill?” Rachel asked, confused. She could not imagine their portly, genial friend being able to help them solve a mystery. “But why? What can Perry do?”

  “Patience. I will explain it all to you.”

  Rachel was anything but patient as they strolled over to Perry’s house. She peppered Michael with questions, which he deflected with a smile.

  Overhill’s butler showed them into the drawing room, which was decorated with Perry’s usual impeccable taste. A moment later Perry himself bustled in, beaming. He made an elegant bow and placed a kiss on Rachel’s hand, though both gestures were rendered faintly absurd by his pear-shaped figure. “Rachel, my dear, you are lovely, as always. And Michael—such a pleasant surprise to see you back in town. When did you return?”

  Michael smiled, shaking his friend’s hand and saying, “It’s all right, Perry, Rachel knows all about it.”

  Perry put on a confused air. “All about what?”

  “Everything,” Rachel said, chuckling. “Michael’s sister Lilith, his disguises, his work. I know the whole story that you have tried so valiantly to hide from me—and, by the way, I have a bone to pick with you over deceiving me for years—so you can cast off that vague air.”

  “It was not my preference, I assure you,” Overhill told her earnestly. “Gracious me, Michael, what has come over you?” He looked searchingly at his friend, and his eyebrows rose. “Ah…” he said almost to himself, nodding sagely. “I see.”

  “See what?” Rachel asked.

  “Why, that our Michael is a changed man.” His eyes danced as he turned back to Michael, saying a trifle archly, “One can only wonder what happened to the fellow.”

  “No need to wonder. You know as well as I do that the change is due to Rachel.” Michael took his wife’s hand and lifted it to his lips, smiling at her tenderly.

  “Sit down. Sit down.
” Perry gestured them toward the arrangement of sofa and chairs that centered the elegant blue drawing room. “Let me ring for some refreshment. Then you can tell me what has brought you here, for I cannot feel that you are in need of company right now.”

  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Michael said, getting immediately to the point as his friend tugged at the bellpull. He walked with Rachel over to the couch, but remained standing, his hand clasped behind his back.

  Perry glanced at him and frowned as he saw the serious expression on Michael’s face. “Westhampton…what is it? You look as grave as a parson.”

  “I am a trifle worried,” Michael admitted. “It is this investigation I am working on. The thing is, I—I would like for you to escort Rachel to the opera tonight. I have things to attend to, and I want to be certain that she is safe. If I know that she is in your care—”

  “Michael!” Both Rachel and Perry exclaimed, staring at him.

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel went on, rising to face her husband. “Why would I not be safe? Where are you going to be? What are you going to be doing?”

  “Yes,” Perry agreed. “I must say, old chap, you are sending chills up my spine. What is the danger?”

  “I think, perhaps, that I have been betrayed by…someone I am close to.”

  “Michael!” Rachel paled, her stomach suddenly icy. “What are you talking about? Who? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to explain it only once,” he said. “It is a difficult thing for me to say.”

  “I should think so!” Perry exclaimed, looking shaken, and he sank down in a chair. “Pray explain yourself.”

  “I have been working on a case. Several cases, actually, that have certain things in common. There is no need to go into all the details, but yesterday I began to suspect that I have been led deliberately astray, that I have been pointed in a false direction.”

  “Toward Anthony, you mean?” Rachel asked.

  “Who?” Perry asked, blinking. “Anthony who? Oh!” His face cleared. “You mean the chap you were asking me about? You are investigating him? Why? Because of his wife? You think he killed his wife?” Overhill gaped at Michael.

  “I have been suspicious of him,” Michael replied. “You see, there were obvious clues pointing toward the man.”

  “Good Gad. That is incredible!” Overhill gasped. “I don’t know the man well, but…well, I mean, not the sort of thing one would expect.” He shook his. “Are they going to arrest him?”

  “No. I haven’t gone to Bow Street with this yet. No one knows but me…well, me and the real murderer.”

  “The real murd—” Perry gazed at him blankly. “You mean—it isn’t Birkshaw?”

  “I think not. It simply did not fit together well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were inconsistencies, things that might lead one to think it was not Birkshaw who killed his wife. But I had overlooked them, you see, because of my jealousy.”

  Perry stared. “Jealousy! What do you mean?” He glanced over cautiously at Rachel. “Had the fellow made…uh, unwelcome advances?”

  “No,” Rachel put it. “But once, a long time ago, before I married Michael, Anthony and I fancied ourselves in love with each. We hadn’t seen each other in years, but…”

  “But when his name came up, I reacted more like a jealous husband than an impartial investigator. Once I realized that, I saw that someone had used that knowledge against me. He had tricked me into suspecting Birkshaw, knowing my feelings about him would make me believe almost anything bad about the man.”

  “But why would anyone want to do that?” Perry leaned forward, enthralled with the story.

  “To throw me off the scent. You see, I was working on another investigation, and I believe that the criminal thought I had learned too much, was getting too close to figuring it out. I don’t know why, really, as I was hopelessly muddled. I think he threw this thing with Birkshaw in to distract me, send me haring off after him because I was personally involved in it, you see.”

  “But that’s not all,” Rachel put in. “I think he intends to harm Michael.”

  “What?” Perry gaped at her. “You aren’t serious.”

  Michael, too, turned to look at her, startled.

  She grimaced at Michael. “Did you honestly think I had not noticed?” She turned back to Perry, explaining, “There have already been two attempts on Michael’s life.”

  “Good Gad!”

  “Someone shot at him,” Rachel explained. “And the other night, as he was coming home, three men set upon him.”

  “It is my belief,” Michael put in, “that this criminal wants to do away with me and make it look as if Birkshaw is to blame for it.”

  Overhill stared at him, speechless.

  “It will solve all his problems. I will no longer be pursuing him. And Anthony will be the obvious culprit, so there will be no investigation into anyone else.”

  “Of course!” Rachel breathed. “That makes sense. That is another reason he involved Anthony. Bow Street would doubtless leap to that conclusion.”

  “But that—that’s diabolical!” Perry exclaimed, aghast.

  “I think we are dealing with a diabolical mind here. However, I have a plan to catch him.”

  “You do?” Rachel asked, turning to look at Michael.

  He nodded. “That is why I need Perry here to look after you tonight, to make sure you are far from danger. I intend to set a trap for the fellow.”

  “But how?”

  “Well, you see, I think I know who it is.”

  “What?” Rachel’s voice rose. “You know who it is, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I am telling you now, dear,” he said, smiling at her. “But first, let me explain to Perry about the crimes.” He described to him the various unsolved cases that he and Bow Street had worked on the past few years and the bizarre way in which they were connected.

  “So you see,” he said, finishing, “I think the crimes have all been carried out by one man, someone very clever, who gets other people to do the various crimes, people he has paid or people who are completely disconnected from the case in question. Then he uses the people who have benefited from that crime to help him with some other crime that will benefit someone else. Only he ties all the people together, and he is always behind the scenes, manipulating everything.”

  “But how do you know who he is?” Perry asked. “I thought you said that you had not been able to solve the crimes?”

  “I didn’t know until this thing with Anthony. You see, I realized that whoever threw that in my path would have had to know about my jealousy of Birkshaw. The thing was, I haven’t spoken about it to anyone.”

  “Nor have I,” Rachel added.

  “And the only ones who knew besides Rachel, Anthony Birkshaw and me were Rachel’s parents, and I am sure they would not have let the story loose.”

  “I have never heard a word about it,” agreed Perry, frowning in a puzzled way. “So how—”

  “I mispoke when I said no one knew. I had told one person—my sister Lilith.”

  A stunned silence hung in the air. The other two occupants of the room stared at Michael.

  “Lilith!” Rachel exclaimed at last. “Michael, you cannot be serious! Lilith loves you, she admires you. She would never do anything to harm you!”

  He smiled at her. “I agree. I do not think that Lilith is behind the crimes. However, she has a lover, and she might have told him.”

  “Sir Robert?” Rachel gasped. “You think that Sir Robert is the mastermind behind these crimes?”

  “Sir Robert Blount!” Perry echoed, looking as stunned as Rachel. “Michael, really, I think you—well, that’s absurd. You and he have been friends for years and years. How can you think that he would try to kill you? That he would do such things?”

  “I know.” Michael looked weary. “Believe me, I did not want to believe it. I still don’t. But I could not overlook the facts. First of
all, he is one of the few people who could have known about Anthony Birkshaw. Secondly, he has a mind capable of deviousness. He used it for good, mind you, when he and I were fighting Bonaparte’s spy ring. But if he turned his mind to crime, he would be able to think of something of this complexity and inventiveness.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he has done so,” Rachel protested. “He is your friend. He loves your sister.”

  “I know. I have to believe that in the beginning he had no intention of harming me. That he thought his scheme so clever it would escape detection. And it would have, if he had not overestimated my abilities. But I think when I was working on two cases that related to him, he began to get worried that I would figure it out. Then, when I started looking into Mrs. Birkshaw’s death, he decided he could not risk that I would put all the pieces together. I would like to think that the first time he shot at me, it was a warning shot, designed to make me give up the investigation. He is an excellent marksman, yet he hit only my shoulder. But then, the other night when I was attacked…I had just left Robert, and I had told him about the progress we had made on the case. I think he realized that he could not afford to let me live any longer.”

  “Still…” Perry said, shaking his head.

  “There’s more. There is the factor of money. His father left him nothing but a title and a house, which he had to sell to settle the estate’s debts. He worked for the government because he had to earn a wage in order to live. All through the time we worked together, he was always strapped for money. But now he has enough money that he is able to live quite nicely without working. He even purchased Lilith’s gaming establishment for her. He told me that he received a small inheritance from an aunt, which he subsequently built up through wise investing.”

  “But such things do happen,” Perry pointed out. “That happened to me—not the wise investing, of course, but the inheritance. My grandfather left me money when he died.”

  “Yes, it happens. But we don’t know that he really did inherit. It could have been a lie to explain away his sudden increase in funds. All we really know for certain is that he did not have money in the past and now he has a good deal. Also, because he is a member of the Ton, he knows all the gossip—who badly needs money and would receive it if an inconvenient relative dies, who has valuable objects to be stolen, what wife or husband would be glad to pay to get rid of a spouse. He has necessary knowledge that most members of the criminal class do not. And, unlike most aristocrats, he also has access to a large number of criminals through his years of working with the spy ring and then with Bow Street. He would know burglars, pickpockets, men who would murder for pay.”