“I believe the young lady had refused the man’s suit,” Juliet added helpfully. “And apparently he retaliated by arresting her brother. Or something like that.”
Though the explanation was perfectly plausible, it disturbed Morgan. He turned to Ravenswood. “How much do you know about Rodney Fitch?”
“Only what I told you. He acts like a Dogberry, but he’s quite competent as a—”
“Dogberry!” Juliet exclaimed. “I knew I’d heard the name Fitch before.”
Morgan cast her a cursory glance. “What are you talking about? How would you know anything about a police officer in Spitalfields?”
“No, no, this man wasn’t a police officer. He was an actor with a traveling troupe that came to Stratford when I was…oh, twelve, I suppose.” Juliet’s family lived in Stratford-upon-Avon and were great enthusiasts of the theater, particularly Shakespeare. “Come to think of it, that Mr. Fitch’s Christian name was Rodney, too. And he acted the best Dogberry I have ever seen. That’s why I remember him so well. He had us all rolling with laughter.”
Morgan felt the blood drain from him. “Describe this actor, Juliet.”
She frowned, then did as he asked. Morgan heard Ravenswood’s sharp intake of breath, and apprehension knotted in his gut. He turned to Ravenswood. “Does it sound like him?”
“Afraid so.”
“He’s been playing a role all along,” Morgan said, feeling the blood congeal in his veins. “He’s been playing Dogberry. Because who would suspect a bumbling Dogberry to be the most notorious criminal in Spitalfields?”
“It would certainly explain why Fitch was at the shop tonight.” A frown creased Ravenswood’s brow. “He wasn’t there to investigate you. Or at least not on behalf of the authorities. He was there to sniff out a trap.”
“And when he saw you, he realized what we were about, so he left.” Morgan’s alarm grew. “The Specter did say he had connections in the police offices—I just never imagined they were so close.”
“This might also explain Fitch’s success at catching criminals. Whenever the Specter wanted to remove a competitor or eliminate someone who’d betrayed him, he knew right where to go and how to catch them. I suppose if Jonathan Wild could do it a hundred years ago, the Specter certainly could.” Ravenswood shook his head. “Still, an actor become a ruthless criminal? It seems unbelievable.”
“Not to me. Perhaps he tired of never having money, and saw another way to use his talents. I always did think the Specter had a strange knack for manipulating his voice. And there’s his uncanny ability to escape capture—he probably disguised himself every time. As an actor, it would have been easy. He probably used padding beneath the cloak to make himself look husky, for example.”
“But how did he manage that effect you described—of having no face beneath that cloak of his—”
“Face paint,” Morgan said grimly. “Black face paint. At night with the cloak, he’d look nearly invisible.” His heart thundered in his chest. “But what in God’s name would he want with Clara?”
“A way to lure you?” Ravenswood answered, paling.
“I don’t think so. If he wanted me, he would have caught me in a dark alley later this evening and slit my throat.” He turned to Juliet. “Did Lucy say where she’d been? How had the girl known to come here?”
The butler answered. “She told me, sir, that she’d come from Lady Clara’s home. They’d sent her over.”
“Good. So Fitch doesn’t know that we know he has Clara. Not yet anyway. Besides which, I don’t think he’s made the connection between Morgan Blakely and Morgan Pryce, so even if he’d known that Lucy would end up here, he wouldn’t know what that meant. That will work in our favor.” He glanced to the butler. “Did the women happen to say where they were going from here?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. They left in a hack, so I didn’t hear where they were headed.”
“Probably not the jail,” Ravenswood put in. “The arrest of the boy was undoubtedly just a ruse, and Fitch would want privacy, anyway.”
Morgan’s hands grew clammy with fear. “Yes, but privacy for what?”
Sebastian stepped forward. “Do you mind telling me what the devil is going on?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” Morgan snapped.
Sebastian glared at Ravenswood. “He’s been working for you again, hasn’t he? Despite the wager, despite what he promised—”
“Morgan is my best man,” Ravenswood retorted, looking distinctly unrepentant. “I was certainly not going to stop making use of him simply because you two came up with that silly wager.”
“Morgan!” Juliet cried. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry, Juliet,” Morgan bit out. “I don’t have time for lectures right now. Lady Clara is in danger.”
That changed everything. Juliet paled and grabbed hold of her husband’s arm.
Sebastian squared his shoulders. “Tell me what to do. I want to help.”
Morgan hesitated, but this was no time to refuse a perfectly good offer. “She’s with Fitch, but we don’t know where. My guess would be his house, but I’m really not sure.” He gazed at his brother’s worried features. “If you want to help, why don’t you go to Stanbourne Hall and see if the servants know where Lucy came from or where she was headed? And see if you can find a footman named Samuel. He’ll know where Fitch might go, and he’s sweet on Lucy besides. Once you find out what you can, head for Lady Clara’s institution in Spitalfields.” He rattled off the address. “We’ll all meet there.”
He turned to Ravenswood. “You go to Hornbuckle’s and find out where Fitch lives, then meet us at the Home. I’ll go to Tufton’s Tavern. Since Lucy lives there, they may know Fitch’s address. Or perhaps she’ll have told them where she was going.”
“Surely he wouldn’t be fool enough to hurt her, now that he knows you’re working for the authorities.”
“I don’t know. The man has always been unpredictable.” Morgan felt a wave of futility overwhelm him. Suddenly he was thirteen again and watching helplessly as a man beat his mother.
He shook off the memory. He might have failed to protect his mother, but he would not fail in this. He couldn’t. Otherwise, life would simply not be worth living. “He won’t be expecting us to look for him,” Morgan said evenly. “That’s one thing in our favor. So let’s take advantage of it.”
And pray that Clara was clever enough to survive on her own until they could get to her.
Mr. Fitch gestured with the muzzle of his pistol to indicate that Clara should move away from the door. His motions were far more assured and controlled than Lucy’s had been that night in the alley, and Clara found that distinctly disturbing.
“You’ve proven a more clever woman than I realized,” he said in that cool, refined voice so different from his earlier one. “Apparently clever enough to gain the captain’s confidence. I didn’t expect him to tell you that he’d met up with the Specter in the alley. It’s a pity he did, because now I can’t let you leave.”
“I-I don’t see why not. What has it to do with you and me?”
“Don’t play the fool with me!” he ground out. “You’ve figured out who I am, and I can’t allow you to tell anybody else.”
She had figured it out, hadn’t she? The Specter was here in the flesh, even if he wasn’t hefty the way Morgan had described. And he might prefer to use a knife when he played the ghost, but clearly when playing himself, he used the more practical pistol.
If she weren’t careful, she’d receive all the benefits of such practicality. “I truly have no idea—”
“Captain Pryce told you, didn’t he? He told you everything that night, all about why I was there.” He scowled. “I should have known better than to believe what he said about you and him. That tale alone should have shown me the trap was closing on me. You would never have let him bed you unless you knew he wasn’t really a criminal. Because you’re far too moral—and too intelligent—to be manipulated by a real fence
.”
He let out an oath. “But I wanted to believe him, because if a villain like him could have a woman like you, then it meant I had a chance with Lucy—” He broke off, jerking his head toward the chair she’d left only moments before. “Take a seat, Lady Clara. It’s time you and I had a long and truthful chat about your friend Morgan Pryce.”
She edged toward the chair, her eyes never leaving the muzzle of his pistol. “Yes, let’s talk about him. You were right—we’re lovers. And if you shoot me, he’ll come after you.”
Fitch laughed. “How can he when he doesn’t even know who I really am?” His eyes grew cold. “Or does he?”
“He might. He’s a very clever man. Besides, even if he doesn’t, Lucy will tell him that she left me here with you—”
“Lucy will say nothing.” A muscle flicked in his jaw as he stepped nearer. “Not if she wants to keep her precious brothers out of jail. I’ll simply tell her that you were fine when you left me. Everyone knows it’s dangerous for a woman to wander London alone unaccompanied, so when you end up dead in the river no one will be entirely surprised, given your reckless behavior.”
She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the ugly muzzle. She was going to die, and nobody would ever know what had really happened. Panic swelled in her chest, but she fought it off. She had to keep calm. She had to keep him talking until she could figure a way out of this.
“Morgan and I were to meet at his shop tonight,” she said, “so he’ll know something is wrong when I don’t show up.”
“Don’t lie to me—you do it badly. He didn’t set up any assignation with you. I know that, because he set one up with the Specter.” A frown darkened his face. “Him and Ravenswood. The minute I saw that devil from the Home Office sniffing about, I knew something was wrong. But I never expected them to be so clever. Not after that Jenkins fellow—” He glared at her. “Never mind all that. It’s just as well that you realized who I am. Now we can stop playing games and get straight to the point. Tell me how much they know, how much they’ve figured out.”
“Why should I when you’re planning to kill me anyway?” she whispered.
“Ah, but there’s more than one way to die, isn’t there? If you tell me what you know, I’ll make sure your death is quick and painless. If not, it’s going to be a very long night for you.”
He sidled around behind the chair and pressed the muzzle to her temple, then ran it slowly down her cheek. “Didn’t your lover tell you? I’m known for my ruthlessness. I’ll happily take my time about killing you, if I must.”
He ran the muzzle of the gun around her ear in a grotesque parody of a caress, and she shivered.
He gave a low, evil chuckle. “Did you know that the human body can endure a great deal of pain before it shuts down? One shot can shatter your knee, yet you can live quite a long time suffering the agony of it. Not to mention how long you will suffer if I choose to shoot you in the belly—”
“Torturing me won’t do you any good. I don’t know anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. A strutting cock like Pryce would never resist boasting of how he planned to rid Spitalfields of the Specter.”
“He didn’t tell me anything, I swear!” she protested.
“We’ll see if you still say that after I put a bullet through your leg,” he rasped, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.
Then a new voice sounded from the doorway. “She’s telling the truth, Fitch. She doesn’t know anything, so you might as well let her go. Because we both know it’s me you really want.”
Chapter 24
Jack donn’d his invisible coat,
Sharp sword and swift shoes for the fray;
He rescued the knight and the fair,
And great mighty giant did slay.
“The History of Jack the Giant-Killer,”
edition by J. G. Rusher, Anonymous
Morgan hadn’t known true terror until he stepped into Fitch’s parlor to see the woman he loved being menaced by the devil himself. Only by sheer will did he keep his own pistol steady on Fitch. Because the rest of him shook violently at the fear that one misstep would make Fitch fire.
Clara smiled weakly when she saw him. “It’s about time you got here.”
Her face had never looked so pale, her eyes so wide and frightened, but the mutinous set to her shoulders told him he could at least count on her not to fall apart.
“I would have come sooner if you’d left word where you were going,” he retorted. And he would have waited in the hall until Fitch had moved the gun away from her if he hadn’t heard it being cocked and known he had no choice but to step in.
“If I’d realized Mr. Fitch was such a dangerous man—” she began.
“Silence, both of you!” Fitch’s face contorted with rage as he shoved the muzzle against her temple. “You stay back, Pryce, or I swear she’s dead.”
The terror seeped into Morgan’s bones. “Let’s not do anything hasty now,” he said, though he kept his pistol leveled at Fitch’s head. “If you don’t add murder to your crimes, you might yet escape death.”
“Hopkins!” Fitch called out. “Get in here, damn you!”
Morgan inched further into the room. “If it’s the footman you’re calling, there’s no point. I knocked him unconscious when he tried to block my entry into your house.”
“A pox on you!” Fitch growled. “I thought you and Ravenswood would stay at the shop a while longer. And how did you know to come here, anyway?”
“Lucy told me.” Thank God the girl had been climbing out of a hack at the tavern with Johnny when Morgan had arrived there. “I don’t think she likes you much anymore.”
Surprisingly, Fitch winced before setting his mouth in a grim line. “She’ll come round. When I show her what I can buy her with my hidden fortune, she’ll do whatever I tell her. We’ll flee England together.”
“You’re mad if you think I’ll let you leave this house.” Morgan edged further into the room, his blood pounding in his veins. “Even now Lord Ravenswood is on his way here with dozens of men to take you.”
“You’re bluffing!” Fitch cried.
Morgan certainly hoped he wasn’t. He hadn’t waited for Ravenswood or his brother—he’d sent Lucy to the Home to guide them here once they showed up. But judging from Lucy’s outrage at the very idea that Fitch might hurt Clara, Morgan figured he could trust Lucy to do her part.
“You know me well enough to know I wouldn’t come unprepared,” Morgan said. “So you might as well put down the gun. Once the rest of them arrive, it’s all over for you.”
“I’m not waiting around for your friends, Pryce.” Keeping the pistol aimed on Clara, Fitch hauled her to a stand with his free hand. “And Lady Clara is coming with me to make sure none of you follow.” He dragged her back with him toward the other door to the parlor. “Don’t try to come after me or she’s dead.”
Morgan forced himself to focus, not to let the fear overtake him. The thought of losing her…
No, he wouldn’t. “I’m not letting you take her out of here.” Morgan advanced further into the room. “So you can just forget it.”
“You can’t stop me,” Fitch retorted as he forced Clara back toward the door.
Suddenly, a figure appeared behind Fitch in the doorway. Morgan struggled not to show his surprise to Fitch, but what the devil was Samuel doing here? Lucy had said he’d gone missing.
Behind Fitch, Samuel put a finger to his mouth and displayed the knife he held in his other hand, as if asking for direction. With a quick shake of his head, Morgan warned the man to hold off. Fitch’s pistol was too close to Clara’s head, and there was too much chance it could go off if Samuel attacked.
So Morgan had to convince Fitch to move the confounded thing. “Listen, Fitch,” Morgan said as he lowered the muzzle of his own gun slowly toward the floor. “There’s no reason to take Clara. I’m the one who ruined your plans. Take me instead.”
Clara frowned, but she see
med to understand what he was attempting to do. “Lucy will never flee with you if you kill me,” she told Fitch. “She’s much too tenderhearted to love a killer.”
“She’ll do as she’s told,” Fitch bit out, but the pistol wavered at Clara’s temple.
Morgan picked up on Clara’s cue. “But why risk her anger? She won’t care if you kill me. She doesn’t even like me.” Stepping over to a nearby table, he set his pistol on it. “See? I’m putting this down. You know you don’t want to hurt Clara. I’m a son-of-a-bitch, but she’s an angel, and those children depend on her. She’s an innocent, like your sweet little Lucy. She doesn’t deserve to die.”
Fitch released his grip on Clara. “You’re right…you should be the one…”
As Fitch’s gun veered toward him, Morgan cried, “Now, Samuel!”
But Clara, who couldn’t have known Samuel was behind her, had already grabbed for Fitch’s pistol hand and was forcing it toward the floor. As Morgan lunged for his own pistol, Fitch’s went off.
Morgan’s heart leaped into his throat. “Clara!” he cried as he snatched up his pistol and vaulted across the room.
But Clara was fine, standing frozen over the man who now lay writhing on the floor, clutching his leg.
“Blast you, Pryce,” Fitch choked out as Samuel hovered close, knife at the ready, “why didn’t you just kill me? You want to torture me, is that it?”
“The shot came from your gun, not mine,” Morgan said, rage making his voice tight. “You of all people should know the hazards of waving a loaded pistol in Lady Clara’s face.” He stepped up to Fitch, then pressed the muzzle of his own pistol to the man’s head. “But if it’s killing you want, I’m more than happy to oblige.”
Fitch went still. Then he gazed unflinchingly up at Morgan. “Go on, and make it quick. My years of playing to the crowd are long past, and I won’t give the rabble the satisfaction of seeing me hang.”
The temptation to pull the trigger surged through Morgan—heady, powerful, and all the more seductive because he feared it was the only way to see justice done. Despite what Fitch thought, the man might not hang if he went to trial. No one could prove that the Specter had killed Jenkins or anybody else, and being a fence—even a master fence—wasn’t a capital crime. So Fitch could end up with only fourteen years’ transportation.
Dance of Seduction Page 33