“My what?” Wiley asked.
“He means don’t be an idiot,” Roger interpreted. “We need their help.”
“Not we,” Wiley told him, pointing in his direction. “You.”
“Semantics,” Roger replied with a scowl. “Perhaps I should have said Lady Mercer needs their help.”
“Now that prime piece has earned my respect,” Wiley said with a lascivious grin.
Before Roger could either respond or punch him, a short, fat, eccentric man bustled out the door of Number 4 Bow Street and stopped short at the sight of Hil.
“St. John, is that you?” he asked.
“Townsend,” Hil said with a slight bow, which Townsend returned. He was quite a sight in his flaxen wig, light-colored suit with knee breeches, and broad-brimmed white hat. Just the sort that Prinny attracted.
“More research?” Townsend asked jovially, but Roger could see the intellect in his eyes, and the shrewd assessment he gave both Roger and Wiley.
“Not quite,” Hil answered. “We are here to report a crime, and to ask for help in solving it.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place, then,” Townsend answered absently. He began walking again, going right past them as he gestured at the door he’d just come out of. “You’ll find what you need in there. I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment with the Prince Regent.”
“Please be so kind as to give him my regards,” Hil said.
Townsend laughed. “Hates to be reminded,” he called back as he climbed into a carriage, right before he slammed the door and the horses clipped off.
“Be reminded of what?” Wiley asked, the picture of innocence.
“You don’t honestly think I’m going to fall for that and reveal all, do you?” Hil was highly amused, and he just opened the door without further answer.
Wiley looked at Roger, who just shrugged. “He won’t tell me, either,” he said. “Probably best that way.” Wiley nodded in agreement, clearly having known Hil long enough to see the wisdom of that.
The chief clerk greeted them. “How may I help you, sir?” he asked Hil, while eyeing Wiley with distrust where he stood with his back to the wall, eyes warily darting right and left.
“Is Mr. Vickery available?” Hil asked with a polite smile. “We need to discuss a recent incident with him.”
“An ongoing investigation?” the clerk asked, reaching for a sheaf of papers.
“No,” Hil said, almost apologetically. “A recent kidnapping attempt which we are here to report.”
“You were the victim?” the clerk asked, still not looking at Hil.
“No,” Hil replied. He offered no other information.
The clerk looked up at Hil’s silence. He frowned. “Your involvement?” he asked.
“A concerned party,” Hil responded, his voice noticeably cooler. “Would you be so kind as to inform Mr. Vickery that Sir Hilary St. John is here to see him?”
The clerk paled. “Sir Hilary,” he said, standing quickly, and then diving to catch the pile of papers he almost knocked to the floor. “I … I’m afraid Mr. Vickery is out. Shall I let Sir Nathaniel know you’re here?”
Even Roger was shocked. “I’m impressed,” he told Hil. “Not many people would merit the attention of the chief magistrate of Bow Street.” He looked at the clerk. “Yes, please,” he answered for Hil.
The clerk looked ready to do his bidding when Hil put a hand on Roger’s arm and shook his head. “No, thank you. The chief magistrate is not necessary. Is one of the other Principal Officers available?”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said, nodding his head, clearly pleased to be able to answer in the positive. “Mr. Lavender and Mr. Taunton.”
“Please see which one is able to help us today,” he asked dismissively. This time he let the clerk rush off.
Roger was not happy. “If you can command the assistance of the chief magistrate, Hil, then I say do so.”
“We don’t need a warrant, Roger,” Hil explained patiently. “That is what a chief magistrate is good for. We don’t have a culprit yet. Finding one is what a Principal Officer is very good at.”
“He’s right,” Wiley grudgingly agreed. He was still leaning against the wall, his arms and legs crossed, belligerently staring down any officers, Principal or patrol, who happened to pass by. “They’ll find someone to pin it on, right quick.”
“Wiley,” Hil said in a reproachful tone. Wiley just indicated his disgust for the whole situation with a sneer and a toss of his head. But he was certainly paying a great deal of attention to everything that was going on around them.
“Sir Hilary?” A hearty man of indiscriminate looks was smiling courteously at them from the doorway that the clerk had disappeared through. When Hil nodded, he stepped forward with his hand out. “How do you, sir? Mr. Stephen Lavender at your service. I’m told you’ve a crime to report?”
Hil shook his hand while Roger assessed him. Lavender seemed quite self-possessed and wasn’t nervous at all about speaking with a man of Hil’s obvious standing among the policing community. Roger wasn’t exactly sure what that standing was. Sometimes he wished Hil wasn’t so damned tight-lipped about his activities. Based on Lavender’s respectful greeting and the way he attentively listened as Hil introduced first Roger and then Wiley, it was clear he knew exactly who Hil was.
“We can talk privately in the back,” Lavender said, leading them deeper into the house. “If you’ll follow me, gentlemen.”
Wiley scoffed from behind Roger. “Can’t be too much of a runner if he thinks I’m a gentleman,” he observed snidely. In front of Roger, Hil sighed loudly.
Once they were ensconced in a back room, Lavender waited until the others sat down before he perched on the edge of the table occupying the middle of the room. It appeared to be a small library of some sort, filled with books and ledgers. “How can I help you?” Lavender asked.
“The small son of an acquaintance was almost kidnapped recently,” Roger said, taking the lead in the conversation.
Lavender’s demeanor immediately changed. His polite but relaxed attitude became sharp and attentive. “Today?”
Roger shook his head. “Yesterday.”
Lavender relaxed. “I wish you’d come by yesterday, then. The longer the time lapsed between the crime and our investigation, the less our chance of successfully capturing the culprit.”
“I’m sorry,” Roger said. “I didn’t know that. But the fact is we’ve very little to go on.”
Lavender moved behind the table and sat down. He reached for a sheet of paper and a pen. “What can you tell me about the crime? Time, witnesses, a description of the would-be kidnapper? Can we visit the site of the crime, interview the parties involved?”
“I don’t see the need for that,” Hil interjected. “Lady Mercer has been through enough.” He pointed at Roger. “Mr. Templeton witnessed the entire episode and chased the miscreant down, rescuing the boy. He can tell you what you need to know.”
“Lady Mercer?” Lavender asked. “Been in the papers a bit, hasn’t she?”
Roger couldn’t help it, his back stiffened and he glared at Lavender, who just put his hands in the air in surrender. “I just meant that might be why she was targeted.”
“That was my thought, too,” Roger agreed, relaxing back in his chair.
“It’s a stupid thought,” Wiley threw out. “Lady there, in that part of town? Too visible, especially with her being so notorious right now.” He waved off Roger’s objection to that rather insulting description. “Like I told these two, too much work and too risky. The planning, the crew, the follow-up.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nah, there’s more to it. Somebody wants the boy. Only explanation.”
“Who?” Lavender asked. He wasn’t being condescending; he was considering Wiley’s opinion.
Wiley shrugged. “How should I know? I don’t know anything about her, except she has terrible taste in her men.”
“Maybe they just wanted the money,”
Lavender suggested logically. “Woman alone, easy prey. Only the one boy, isn’t that right? Reckon she’d pay a lot to get him back.”
Wiley rolled his eyes. “This is the best you’ve got?” he said to Hil, pointing at Lavender.
Lavender just laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said ruefully. “We have to investigate all possibilities, no matter how ridiculous or illogical. Not to do so would be foolhardy, wouldn’t it? Then the criminals would get the better of us by doing just that, and us too lazy to follow the easy path.”
“I guess so,” Wiley grudgingly admitted. “But still seems a waste of time.” He sniffed with disdain. “Lot of easier ways to get the blunt, you see?” He shook his head. “I’m telling you, the kind of operation you’d need to carry off a kidnapping like that, from a fancy street and all, that’s a gang. And gangs don’t keep secrets and divvy up the flash so well. Told Hil, you’ve got to get the boy away, have a place to stash him and someone to take care of him, someone to send round the ransom, you’ve got to write for that.” He shook his head again. “Too much trouble, see.”
“I do see,” Lavender said, sharing a look with Hil. He turned to Roger. “Your thoughts?”
“Wiley makes a very good argument,” he replied. “But even if it wasn’t for monetary gain, the attempt could still be related to Lady Mercer’s more recent appearance in the society pages. Her behavior has been painted in a rather negative light.”
“So you think someone doesn’t like the games she’s playing?” Lavender asked slyly. “Or who she’s playing them with.”
Roger frowned but decided not to take offense. “Exactly.”
Lavender cleared his throat and became businesslike again. “Well, that’s certainly worth looking into. Did the lady have any ideas about who it might be?”
Again Roger had to shake his head. “No. She truly has no idea who could want to hurt her or Mercy.”
“Sir Hilary?” Lavender asked.
“I can only say there are a great many people in society who resent Lady Mercer.” Hil put down the book he’d been flipping through.
“Who?” Roger demanded in shock. “Why?”
Hil raised a supercilious brow. “You have been too preoccupied with the lady herself to notice how others feel about her. It is painfully obvious that half the females of our acquaintance would like to push her off a cliff.” Wiley snorted with laughter.
“That’s ridiculous,” Roger argued. “Why?”
“Is he serious?” Wiley drawled, jerking his head in Roger’s direction. “ ’Cause she’s bloody gorgeous, that’s why, without even trying. She’s got a figure that stops man and beast in their tracks, and that’s when she’s buttoned up to the neck in my granny’s old dress.” Wiley moved his hands in an hourglass shape in front of him. “In one of them frocks the ladies wear? Downright evil it is, what it does to a man.”
“She has the face of an angel,” Hil added. “Well, a very seductive angel. But the point is, she has inspired the envy of every available woman and their mama this season. And not to put too fine a point on it, but also the very available women who seek you out, Roger. She has taken you out of circulation, for which she is not to be forgiven.”
“What utter rubbish,” Roger scoffed. “I am not in the market for marriage, as every woman of my acquaintance, and even some I have not made the acquaintance of, knows.”
“Oh, it’s not just about you,” Hil assured him. “Every man who encounters Lady Mercer has designs on her person.” He held up his hand as Roger jumped to his feet, about to angrily demand names. “And she has spurned them all in favor of you, sometimes quite publicly. Some men do not take kindly to that.”
“Well, then, why don’t they call me out?” Roger angrily demanded. “They’ve no cause to bother Harry over it.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Templeton,” Lavender said. “I’ve seen men kill a woman over less.” Roger felt his face blanch. “Not that that’s the case here, of course,” Lavender rushed to assure him. “But then, jealousy is certainly a powerful motive for many … that is.” He cleared his throat again. “I’m sure Lady Mercer is not in any danger.”
“I am not,” Roger said, his words clipped and precise. “I wish you would make this a priority, Mr. Lavender. I worry that whoever was behind the attempt on her son may try again, for whatever reason.”
Lavender ran his hand along his chin as if testing whether or not he needed a shave. “It would make it a lot easier if I had some idea of where to start looking. So let’s get down to business, shall we?” He held his pen over the blank paper in front of him. “Tell me everything you remember.”
Chapter Thirteen
Roger danced out of the way as Hil swung a hard right at his jaw. “Block!” John “Gentleman” Jackson, the proprietor of the boxing salon, yelled at him from the side of the room. “Unless you’d like to ruin that pretty face.”
Hil grinned at him. “Yes, don’t let me ruin that pretty face.”
Roger moved in and landed a punch in Hil’s midsection, causing him to grunt and stumble back. “I won’t,” he told Hil.
Jackson laughed. “Got you, there, sir,” he told Hil.
Hil wiped the sweat from his brow with his bare arm, and then waved Roger forward, indicating he was fine. They’d been sparring for a good half hour and, even though stripped to the waist, both men were sweating and disheveled. “Come on,” Hil taunted him. “Surely you can do better than that.”
Roger just grinned and moved in. Coming to Jackson’s salon today had been a stroke of genius. He’d had a great deal of energy to expend what with his worries about Harry’s safety, and their blasted affair. Just thinking about the sheer torture of restraining himself in Harry’s arms had Roger taking another swing at Hil. Hil blocked his punch and then landed a rather firm tap on his jaw, which had Roger shaking his head to clear it.
“Pay attention,” Hil admonished. “That was lazy boxing, my friend.”
“Stop!” Jackson called out, and the two men retreated to accept towels from the attendants. Jackson walked over to Roger and clapped him on the back. “Best not to spar when your mind’s not on it, sir. Better luck next time.”
Just then Hil’s footman came rushing into the salon. “Sir!” he called out. At first, Roger thought he meant Hil, but then he rushed over to Roger. “Sir, this came to the house for you, and I was told it was urgent. I thought it best to deliver it right away.”
“Are you sure this is for me and not Sir Hilary?” Roger asked suspiciously. No one sent him urgent messages. He was not the urgent-message type.
“Yes, sir,” he said, handing him the note.
It was closed with a wax seal, a large H pressed into the center. Roger cracked the seal and scanned the note. Without a word, he threw his towel on the floor and headed for the door. “Come on,” he told Hil. “And hurry.”
Harry’s note said only, “Received threatening note. Not sure what to do. Can you come?—H.” Roger’s mind had immediately raced to Lavender’s warning from yesterday’s meeting at Bow Street. I’ve seen men kill a woman over less.
“That’s all it said?” Hil asked for the fourth or fifth time as they sat in his carriage heading to Harry’s.
“Yes,” Roger answered curtly, scanning the street outside the window and seeing nothing out of the ordinary. For London, that is.
“And she has no idea who might be behind the kidnapping?” Hil pressed.
“No,” Roger said. “She said nothing about that. And when I asked her yesterday, she was as mystified as the rest of us. She easily believed my excuse that it was merely a ploy for ransom.”
“Hmm,” Hil said vaguely.
Roger spared him a glance before looking back to the street. “What does that mean?”
“It means hmm,” Hil answered mildly. “I’m not sure Lady Mercer’s note was of such an urgent magnitude as to warrant this headlong rush to Manchester Square.”
“You heard Lavender yesterday,” Roger argued. “You
yourself said that half of London is jealous of her and would like to see her dead. Lavender agreed. He’s seen women killed over less!”
“Not, I’ll warrant, in Manchester Square,” Hil mumbled. “And I said nothing about dead.” He eyed Roger askance. “I can’t help but feel you’ve forgotten something,” he said louder as they approached the turn into the square.
“Give me your coat,” Roger said, holding out his hand. In his haste to leave Jackson’s, he’d left his shirt, coat, waistcoat, and neck cloth there. Hil had mercilessly taunted him as he’d put his own clothes on in the carriage.
Hil seemed to consider it. “I don’t know,” he mused. “Manchester Square might appreciate the excitement of a half-naked gentleman running around.”
“For God’s sake, Hil,” he said, quite exasperated with his friend’s antics. “Isn’t society talking about her enough? You know she’d never live that down.”
Hil relented and shrugged out of his coat. “It’s going to be too small. You have broader shoulders.”
“I’ll hold it closed,” Roger said as he struggled to cram his arms into the tight sleeves.
Harry’s residence was in a secluded spot, a small slice of peace and quiet carved out of London proper, turned in on itself; its back to London’s ugly nature. Or so it seemed. But it was a lie. Violence had found Harry there before, hadn’t it?
The ride to Harry’s seemed to take forever. Roger was ready to jump out of the carriage and run the rest of the way by the time they arrived in Manchester Square by way of Baker Street. Harry lived on the Berkeley Street side of the square, which made it convenient as it intersected Baker. The carriage had barely come to a stop when Roger leapt out and rushed to the door, knocking furiously.
Her butler answered the door and simply stood there, gawking at Roger.
“What?” Roger barked. “Where is Lady Mercer?”
“Sir,” the man finally answered, shock readily apparent in his voice, “perhaps you would care to … to attire yourself properly before calling on Lady Mercer?”
Roger blushed furiously. It was true he was practically naked, which was certainly no way for a gentleman to travel the streets of London, but he wasn’t leaving without making sure Harry was unharmed. “Her message said it was urgent. I was at Jackson’s, boxing,” he explained. He placed his hands on his hips. “Is she or is she not all right?” he demanded.
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