“Mum’s the word, eh?” Luke’s voice was pleasant enough, but Peter did not turn his head, or even nod in agreement. “The lady isn’t looking for Cherub no more. You can take the money, but nothing’ll come of it. And if I hear even a peep …” He didn’t continue, let the silence stretch out, and finally released his hold. Peter jerked away and began to walk into the darkness, eyes down, hand clasping the money bag in his hand. He did not say goodbye.
“What was that?” Charlotte leaned out of the door, into Luke’s face. “What are you doing, interfering in my business? And why do you keep asking my friends to betray me?”
“They ain’t your friends no more, Charlie.” Luke flicked a look up at Smithy, across to Gary, and finally back to her. “They’re your employees, and as such, subject to bribes and offers, just like any others.”
“Fine.” She felt frozen, the cold reaching its hoary hand deep into her core. “How would you like it if I approached your employees, got them to act against you or spy on you for money or for favors owed?”
He cocked his head, considering. Said nothing.
“You wouldn’t stand for it. And even though I could do it, I have never stooped that low.”
“Well, there you have the difference between us.” Luke smiled. “When it comes to you, there are no depths to which I wouldn’t stoop.”
There was nothing to say to that. Nowhere to go from this conversation. She felt the rift between them rip a little more. Soon only a thread or two would remain.
She sank back into her seat, drained and tired. “And warning Peter off? Saying I’ll do nothing against Frethers? What’s that about?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t realize it were Frethers you were talking about, t’other night. You can’t go after him. ’Twould mess up my plans.”
She frowned, and he swung into the carriage with her, and after a moment’s hesitation, Gary closed the doors on them.
“What plans?” She curled tighter into her corner, away from him. Felt him reach out and take hold of her cloak. Tug it a little as he fingered the corner.
“I have a little deal going with Frethers and his lot. Anything you’ve got in mind, love, will have to be put aside.”
Charlotte jerked her cloak from his grasp and glared at him in the darkness of the carriage as it began to rattle its way back home.
“I’m not one of your employees.” She spoke quietly. “This has weighed on my conscience too long, and I’m not putting it aside for some chisel you have going.” She watched him, but he said nothing, showed nothing on his face. She sighed. “I’m going ahead, Luke. And nothing is going to stop me.”
13
“Two of your men are dead?” Dervish dropped the papers in his hands, letting them flutter across his immaculate desk, and leaned back in his chair, his full attention on Edward’s face.
“So I’m told. And they cannot be found, so I assume I’ve been told the truth.”
Dervish tapped a finger to his mouth, absolutely silent, and eventually Edward decided to sit in the chair he had originally declined.
“Do you know who killed them?”
Edward hesitated. Thought of Charlotte, standing by the window, defiant in her refusal to point a finger. “I have an idea.”
Dervish raised a brow, waiting.
Edward returned his stare. Dervish was someone he trusted, but he wasn’t ready to trust him with anything that could harm Charlotte.
He realized, suddenly, that he was going to lie. Keep all mention of Charlotte’s name out of this and let Dervish think his men were killed while conducting genuine government business.
It jolted him.
“A local crime boss. He didn’t like my men on his patch.”
Dervish frowned. “The rookery lords don’t usually get mixed up with our lot. I always like to think they’re loyal Englishmen, in their way.”
Edward lifted his hands. “The smugglers on the coast should be loyal Englishmen, too, but clearly they are not.”
“This is serious, Durnham.” Dervish stood abruptly. “Very serious.”
“Two men have died. I’m taking it very seriously, I assure you.” Edward stood as well, and gripped the back of his chair.
“What area is this crime lord’s patch?”
Edward considered lying again, but he saw no reason to shield Charlotte’s Luke. “Tothill Road. Right next to the finest homes in all of London.”
“Say again?” The way Dervish went still, the sudden fear in his voice, set a bell ringing in Edward’s skull.
“The top dog in the Tothill Road rookery sees Mayfair as his personal patch. He took exception to my men’s questions.”
“I see.” Dervish sat down abruptly, and his hands shook as he gathered his papers together.
Edward forced himself not to frown. “What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s just terrible news to hear that two men are dead.” Dervish was sweating. Edward could see the glisten of moisture on his upper lip and on his forehead.
What would make him so afraid? The thought of men from his department asking questions around and about Mayfair and the West End? Usually, Dervish wouldn’t care whose nose was out of joint in an investigation. Unless …
Bribery? Blackmail? Edward couldn’t think of another reason for this reaction. If Dervish knew who was involved in the mess he’d dragged Edward into to sort out, wanted Edward to keep away from them … Edward tightened his hold on the chair, and saw his knuckles were white.
Dervish lifted his eyes from his desk. “You never told me you were taking the hunt to the homes of the ton.” His voice was back under control, but the damage had been done.
“You were the one who inspired the idea.” Edward tipped the chair forward, then back, watching Dervish carefully.
“I did?” Dervish tried to smile.
“Yes, your mention of attending balls the other night, because the men involved in this are right at the top of the social ladder. Of course, you were right. Now we have to decide whether my men were killed because they were asking questions someone didn’t like, or because they were infringing on the territory of a rabid dog.”
“They take respect very seriously in the rookeries. If your men showed disrespect or were too dismissive—that may have been enough.”
Edward shrugged. “Perhaps. But as you say, some of the men involved in this plot must be noblemen. If they caught wind of my men’s questions, they could well have paid this thug to get rid of them. That would have been a neat solution.”
The lies tripped off his tongue, and he felt no regret now in speaking them. Luke had killed his men because of their interest in Charlotte, but Dervish would never discover that. Just how nervous would Dervish get if he thought Edward was getting too close?
Dervish closed his eyes for a moment, his face suddenly haggard.
Blackmail, Edward decided. If it were bribery, he’d look guilty, perhaps. As it was, he looked genuinely stricken.
“Customs caught another boat full of gold a few days ago. I just heard the news this morning. Twenty thousand guineas found on it. Twenty thousand! Hidden in the cabin ceiling, in hollowed-out pigs of iron ballast. The smack was too low on the water; that’s how they caught them.” Without opening his eyes, Dervish rubbed at his temples. “They think for every boat they find, at least ten are slipping past them. Ten.” He lifted his head and snapped open his eyes, and they looked wild.
“So we really are hemorrhaging gold?”
Dervish nodded. “And I don’t know why, dammit. Yes, they can get more for the gold in Europe than they can here, but it’s a punishable crime taking guineas out the country as it is, so they risk jail, not to mention taking it through France while we’re at war with that country, and the bribes they’d have to pay, the risk of having it confiscated or stolen …” He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s worse than that.” Edward thought of the facts and figures lying on his desk, of all the information he’d gathered alread
y. “But I haven’t worked it all out just yet.” And he wouldn’t be telling Dervish when he did.
Dervish pinched the bridge of his nose. “Edward, I …” He gave himself a shake. “Nothing. Just, be careful. Keep your focus on finding who in England’s behind this gold smuggling. Don’t take on this man from the rookeries.”
Edward gave Dervish a nod of farewell. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. The Tothill Road man has already decided to take on me.”
The look of horror on Dervish’s face as he walked out gave him no satisfaction at all.
Someone was watching them. Charlotte sensed it. She’d spent too long in the rookeries not to trust the prick between her shoulder blades.
She turned, casually, as if to keep track of the Holliday boys running with their hoops and sticks across the lush grass of the park, lifting her hand to shield her eyes.
She saw nothing but the fine houses of their little square, and the trees and bushes that surrounded the small park in the center of it.
“What is it?” Emma asked, and as Charlotte swung back to her, she saw her face was tight with worry, her eyes never leaving the boys.
“I think we’re being watched.” She would not lie to her friend.
Emma jerked her gaze to Charlotte’s face. “You saw someone?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Just a feeling. But my feelings are usually right.”
“A touch of the gypsy?” Emma frowned.
“A touch of the rookeries. Brings out your senses.” She spun again, slowly and carefully. “You don’t learn to trust what your body tells you, you’re dead.”
“Yet you never gave it up.” Emma lifted a hand to her own eyes.
“It wasn’t so much I didn’t give it up as I couldn’t.” Charlotte went still, her eye catching something, but she smoothly turned her head to Emma. “It clung to me.” She gave a laugh. “Like the dust from the chimneys used to do.”
The wind was coming up, and the boys’ hoops raced ahead of them, Ned’s flying out into the street.
The sky darkened, and Charlotte lifted her face to the sky as Emma called to Ned to stay out of the road. The clouds that tumbled and boiled over the sun were purple and bruised, and the air that gusted over her was a hot, blowsy tart with drunken mayhem on her mind.
Leaves and papers, and all three of the boys’ caps went airborne, and Charlotte saw a flick of movement in the narrow alley between two houses on the other side of the square again.
Whoever crouched there, watching, was closer to the boys than either her or Em, and a sudden fear clutched her, that Frethers may still be determined to have them, or their father may still be determined to hand them over.
Why else watch them, otherwise?
She began to run, not the fleet-footed dash she’d been capable of in her childhood. Hampered by skirts tugged and twisted by the gusts, and shoes that were the height of fashion but ridiculous for anything but a slow walk, she called to the boys, and saw their attention was still on Ned’s hoop, which had halted its mad dash for freedom, and had finally fallen over, to lie in the middle of the road.
A carriage came round the corner, and Charlotte sensed the moment Ned decided to retrieve the hoop before it was crushed.
“Stop!” Her shout was ripped away by the wind, lost in the tossing branches of the trees as they began to whistle and shake. Ned reached the paved edge of the square. She put two fingers to her lips and gave a piercing whistle that cut through the noise.
The boys turned to her, eyes wide, and in the street, the carriage rolled to a stop, and Edward jumped out of it.
He walked to where the hoop lay and picked it up, his eyes never leaving her.
She hadn’t seen him since yesterday, and Charlotte did not understand the sensation that gripped her at the sight of him. As if she were a lightning rod, waiting for the storm above to strike. As if she had lost all control over her life and was thrown into chaos.
She ripped her gaze away from him, to where the watcher had been, but there was no telltale shadow anymore. Whoever had been there had slipped away.
When she turned her attention back to Edward, he had given Ned his hoop and was walking toward her.
The first heavy drop of rain hit her cheek, and she flinched.
Emma came up to her side, gesturing for the boys to come to them, and then stopped. “What is it?”
She was talking to Edward, and Charlotte raised her eyes at last to meet Edward’s bleak gaze. The world dropped away from her and she swallowed.
The rain started to fall with a sudden sizzle of sound, drumming off the roofs and paved street. The boys whooped, running wild.
Edward flicked a look over his shoulder, to determine if the boys were occupied enough not to hear. “I’m sorry, Em.”
Charlotte could hardly hear him over the hammering rain.
Emma frowned. “What is it? What?”
Edward took her hand. “Geoffrey’s dead.”
14
Emma sat on the couch in Catherine’s sitting room, a blanket around her, pale and shaking as a victim of influenza. Her rain-plastered hair only added to the impression.
A drop of water ran down the side of Edward’s forehead, over his cheek, and clung to the edge of his jaw. He shook it loose and rubbed the towel Catherine had given him through his hair.
Catherine poured Emma a cup of tea, loading it with sugar, and he nodded in approval as his sister took a sip.
Charlotte was with the boys, settling them into the nursery with some afternoon tea and cakes, and he missed her strong, unshakable calm. He did not know what to say to Emma. He was not only not sorry about his brother-in-law’s death, he was glad.
Catherine knelt at Emma’s feet, holding her hand. Edward knew they had only met since Charlotte offered Emma a place in this house, but looking at them, he wouldn’t know it. They seemed old friends.
“How did he die?” Emma asked suddenly, her eyes searching his face, and Edward shifted uncomfortably.
“Shot. His body was found in the woods behind the house. It may have been a hunting accident.” That is what the magistrate was calling it. Edward wondered whether it was suicide.
Emma went still. “He was deep in debt. He planned to clear it by selling the boys to Frethers, but I took them away. I took away his only way out. Perhaps he realized there was no getting out of it, this time. Could he have … ?”
There was silence in the room, and Edward watched as his sister curled in on herself. He wanted to shout that the worthless bastard did not deserve even one tear to be shed for him, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. As far as he was concerned, if Geoffrey had taken his own life, it was probably the most honorable thing he’d ever done.
“What is wrong with me?” Emma looked at him with an aching uncertainty. “I can’t find it in me to grieve for him. I don’t want to forgive him. All I can feel is rage at what he was going to do, and relief I will never have to see him again.”
Edward let out a long-held breath. Catherine looked up at him and shook her head.
“He recently gave you no reason to feel otherwise. You may one day think back fondly on some of your moments, but that is in the future, if at all.” She rose to her feet and smoothed a hand over Emma’s head.
The way she spoke, with a deep sense of knowing, made Edward wonder for the first time the circumstances of Catherine’s own marriage. Why she had never remarried, although she could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen years older than Charlotte herself.
“He may have killed himself, but Geoffrey was never one for discomfort. He would have had to have been lower than I’ve ever seen him before for the idea to hold any appeal. And I have seen him very low.” Emma rocked in place, and Edward stared at her, trying to work out her meaning.
“You think he may have shot himself accidentally, or been shot by one of his friends?”
Emma shook her head. “No. I was thinking more along the lines of murder.”
“What do you ma
ke of Emma’s suspicions?” Edward would not sit. Instead he prowled and paced, turning the large, simply furnished sitting room into a zoo cage. His constant movement was getting on her nerves, but Charlotte held on to her irritation.
She could see Edward was simply unable to do anything else.
The rain had stopped, and late afternoon sunshine poured through the windows, bringing his tense, drawn face into sharp relief.
She recalled Emma’s reaction when Charlotte had first asked to speak to her about Frethers, back at her country estate. How Emma had assumed Charlotte was there to speak to her of something else. Something she was afraid of. Perhaps that is what prompted her thoughts of murder. But that was not Charlotte’s secret to tell.
When she raised her head, she saw Edward was finally still, but not the still of calm—rather, the still of the tiger before it pounces. “You know something.”
She shrugged. “I know nothing. But I may have picked up a sense that something was wrong, that Geoffrey was involved in something that made Emma afraid, and I can only say you’ll have to ask Emma. I may not be right.”
The look he sent her should have burned her where she sat. He turned away, furious.
“I truly don’t know. But I would not tell you if I did; you’re quite right. It is for Emma to tell us both.” She paused. “Did you know your stepfather sent a spy to watch this house the day before yesterday?”
Her swift change of subject was like a jolt of lightning in the room. He froze, then stared at her.
“The little bugger tossed a brick at your matched set. Nearly made the one on the left lame.”
“How do you know it was my stepfather?” Edward crossed his arms over his chest.
“I caught the spy and bribed him.” She shrugged. “He didn’t know it was your stepfather but mentioned the carriage of the man who hired him had the same crest as yours. Emma says the only man with use of your carriages is your stepfather.”
The Emperor's Conspiracy Page 7