The Duchess Hunt

by Jennifer Haymore

  “I am the Duke of Trent. This is my brother, Lord Lukas Hawkins. May we come in?”

  The man blinked stupidly at him, then stepped back to let them in. “Oh, aye, to be sure, yer lordships.”

  It had been a while since Simon had been called “your lordship.” Clearly this man wasn’t acquainted with many dukes and was unfamiliar with the correct form of address.

  The apartment consisted of one room ripe with the scent of desiccated fish emanating from the plate of half-eaten food that the man must have been partaking of when they’d arrived.

  “We’re here to inquire —”

  But before he could finish, Luke had the man by the throat and pressed up against the dirty wall. “Where the hell is my mother?”

  The big man flicked Luke off him with a meaty hand. Luke went stumbling backward, tripping over a spindly wicker chair. As Simon helped him right himself, Woodrow said, “I ain’t much o’ one for violence, yer lordship, but I draw the line at bein’ accosted in me own home.”

  “Please forgive my brother.” Simon gave Luke a warning glare. “He is distraught. You see, our mother, the Duchess of Trent, is missing, and we are concerned for her welfare. We are given to believe you might have found yourself in possession of one of her belongings.”

  “Oh?” Woodrow rubbed his chin, suddenly looking thoughtful. “That right?”

  “Yes.”

  “An amethyst necklace,” Luke spat out, only being held back from lunging at the big man by Simon’s grip on his arm. “Do you know what a bloody amethyst is?”

  “Oh, aye, daresay I do.” Now a sly look crept into the man’s eye. “Mayhap even seen one or two of ’em in my time.”

  There was a pregnant pause as Woodrow eyed them.

  Simon knew what he wanted. He drew a fat purse from his pocket, allowing the coins within it to clink loudly. Woodrow’s beefy arm reached for it, but Simon held it back, meeting the man’s gaze evenly. “Are you familiar with Ironwood Park, Woodrow?”

  “The great house? Oh, aye.”

  “Ever been there?”

  Woodrow’s eyes went wide. “And you’d invite me in like a right proper guest, yer lordship?”

  “Doubtful,” Luke drawled.

  Woodrow crossed his thick arms over his chest. “Nay, ne’er been out that far. I always keeps meself within a day’s ride of London. Necessary for me work, you see.”

  “What work?” Luke asked.

  Woodrow’s gaze strayed back to the purse.

  “I won’t pay you for information if you caused her any harm,” Simon said in a quiet voice.

  Woodrow met his eyes evenly, but greed shone in his expression. “Told you I weren’t one for violence, didn’t I?”

  “What do you think, Luke?” Simon didn’t break his gaze from the big man.

  “I think he’s a bloody liar,” Luke growled.

  Woodrow shook his head. “I ain’t one who’d harm a woman… One who ain’t already been harmed, that is.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Luke spat.

  “So,” Simon said, “you’re a thief who chooses not to harm his victims.”

  “Not a thief, neither.” He shrugged. “Well, not in the regular way, anyhow.”

  What the hell did he mean by that?

  Woodrow eyed the purse meaningfully, then his gaze strayed back to Simon. “You’re no’ in league with the constables?”

  “No.”

  “You won’t go cryin’ to the watch?”

  “No. We just want information.”

  “What sort of information?”

  “I will give you the contents of this purse – nigh on twenty pounds – if you tell me everything you know of the amethyst necklace that you sold to Lamb, the jeweler in Jermyn Street. And everything you know of the Duchess of Trent’s whereabouts.”

  Woodrow blew out a breath through thick lips. “Mayhap you won’t be liking what I’ve to say about it.”

  Something clenched inside Simon, but he said, “No matter. We need to know,” in a tight voice.

  Luke stared hard at the big man. “Tell us.”

  “Aye. I sold the necklace to Lamb. But I didn’t injure the wearer. I… found her wearing it.”

  Simon narrowed his eyes. “You found her? Where?”

  “Dug ’er up from a fresh grave in the Hillingdon churchyard.” Seeing Simon’s expression, Woodrow’s fleshy face softened. “She was yer mam?”

  “What did she look like?” Simon choked out. Maybe it hadn’t been her… maybe it was someone else.

  Woodrow shrugged. “Female. Dark hair. ’S’all I recall.”

  Luke stalked to the only window in the room. Upon reaching it, he yanked it open and leaned outside, taking deep gulps of air. Simon knew from experience that the air out on the streets of the East End wasn’t much of an improvement over the close, fetid air in this room. He didn’t move.

  Woodrow’s description didn’t help at all. He could be describing half the people in England.

  “You’re a resurrection-man?” Simon pushed out.

  “That’d be one way of puttin’ it.”

  “You prefer grave-robber?” Luke said from the window.

  “Rather prefer to call meself a man o’ trade.”

  Luke turned, his blue eyes bright. “The trade of dead bodies, you mean.”

  Woodrow just shrugged again.

  “How did she die?” Simon choked out.

  Woodrow’s lips twisted. “Sure you want to know, yer lordship?”

  “Tell him,” Luke spat.

  “Slit throat.”

  The air was too close. Simon couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, a meaty arm wrapped around him. “Best sit down, yer lordship. Over here.” Woodrow led him to a wicker chair at the table and gently forced him to lower himself into it. Simon stared at the fish carnage on the plate in front of him.

  “She’s at peace now,” Woodrow said, patting his shoulder awkwardly. “Remember that.”

  “Not if you exhumed her,” Luke said coldly.

  “Here now. She’s furtherin’ science. Bettering society.”

  “Where is she?” Luke’s voice was low. Dangerous. “Who did you sell her to, you bastard?”

  “I b’lieve that night’s retrievals went to Thomas Caldwell, the anatomist.”

  “And at what price did Thomas Caldwell value my mother’s body?” Luke spat out, dangerously, recklessly angry now.

  “Nine guineas,” Woodrow said simply. “If she were a bit fresher, she might have brought in ten —”

  Withdrawing his pistol, Luke lunged for Woodrow.

  “Luke!” Simon yelled, leaping out of the chair. “Stop!” He wrapped his arms around his brother.

  Luke stopped struggling, looked up at him with streaming eyes. “For God’s sake, Simon” – Simon sucked in a breath. Luke hadn’t called him by his Christian name in years – “This man defiled her grave. Sold her to a goddamned anatomist —” He choked on his words. His body shook in Simon’s arms.

  “I know. I know. But he didn’t put her in that grave to begin with, and we need to find out who did.”

  Because Simon would make whoever it was pay.

  Still holding on to Luke, Simon looked over at Woodrow, who had tucked himself – as much as possible – into the corner, as far from Luke’s weapon as he could get. “Where is Thomas Caldwell?” Simon asked him.

  “London Hospital Medical College.”

  Goddamn it, their mother might have already been cut into pieces in the name of science. Simon loosened his hold on his brother. “Luke, we need to go there. Now. Before…”

  His voice trailed off. They might already be too late.

  The Duke of Trent wasn’t stopped when he barreled in to the London Hospital Medical College – just one curt mention of his title opened every door in the place. Nor was it difficult to gain Thomas Caldwell’s attention, despite the fact that he was engaged in a lecture in a small hall, his baritone voice ringing out over a crowd of fascinated young schola
rs.

  Simon threw open the door just as Caldwell was saying, “Now let us observe the texture and the position of the stomach. I anticipate this to be a healthy organ, considering the age and the fact that the subject perished from unrelated causes.”

  The dark-robed students gathered closely around the body covered with a white sheet and lying on the cot in the center of the room. Caldwell raised one hand clutching a scalpel as his other hand poised to pull back the sheet.

  “Stop!” Simon bellowed.

  Caldwell straightened, turning toward him and Luke, bushy dun-colored brows rising in surprise. Fabric rustled as all the young men turned to stare at them.

  Simon sprinted toward Caldwell, cutting a swath through the students with Luke on his heels, John Woodrow following with far less enthusiasm. When they reached the cot, Simon whipped off the sheet that covered the body.

  He staggered backward.

  Staring up at him from a gray face and with unseeing brown eyes was his mother’s maid.

  Beside him, Luke gasped. “Jesus Christ. Is that Binnie?”

  Chapter Ten

  Simon and Luke arrived at the churchyard at the Hillingdon Parish Church at dusk. It had taken them a while to question Caldwell and Woodrow to confirm that Binnie had indeed been murdered and that hers was the only body Woodrow had “acquired” on that particular night. It had taken more time for them to arrange for Binnie to be sent home for a proper burial.

  When Simon and Luke rode into the town of Hillingdon, dusty and tired, worn in both body and spirit, a pedestrian directed them to the nearby vicarage, where the housekeeper answered to Simon’s knock.

  “Is the vicar at home?” Simon asked shortly. He was exhausted and dirty, tense from the day’s events so far, and frustrated by the insufficient answers they’d received.

  The housekeeper blinked. “Mr. Allen is otherwise engaged, sir.”

  Simon clenched his teeth, and Luke said, “We’ve come from London, ma’am, and it’s imperative we see him right away. Tell him the Duke of Trent is here.”

  Simon slanted Luke a glance. This was the most polite he’d been to anyone all day, Simon included. He’d barely spoken to Simon during the hours it had taken them to ride out here.

  The housekeeper flicked a glance back to Simon, then nodded. “Yes, sir. I will see if he’s at home.”

  She closed the door in their faces, leaving Luke with a growing scowl. Evidently his polite moment had passed.

  “Patience,” Simon muttered.

  “It’s almost dark,” Luke grumbled.

  “Yes.” Simon gave a quick glance at the twilight sky. “I don’t want to spend the night here.” They’d return to London by lantern light if necessary.

  Luke shrugged. “What does it matter?”

  “Esme and Sarah have been left at home waiting in suspense. I’ll not have them worry the night through.”

  Luke’s lips twisted. “I understand you wanting to inform our sister. But Sarah Osborne? Why?”

  Simon met his brother’s gaze evenly. “Sarah is as much a part of the Hawkins family as any of us.”

  Indeed, while Luke was probably less connected to Sarah than the rest of them – like Simon, he’d been home for school holidays when she’d arrived at Ironwood Park and had only spent time at home infrequently since – he had always liked Sarah and was well aware of her deep ties to the family.

  “For God’s sake, Trent, she’s a housemaid.”

  “She’s no longer a housemaid,” Simon reminded him, holding on to his patience by a tenuous thread. “And why should that matter?”

  “I wouldn’t give a damn,” Luke said, “but you? The King of Hauteur and Contempt? I can’t remember a time – ever – when you brought a servant into a private family matter.”

  “She is no longer a servant, technically speaking.” Though it was a stupid argument – Simon had brought her into this matter before her status had changed.

  “One day a housemaid, the next a lady’s companion. One day in Ironwood Park, the next in London. Suddenly it’s ever so important to keep her apprised of all the family news. Makes me wonder if there’s something between you and the lovely Sarah —”

  “She was the best choice for the position of Esme’s companion,” Simon bit out. “Our sister’s ability to interact in society improves with every outing, thanks to her.”

  Simon’s teeth were going to wear to the gums with the amount of grinding he was doing to them today.

  “Do you mean Esme is not embarrassing you as keenly this year? Your beloved family name is not being incessantly besmirched by our sister’s endless social faux pas?” Luke clapped his hands softly. “Bravo, Sarah.”

  Simon wanted to say that Luke had caused him more embarrassment than the rest of his family members combined, but he held his tongue on that matter, because he knew where that conversation always led – to Luke walking away and Simon not seeing him for months, only hearing about the waves of vice and corruption that he left in his wake. So instead, he said, “You know as well as I do that Esme finds public situations challenging. And no one understands her better than Sarah. Sarah has been at her side since she was weaned.”

  Luke huffed out a breath. “I’ll grant you that. All those years spent together must have made them close.”

  Simon remembered his own childhood at Ironwood Park… and Luke’s, although the years they’d spent together hadn’t made them close. He didn’t know why. When he was very young, Sam had been at home and when Simon was older, Mark and Theo had come along. But Luke had been his companion all along. His playmate. His companion in mischief. The only person who could lead the somber, serious Simon astray.

  Just then, the door opened. The man standing there was short and wiry and wore spectacles. “Your Grace. I am William Allen,” he said with a bow. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Allen. I am sorry to impose on you like this, but we come regarding a matter of great urgency,” Simon said.

  Allen invited them inside, and none of the men said much until the three of them were settled in Allen’s cozy, if somewhat shabby, parlor and drinking a strong, hot tea that warmed Simon after riding for so long in the afternoon chill.

  “Now, how may I help you?” Allen asked.

  Despite the late hour and the knowledge that the ride home wasn’t going to be pleasant, Simon took his time, telling the entire story of his missing mother, the chance discovery of the amethyst necklace that led to John Woodrow and Thomas Caldwell, and Binnie’s lifeless body lying on a cot at London Hospital Medical College.

  Allen listened attentively, his hands clasped at his chest almost as if in prayer, sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking his head. When Simon finished, Allen took a long, slow sip of tea before carefully setting his cup and saucer aside.

  He took a deep breath. “These are disturbing circumstances, indeed, sir. And I fear that what I have to tell you won’t be of much help.”

  “Anything you can tell us will help,” Luke said.

  “I will tell you everything I know, then. Your employee was discovered four days ago by one of our parishioners. The poor woman was found in the woods near the river, and it seemed clear to everyone who saw her that she’d been set upon by cutthroats. The parish did what it could to find someone – anyone – to identify her, but we failed. It was a mystery where she’d come from or what she’d been doing.”

  Simon nodded. A small parish such as this didn’t have the means to conduct a full-scale search for the relatives of an apparently penniless woman whose body had been found in the woods. “No others were discovered with her?”

  “No one. Nor any evidence that she’d been in anyone’s company. The following day, I decided she must be buried. I presided over the burial.”

  Luke raised his hand. “Wait. Was she wearing any jewelry?”

  At this, Allen flushed. “She might have been. If the necklace you mention was long, Your Grace, if it was tucked inside her bodice…
well… I did not disturb her clothes. I am no coroner, sir, but a man of God, and such a thing would have been unseemly. And…” He went a little pale. “Well, there was so much blood, I —”

  “Of course,” Simon soothed.

  Allen frowned. “But perhaps finding the jewels would have prompted me to dig deeper into the truth of her identity.” He passed a weary hand over his forehead. “Perhaps I should have searched her, or had someone… but my main concern was handing her into God’s loving embrace.”

  “Do not question yourself,” Simon reassured him. “You did what you should have done. You gave her a proper Christian burial.”

  The return to Trent House took far longer than the ride out to Hillingdon. Both Simon and Luke held lanterns. Though the moon was almost full, a shifting cloud cover dulled its light.

  As the horses picked their way down the road, Simon and Luke mulled over what they’d learned.

  “It’s possible Mama wasn’t with Binnie when she was killed,” Luke said hopefully.

  “True,” Simon said. “I can’t really see our mother just leaving her there.” Unless she herself was in grave danger.

  “But why would Binnie be in possession of her necklace?” Luke slanted him a glance. “Do you think she stole it, then ran off?”

  Simon had known Binnie since she came to work at Ironwood Park when he was a child. By all appearances, she’d been a loyal servant who wouldn’t think about robbing her employer. Then again, looks could be deceiving.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  Luke was silent for a long moment, the only sounds the crunches of their horses’ hooves on the gravelly road. “Perhaps she was carrying Mama’s other jewels as well. Perhaps that was why she was murdered.”

  “Because she was flaunting the jewels she’d stolen from our mother?”

  “Yes. And the highwaymen – or whoever – stole them and killed her. But they missed the necklace because they were in a hurry to get away.”

  Simon shook his head. “It seems farfetched.”

  “And yet it is the most plausible explanation given the information we do have.”