“I couldn’t find one. Anna, are you all right?”
But his voice was coming from far away. She barely heard it.
Her father had been murdered…and Rhys had been alone in the house where his body had been found.
Chapter Fourteen
The damp night kept most people indoors, for which Anna was exceedingly grateful. It left the streets clear of strollers and kept people’s heads down as they hurried indoors out of the rain.
No one had taken any notice of her at all.
Anna slipped into the tiny garden at the back of their house. She had left this way not long after sunset, huddled in her great coat with the collar turned up. The rain gave her the perfect excuse to keep her chin down and her collar up. The wide brim of the hat kept the rain off the back of her neck, too.
As she eased open the back door, she heard the clock on the mantle in the front room chime the hour softly. It was eleven o’clock. The door to Jilly’s room was firmly closed, as it had been when Anna had left.
Rhys had returned them to the house around six o’clock and had stepped inside with them, but had not remained. “I must help the police,” he explained.
Anna wanted to protest that he had done enough already, for there was a strained look about his eyes. She remained silent, though and Jilly made him a hasty sandwich, which he took with him in the hansom back to the offices on Chancery Lane.
After he left, Anna and Jilly turned to cleaning up the chaos her father had left behind. One of the first things Anna did was to pick up the clock and return it to the mantelshelf.
Although it had sounded like her father had been destroying anything he could place his hands on, most of the furniture had simply been overturned and the items upon them scattered. However, the vase holding the roses was shattered and the flowers themselves trodden into the carpet. The teacup Anna had been using when her father had arrived was smashed upon the hearth.
But that seemed to be the worst of the damage. Cleaning and tidying the room went more quickly than Anna thought it might, even though this was the first time she had ever turned her hand to such a lowly chore. Jilly provided direction on the more challenging tasks such as removing water from the carpet, where the flowers had spilled.
Anna enjoyed the results of their work. Turning such a distressing mess into a well-ordered and clean room was surprisingly satisfying. Then they shared a small meal together in the kitchen and a pot of tea, before Anna insisted that Jilly retire for the night. Jilly was swaying on her feet and yawning mightily.
Once Jilly closed her bedroom door, Anna went upstairs and pulled from the back of the chest of drawers her set of men’s garments. It took some minutes of straining and flexing to unfasten all her clothing, but she finally put everything aside and dressed quickly and went back downstairs, moving silently passed Jilly’s door.
She locked the back door and took the key with her, sliding it into the big pockets of her coat.
It took several minutes to wave down a cab, for they were in demand on this cold and wet night, but she finally found one on Amwell Street and gave gruff orders to take her to the townhouse on Grosvenor Square where she had once lived for a few brief months.
Her return home had been just as uneventful and now she was creeping through this house as carefully as she had the other. It was dark in the main room with not even coals from the fire glowing and Anna eased out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.
“Where have you been, Anna?” Rhys demanded. His big shadow rose from the armchair in the corner and Anna gasped. He had been sitting in the dark, waiting for her.
He came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Rhys, you scared me.”
“Not as much as you should be scared.” His voice was low. “The entire London police force is out looking for a murderer and you take it into your head to visit the scene of the crime wearing clothes that at the very least will raise suspicions in their minds.” He gave her a little shake. “That is where you have been, isn’t it?”
“Rhys, you do not understand.”
“What about this could I possibly misinterpret?” he asked. “Did you not go back to the house?”
“I had to see to my mother.”
“She isn’t there,” Rhys replied.
“I know that now.”
“You could have simply asked me. I would have told you she was removed to a hospital for professional care. I would even have taken you to visit her. But you didn’t ask, Anna. This need to experience truth for yourself has already utterly changed your life—”
“For the better,” she said quickly.
Rhys hesitated. Perhaps she had surprised him. She couldn’t see his expression in the very dim light. But his silhouette shifted. “Is that what you believe?” he asked, the harsh note gone from his voice.
“I don’t have to believe. I know, Rhys. That is a truth I have experienced for myself.” She rested her hands against his chest, sliding her fingers beneath his jacket and feeling the warmth and solidness there.
His fingers curled over hers, holding them. “That is not the only reason you went to the house, is it?”
Her insides jumped in surprise. She looked up at him, even though she could see very little. “No, it isn’t,” she said slowly, unable to lie to him.
“Then why, Anna?”
“I wanted to see what had happened. I wanted to learn for myself.”
“Anna…” He sighed.
“I must find out who killed my father,” she added quickly.
“The police will find the murderer.”
“And what if they find you, instead?” she demanded, the fear that had been driving her all night finally bursting free. “What if they think you did it?”
Rhys’ silence was eloquent. She had finally succeeded in surprising him.
His fingers tightened. “You don’t think—”
“No, of course not,” she said firmly. “I know you didn’t do it. You are not that sort of a man, who would let his rage direct him. And you are most certainly not a cold-blooded murderer.”
“So you went over to the house to do…what? The police were very thorough this afternoon. You believe you could discover something they could not?”
“I knew my father better than anyone. I spent years studying his every mood. I wanted to see if there was anything they might have missed. It was a place to begin. But not even my uncle remains in the house.”
“He is staying at an hotel,” Rhys said, his tone distant, as if his thoughts were busy with something else. “You really went there to find evidence to exonerate me?”
“Why else would I risk wearing these clothes but for you?”
“The police don’t consider me a suspect,” he pointed out.
“Not yet,” she replied. “But you were alone with the body and it is the Queen’s cousin who was murdered. You know too well how these things go, Rhys. I’ve heard you speak of them before. The police will be pressured by my family to find the killer as quickly as possible and you are the only commoner who cannot account for his movements during the critical moments. They will latch on to you because you provide an easy answer.” She shrugged. “But if we find who really did this, then no suspicion will ever mar your name.”
He was silent for a long moment. “I have a reputation and friends of my own,” he said slowly.
“Do you think your good name and your friends will be enough protection against the will of the Queen of England?” Anna asked.
His silence was even longer this time. “Put like that….” He let out a gusty sigh. “You should have come to me with this, Anna. Not traipsed around the street in trousers. You put yourself in danger unnecessarily.”
“Not for no reason,” she said quickly. “You saved my life. It seems only fair that I do the same for you.”
He kissed her, there in the dark, his lips hot and hard. She liked Rhys’ kisses, but this one was something more. It was as if Rhys was attemp
ting to communicate with her, to tell her something he would not say with words.
The kiss deepened and grew languorous, filled with heat, driven emotion. Rhys’ hands played over her body, free to roam beneath her coat and press against her flesh through the thin fabric of her shirt and trousers. Without the corsetry beneath, her torso was pliable and she could feel every shift and stroke of his fingers.
Her breath came faster and her body leapt in response. “Rhys,” she whispered as his lips moved down the length of her throat. “Upstairs…”
“Why?” he demanded, his voice thick with wanting. He tugged at the buttons on her waistcoat and she realized he was undoing them. Understanding came and with it a flare of excitement.
“Here?” she asked. Her voice was as rough as his.
He didn’t speak again, but his hand sliding through the opening in her waistcoat and shirt, to cup her breast, was answer enough.
He lowered her to the carpet. The good, thick and new carpet. There, he had his way with her, after first spreading his shirt for her to lie upon.
Was it possible to be any happier than she already was? And how could she be so filled with joy in the midst of such a tragedy? Was that not the greater sin, to profit from disaster?
* * * * *
The next day, Rhys advised her to dress in her most respectable morning gown. As she only had the one, it was not a difficult decision for her. Nevertheless, Anna took time with her toilet, taking care of every detail, even though she had no idea where he intended to take her.
Rhys handed her into a hansom and gave the driver directions that Anna could not properly hear. She glanced at him as he climbed into the cab and he gave her a small smile. “I remembered something last night. It might help your investigation.” But he would say no more, so Anna watched the streets roll past, trying to guess where they were heading from their location and direction. She was still learning the layout of streets in London, although she knew Mayfair very well. This was not Mayfair and it seemed to her that they were driving away from the river and the Westminster area she knew.
The streets became narrower and the buildings more desperate. The people walking along the streets were badly dressed, their clothes torn and ragged and dirty. Often, their faces were just as dirty. The women seemed to have paid little attention to their hair, leaving it to hang in matted clumps.
The children were barefoot, more often than not and had big eyes that watched the passing of the carriage with hopeful expressions.
“Oh, Rhys!” Anna murmured, her throat squeezing painfully and her eyes stinging. “Those poor children!”
“Their parents work in the factories to be found in these areas and while they are at work, the children roam the street. Factory wages are a pittance and housing is expensive and hard to find.”
“But…even the poorest families in Germany had at least a cottage they could share and land to farm for food. I do not remember the poor being so desperate.”
“The new factory system brings families in from the countryside to the cities, where there is little land for anyone.” Rhys picked up her hand. “There is a writer whose works I must introduce you to. He has foreseen many of these problems.”
“A writer here in England?”
“I met him about a year ago. He is a very forward-thinking man. You two would get along well, I suspect.”
“Who is he?”
“Charles Dickens.”
Anna smiled. “The author of Oliver Twist?”
“You’ve read him, then.” Rhys said. “I am sure I could contact him and arrange a meeting. Why are you smiling that way?”
“I know you are attempting to distract me from my thoughts, until we arrived at your secret destination.”
He smiled himself. “That was not my intention, precisely, but I’m glad you believe that such noble motives could be mine.”
“Oh, Rhys, of course I believe that. Why would I not?”
He gave her a small smile. “Wait until we have arrived at our destination, Anna. Wait until we are back in the carriage, then see if you feel quite the same way.”
It was a sobering suggestion. Anna swallowed and looked out at the squalid, dirty houses and the pitiable people, many of whom seemed to have no other occupation than to stand or sit on the pavement in various attitudes of dejection and misery.
Something should be done about them, she decided. It was impossible to witness their situation without being moved to action. Except that she had no idea what that action might be.
Surely, if enough people of means saw the destitution that was barely a mile beyond their usual haunts, they would rush to help in whatever way they could. But she wrapped up the idea in her mind and put it away for later contemplation.
The carriage was slowing, the driver calling out to the horses, easing their pace in the narrow street. The buildings were taller here and because the street was so narrow, they cut off most of the sunlight, so that the street seemed dingy and even more dirty.
Rhys handed her out of the carriage and she stood on the footpath while he arranged for the driver to wait for them and tipped him for his time. She stared at the dank brick buildings, their dirty windows and narrow doors. Paint flaked from woodwork while mold grew on brickwork and timbers alike, encouraged by little sun and damp conditions. Rubbish was scattered against buildings and in gutters along the side of the cobblestones. There was a smell in the air that was a combination of all the filth and wretchedness the street had to offer. She pressed her gloved hand to her mouth and nose, trying not to breathe too much of the air into her lungs.
“This is one of the oldest areas of London,” Rhys told her, taking her elbow.
“What possible reason could you have to justify visiting such a place?” she asked as he led her toward the nearest building. It was a dark brick place, with shuttered windows and a blank, uninviting appearance. There was but a single entrance, a door so deeply recessed that it was difficult to see it properly in the shadows cast by the recess.
“What is this place?” Anna whispered.
“A house of ill repute.”
She halted, stunned. “A whorehouse?” The words emerged from her in a frightened squeak.
Rhys smiled and took her arm once more. “Only someone like you could possibly utter that word aloud and at the same time be horrified you are being led toward such a place.”
She pulled back on his grip, slowing his progress toward the door. “I know of such places. Of course I do. I know that gentlemen attend them when they must dowse their…their passions. But I was led to believe they were more like hotels, with a hostess and the…the ladies tucked away in their rooms, while gentlemen smoked and drank in the front rooms.”
“That is very much like what they are,” Rhys told her. “There is a high class establishment in Mayfair that is exactly how you describe it. Actually, there are several about Mayfair and St. James’. But this is a different sort of place.”
“No doubt, if one is to judge by the environ it inhabits,” Anna said dryly. “Why are we here?”
He rapped on the door sharply. “The women here cater to clients with…peculiar tastes in bedroom activities.”
“Peculiar?” she repeated, frowning. “You mean, men with men?”
“That is an entirely different house,” Rhys said. “I don’t want to shock you with the details, Anna. Let us say that a man who finds relief from the pain of an inherited madness in the use of his fists, might also find it sexually stimulating.”
Anna’s mouth dropped opened. She was so shocked that for a moment, she could simply think of nothing to say.
“My father?” she breathed.
“Your uncle,” Rhys said flatly. “He is known to visit here from time to time. I would like to establish if he was here yesterday afternoon and evening.”
Rupert. His rages had never been as uncontrolled as her father’s. Perhaps this was the reason why—he had found a vent for such pressure.
“Why bring
me here?” she demanded.
“Because the woman who runs this place won’t speak to me simply because I ask. She will, however, speak to you. Besides, this is your investigation, Anna.”
She looked at him steadily, as the sound of bolts being slid aside sounded from inside the door. “And how is it that you know so much about this place?” she demanded.
Rhys grinned. “Because more than one gentleman has been caught here by the police and I have had to build a case for them, for their barrister to present to the judge. You would be astonished, Anna, at how much trouble a gentleman can get into these days.”
“No, I don’t think I would,” she said flatly, thinking of her father and the troubled history of her family.
The door opened and a big, but very slender, man stood on the other side, a scowl on his face. “Wot you want?” he demanded.
“I would like to speak with Esmeralda,” Rhys told him. “It is a legal matter.”
The guard coughed, a phlegmy sound that made Anna wince. “And ‘oo might you be, then?”
“Mr. Rhys Davis. I am an attorney, representing my client’s interests in a matter that I will discuss only with Esmeralda.”
Anna noticed that for the second time, Rhys had not given Esmeralda an honorific. It was a telling omission. This Esmeralda might be the manager and hostess of the house, but she was accorded no honor despite her station. Did that mean she was no better than the women she managed?
“‘nd ‘oos this?” the guard asked, looking Anna up and down.
She straightened her back, suddenly realizing that the very respectable gown and her tidy hair and accessories made their own statement.
“My wife,” Rhys said.
The guard laughed. “Never seen a man bring ‘is missus along before. That’s a new one.” He opened the door wider, still laughing.
“That should convince you of the legitimacy of my business here,” Rhys said coolly, in reply.
Anna could feel her cheeks heating. She stepped through the door behind Rhys, avid curiosity driving her forward.
But the dim interior of the place was a disappointment. She had imagined that such a house would be a tawdry place with cheap décor and beds everywhere. But they stepped into a sitting room that, while shabby, was tidy and clean. There was nothing that might hint that sexual depravities were the commerce of the place and there were no women lying about in their underthings. It was very disappointing, but at the same time, Anna was deeply relieved. She clung to Rhys’ elbow anyway.
Perilous Princess: A Sexy Historical Romance Page 14