“You will allow me to leave or… I’ll—I’ll tell Brenner on you.”
Maxwell clasped his hands and placed them behind his head. “What would you tell him? That I want to pleasure you?”
Oh, God. Her knees went weak. After an indignant intake of air, she retorted. “No, that your name really isn’t Court and that you lied to him.”
“I didn’t lie. Court is the first half of my last name, and I will get him into White’s tonight.”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous these thieves are?”
“I do. Do you?”
She stomped her bare foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do. I live here, remember?”
“Were you aware that Brenner had Mr Lock murdered?”
What? Katrina dropped everything, reached out and held onto a nearby chair. “No,” she breathed her protest, as her mind whirled with the possibilities. Come to think of it, she wouldn’t put anything past Brenner. But still.
“How could you possibly know such a thing?”
“Before we retired to this room last night, I heard him murmur something as he passed me.”
She thought back to when Maxwell had first met Brenner. “I don’t recall—”
“He didn’t say it loud enough for anyone but me to hear. In fact, I’m quite certain he was talking to himself.”
“What did he say?”
Maxwell sat up. “Something to the effect of, ‘Poor dead Jimmy’. I heard him tell you Mr Lock left, not that he died. Susanna merely said he’d been beaten, it was you who informed me that your friend had been murdered.”
Katrina stumbled forward and lowered herself to the bed. She buried her face in both hands to cover the pain that surely showed there.
Jimmy’s sly grin flashed before her closed eyes. His young life had ended in violence and Katrina felt the loss keenly. She wept mutely, allowing the emotion to undo her at last. And for a long time, Maxwell stroked her back without uttering another word.
* * * *
They’d been sitting there for at least an hour if not two when Katrina heard Maxwell’s stomach growl and her own hunger reared up to greet his. She hoped Jimmy wasn’t watching her mourn from above. He never had allowed human weakness to interfere with his own life—and he’d likely scold Katrina for her tears. With shaking limbs, she pulled herself together and spoke, “Thank you for your compassion, Maxwell. I need to change and then we should eat.”
“Yes. Of course.”
She stood, re-gathered her discarded clothing and paused at the door. “It will be difficult for me to face Brenner after what you told me.”
Maxwell was right behind her. “You will have to pretend you know nothing, for no other reason than to keep yourself safe. In the interim, I could do some investigating into Mr Lock’s murder. Perhaps I can find evidence against Brenner.”
She turned and looked up at him. “How in the world would you do that?”
“Well, I could begin with a search at the local funeral parlour.”
“That’s very kind of you, but do you even remember what Jimmy looked like?”
“Oh. You may have a point.”
“Besides, what could possibly be done to convict his murderer?” She opened the door with her free hand.
“You would be surprised how efficient Scotland Yard’s Criminal Investigation Department can be in that respect.” Then he whispered, “Especially if we could procure the murder weapon.”
“Very well.” She nodded and they crossed the catwalk to the stairs.
* * * *
Thankfully, no one else occupied the small kitchen area. She joined Max after she had changed into a simple ivory day dress with embroidered lilacs down every other stripe. She looked charming as she buzzed around the table like a bee.
“Your suit is completely rumpled,” she commented and handed him a piece of bread dipped in berry jam. “I doubt if you’ll get across the threshold of White’s looking as if you’ve slept in your evening clothes.”
Her observation drew his attention to his attire. “I don’t suppose you have a butler service here?”
A tinkling laugh brought his gaze to meet hers as she took the seat across from him. “I don’t think you’ll find a single flat iron for miles. Hot or cold.”
“So what do you suggest?” Max bit into the day-old slice of bread and chewed while Katrina tapped her perfectly kissable lips with an index finger.
“There’s nothing for it. You’ll have to change before you take Brenner on his dream outing.” She glanced down at her heel of bread and slid it towards the centre of the table, as if at once uninterested in the bland fare. And rightly so. He set his bread down as well.
“What if his men are watching the doors?”
Katrina sat up a little straighter and whispered. “I found a corridor not three weeks ago that had at least an inch of dust on the floor, indicating that no one had ever used this particular passage. I may have been an awful thief, but I’m an ingenious sneak.”
Mice usually are. He kept the thought and the grin that accompanied it to himself. “Shall we, then?”
She nodded and stood.
Max glanced about to double-check they were alone, which they were. “I think we should also call at the funeral parlour.” He hated to bring up the subject, but knew eventually that they’d at least have to touch upon it. “Are you up for such a morose excursion or would you prefer to wait a day or two?”
He watched something akin to pain pass over Katrina’s features. She then lifted her chin. “If it will help convict Bren—the murderer, then I’m all for it.”
His chest squeezed in sympathy for her, making it difficult to draw breath. He took her by the hand. “Your bravery does you credit.”
“I’m quite sure it’s merely a shell of courage, but it’s all I have left.”
* * * *
His mouse had avoided the guards by taking them through the isolated, cobweb-strewn corridor, the clever girl. Once they were well away from the Den and strolling along the streets of London blending in with the crowd, Max suggested they visit the funeral parlour first as it was on the way to his town house.
Her hand trembled in the crook of his arm as he reached for the doorknob. He glanced down at her. “You are sure?”
She nodded and they stepped into the parlour. A bell attached to the back side of the entrance sounded, announcing their arrival. Max closed the door behind them and detected a faint stench of decay in the air. Aside from the smell, it seemed a normal yet mostly unfurnished parlour, save the two caskets on display at the far end of the extensive, narrow room. Light streamed in through the muslin under-drapes, but the space still seemed dark—must have been the fact that it was permanently dressed for grim occasions. It was likely only those who’d recently lost loved ones that visited.
A man entered through drawn velvet curtains beyond the caskets and walked sullenly down the long floral runner towards them. “Good day, I am Mr Timothy. How can I be of service?” His unruly salt and pepper hair conflicted with his perfectly tailored suit—which denoted his profession—but his cheerless smile was entirely accurate.
“Please excuse our intrusion, Mr Timothy. My name is Mr Courtland and this is Miss Harwood.”
Mr Timothy nodded a solemn bow and Max continued. “An acquaintance of Miss Harwood’s has gone missing. She is under the suspicion that he’s passed on. We were wondering if anyone has been brought here to be prepared for burial whom you’ve yet been unable to identify.”
“I see. Was it Atwood, Elfman or Hendrickson who sent you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Her voice had been barely audible, but Max understood Katrina’s confusion. He suspected the three chaps Mr Timothy mentioned were affiliated with Scotland Yard. If that were the case, he and Katrina’s snooping about might be just a tad premature.
“Pardon my assumption, Miss, but everyone in the industry knows I take in the strays—I mean unidentified bodies.”
Max
relaxed somewhat. Not wanting to appear altogether uninformed, he jumped in, “No. We chose your establishment because… Well, just consider it a lucky guess.”
“Remarkable. As luck would have it, I’ve got two males what come in early this morning and one left over from yesterday ‘round noon.”
“Would you mind if—?” Maxwell tilted his head towards Katrina.
“Not at all. I’ll just go prepare a few things. If you’ll permit me.”
“Of course.”
Mr Timothy turned and headed for his workroom.
Max waited for the velvet curtains to close behind Mr Timothy then he turned to Katrina. “I’m afraid you will have to summon whatever courage you have left, my dear,” he said softer than a whisper.
“W—what do you mean?” she replied, matching his tone.
“We must be very careful. If you act in response to your friend’s corpse, showing any emotion whatsoever, both of us will be called upon for questioning by the authorities—and I need a bit of time to find suitable evidence against Brenner. Can you pretend it’s not Mr Lock even if it is?”
Katrina swallowed hard. “I shall do my best. But why then did you give Mr Timothy our real names?”
“The last thing we want in a circumstance such as this is to be caught fibbing about our identities.”
“And if they catch us lying about the body, what then?”
“We’ll just tell them… You were too distraught or some such. We’ll have to deal with that at a later time.”
She nodded once, catching on like the astute girl he knew her to be.
The curtains parted. “We are ready for you now, Miss Harwood.”
Katrina glanced up at Max. We?
Chapter Twelve
The second they entered into the room where the bodies were kept, Katrina began to gag. From his pocket, Max handed her his clean handkerchief, the stench causing his own eyes to water. The tiny space allowed no ventilation—no open window, not even a hole in the roof. One shelf-lined wall held dusty glass bottles in different sizes of clear and not so clear fluids. It was enough to make the stomach roil.
“My apologies. I’ve been working here for so long one might say I’m used to the smell.” Mr Timothy, now covered in a black and white pin-striped bib apron, chuckled and reached for the corner of the sheet on the first corpse. With a flourish he peeled the cover to just below the dead man’s chest and peered at Katrina.
She quickly looked away. “That’s not him,” she murmured from behind the handkerchief.
Mr Timothy nodded and moved on to the next body. With the same sort of show, he revealed the bloated face of the next cadaver for her.
Katrina winced and averted her gaze. She shook her head.
Max felt as if he could no longer stand upright in the room. He himself lifted the third covering and tossed it back down just as quickly after Katrina rejected it. He took her by the elbow. “Thank you, Mr Timothy. You’ve eased Miss Harwood’s mind considerably,” he said as they broke through the velvet curtains.
“Call any time. We’re here most every day.”
Mr Timothy’s voice faded fast behind them as they hurried for the front door.
Once outside, they both drew in mouthfuls of what fresh air London afforded, trying to purge themselves of the stench and taste of decay and embalming solution.
“Definitely not the way to spend recreational time,” Max panted, trying to lighten the situation.
“How does he do that day in and day out?”
“We will never know. Some people are just cut out for that sort of occupation.”
“By the way, none of those corpses where Jimmy,” she said with a painful, distant look in her eyes.
“I didn’t think so, either. Come.” Max offered his elbow and together they headed in the direction of his town house.
* * * *
The second they turned down Hamilton Place, all thoughts of how beautiful she felt strolling along on the arm of Maxwell Courtland vanished, and Katrina began to worry. She’d pilfered, or at least tried to pilfer, from a house on this very street not three nights ago. Was Maxwell the victim’s neighbour? Had that woman noticed her diamond earrings were gone and raised the alarm in the vicinity? Did she linger even now on the street in search of them? Katrina peered down the street. Mercifully, no one was about.
Maxwell paused at the foot of a brick pathway—at the exact property that deeply concerned her. She peered at him and almost thought she saw a smile curl the corners of his lips.
“Is something wrong?” he inquired.
“No!” she replied much louder than she’d wanted to. Contrary to what she wished to believe, she was a dreadful liar when taken by surprise. She cleared her throat. “Why?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just that your steps have slowed ever since we rounded the last corner onto Hamilton Place.”
“Oh,” she said in way of apology.
Maxwell started forward once again. He placed his hand on the iron latch and her breath caught. Tossing the gate wide, he escorted her through.
Shite.
Inside the breezeway, Katrina glanced around, trying not to appear frantic.
She felt her blood thicken when a butler appeared, but Maxwell waved him off. “No need, Simmons. I’ve got this one.” Without missing a step, the man departed and left them alone in the corridor.
Katrina felt a single drop of perspiration inch its way down between her shoulder blades.
Maxwell took her by the hand and drew her up the main staircase. He paused only briefly on the first landing. “Look familiar?”
“What?” She nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Does my home look familiar to you?” he asked and continued on to yet another set of stairs.
“I—I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
He chuckled and led her through a set of double doors to a spacious, very masculine bedroom. “Indeed you do. You attended my ball earlier this week.”
“I—I— Your ball?”
“There’s no need to pretend otherwise. It’s all behind us.” He gave a bit of a smirk.
How odd, she thought, that he hadn’t cared that she’d nearly pilfered a good deal of his silver that night.
“Honestly, your attendance is irrelevant. However…” His voice lowered to an intimate level. “That was the night you got your first taste of my hand upon your bottom.”
Katrina choked and set her cool fingers upon her burning cheek. She should have scolded him right then and there for remarking aloud about her penchant for his rough play, but now that it was out, and just between the two of them, it didn’t seem so upsetting. She dropped her hand to her side. Could it be that he was truly a trustworthy man or did this sense of trust come from the carnal sport they’d shared together?
He stopped in the middle of the room, turned and pulled her close. “Can I tempt you with any other pleasures, Katrina?”
She looked away. It wasn’t even noon yet and her thoughts could have easily drifted to… Her gaze landed on an open door off to the left of the huge four-poster bed and the sizable porcelain tub that lay therein.
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured, having obviously followed her line of sight. “Would you like to take a bath while I pack a few things?”
“Could I?” She despised the audible desperation in her voice, but if it got her into a tub of hot water, she didn’t care if she sounded like a braying donkey. “I would like nothing more in the world.”
“Very well. Come.”
Maxwell brought her in to where the tub stood on four golden claw feet and showed her how to work the matched plumbing. He retired from both chambers and in no time, Katrina was up to her chin in luxurious hot water.
* * * *
Contented and pruned to her toes, Katrina, wrapped in a large drying towel, cautiously peeked into the bedroom from where she’d soaked for who knew how long. She expected her clothes to be lying on the bed where sh
e’d left them, but they weren’t there. She quickly scanned the room. They weren’t hanging on the privacy screen in the corner, they weren’t draped over the chairs near the fireplace, and neither did they lie atop the fainting couch beneath the window. If this was some sort of joke Maxwell had made at her expense, it wasn’t remotely funny. She promised herself that she’d wait only a few minutes longer before sounding some sort of alarm out of the door and down the hallway.
Drawn to the focal point of the room, Katrina inspected the huge four-poster. The deep burgundy brocade bed covering matched the velvet curtains perfectly, but then what else did she expect? Maxwell was a wealthy man. He could likely afford a change of linens and draperies for every day of the week.
On the bedside table sat an iron-bound leather chest. The box looked similar to her father’s tobacco and pipes house—but that couldn’t be what it was. Maxwell didn’t smell of pipe smoke. In fact, he smelt cleaner than any man she’d ever stood next to. With a glance in the direction of the door, she pushed aside the bolt and lifted the lid. Strangely shaped items set deep in black velvet grooves met her gaze, including a few pen-shaped items that were far too wide to be writing implements. She leaned in to take a closer look and found that they were shaped quite like—
“Oh, good heavens.” Katrina placed her hand upon the lid to slam the chest shut when a sheer white organdie drawstring bag holding a strand of green beads caught her eye. “What on earth…?” She reached in and drew out the bag, dumping the bauble into her hand. The thumb-sized, perfectly shaped stone balls clacked against one another. The beads were green jade and smooth and in between each lay a knot in the sturdy thread that shone like oriental silk. She held them up by one side, her gaze roving up and down the long strand.
“And they say I’m curious.”
Katrina was sure that for a second her feet had left the floor entirely. “Who says that?” she all but yelled and made to lower the beads back into the box.
“Well, you for one.” Maxwell took the beads by the opposite end and draped them over her shoulder.
Cat and Mouse Page 9