by Beers, Laura
“And why do you assume the perpetrator came through the window?” the man asked, crossing his arms over his small chest.
“The door was locked when her body was discovered, and there are drops of blood on the windowsill,” Corbyn explained.
“Regardless, I would prefer to do my own investigation, Mr…” the constable’s voice intentionally trailed off.
“Actually, it is Lord Evan Corbyn, and I am the second son of the Duke of Weatherby,” he announced in a commanding voice.
The constable’s eyes grew wide. “I apologize, milord,” he stumbled out. “I hadn’t realized who I was speaking to.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his calling card. “If you need to speak to me again, I will make myself available to you.”
“Yes, milord,” the constable remarked as he accepted the card. “That is most gracious of you, but I don’t believe it will be necessary.”
Corbyn placed a hand on Donnelly’s shoulder. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do during this difficult time.”
Donnelly tipped his head. “Thank you, milord.”
“I would prefer if you kept my true identity a secret,” Corbyn requested.
“I understand.”
Corbyn withdrew his hand and walked out of the room. It wasn’t until he left the building before he let himself feel something. Anger welled up inside of him. He would catch this blackguard who had killed two of his friends. He wouldn’t rest until he got justice for Hannity and Miss Polly.
Chapter Seven
Jane pulled the needle out of her fabric as she turned her attention towards her sister-in-law, Emmeline, who was sitting across from her on the settee. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
Emmeline gave her a weak smile. “Much better, thank you.”
“I am sorry that you haven’t been feeling well these past few days.”
“As am I,” Emmeline admitted. “It is getting rather bothersome.”
“I can only imagine.”
Jane’s mother spoke up. “Should we call for the doctor?”
“I don’t believe that to be necessary,” Emmeline responded. “I am sure I will start feeling well soon enough.”
Lowering the fabric to her lap, Jane asked, “Do you intend to visit your aunt today?”
“I do, assuming I feel up to it.”
Her mother reached for her teacup on the table, then said, “We missed you last night at Lady Greenan’s ball.”
“May I ask how the evening went?” Emmeline asked, glancing between them.
After she took a sip, her mother lowered the teacup and replied, “Not surprisingly, Jane did not want for a dance partner last night.”
“Is that so?” Emmeline questioned.
Jane smiled. “It’s true,” she shared. “I met the most remarkable gentlemen.”
“She danced with a marquess, an earl, and the son of a duke,” her mother listed with glee.
“Among others, Mother,” Jane said with a shake of her head.
“Yes, you also danced with Mr. Haskett,” she responded with distaste.
“He wasn’t as awful a dance partner as I thought he would be,” Jane admitted. “He behaved like a perfect gentleman around me.”
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “He is a rake, and not worthy of your notice.”
“I agree, but I refuse to be rude to the man.”
Her mother opened her mouth but closed it when Pratt walked into the room. He met Jane’s gaze. “Mr. Haskett is here to call upon you. Are you available for callers, milady?”
“I am,” Jane said, putting her fabric on the table. “Will you show him in?”
“I would be happy to,” Pratt replied.
Jane rose and smoothed her pale pink gown.
“There is nothing to be nervous about,” her mother murmured. “Invite him to have some tea, and then send him on his way.”
“I understand, Mother,” Jane replied.
Mr. Haskett walked into the room with a smile on his handsome face. He was fashionably dressed, and his dark hair was brushed to the side. Many women would consider him to be charming, but she was not one of them. She knew exactly the type of person that he was, and she would not be swayed by a dashing smile.
“Mr. Haskett,” she greeted politely.
He came to a stop in front of her and reached for her hand. After he kissed the air above it, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Lady Jane.”
Jane slid her hand out of his and gestured towards the teapot. “Would you care for some tea?” she asked, hoping to create more distance between them.
“I would.”
She lowered herself gracefully onto the settee and poured him a cup of tea. As she extended him the cup and saucer, he accepted it and sat down on an upholstered armchair next to her.
Mr. Haskett’s eyes shifted towards Lady Hawthorne and Emmeline. “I am so grateful to be in the presence of such lovely ladies.”
Jane’s mother gave him a strained smile. “You are too kind, Mr. Haskett.”
“Have you met Oliver’s wife yet?” Jane asked, gesturing towards Emmeline.
Mr. Haskett nodded. “We met at Mrs. Bailey’s soirée.” He smiled. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Oliver.”
“Likewise, Mr. Haskett,” Emmeline said with a polite smile.
Jane clasped her hands in her lap. “May I inquire about your family, Mr. Haskett?”
“You may,” he replied. “They are well.”
“I am pleased to hear that.”
Mr. Haskett took a sip of his tea and lowered the cup and saucer to his lap. “I enjoyed our dance together last night.”
“As did I.” Her words sounded forced to her own ears.
“Did you receive the flowers that I sent over?”
“I did, and I thank you kindly for them.”
A line of sweat appeared on Mr. Haskett’s brow, and it almost appeared as if he were nervous. “I was wondering if you would like to—”
He was cut off by Oliver. “No!” he exclaimed as he stormed into the room with a thunderous look on his face. “Absolutely not!”
Oliver grabbed Mr. Haskett’s arm, forcing him to rise. “Get out of my townhouse!” he ordered firmly.
Jane rose and reached for Mr. Haskett’s cup and saucer as it wobbled in his hands.
“But…” Mr. Haskett started to object.
Oliver forcefully led him towards the door. “I told you to never talk to my sister,” he asserted. “You will never be good enough for her.”
Jane put the cup down and followed Oliver into the entry hall. Pratt opened the door and Oliver pushed Mr. Haskett out onto the cobblestone courtyard.
Mr. Haskett frowned as he tugged down on his blue jacket. “This is bad form, mate,” he said.
Oliver placed his hand on the door. “We shall discuss this later, but I better never see you call on my sister again.”
“Your sister is old enough to make her own decisions,” Mr. Haskett pressed.
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to protect her from the likes of you!”
Mr. Haskett lifted his brow. “You seem to forget that it wasn’t long ago that you were just like me.”
“I was never like you,” he replied, slamming the door shut.
Oliver turned around and paused when he saw Jane. “I apologize for that, but I made it very clear to my friends that they were to go nowhere near you.”
“Why is that exactly?”
“They are not worthy of you.”
“That is kind of you to say but I could have handled it myself,” she countered, placing a hand on her hip.
“I know you could have, but it is my job as your older brother to protect you from the rakes and fortune hunters.”
“Is Mr. Haskett a fortune hunter?”
“Not particularly, but it would solve the majority of his problems.”
“Regardless, you can’t just swoop
in and toss out potential suitors that you don’t like.”
Oliver looked displeased by her remarks. “Did you want Haskett to be your suitor?”
She lowered her hand to her side. “If you must know, I have no intention of encouraging him.”
“That is good.” Oliver watched her closely as he asked, “May I speak to you privately for a moment?”
“I suppose so,” Jane replied.
“I think it would be best if we spoke in the study,” Oliver said as he turned to walk towards the rear of the townhouse.
Jane followed closely behind him and closed the door as she entered.
Oliver gestured towards the settees. “Would you care to have a seat?”
She didn’t respond but walked over and sat down.
“Baldwin told me what you did,” Oliver said, walking over to the drink cart. “About how you followed me through the rookeries.”
“I did,” she replied, seeing no reason to deny it.
“That was a rather foolhardy thing to do.”
“I don’t regret my actions.”
Oliver huffed as he picked up the decanter. “No, I don’t believe you do. You always were rather lackadaisical when it came to your own safety.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “Your actions prove otherwise.”
Not liking the direction of this conversation, she decided to ask a question of her own. “Why were you at The Gutted Fish?”
With a flick of his wrist, he responded, “To gamble, of course.”
“You left behind a sick wife to gamble?” she asked. “Why?”
After Oliver poured himself a drink, he put the stopper back into the decanter. “I have my reasons.”
“You always do,” she muttered.
Oliver picked up his glass and walked over to the settee opposite her. As he sat down, he remarked, “You must trust that I am doing right by Emmeline.”
Her brow shot up. “You wish for me to trust you?”
“I know how it seems, but I truly love my wife.”
“Then why do you leave her for days on end?” she pressed.
“I can’t answer that.”
Leaning forward in her seat, Jane asked, “Are you doing something illegal?”
He smirked. “I can assure you that I am doing nothing illegal.”
“Immoral, then?”
The smile was wiped off his face by her remark. “Not that, either.”
“You wish for me to believe that you are just gambling?”
He took a sip of his drink, then said, “I do.”
“Then why can’t you go to one of the many gambling hells on Oxgate Street?” she asked.
“I find the disreputable ones to be much more lucrative.”
“You haven’t changed at all, and it saddens me,” she said with a disapproving shake of her head. “I thought you had changed after you first returned from Lockhart Manor, but I was wrong. If anything, you have gotten worse.”
Oliver frowned. “I know this may be difficult to understand, but I have very good reasons for my actions.”
“Such as?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?” she asked.
With a sigh, Oliver rose from his seat. “No matter what you think of me, I will always be there for you.”
Rising, Jane remained silent, unsure of what to say. Which was unusual, since she used her sharp tongue quite frequently.
Oliver watched her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. “Emmeline trusts me,” he revealed. “Why won’t you, Jane?”
“I suppose you have never given me a reason to trust you.”
“That is most unfortunate,” he replied, the hurt evident in his voice. “You used to take me at my word.”
“That was long ago.”
“Too long ago, if you ask me.” He turned to leave but stopped. “Stay away from my friends. They will never be good enough for you.”
“Thank you for that, Oliver.”
“Will you at least promise me that you won’t follow me through the rookeries again?” he asked with a pointed look.
“I promise.”
He gave her a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“You will find that I can be reasonable when the situation warrants it,” she said, returning his smile.
Oliver walked over to the door and opened it. “If you will excuse me, I wish to spend some time with my wife before I go out this evening.” He departed without another word.
Jane truly did not know what to think about her brother. The way he spoke, with such conviction, she wondered if she was wrong for thinking poorly of him. But how could that be? He was the one who was gone for days on end, not her.
But the doubt began to creep in. Perhaps she should stop being so cynical of her brother and accept him for who he truly was, knowing he made Emmeline very happy.
Corbyn walked down the street as he racked his brain. Who could possibly be behind these murders? They couldn’t have been more different. One was chaotic and the other pristine. If he didn’t know better, he would assume they were looking for two murderers.
Up ahead, he saw Baldwin’s emblazoned coach moving at a sedate pace along the street due to the traffic. He hurried over to the coach and caught the driver’s attention. The driver pulled back on the reins as Corbyn opened the door and ducked inside the coach.
As he sat across from Baldwin, his friend commented, “You look awful.”
“I feel awful,” he admitted as he felt the coach jerk forward.
“What’s wrong?”
Corbyn tugged at his cravat until it loosened around his neck. “Someone killed one of my informants.”
“Do you have any leads?”
“I believe it is the same person who killed Hannity, but I have some reservations.”
Baldwin grew alert. “Why do you say that?”
“Hannity’s room was in shambles, but Miss Polly’s room hadn’t been touched. The only sign of the perpetrator was the blood that he left when he exited through the window.”
“Perhaps it has something to do with Hannity not accepting his fate quietly,” Baldwin suggested.
“You make a valid point.” Corbyn grew solemn, then admitted, “We had to enact the Greenwich Protocol.”
Baldwin’s brow shot up. “The building has been compromised?”
“It has,” he replied. “A note was delivered to me there informing me of Miss Polly’s death.”
“Who delivered the note?”
“A street urchin.”
“Did the note say anything else?”
Corbyn reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the piece of paper. “See for yourself,” he replied as he held it out towards Baldwin.
Baldwin read the note, then turned the paper over. “The message was precise.”
“It was.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say…” Baldwin’s voice trailed off. “Never mind. That’s impossible.”
“What is it?”
Baldwin shook his head. “This reminds me a lot of Adam Kerley,” he said. “He was an efficient killer, and his missives were always to the point. He was a man of few words.”
“I suppose it does, but Kerley is dead,” Corbyn replied.
“I am aware,” Baldwin said as he returned the piece of paper.
Corbyn tucked the paper into his jacket pocket. “I have no idea how this person even discovered that Miss Polly was my informant. I didn’t tell anyone.”
“No one?”
He shook his head. “No one that is alive.”
“Meaning?”
“Hannity and Kerley both consulted with Miss Polly on occasion,” he shared.
Baldwin winced. “Have you considered that someone may be seeking revenge for Kerley’s death?”
“Who?” Corbyn snapped. “Kerley didn’t have any family that he spoke of, and we were his only friends.”
“It was m
erely a suggestion.”
“I know,” he replied. “Sorry for my sharp tongue. I’m afraid it has been a long morning.”
“I can only imagine.”
“We have never had to enact the Greenwich Protocol since it was first created,” Corbyn shared. “I have no doubt that Lord Daniel Bradley will have a few choice words for me.”
“It is hardly your fault.”
“It is most definitely my fault,” he asserted. “Someone is targeting me and killing people that are close to me.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I will send a missive to Lord Daniel to explain the situation,” he said.
“I wish you luck.”
“Thank you.”
Baldwin eyed him with concern. “How are you faring, Corbyn?”
He stiffened under his friend’s scrutiny. “I am well.”
“You have just lost two people that were close to you.”
“I did, but that is what we signed up for,” he replied, his voice gruff. “Wasn’t it?”
Baldwin’s eyes held compassion. “That doesn’t mean it gets any easier when we lose someone that we care about.”
“I don’t have time to dwell on my emotions at the moment.”
“No?” Baldwin asked. “When will you have the time?”
He paused. “Never.”
“Just as I assumed,” Baldwin stated.
Corbyn ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have the time or energy to mourn their losses,” he said. “I need to catch their killer.”
“And you will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Baldwin smiled at him. “Because it’s you.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I fear it’s misguided.”
“Why do you say that?”
Corbyn clenched his fists in his lap. “Because an agent and an informant were killed on my watch,” he barked. “It was my job to keep them safe!”
“You are being much too hard on yourself.”
“Am I?”
“You are,” Baldwin replied.
Corbyn grew silent for a long moment before admitting, “I suppose Kerley’s death tainted me in a way.”
“How so?”
Corbyn glanced over at the open window. “We left him to die,” he said. “We left our comrade behind.”