“At the butcher, he bought cheap cuts of flank but far more than one man could eat. He purchased a dozen loaves of bread from the baker. At the apothecary, he obtained a large quantity of a sleeping remedy.”
“How odd. Does he have family elsewhere to whom he’s taking supplies?” Somehow she’d never imagined him with loved ones.
“Not that we’ve found. Then we followed him to a warehouse near the docks. Not exactly a place where relatives would be living.”
Abigail was silent for several minutes while she thought over the information. “What do you make of this?”
“I think he’s involved in something bigger than harassing you and your family.”
The idea surprised her. “Such as?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. I wanted you to be aware of the situation as I’m having him followed until we know more.”
She sighed as disappointment seeped through her. She’d been afraid that had been the point he was making, but she knew he was right. If Simmons was involving others, they needed to discover his plan and with whom he was working.
“I don’t think Simmons has the wherewithal to mastermind a grand scheme on his own,” added Stephen, watching her closely.
“Which means he’s under the direction of someone else.”
“Yes, and I want to know who.”
“How long do you expect it will take before you can put an end to all this?” The stress of constantly being on watch for Simmons was wearing on her. She was ready to move forward with her life, and she’d hoped to begin today.
“I wouldn’t think long now that we’ve found him. The good news is that since we’re following him, there’s little risk of him bothering you without us knowing about it.”
“Unless you lose him.”
“Unlikely, but yes,” he admitted. “We know where he’s staying at least part of the time, and where he’s purchasing supplies. Whatever he’s doing, I’m certain he’s up to no good. With a bit more time, we’ll know what it is and stop him. Consider the delay a way to help others.”
“I can’t help but worry he’ll approach us again.”
“We’ll do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He paused, his gaze resting above her head for a long moment.
She opened her mouth to ask if her hat was crooked when he set down the book, took her elbow and escorted her to the rear of the store. He glanced around to make sure they were alone.
“I realize I’m asking much of you, but it might help if we knew more about what happened the day your father was killed.”
Abigail’s heart squeezed. While time had eased the raw edges of her grief, it hadn’t truly faded. Witnessing her father’s violent death at the age of sixteen had forever changed her life. She still found it difficult to discuss. However, if recounting the events could help in any way, she’d tell Stephen all she could.
“Father and I were at our country estate in Kent. Mother had remained in London with the twins. We’d been visiting a local squire that afternoon, and when we returned, we went into the library so Father could retrieve some papers.” Abigail shivered as the memories of that day flooded her mind and heart.
“Simmons stood near the desk with papers and books strewn all over, the room torn apart. Father demanded to know what he was about.”
She folded her arms across her middle to hold the pain inside. “The police said later he’d broken a window pane and unlatched a door.” Her gaze met Stephen’s to see if he wanted her to continue.
His expression held sympathy and concern. “Then what happened?”
“Simmons drew a knife as Father charged toward him.” She could still see the bright flash of it and feel the fear that had shot through her. “Simmons demanded he back away. Father told him to drop the knife. Neither complied. Then Father grabbed for the knife. They struggled, yelling and knocking things over. Simmons gained the upper hand and stabbed Father. Simmons ran when one of our servants came in.”
The picture was so vivid in her mind that she had to fight the burning lump in her throat. “Father staggered and fell to the floor. I couldn’t stop the blood. So much of it.” She stared at her gloved hands, still able to see the crimson soaking his white shirt, coating her hands as she tried to make it stop.
Stephen took her hands and held them tight. “How terrible.”
“Father must’ve realized how badly he was injured, for he grabbed my arm and pulled me close. He...” she closed her eyes as tears choked her, “he said I was to take good care of Mother and the girls. Then the light in his eyes went out. I shook him and pleaded with him, but he didn’t come back.”
“I can only imagine how difficult it is to remember that day. Did you determine what Simmons was after?”
She swallowed and drew a shaky breath. “No. The police thought it was just a burglary.”
“Can you think back to when you first saw Simmons? Was he searching a particular area or looking at something specific?”
Abigail tried to picture the room. “Books and papers were scattered about. The drawers had been pulled from the desk and upended.”
Stephen put his arm around her and drew her close. His presence comforted her in ways she hadn’t imagined, soothing her grief. With the calmness came the memory of Simmons standing at the desk, several rocks from her father’s collection in his hands. That image brought a reminder of Simmons’ words.
“He wants a rock! He told me so the night I confronted him in the alley. That’s what he was holding when we came into the library that day.”
“A rock?”
“Collecting them was a hobby of my father’s.”
Stephen frowned. “Did his collection contain anything of value?”
“I’ve no idea. He enjoyed gathering specimens and speaking with fellow collectors. I know he had several from other countries and all different types.”
“Do you still have the collection?”
“Most of it. We had to sell a few of his things when he died. The rest of the collection is in our library. That must be why Simmons broke in—to continue his search.”
“Interesting that upon being released from prison, Simmons immediately comes to look for this rock. May I see the collection?”
“Certainly.”
Stephen touched her cheek gently and she wanted nothing more than to lose herself into his arms, to ease the pain of her memories with the passion she was certain she could find in his embrace.
But the time had not yet come to propose the idea of an affair to him, much to her disappointment. Her enthusiasm for the idea had been diminished by memories of her father. With a deep breath, she pulled back her emotions and her memories.
“Are you all right?” Stephen asked as he trailed a finger along her cheek, his gentleness disarming her meager defenses.
“I’m fine,” she said, nearly meaning it. His tender regard made her heart squeeze. Perhaps the moment wasn’t right today, but soon, she’d convince him to have an affair with her. Her blossoming feelings for him demanded no less. “You’re right. We should try to discover what else Simmons is involved in. Other people’s lives may depend upon it.”
He clasped her hand and gave her a smile. “I’ll let you know what transpires.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“This is not a wise plan,” Stephen said as he watched the entrance of Newgate the following evening.
Night had fallen, bringing with it a dense, damp fog which added to the eerie atmosphere that had always surrounded the prison the few times he’d visited.
He turned once again to stare at the boy’s attire Abigail wore. He couldn’t help it. The bulky jacket wasn’t flattering, but her snug trousers reminded him that she was long-limbed and rounded in all the right places.
“Yes, it is. We’ve already discussed it.” She tugged the brim of her cap lower as though she, too, was uncomfortable with her attire.
“How I let you convince me to come along escapes me.” Stephen pulled h
is gaze back to the large, grim granite building, trying to ignore her presence and focus on the task at hand.
Abigail had pleaded with him to accompany him when he’d informed her of the meeting. Next time, he’d remember not to tell her about such things until after the fact. He was no match for her brand of logic or those amazing blue eyes. Who could say no to her?
Gas lamps lit the narrow wooden door of the prison entrance. The iron teeth at the top seemed to threaten any visitors brave enough to ring the bell. The structure had a hopeless air to it and was an unpleasant spot to linger near. He hoped the guard Farley had located would soon arrive so he could get Abigail away from the dismal place. The man had worked there when Simmons had been convicted and supposedly hung for murder.
“Of course I had to come. I want to hear what this guard has to say. Why does that seem so unreasonable?”
“Let’s see. Perhaps because you’re a lady? Or because your stepmother would faint dead away if she knew what you were about. Or it might be that—”
“Yes, yes. You’ve made your point.” She glared up at him, the bill of her cap casting a shadow over her blue eyes in the dim light. “But I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Nothing so logical for Miss Bradford,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Never mind. Remember, you promised to let me do the talking. If you utter even one word, you’ll ruin your disguise.”
“So you’ve told me,” she said, her tone impatient.
“Forgive me, but the idea of you staying quiet for any length of time seems unlikely.”
“If you ask the questions I wrote down, there’ll be no need for me to speak. Did you bring the list?”
He pulled it from his coat pocket for her inspection.
“Well then, I’ll remain as quiet as a mouse.”
“I think this is our man,” Stephen said. “Stay behind me so he doesn’t get a good look at you.”
An older man in a dark uniform with a ring of keys dangling from his pocket shuffled toward them. His shoulders hunched even further as he glanced around before approaching them. “You be the guv lookin’ for information?”
“Yes.”
The warder peered at Abigail warily, making Stephen’s nerves draw taught. “Who’s this?”
“No one of import.” Stephen moved to shield her from view, cursing himself for allowing her to be there.
“Let’s see the money first. You’re askin’ a lot to remember somethin’ that happened nearly a decade ago.”
Stephen drew some notes from his pocket and the guard reached for them. “Hold off. Half now and the remainder will be yours if we’re satisfied with your information.”
The warder muttered but pocketed the money.
“What can you tell us about Vincent Simmons’ release?”
“I believe you’ve got your facts wrong. Vincent Simmons hung for murder three days after he was found guilty. That was ten years past.”
Stephen heard a protest behind him and reached back to hold Abigail in place. “So the records say, but you and I know better.”
The man gave a sly smile. “A man named Edward Smith was sentenced to ten years for burglary that same day. He served his time at Pentonville.”
“And?” Stephen prompted before Abigail tried to speak.
“Rumor has it that Smith took Simmons place with the executioner in exchange for money to take care of his wife and children. Very noble of Smith, don’t you think? I wonder if his widow thought so. Course some said he was dyin’ from consumption anyway. He certainly was thin enough and had a nasty cough. Mayhap it was true.”
Stephen had suspected something like this had occurred. At times there was no justice in the world. “Who arranged for the switch?”
“Don’t know, but a murderer of a nobleman don’t get off that easy on some guard’s say-so.”
“A name would be of value to us.” Stephen pulled out another note.
The guard swallowed hard as he stared at the money. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Your identity will remain a secret.”
“All right. Near as I can tell, it was Charles Nulty, the Chief Warder. But some say more than him was involved.”
Stephen pondered what little he knew of the man, surprised he’d succumbed to bribery of any sort. Or perhaps it had been blackmail that had persuaded him. Information could often be used as leverage on the best of men.
He felt a poke in the back and turned to find Abigail pointing toward the list tucked in his pocket. Lord, but the woman was relentless.
Without bothering to consult the list, he turned back to the guard. “I have a difficult time believing Simmons had the intelligence or the wherewithal to arrange all this.”
“Someone on the outside did and provided the money for it as well.”
“Who?” Stephen prompted.
The warder shook his head. “If anyone knows, they’re not sayin’. One of the prisoners heard Simmons braggin’ about how he had connections in the scientific world but he wasn’t what I’d call a reliable source.”
Stephen glanced to Abigail to see if this meant anything to her but she shook her head. “Why would a scientist want Simmons?” he asked the warder.
The guard shrugged. “No one seemed to know.”
“We need a name.”
“There isn’t one. I already tried. I figured you’d be willin’ to pay extra for that but either no one knows or no one’s talkin’.”
Stephen studied the man’s aura, but could see no obvious sign of deceit, which reinforced Stephen’s own instincts. There was no point in pressing the man further.
As though he read Stephen’s thoughts, the warder said, “I need to be goin’ now.” He held out his hand for the rest of the money.
Stephen paid him. “If you come across more names, send word through the man who contacted you. He knows how to reach me.”
“Don’t count on it. Don’t know who else I’d ask. Nice doin’ business with you, guv.”
Stephen watched the warder disappear into the shadows of the building as Abigail moved to stand beside him.
“Why didn’t you make him give us a name?”
“He had no name to give.”
“How do you know? He was probably lying.”
“Let’s just say I have experience in these matters.” Stephen gestured at the hackney that awaited them at the end of the street and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he’d soon have Abigail safely ensconced in her home.
“Odd that Simmons is searching for a rock and was rumored to be tied to a scientist. It makes no sense,” she said.
He remained silent, pondering the information. It was starting to make sense to him, but he wasn’t yet ready to share it with her, not until he discovered more.
“What is our next step?” she asked.
Stephen shook his head. Abigail’s persistence never ceased to amaze him. “We’ll determine a list of potential people who were in a position to arrange the switch then investigate what scientists Simmons could have been involved with. Perhaps we can dig up more on Charles Nulty.”
The silence between them grew long but it was comfortable. The darkness of the hackney’s interior and the muffled hooves of the horse on the street created an intimacy Stephen knew he should fight. Abigail’s scent was sweet—lavender if he wasn’t mistaken. The warmth of her body pressed against his heated him from the inside out, especially when he envisioned her inappropriate attire.
Damn those pants.
She sighed and relaxed, leaning against him. The small movement stopped all his thoughts save one. He shoved it away and counted the lamp posts along the street, anything to stem the desire flooding him.
She wound her arm through his, and he swore he could feel her breast resting on his arm despite the thick jackets between them. He gave up on the lamp posts and tried desperately to remember all the Latin phrases he’d struggled through in school.
She rested her head on his sh
oulder with another sigh, snuggling closer.
Damn.
What was he to do?
The same thought as before the lamp posts came to him, and this time, he couldn’t stop from acting on it. This time, there was no anger between them. Only pure desire.
He drew her into his arms and slowly lowered his mouth to hers, giving her the chance to refuse him. Part of him hoped she would, for he had no right to kiss her.
Instead, she lifted up to meet him halfway. That small gesture of acceptance released the floodgates of his desire. He kissed the edges of her lips then delved his tongue into the sweet depths of her mouth. She responded with eagerness, wrapping her arms around him as though she never wanted to let go.
He pushed off her cap so he could touch the soft strands of her hair. When that wasn’t enough, he ran his hand along her side, down her hip to cup her bottom tucked so tightly in the trousers.
A moment passed before he realized the hackney had halted. He pulled back, attempting to gather his wits as he realized they’d arrived at her home.
She drew back as well, the dim light revealing the tendrils of dark hair framing her face, her lips full from his kisses. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing his desire back.
He considered apologizing, but realized he didn’t want to. “Good night, Abigail.”
“Good night,” she said softly. A dark flare appeared in her golden aura as she smiled and trailed her hand along his cheek then grabbed her cap.
As he watched the door to her home close behind her, he couldn’t help but wonder what thought had crossed her mind.
He was certain it involved him, but he didn’t think he’d like it, given the dark spear in her aura.
With a sigh, he gave the driver his address. He had to find a way to maintain his distance from her. Cozy hackney cab rides were no longer an option.
***
Abigail paced her bedroom in her nightgown, too restless to sleep after the events of the evening. To learn that someone had been paid to take Simmons’ place was disturbing news. Why? Who was Simmons so important to that he would arrange for such a thing?
Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) Page 13