“We weren’t certain with the first assault, but this last time left no doubt. We believe they’re linked to the collar.”
“We?” Stallings cocked a brow.
Anthony peered at the questionable liquid before sipping. “God, how can you drink this?” He set the cup on the desk. “We, as in James Ashley, Lord Longhaven, and Lord Phillip Spencer, The Earl of Windsford’s son. They are her cousins.”
Stallings blew out a breath and leaned back in his large wooden chair. “Are we to expect a visit from the notable Adrian Spencer?”
“I would imagine so. I believe James sent word to him. Why do you ask?”
Stallings gave a bark of laughter. “You’ll understand when you meet him.” He sobered. “Why do you think someone wants Mrs. Griffin dead?”
Anthony sickened at the thought of Clairece lying prostrate at some madman’s feet. “It has to be something she witnessed at the time of the theft. There could be no other reason. The reprobate had the bollocks to try and kill her in broad daylight.”
Stallings’ eyes narrowed while he tapped a pencil on the desk. “So how may I be of help?”
“I need the passenger manifest for any ship leaving for New York around the time of the theft—say, two months before and returning shortly thereafter. If the collar was brought back to England, the person or persons would be listed both times and we can match the names.”
Stallings jotted a quick note. “I’ll put someone on it immediately. Any idea why the collar has taken so long to reappear?”
“I’m beginning to question if the story of the relic’s resurfacing was only a means to lure her here.”
Stallings’ brows rose. “Are you staying in town?”
“No. I’m taking Mrs. Griffin to Sanctuary Park. I stand a much better chance of protecting her there.”
“In Somerset?” At Anthony’s nod, Stallings continued. “How soon are you leaving?”
“It all depends on her ability to travel, but within the next two weeks.”
Stallings’ shrewd eyes narrowed. “You’ve taken quite an interest in . . . Mrs. Griffin’s case.”
“As it’s the same matter Her Majesty”—he returned the other man’s stare—“and you, asked me to take, then yes.”
Stallings smiled. “Of course. If I can help in any other way, send word.” The Chief rose. “You should consider the possibility whoever is behind this won’t hesitate to kill you as well.”
After leaving Stallings’ office, Anthony instructed his driver to take him to Whitefriars Street, the offices of The Evening News and Post. A frustrating quarter of an hour later, he was no closer to learning the identity of the person who had placed the ads.
Apparently, envelopes holding the short missives, as well as their payment, were left in a night drop. Advised it was not an uncommon procedure for the personals, Anthony stomped from the building mumbling all sorts of dire consequences to whomever allowed such an asinine practice.
He climbed into his waiting coach and leaned back wearily as he sifted through all the information pertaining to the collar and its theft. He was missing something, evidently an important something. Perhaps his involvement with Clairece was distorting the facts in his otherwise analytical brain.
One point to consider, the last words from Clairece’s late husband. If Roger Griffin had been involved in the theft, the knowledge would destroy her.
As his coach rumbled onto Park Lane, he noticed a black hackney waiting in front of his home. Hodges opened the door as Anthony exited his carriage and hurried up the front steps.
“Sir Gerald insisted on waiting and is in the drawing room, my lord.”
“Thank you, Hodges.” Anthony handed his gloves, hat, and coat to the butler. “How long has he been here?”
“At least an hour.”
Anthony sighed. “Has Jason returned from his holiday?” There were many things to discuss with his secretary before he could leave for the country with Clairece.
“Yes, my lord. Mr. Rutledge is in the kitchen having tea while awaiting your convenience.”
Anthony nodded and adjusted his cuffs and sleeves, then stepped through the double doors into the drawing room.
A slender man turned to face him. “Ah . . . Cousin. I apologize for stopping by unannounced, but I wanted to see for myself you were unharmed.”
A twinge of regret settled in Anthony’s chest. Gerald had always addressed him as Tony. But after Anthony had inherited, it had suddenly become ‘Cousin,’ a term uttered with obvious distaste. “I’m well, Gerald. Why would you think otherwise?”
“The rumor around Boodles holds you were nearly run down in the streets.”
“You should know not to put much stock in rumors.” Anthony strolled farther into the room. “May I offer you a libation?”
“Port, thank you.” Gerald glanced around. “You’ve done well for yourself. Truth to tell, I didn’t think you had it in you. It seems we all underestimated you.”
Anthony handed the other man a small glass of the sweet wine. “What can I do for you?” Gerald only sought him out if he wanted something. Often, a large sum of money.
“I’m overextended for the quarter. Roxbury Abbey isn’t paying what it once did, and a gentleman must keep up appearances.” Gerald took a sip and glanced around again.
Anthony caught the mercenary glint in his cousin’s eyes. “If I remember correctly, The Abbey sits on a nice parcel of fertile soil. You would be better served if you put the income back into the land, or invested in some fairly lucrative ventures. I could help if you—”
“The lucrative ventures I prefer, Cousin, are found at the tracks or gaming tables.” Gerald settled into a padded chair. “I never cared for the country and its interminable solitude.” He thumbed the crystal goblet. “I don’t remember Uncle Melville spending any time here.”
“He didn’t. I bought Inniswood while Harding Hall was refurbished.”
“Why not stay at Wade House? It was part of the entailment, I believe.”
“The townhouse sits empty, and will as far as I’m concerned.”
“Did you think by removing any trace of the old man it would also remove him from memory?” Gerald’s smile turned spite-filled. “I would think it a wasted effort. The mark on your temple should remind you of him.”
“Bugger you.” Anthony’s fingers traced the scar. At Gerald’s humorless laugh, he sighed. “We were once like brothers. What happened?”
“We grew up,” Gerald retorted coldly.
The door opened and Caesar’s head appeared. Glimpsing Anthony, the dog bounded forward. His awareness swung to Gerald and he stopped, a deep growl emanating from his chest. The menacing rumble grew louder until Anthony called the wolfhound to his side.
“How can you abide that devil-dog?” Gerald muttered, keeping a wary eye on Caesar.
“Is it the money, Gerald? I’ve worked hard for what I have. You of all people should understand. It was your choice to squander your inheritance instead of building something of value.”
“I was raised a gentleman, not someone to work with my hands or dabble in trade. I would sooner end in penury than marry a brash American heiress for her money, as so many have done.” Gerald affected a shudder. “I understand you’ve been seen in the company of such a woman.”
Having cultivated an iron control since he was eight, Anthony refused to be baited again by Gerald. “How much do you need?”
“Five thousand should do.”
Anthony sent his cousin a censorious look.
Gerald added hastily, “It was a high stakes game and I was winning, and then . . .” He flicked a nonexistent speck of lint from his pant leg.
“This is the last time. I would advise you to find a less expensive way to amuse yourself, or some other method
to pay for it.”
Anthony ordered Caesar to stay and left the room with Gerald trailing behind. He took a seat at the large desk and pulled a book of cheques from the drawer. After scribbling the amount and signing his name, he pushed the piece of paper across the polished wood toward Gerald. “Take this draft to my bank. They’ll honor it.”
“As always, I’m in your debt.” Gerald sketched a bow, folded the cheque, and placed it in an inside pocket.
Anthony pushed to his feet. “If you truly have no interest in your estate and lands, name a price. As Roxbury Abbey borders Sanctuary, it would be worth my consideration.”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I suppose it would. I shall consider it.” He turned and strode from the room.
Anthony resumed his seat and swiveled to stare out the window. A stab of regret coursed through him. As lads, he and Gerald had been in each other’s pockets. Between semesters, the two would fish, swim, and raid the kitchens and pantries of both houses.
Once, after a particularly vicious beating from the earl, Gerald had consoled him. Things between them had changed after Anthony learned he was not the earl’s biological son.
At the death of Anthony’s mother, Gerald had been unavailable. Anthony had sifted through the charred remains of his mother’s belongings alone, salvaging only a small wooden jewelry box and the few mementoes it contained. With the coffer packed safely in his portmanteau, he’d left without a backward glance.
Later, and out of necessity, Anthony returned to bury the man he’d never been able to please, and to claim the inheritance the old earl had no choice but to leave him.
But even in death, the old man had tried to destroy him.
Chapter 16
“Is this a bad time?”
Anthony smiled at the man leaning against the doorjamb, his arms full of ledgers.
“Jason, I’m glad you’re back. Did you enjoy your holiday?”
Jason Rutledge pushed away from the doorframe and came forward. “Two weeks is much too long to be in the company of my mother and sisters, especially with matrimony, mine to be exact, on their collective minds.”
Anthony chuckled. “At it again, are they?”
“Still. I believe it to be their primary occupation of late.” Jason placed the ledgers on the desk and took the chair across from Anthony’s.
“We’ve a lot to discuss. Quite a bit happened during the last week.” Anthony moved a stack of papers to the side.
“So I surmise. I noticed Gerald leaving. Need I ask what he wanted?”
“It’s always the same.” Anthony offered a wry shrug.
Jason’s knowledge of the Harding business dealings was as comprehensive as Anthony’s. Fresh from Cambridge, Jason had approached him for a position. A genius at managing figures, Jason was exactly who Anthony needed to help with his new and struggling enterprise.
Where Anthony was gifted at commerce and investments, he had little time to maintain financial records. Jason, on the other hand, was brilliant at handling the complicated documents and ledgers for Anthony’s various factories and ventures. So they struck a deal. Anthony would supply Jason with a place to live, food to eat, and a percentage of the net profits from the fledgling company. In the years they’d been together, he’d made Jason a rich man.
Two hours later, they’d labored through the accounts and anything of note regarding the factories. With the stack of papers requiring his signature out of the way, and instructions given concerning possible new investments, Anthony leaned back and viewed his secretary-cum-business partner.
“I need to advise you of something.” While Jason listened, Anthony described the happenings of the previous week.
Jason blew out a breath. “I gather you believe whoever is trying to kill Mrs. Griffin will follow you?”
“I’m certain of it. I won’t risk her life by staying here. Since I don’t know how long I’ll be at Harding Hall, it may be necessary for you to commute.”
Jason stretched his legs out before him. “Do I sense an interest in Mrs. Griffin?”
“She is a woman who needs my help. Must it be anything more?”
“It needn’t be, but I believe it is.”
During the years they’d worked together, the two had become friends. Anthony tapped his pen on the blotter a few times while he decided how to respond. “It’s more than an interest, but I don’t know where it will lead.”
Jason nodded. “You say she’s Lord Longhaven’s cousin?”
“Yes, and he’s none too happy about my involvement.”
“In his position, I cannot say I blame him.”
Anthony’s frown brought a smile to Jason’s face.
“You must admit,” Jason added, “you’ve shown no inclination to marry. She’s hardly the type for a liaison, widowed or not.”
“Are you finished?”
Jason’s smile widened to an outright grin. “It would seem I am.” He stood and began gathering the account books and stacks of paper. “Is she aware of the children’s home you sponsor or of your other philanthropic endeavors?”
Anthony rose but remained silent.
Jason stopped shuffling papers. “I take it she isn’t. It wouldn’t hurt your cause if she knew of it and the other charities.”
“What I do in that regard shouldn’t matter.”
“You’re right, it shouldn’t, but often it does.” Jason settled the ledgers in his arms. “I’ll take care of these things and meet with you again before you leave.” He hesitated. “If you need anything . . .”
Anthony nodded.
“You fool!” A man in a heavy woolen coat strode back and forth in a tiny upstairs flat near the wharf. “The woman is still alive. Twice you’ve failed. Must I do it myself?”
His gaze swung to the only other person in the room, a hulk of a man not in the least afraid of his display of anger.
“I hit her, didn’t I? Weren’t my fault the nob called out like he did. Lucky bloke, that,” the heavier of the two men said.
The first man continued to pace. “Luck? Luck has nothing to do with it. Harding makes his own damned luck. He’s become a complication and I want him dealt with.”
“I didn’t sign on ta murder no toff.” The second man frowned and fingered the scar on his cheek.
“What’s the difference? If we’re caught, if the bitch identifies us, we’ll both dance in the wind for our trouble.”
“I’m the bloke she saw. I’m the one what placed me life on the line and what ‘av I seen fer me troubles?”
“You’ll get your money. If you want to live to spend it, I suggest you finish the job, and quickly.” The first man raised the collar on his great coat, pulled his hat lower on his forehead, and yanked the door open. “See to it.”
Chapter 17
During the following days, Clairece’s strength slowly returned. Not so her patience. Once the stitches were removed, she persuaded Dr. Farris to dispense with the bindings around her ribs so she might have a proper bath.
The warm water had eased some of the stiffness, but the pain radiating through her body made walking a misery.
She checked the abrasions on her palm and elbow. They were healing nicely, as was the cut near her hairline. She glanced in the mirror and groaned. The bruising was still horrendous. Some places resembled nothing short of an eggplant.
Clairece carefully stepped into the bedroom, stopping to grasp the bedpost for support. Daisy rushed forward, the nightgown she’d withdrawn from the clothespress forgotten.
“Oh, ma’am, why didn’t you ring for me?” The maid slipped her arm around Clairece’s waist and helped her to the vanity chair.
“I thought I could do it myself.”
Daisy eased the sleeveless garment over Clairece’s head. Winter or no
t, the thought of heavier clothing made Clairece feel ill. She draped a woolen shawl around her shoulders and studied her reflection in the mirror, gently touching the discoloration on her cheek. No amount of powder would cover the damage.
A missive from James had arrived stating his intention to stop for a visit. Aware Phillip was back in town and would most likely come as well, Clairece waited nervously to discover if James had shared their previous conversation with their young cousin.
With Daisy’s help, Clairece moved to the sitting room adjoining the bedchamber. An assortment of fruits, cheeses, just-baked bread, and a bowl of asparagus bisque waited on a tray before the settee.
Clairece settled onto the deep cushions and spread the napkin across her lap. The food looked and smelled delicious. Picking up the spoon, she tasted the soup. Her eyes drifted closed in appreciation.
She tore a piece from the warm loaf and spread fresh butter across the portion. Even the small bite caused her jaw to ache. After a few spoonsful of the rich consommé, she heard the sound of men’s voices from below and set her food aside.
Hodges appeared. “Lord Longhaven and Lord Phillip Spencer, madam.”
“Thank you, Hodges.” Clairece secured the shawl firmly around her shoulders as her cousins entered and came directly to her side.
Phillip dropped to one knee in front of her. “James told me what happened. I was at Windsford meeting with the land agent and tenants, and only this moment returned. How are you?”
“I’m better, though there are few places on my body I can touch or move without pain.” As she took his hand, the woolen shawl slipped down her arms.
Phillip sucked in a breath, his gaze traveling over her shoulder and arms. “My God! It’s a wonder you weren’t killed.”
The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) Page 10