She stopped as she caught a man moving in the garden out of the corner of her eye. She recognized the stooped figure in an instant. He was the same man she had seen speaking with Lord Denbigh at the rally in Regent’s Park six weeks ago.
“Excuse me, Mama,” she said distractedly, opening the French door all the way and slipping outside.
“Where are you—” her mother started, but Bianca ignored her and her mother didn’t follow.
The burst of November air that hit her was exactly what she needed to clear her thoughts and correct her mood. That and the thrill that came with tip-toeing to the side of the garden so she could get a better look at the man without being seen. She hid behind a potted shrub, peeking around and holding her breath.
It was Brickman, she had no doubt. He had moved on to a small door on the side of the house that looked like a servant’s entrance of some sort in that it must have led downstairs instead of to the ground floor. She couldn’t hear what he was discussing with the footman who stood in the doorway, but the footman looked as though he was barring Brickman from entering.
Bianca was in the process of studying the area and working out how she could get closer to Brickman without being seen when he made a rude gesture at the footman and stomped away. Sudden panic at the thought of letting a golden opportunity to help Jack’s investigation slip away spurred her forward. She dashed out from behind the shrub and followed the man as carefully as she could around the house and out to the street.
The area of Kensington where Lady Davenport’s house stood was relatively new, but the streets were still crowded in the middle of the day. As fine and fancy as that particular block was, it was bordered by a decidedly middle-class section of new houses to the south, and farther north there was a neighborhood of businesses. Bianca half expected Brickman to head to the northern area of commerce, but he turned south. She followed at a distance, unable to resist her curiosity.
Fortunately for her, it wasn’t long until her curiosity was satisfied, at least temporarily. Brickman walked on at a clipped pace, turning onto Kensington Church Street, then walking all the way down to the High Street. It was far easier to follow the man without being seen while dodging in and out of shoppers on Kensington High Street than in the residential neighborhood where the tea party was being held.
A few minutes later, Bianca was tempted to let out a yelp of victory as Brickman slipped down an alley between two buildings and let himself in at a side door. She managed to catch sight of him turning a key in the lock before disappearing inside as she pretended to drop something at the mouth of the alley. As soon as Brickman shut the door, she stood and sucked in an excited breath. If she wasn’t mistaken, she had just discovered where Jack’s prime suspect in crimes of the past and a crime yet to be committed lived.
As fast as she could, she hurried back up the High Street and on to Lady Davenport’s house. The tea party was still bubbling on, and judging by the few looks she got as she passed the main parlor in her search for a maid to fetch her coat and reticule, not a soul had noticed her absence.
Not a soul except her mother, of course.
“There you are,” her mother said just as the maid brought Bianca’s coat and reticule. “Where do you think you’re rushing off to now?”
“I don’t have time to explain, Mama,” Bianca said, shrugging into her coat and praying she had enough money with her to pay the fares she would need. “I have a vital errand to run.”
Her mother pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Need I remind you that you may still only use the St. John’s Wood apartment two nights a week and that certain friends of yours may not visit you there?”
“Mama,” Bianca scoffed, sending her a flat look. “I’m not rushing off to any sort of scandalous rendezvous with Jack at the flat.” At least not at that moment.
“Are you in some other sort of trouble?” her mother asked.
Bianca fastened the buttons of her coat and wrapped the muffler around her neck. “Why must I always be in trouble in your eyes? Why can you not think that perhaps I have important business that may help a great deal of people to attend to?”
“Because you’re my daughter,” her mother said, a flash of humor in her eyes. “I know how you think.”
Bianca was tempted to roll her eyes, but all she did was sigh and say, “I will be home by supper. Until then, enjoy the party and speak to those who refuse to speak to me.”
Her mother seemed to be satisfied. At least she didn’t try to stop Bianca or slow her down with talk. Bianca left the house and hurried back down to Kensington High Street, where it was much easier to hail a cab to take her to Scotland Yard. The driver looked surprised at her request and even the horse sniffed and bobbed its head, as though taking a lone noblewoman dressed for a tea party to Scotland Yard was something to comment on, but within minutes, Bianca was well on her way.
She had been to Jack’s office at Scotland Yard twice before on minor errands, but not recently. The entire building that housed the headquarters for the Metropolitan Police was designed to be stark and intimidating. She felt as uncomfortable as ever as she stepped down from the hired cab, paid the driver, then made her way into the building. More than a few men took note of her as she crossed through the front hall, marching boldly toward the staircase that would take her up to Jack’s floor, but no one stopped her.
She made it all the way to the large office at the front of Jack’s section of the building that she would need to cross through to reach Jack himself before being stopped.
“Can I help you, miss?” the burly man keeping watch near the door said, stepping into Bianca’s way.
“Yes,” she said with a smile, refusing to let her alarm at the man’s size show. “I’m here to see Inspector Jack Craig.”
“I bet you are,” someone unseen muttered in response to her request.
Bianca narrowed her eyes and stared at the clerks and officers, all of whom seemed suddenly aware of her presence, as if she would strike them down with a look.
“He’s not here, my lady,” the burly guard said, hinting that he, and likely everyone else, knew precisely who she was.
“Do you know where he is?” she asked, back straight, chin held high.
“He…he was out following up on a lead,” a young, thin man with an eager expression said, rushing forward to gape at her with wide eyes. “My lady,” he added, bowing and bobbing. “But he might have gone home by now.”
“Home?” A zip of excitement swirled through Bianca. “As in, Clerkenwell?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Bianca grinned. “I’m sorry, have we met, Mr….”
“Smiley, my lady. Jim Smiley. We haven’t met, but I’ve heard so much about you, my lady.” He continued to bow, his cheeks flushing pink.
“Mr. Smiley, would you be so kind as to accompany me downstairs and to assist me in hailing a cab to take me to Chief Inspector Craig’s house?” Between her status and Jack’s official title, the clearly impressionable man was bound to give her the one thing Jack had held back for years, his home address.
“Yes, my lady. Right away.”
Bianca followed Mr. Smiley downstairs as the men in Jack’s office snickered and chuckled in their wake. Exactly according to plan, Mr. Smiley managed to hail a cab for her, and after handing her aboard, he gave the driver an address in Clerkenwell. All Bianca had to do was sit back with a satisfied grin and watch London go by as they traveled from Westminster, through The City, and on to the less reputable neighborhoods in the outlying areas of London.
A bit of Bianca’s smugness vanished as she studied the area the cab took her to. Jack was right, the place had a dingy air to it. The people traversing the streets were as far from the clean, genteel sorts she had always lived around. She was even willing to admit that the whole place might be just as dangerous as Jack had warned her it was. But that wasn’t enough to convince her to turn around and go home.
“Here you go, miss,” the driver said as he hand
ed her down from the carriage. “One twenty-six Farringdon Road. Number C is on the second floor,” he added.
“Thank you,” Bianca said with a smile, paying the man and ignoring the fact that he apparently believed the letter “C” was a number.
She marched on, walking boldly into the building and up the stairs, searching along the dark, grimy corridor for a door with a “C” on it. Once she found it, her stomach flipped and she burst into a smile. She raised a hand and knocked, calling, “Jack?”
Something thumped and footsteps headed toward the other side of the door, but something wasn’t right about them. A moment later, the door opened and the bottom dropped out of Bianca’s stomach. A woman stood on the other side of the door. She was half undressed, wearing a simple skirt without a blouse. The straps of her chemise hung off her shoulders and her corset was only loosely hooked, her pert breasts swelling up over the top. Her dark hair hung down her back, caught up with only a red ribbon to keep it out of her face.
The woman broke into a sly grin at the sight of Bianca. “You must be looking for Jack,” she said in a cockney accent.
“Yes,” Bianca said, any hope that she had the wrong flat vanishing. “Is he here?”
“No,” the woman said, her grin growing.
Bianca hesitated, nausea welling up in her again. “And who are you?” she asked.
“Nanette,” the woman said, thrusting out a hand. “Nanette Craig.” Mischief glittered in her eyes.
Shock hit Bianca hard and fast. She barely had time to form the thought that Jack had a wife he’d never told her about when her stomach heaved.
Chapter 9
The answers to everything felt as though they were just barely out of Jack’s reach. He strode back into Scotland Yard, mounting the steps two at a time, a deep frown creasing his brow. It was as though he had all of the pieces of the puzzle, but they weren’t fitting together.
He’d spent the better part of his morning poking around St. Kathrine Docks, poring through shipping records and interviewing warehouse supervisors in an attempt to track down the explosives Brickman had secured on Denbigh’s behalf. But the best he’d managed to come up with was proof that a Chinese trading ship carrying fireworks had indeed been moored at the docks for a brief time, its cargo had been unloaded, and that was it. He’d been unable to trace the fireworks after they’d been received. That in itself was wildly suspicious and left him feeling as though a clock were ticking madly away at the back of his head.
He didn’t notice the odd looks and quiet snickers of the men in his office until he was halfway through the main room on his way to the hall. As soon as the teasing chuckles and muffled side comments broke through the gears of his thoughts, he paused in his steps and glanced around.
“Is something wrong?” he asked his men, meeting as many of their eyes as he could. “Did something happen while I was gone?”
“Better ask Smiley,” one of the clerks said, bursting into a laugh.
Jack’s frown deepened and he marched on.
“Craig, there you are.” Poole stood from his desk to one side of Jack’s private office as he crossed through the doorway. “I thought you might be interested to know that your pal, Denbigh, recently made a large purchase.”
The uncomfortable feeling of having two topics that desperately needed answers stopped Jack in his tracks once more. “What did he purchase? Explosives?” he asked, then rushed on with, “And why did the entire staff snicker at me just now and tell me to talk to Smiley.”
“Yes, sir? I heard you were back, sir,” Smiley himself said, skittering into the doorway, cheeks pink with either exertion or embarrassment.
Jack glanced from Poole to Smiley, shoving a hand through his hair. He bought himself a few seconds by removing his coat and moving to hang it on the rack before asking Smiley, “What has everyone in such high spirits this afternoon?”
“It was a house,” Poole answered the other question before Smiley could open his mouth. He stood and brought a piece of paper over to show Jack. It was a record of the purchase of a house in Kensington.
“A woman came by asking for you, sir,” Smiley burst belatedly, wringing his hands in front of him. “A fine, handsome woman too, with dark hair, winsome eyes, and a figure that—”
“Bianca,” Jack hissed, rubbing his face and wincing. What in heaven’s name had brought Bianca to Scotland Yard? “Did she say why she was here?” he asked Smiley, then held up a hand. “Wait.” He turned back to Poole. “Nobs buy houses all the time. I hear Denbigh likes to collect them. Maybe he wants to live farther away from the heart of the city or maybe he thinks that neighborhood is fashionable because it’s near Kensington Palace. Find out why he bought the place and get back to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Poole nodded, taking the paper back to his desk.
That left Jack free to deal with Smiley, or rather Bianca. “Where is Lady Bianca now?”
“She had me call a cab for her, sir,” Smiley said, dancing from foot to foot uncertainly.
“And where did she go?” Jack prompted.
“Well, sir, I sent her up to your place, actually. She said she had to speak with you and I figured you’d go straight home after your investigation instead of coming back here.”
Jack blew out a breath and marched back to the coatrack. So much for settling in at work and getting things done.
“Right,” he said as he shrugged back into his coat. “If any fine ladies come looking for me here ever again, send them back to their own homes, not mine.”
“It’s only, I thought you and Lady Bianca were, you know, sir,” Smiley said, looking mortified.
Jack didn’t answer as he strode back into the hall and out through the office. Once more, he got more than his fair share of grins and chuckles as he headed for the door. Without turning to look at his men, he raised his hand in a rude gesture and said, “To hell with the lot of you.”
That raised a chorus of laughter and cheers of encouragement as he marched out of the office and headed down the stairs and out to the mews to fetch his horse. The stableman hadn’t completely finished unsaddling poor Tiger, but at least it made re-saddling him quicker.
The ride up through the heart of London to Clerkenwell was long enough to give Jack plenty of time to worry. What had happened with Bianca that had made her go all the way to Scotland Yard to speak to him? And had Denbigh bought a house in Kensington in order to blow it up? The two questions warred for supremacy in his mind, his work and his personal life. Either one needed his full attention, but neither would abandon his thoughts long enough for him to puzzle through the other. The constant distraction was going to drive him mad if he didn’t do something about it.
But what could he do? He sighed to himself as he nudged Tiger to turn west just past Gray’s Inn and on toward Clerkenwell. He could make the connections he needed to between Brickman and Denbigh and prove that Denbigh was behind the attack on Lord O’Shea. He could figure out whatever was about to happen with the explosives and put an end to it. Only then could he focus his energies fully on Bianca. Life would be a damn sight easier if the two of them could just marry and get on with things.
He was still fuming over the resistance he and Bianca were facing when it came to matrimony as he left Tiger in the mews behind his flat and stomped his way through the front door and up the stairs. But when he reached the door of his flat, all thought vanished entirely.
“…will not be insulted by your crude insinuations.” Bianca’s voice rang loud and clear through the closed door.
“I ain’t insinuatin’ nuthin’,” Nanette’s voice answered. She was pretending to be lower than she was, which was never a good sign.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and pinched a hand over his forehead for a moment as his stomach dropped. Of all the times for the moment he’d dreaded for years to happen, it would have to be now.
“I love Jack, which is more than you can say, you…you….”
Jack pushed open the door before Bian
ca could finish her insult, but not in time to stop Nanette from saying, “Oh, I love Jack, all right. I love him good.”
Both women snapped to stare at him with angry eyes as he entered the flat and shut the door behind him. It was worse than he could have imagined. Nanette wore little more than her petticoat and corset, as if she’d come from entertaining a client. Bianca was dressed in a stylish tea gown that screamed wealth and refinement, but she was as pale as a sheet and looked much the worse for wear. Strangest of all, there was a large, damp spot on his threadbare carpet, and the scent of sick filled the air.
“Jack, love, you’re home.” Nanette jumped toward him first, turning on all her charm as she rushed to take his arm. She attempted to wrap herself around him and laid a hand on his cheek, trying to turn his face toward hers for a kiss.
“This is not the time for your games, Nan,” he scolded her, pulling away and stepping toward Bianca.
“That’s not what you said last night, love,” Nan played on, reaching for him. “Or this morning neither.”
“Nan, stop.” He held up a hand to ward her off. Nanette must have seen the seriousness in his expression, as she stepped back, pouting. Jack turned to Bianca. “What are you doing here?” he asked, no idea what to feel about the situation.
Bianca crossed her arms and tilted her chin up until she looked so much like her mother it gave Jack chills. “Discovering why you haven’t fought harder to marry me all these years,” she said disdainfully.
Offense instantly burned through Jack’s blood. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, refusing to let Bianca get away with behaving like a spoiled child. “I’ve broken my back doing everything I can to be good enough to marry you in your family’s eyes.”
“You’re already married,” Bianca shouted at him, then burst into tears.
Jack huffed a breath, turning to Nanette and praying for the patience not to strangle her where she stood. “I am not married,” he said, voice raised, glaring at Nanette.
It’s Only a Scandal if You’re Caught Page 10