“If he simply picked her up and threw her over the bannister,” Solomon asked, “what evidence might there be?”
“There probably will not be any. But I would not be good at my job if I did not at least try.”
“And you are very good at what you do. Now I realize the Beaulieu murder has taken your attention, do you have any information on who is stealing from me or who is trying to kill me?”
“Teresa told me the man who shot at you earlier tried again and this managed to hit you,” Thomas replied, his eyes narrowed. “This is true?”
“Yes. In my left arm. And it still bloody hurts.”
“Where were you?”
“The Whitechapel district.”
“How did he get away?”
“Ran into an alley, then into a shop from a side door,” Solomon replied. “He bolted it from within, and from there vanished.”
Thomas stared off to the side. “That sounds to me as though he is very familiar with that neighborhood. But he must have known ahead of time that you would be there. How?”
Solomon frowned, biting his lip. “How did he know I was taking your sister for a ride in Hyde Park? He was ahead of us, but he still could have followed after, then slipped through to hide directly in our path.”
“I am guessing that you were not alone?”
“No. I was with Lord Oakshire.”
“A man you think might be stealing from you.”
Solomon groaned. “Yes. I suppose he could have set me up to have me killed.”
“Let us not presume anything yet, Your Grace,” Thomas said quickly. “Now this fellow still could have followed you, and picked his spot to shoot from because he knew the area. He chose his spot carefully in the park for an easy escape. I will begin making my inquiries about his shoulder in that neighborhood.”
“I do not want Aldric to be the one stealing from me.” Solomon stood up, too restless to sit. “Nor I do I want it to be Edward. Both are dear friends.”
“And we can be blind where love or friendship is concerned, Your Grace.”
“Believe me, I have first hand experience in that regard.”
“Forgive me for asking a personal question, Your Grace,” Thomas said. “But who would inherit your title and estates should you die?”
Solomon turned. “My nephew. My sister’s son. She gave birth to him last year.”
“So your estates cannot pass to one of your business associates?”
“No. In the event of my death, all business transactions cease. They would be left with only what profits they gained while I was alive.”
“Then I would say that rules them out as your would-be murderers. They make more money with you alive.”
Solomon nodded slowly. “That may be true. Which leaves us where?”
“Beaulieu. He has motive where your associates do not. Rage. Jealousy. His wife loved you and not him.”
“Then why make a public spectacle?” Solomon paced, knowing it was rude but unable to stop himself. “That only served to mark him as my enemy.”
“True. But if thieves and murderers were perfect, we would never catch them.”
“So he saw me dancing happily and just could not contain his rage?”
Thomas shrugged. “From what I witnessed, that is exactly what I saw. A man so furious at the sight of his enemy dancing with what he viewed as a lesser human being sent him over the edge.”
“How does that help me?”
Thomas grinned. “It put you back in the favor of public opinion. Now his name is in the mud while yours is not so black any longer.”
Laughing, Solomon sat back down. “I could not, would not tolerate his besmirching Miss Wolcott’s good name.”
“And that makes you a hero. Too many saw his unjustifiable attack on Teresa. That makes her, and you, the underdog. What do the English people love best?”
“This is too rich,” Solomon answered, still laughing. “I had no idea this might happen. All I had intended was a night with your sister.”
“And in doing so cleared the stain from both your names. But I do not understand how Teresa did it.”
“Solomon wiped his face with his hands, still grinning. “Did what?”
“She went through the entire evening without a single panic. Even when tensions grew high, she remained as calm and composed – I have never seen her in such a situation without breaking down.”
“I have been giving her advice.” Solomon lifted his hands. “No touching, I promise. Advice on how to remain calm in situations. I think she is acting on that advice.”
Thomas slowly shook his head. “I disagree. The change is too sudden. I think the only answer to how she can remain calm and not give in to panic is you. Something about you gives her the strength to fight her malady.”
Thomas eyed Solomon sidelong. “Love perhaps?”
Chapter 13
Miss Teresa Wolcott
Keeping a wary eye out for men with cudgels stalking her, Teresa ambled with Amelia amid the shops and market stalls as they searched for items the baby would need. “Look, Amelia,” Teresa exclaimed, holding up a small wooden rattle. “This is so adorable.”
Amelia, not sick for the first time in days, took it from her hands and shook it, smiling with delight at the sound it made. “It is adorable. How much?” she asked the merchant.
After paying for it and stowing it away in her bag, Amelia took Teresa’s arm as they strolled along the busy avenue.
“Thomas told me about last night,” she said. “His Grace was so unutterably noble in defending your honor.”
Teresa grinned. “Did you read the scandal sheet this morning?”
Laughing, Amelia nodded. “You and the Duke now have shining new reputations and the Baron Beaulieu is now ruined socially.”
“Is it not ironic how quickly opinions can change about people?” Teresa asked, strolling along the walk way.
“It is indeed. All it takes is the right thing or the wrong thing.”
“But if people only minded their own business ….”
“Do not start,” Amelia snapped. “Let us enjoy our shopping without discourse.”
“Is not talking baby clothes and rattles also discourse?” Teresa stared at Amelia with wide eyes and a bland expression.
Amelia laughed and hugged her. “Just stop.”
Teresa gasped. “Oh, look. There’s a cradle.”
Dashing forward, Teresa gazed at the delicate rocking cradle standing amid pieces of furniture of the wood worker’s shop, chairs, tables, sideboards that he was either building or repairing. “Is that not adorable?” Teresa asked, laughing. “Amelia, look.”
Stepping to her side, Amelia glanced at it, her lips trembling. “Oh, my,” she whispered. “Can you see that in our nursery?”
“Yes, I can. If you will not purchase it, I will.”
“Oh, no, I intend to buy it. But Thomas will have to come back later and pick it up.”
Teresa eyed the shopkeeper, who approached with a smile. “If we buy this, will you deliver it within the day?”
“Of course, ladies.”
As Amelia counted coins into the man’s palm, Teresa looked long at the cradle, wondering if she will ever have a baby of her own to set within one of these.
Naturally, her thoughts ranged to the Duke, then shied away. He is incapable of love. He will never commit himself to me, or anyone else. With a sigh, she forced her day dreams to the side as Amelia counted coins into the shopkeeper’s palm.
Ecstatic, Amelia snaked her arm around Teresa’s waist for a quick embrace as they headed on down the walk. “I am so happy you saw it. It is perfect.”
“Me, too. But you must let me buy something for the baby. As a gift.”
“We shall see.”
In the delight of finding the cradle, Teresa almost forgot to scan the people on the avenue amid the markets, riding, driving, or striding past, for strangers with cudgels.
She cast a quick look around, saw nothing unu
sual, then continued walking with Amelia. “Perhaps you will let me buy the baby a blanket,” she said.
“What a lovely thought, Teresa.”
They discovered the perfect one further along the rows of market stalls, a lavender and green knitted wool blanket just right for an infant.
Amelia loved the colors, but the shopkeeper refused to haggle. “Me wife made that,” he declared in a thick Irish brogue. “Nae less than ten shillins.”
Teresa handed over the price without a qualm while Amelia gaped in horror. “You should not have, Teresa,” she complained. “That was too much for a blanket.”
Folding it, Teresa caressed its softness for a moment, then handed it to Amelia. “For the baby.”
Amelia’s lips trembled for a moment, then she hardened. “Thomas will be having a word with you about your spending habits,” she declared.
Teresa laughed. “He will love it as much as you do.”
Despite being on the alert for potential trouble, Teresa almost missed the man lunging at her with a raised knife. Without thinking, she shoved Amelia out of harm’s way, then ducked under the slashing blade. As she almost tripped over her skirts, she was slightly late in evading his returning blow, but still ducked again. It missed once more.
Seizing a heavy walking stick from a barrel of them, Teresa shoved the handle as hard as she could into the man’s ribcage. The knife dropped from his hand as the man with reddish hair and a smattering of freckles over his nose and cheeks gasped for air. Whipping the stick in an arc, Teresa smashed it along the side of his head and dropped him to the cobbles on his face.
Silence reigned throughout the vicinity of the market. Passersby, shoppers, shopkeepers all paused in their activity to stare at Teresa. Lowering her weapon, she glanced at it, then returned it to its barrel. Eyeing the owner, she said, “Thank you for the loan of your walking stick.”
Putting her hand out, she helped Amelia to stand. Amelia stared from the unconscious man to Teresa and back again. “You,” she began, haltingly. “You –”
“He was trying to kill me,” Teresa snapped. “I defended myself.”
Gazing around at the others who gaped, she asked, “Will someone please get a constable? This man attacked me, you all saw it.”
“Where,” a young man asked her, swallowing. “Where did you learn that trick?”
Teresa glanced down at herself. “No trick, sir, I assure you. I just defended myself. Now will you please fetch a constable?”
The young man dashed through the crowd and vanished. The crowd closed in around Teresa and Amelia asking questions, pointing at the assassin lying on the cobbles, yet at no time did Teresa feel panic closing off her breath, or squeezing her heart. “No, I have no idea why he attacked me. No, I do not know who he is. I did not want him to hurt my dear sister-in-law, and I feared for her.”
The man on the cobbles groaned and stirred, and the crowd, almost as one, drew back from him. He staggered to his feet, but before Teresa could think to grab the walking stick and clobber him again, he lunged through the crowd, pushing and shoving, and vanished.
Biting off the words “bloody hell” before she uttered them, Teresa scowled in the direction he had gone. “You could not even try to stop him?’ she snapped at the faces around her.
“He was too fast,” said a chubby, bald man, blushing bright red.
“Young and strong,” exclaimed another. “You should have hit him again, Miss.”
Teresa rolled her eyes.
At long last a young constable arrived, asked many questions and scribbled the answers in a small book. Teresa picked up the knife the red haired man tried to stab her with, and gave it to him. “This was his,” she said. “He tried to kill me with it. My brother is Thomas Wolcott, you may have heard of him. This is his wife, Mrs. Wolcott. Now the villain ran off that way, I suggest you go find him.”
Overwhelmed by her authoritative manner, the constable tipped his cap to her and bolted, forcing his way through the crowd in the same direction the assassin went. Teresa waved her arms, impatient, at the crowd to disperse, then helped Amelia with an arm around her waist.
“Bleeding idiots,” she muttered as she and Amelia headed toward home.
For once, Amelia did not say a word about Teresa’s language. “How did you know what to do?” she asked instead, the baby blanket clutched to her bosom, her eyes wide.
“What do you mean?”
“You moved so fast,” Amelia replied slowly, eyeing her sidelong. “You pushed me out of the way, then grabbed the stick and hit him. Twice. How did you know?”
“I did not,” Teresa admitted. “I acted on instinct, truly I did. He came at me with the knife, and my first thought was to protect you. Then I saw the walking sticks and grabbed one. His arm was up, exposing his ribs, so I hit him there. Once his head was down, I hit him again. Simple, really.”
Amelia still eyed her with wonder. “And you were not afraid, even once. You are not afraid even now.”
To her astonishment, Teresa realized she was right. She felt no fear during the attack, and no fear afterward. Nor did the thick crowd pressing around her, beating her with questions, bother her in the least. “You are right,” she murmured. “And I have no idea why. I should be afraid. But I am not.”
Amelia stared hard into her eyes. “You have made an incredible change, Teresa, and I am so very proud of you.”
Laughing, Teresa hugged her. “I do not know how it happened, but we are both all right. We survived.”
***
Naturally, Thomas was outraged at the second attack on his sister, and even more so that his wife’s life had been in danger. Swearing enough to make even Teresa’s face flush, Thomas paced around the drawing room that evening, waving his arms and shouting. “I will find that man and I will rip his bloody heart out.”
Blushing furiously, Amelia tried to calm him. “Thomas, please sit down. Have a drink. Did you see the blanket Teresa bought us? Tomorrow, you will have to go fetch the cradle I bought today for the baby.”
Spinning around, his mouth open, Thomas stared at his wife. His mouth snapped shut. “All right,” he growled on a sharp gust of breath. “I will calm down. I will have a drink, and I will calm down.”
Pouring himself a whiskey, he sat down beside his wife and took her hand. “Thank God you are both all right. Teresa, I cannot imagine what you did, but thank you for looking after Amelia.”
“I had no choice, Thomas,” she admitted. “It happened so fast, I just – reacted.”
“And without training.” Thomas smiled. “You behaved as well as any soldier in the field. I am so proud of you.”
“There is nothing to be proud of,” she protested. “I knocked him out, yes, but he still escaped.”
“Yet, you still know what he looks like. We will find him, my fierce little sister. We sure will.”
“Thomas,” Teresa said slowly. “I am not sure, as it had happened so fast. But I think the man that tried to hurt me before, that His Grace stopped, had reddish hair.”
Thomas frowned. “The same man, eh? That is interesting. I will asked the Duke more closely as to what that man looked like. If he had red hair and freckles, then we are looking at two different assassins.”
“His and her killers?” Teresa scoffed. “That does not make sense.”
“It does if we are looking at two different people who hired them. One to kill you, and another to kill His Grace.”
“Both potentially hired by Beaulieu?”
Thomas nodded slowly. “Perhaps. It makes sense if you think of it this way: the Duke runs in certain circles while you run in others. Two needs, two men.”
Teresa frowned. “But why would Beaulieu want to kill me? The first attack was before the Eau Claire ball. I am nothing to him, not then and not now.”
“That is a very good question.”
“Thomas,” Theresa ventured, watching her brother closely. “What if who wants to kill me has nothing to do with Thornehill?’
<
br /> “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps whoever wants me dead wants revenge against you?”
Thomas stared at the drink in his hand. After a long moment, he took a long gulp, then stared at it again. “Lord, I cannot believe I have such enemies that they would seek to harm me through you.”
He glanced at Amelia. “Or my wife.”
Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies Page 41
