“Timed what?” Thomas snapped. “Who did?”
“Listen to me, Thomas,” Solomon insisted, his hands still up, his eyes on Thomas’s. “Rebecca Calhoun. She came here to seduce me. I said no, but she reached up and kissed me. I pushed her away, but not before Teresa saw it. Us. Together.”
“What?”
“My old friend must be in a league with Edward,” Solomon went on, frantic that Thomas believe him. “She and I – we never – you know. Rebecca came here uninvited to make Teresa think I was in love with her.”
“Why on earth would she do that?”
“At Edward’s instigation,” Solomon gritted. “He wants Teresa and I at odds, to get Teresa out into the open so he can hurt her.”
“Oh, Lord.”
His face blanching white, Thomas reeled backward, stumbled and almost fell into a chair. “Of course,” Thomas muttered. “Cut her away from the herd. Expose her. Kill her.”
“Yes. Thomas, think. Where would Teresa go?”
“Home. To our house.”
“It is a burned out shell. She cannot go there.”
“She has nowhere else,” Thomas yelled, his voice high with near panic. “She is alone out there, ready prey for that animal Crane. And it is your bloody fault.”
Solomon gazed long at him. “Yes. It is my fault. I accept that responsibility. But right now, that is not helping us. Who are her friends? Would she turn to any of them?”
Thomas shook his head. “No. Her condition would not permit her to get close to anyone.”
“What about Dame Rotterdam? Would Teresa go to her? She is a kindly soul.”
“No. Teresa did not know her well at all. She would go to someone she trusted absolutely.”
Solomon wanted to strangle the man. “She must have someone she trusts?”
“Our aunt.”
Thomas lifted his head, his eyes sharp on Solomon’s. “Our father’s sister. Mrs. Giselle Hampton, a widow. She lives in Manchester.”
Solomon paced, his hands behind his back, his head down. “How can she get to Manchester?” he muttered.
“Teresa has her own money,” Thomas replied, his tone weary. “She can hire a carriage to take her there.”
“Will she be safe across the country?” Solomon demanded. “Edward may not find her in Manchester, maybe that is the best thing.”
“If your friend is resourceful, and I assume he is, he will suspect she went there. Giselle is an old woman. She cannot protect Teresa if he attempts to kill her.”
Solomon continued to pace, his mind racing. “Will she go there? Thomas, think hard.”
“I believe so,” Thomas replied, his voice haunted. “Giselle is our only family, and Teresa is quite fond of her. Yes, she may very well seek solace with Giselle.”
“Then we must redouble our efforts to find Edward,” Solomon snapped. “Find him, put him in prison until the courts find time for him. I will send a man to Manchester to make sure she is there and safe.”
“Send her a bodyguard, Sol,” Thomas demanded. “She must not remain unprotected.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I will send them within the hour. A mercenary to remain with her and a rider to return with word she is safe.”
***
Miss Teresa Wolcott
She could not get the image from her mind. Solomon, the man she loved, the man she trusted, locked in the arms of that trollop, Rebecca Calhoun. He said they were friends only. Now I know the real meaning of friendship and it is not what I thought it was. Her heart broken in her breast, Teresa wandered the streets of London, hardly caring where she went.
Her rich brown hair down, since she had not planned to leave Solomon’s immense mansion, she no doubt appeared as a harlot to those she passed. She knew she received sharp glances and sniffs of disdain from passersby, but when one owned a broken heart, what did the opinions of others matter? Her fingers rose to caress the pendant Solomon gave her.
Breaking the chain, Teresa yanked it from her neck. She giggled, and even to her own ears, it sounded insane. “Ah, promises, promises. They break as easily as this slender necklace.”
Not quite knowing what to do with it, Teresa absently shoved it into a pocket, then forgot about it. Hardly aware of where she was, she peered at the traffic and people around her, and walked on with no real destination in mind. Hyde Park came into her vision, and she remembered how much she liked being there. Yet, where was it from where she stood?
Spotting a hansom cab standing nearby, Teresa tentatively approached the driver. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice uncertain. “Can you tell me where Hyde Park is, sir?”
The grizzled driver gazed down at her, yet his eyes were kind. “Of course, Miss. Straight on down five blocks, then take a right. Cannot miss it.”
“Thank you very much.”
With a destination in mind now, Teresa walked with sure steps, her chin up. She would sit on a bench in the park and decide what to do. Her stomach churning as she remembered Solomon kissing that – woman – Teresa thought she might be sick. “He never loved me,” she murmured. “I should have known I was being played for a fool. Why would a Duke love someone like me?”
Knowing she garnered more sharp looks for talking to herself as well as her hair and being alone without an escort, Teresa kept her thoughts in her head and did not speak them aloud. Forcing her rebellious belly into submission, she refused to think at all, and focused on walking to the park as though she had every right to walk on that street.
Hyde Park came into view. With the sight of it and the carriages and riders traversing its paths, Teresa remembered the incident of Albert Johnson trying to shoot Solomon on their first carriage ride. That made her recall the red haired man who tried to shoot her only yesterday. Ducking into the shelter of a doorway alcove, she studied the street and its inhabitants.
Are you out there stalking me? She realized, too late, that in fleeing Solomon and his harlot she exposed herself to the threat of being murdered. “Now you have gone and done it,” she muttered, searching for any sign of anyone following her. She saw nothing that should not be there. Only the normal ebb and flow of the traffic, the pedestrians, the workmen conducting their labors.
Perhaps I left the house before he started watching it. Surely the man must eat and sleep sometime. Leaving the alcove, she hurried along the street toward the park and entered it. Once inside, she slowed her pace to blend in with the other people enjoying its pristine beauty and calm, and strolled down a side path. Finding a sheltered bench, Teresa sat down to think about what to do next.
Returning to Solomon’s house was out of the question. Her heart aching in her chest, near tears, she thought about the way he had touched her, made her feel such incredible pleasure, his request that she give him time to sort through his feelings. Pulling the pendant from her pocket, her eyes now streaming, she gazed at it. Where once it symbolized a promise from him to her, she now only saw it as a bribe.
“You tricked me,” Teresa muttered, clenching her fist over the pendant. “For what I do not know. But you tricked me.”
Stuffing it back into her pocket, Teresa wiped her wet face and sniffed. The shaded bench shielded her from all view save the front, thus she felt safe enough there while she tried to decide what to do. “Going home is out of the question,” she murmured, watching the park visitors ride or stroll the paths. “I cannot stay in a burned out building.”
For the first time, she realized what she had done. In fleeing Solomon, she put herself on the streets of London, stalked by a killer. Tears flowed fresh down her cheeks, and a choked sob escaped her chest. Solomon! What have you done? What have I done?
“Excuse me, Miss.”
Quickly wiping her face, humiliated for being caught weeping in public, frightened, Teresa glanced up to find a well dressed, elderly couple staring at her. She gulped back her tears and tried to find a smile.
“Are you all right, young lady?” the kindly gentleman asked.
“I – w
ell, I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a mess,” Teresa replied, standing.
“What is wrong, dear?” The old woman took a few steps toward her.
“I ran away from a man I thought loved me,” Teresa answered, unable to halt her tears, “and someone else is following me to – to harm me. I have no coin, no way to go to my aunt in Manchester.”
“Oh, no.” Making a come hither gesture, the old woman encouraged Teresa to come with them. “We cannot permit anyone to harm you, dear. I am Mrs. Bentley and this is my husband, Mr. Bentley. You will stay with us until we get you to Manchester.”
Trying to dry her tears, Teresa smiled, her lips trembling. “That is very kind of you, Mrs. Bentley. Mr. Bentley. I am Teresa Wolcott.”
Mrs. Bentley lifted her arm to point the way. “We live not far from the park, dear, and enjoy a morning walk when the weather is fair. Have you had breakfast? No? Then come along, Miss Wolcott.”
***
Solomon Eli Dunn, the Duke of Thornehill
“You must go find her.”
Gazing across the breakfast table, Solomon gazed at Mrs. Wolcott, her expression filled with frantic fear and near panic. “Do you have a place we should look, Mrs. Wolcott?” he asked, his tone gentle. “I will go right now if you simply point the way.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I have no idea,” she whispered. “But we cannot behave as though nothing were wrong, Your Grace.”
“We are not,” Thomas told her firmly. “Could she have gone to Giselle’s home in Manchester?”
Mrs. Wolcott stared down at her plate. “I do not know. This is an entirely new situation for us all. How would she get there?”
Thomas shook his head. “While she had her own money, it is in the Bank of England. She has nothing on her person. How would she hire a carriage to take her there?”
Solomon set his fork down. “She might easily sell the pendant I gave her.”
“Very well. Let us assume she did,” Thomas replied. “So now she has the funds to hire a coach. Will she go there or perhaps remain here in London?”
“I think she will stay in London,” Mrs. Wolcott ventured, frowning. “She will not go to your aunt’s without an announcement first.”
“This sort of need to go somewhere might outweigh the social norms,” Solomon said with a sigh. “I have already sent a fast rider to Manchester to make inquiries of Mrs. Hampton.”
“Thank you.”
Though Thomas spoke politely, Solomon clearly heard the undercurrent of Thomas’s rage, and knew it was not just Teresa’s trust he had violated. “We will find her,” he said quietly, meeting Thomas’s hot gaze. “I promise.”
“Before Edward Crane does?” Thomas retorted. “Teresa is on the streets with nowhere to go and a murderer hunting her. All because you got her involved in all this.”
Solomon glanced away. “I have justly earned your enmity, Thomas. But please, let us focus on finding her and Edward, and keep her safe.”
“Yes. You are quite right.”
“You are closely aligned with the Bow Street Runners,” Solomon went on, almost unable to think straight amid his guilt and fears. “Perhaps if you gave them a description of her and tell them she will be alone without an escort, they may be able to spread out and help search for her.”
Thomas nodded. “That is a good idea. I will do so.”
“Also tell them she wears her hair down,” Mrs. Wolcott added. “That may help them to see her, as it is unusual.”
“Very good, I will add that to my description.”
“In addition to Edward’s sketch in the papers,” Solomon added, “I will post a reward for whomever helps us to locate him.”
“That may very well drive him into hiding,” Thomas replied, his brows lowered. “If he does not move about the city, we may never find him and yet he can still direct his killer.”
Solomon tapped his fingers on the table. “No reward then. But please inform the Runners that whoever helps us find Teresa will receive one. That will give them greater incentive to help us find her.”
“I will do that.”
Solomon’s butler, Jarvis Hall, entered the dining room and bowed. “You have a visitor, Your Grace.”
“Who is it?”
“A Mr. John Downing.”
“Yes, excellent. Please show him to the drawing room. Thomas and I will join him there.”
“I will go lie down, Thomas,” Mrs. Wolcott said. “I do not feel well.”
Mrs. Wolcott curtseyed, then left the dining room as Solomon and Thomas headed for the drawing room. Mr. Downing bowed as they entered, his expression grave. “I have some news for you, Your Grace,” he said. “I fear it is not good, however.”
“Tell me.”
“The body of a woman had indeed been pulled from the river as you suspected,” Mr. Downing replied, standing with his hands behind his back. “An older lady, and though she had been in the water for some time and it is difficult to tell, but it appeared as though she had been strangled. The cords were still around her neck.”
Solomon felt sick. “The poor woman.”
“You think it could be Baroness Beaulieu’s personal maid?” Thomas asked.
“Just how many women of middle years are murdered and dumped in the Thames?” Solomon asked, eyeing Mr. Downing.
He frowned. “Not that many. In all my years as a constable, we usually find the bodies of suicides, accidents or drunks who fell in. Not females with ropes around their necks.”
“Then I will presume it is Elize’s maid who did not go to Sussex.” Solomon paced slowly, his head down. “If my man returns with the information she is not in her home village, then we can be fairly certain that the maid knew the Baron murdered his wife and then ordered her death to keep her silent.”
“Thus we need Mr. Simms latest reports,” Thomas commented. “And hope he has the proof we need.”
“I also looked into the matter of Mrs. Crane, and your suspect, Mr. Edward Crane,” Mr. Downing said, pulling a paper from his pocket and glancing at it. “It would appear Mrs. Crane died more than five years ago.”
Solomon stared, shocked. “But that was when I first employed him.”
“From what I learned, Your Grace,” Mr. Downing continued. “He has been a very bad man. He had been convicted of fraud at a very young age, but escaped imprisonment by a narrow margin. We also believe he had engaged in blackmailing the Viscount Lannaire, but there was insufficient proof as the Viscount refused to have his name used.”
“But,” Solomon stammered, stunned. “I asked about his background before I hired him. It was beyond reproach.”
Mr. Downing shook his head. “I daresay you made inquiries through the wrong people. Men like these are adept at covering their misdeeds, and giving one the impression of being quite honest. He most likely would have done some work that gave him a sterling reputation in order to gain your trust.”
“I feel like such a fool.” Solomon sank down into a chair and put his face in his hands. “How can I have been deceived so?”
“These men are very good,” Thomas replied, his tone soft. “If they were not, then they would not succeed in gaining one’s trust and becoming wealthy thieves.”
Solomon lifted his head. “Then how do we find him?”
“My constables are hunting for him, and I saw his likeness in the paper.” Mr. Downing gave Solomon a sharp nod. “Unless he leaves London, Your Grace, we will find him.”
Chapter 28
Miss Teresa Wolcott
Though not truly hungry, Teresa ate in the Bentley’s massive dining room as she listened to them speak of their grown children and young grandchildren. A retired diamond importer, Mr. Bentley had enormous wealth and was a former member of Parliament.
“Might I send a message to someone?” she asked.
“Of course, Miss Wolcott.”
Mr. Bentley gestured for a footman, who brought her paper and a quill pen. The Bentleys turned their heads away politely as she w
rote Dear Thomas and Amelia. Please do not worry about me, I am fine. I am somewhere safe, and apologize for leaving so abruptly. Upon finding His Grace in the arms of another woman, I could no longer remain under his roof. I wish to be alone for a time to come to terms with my hurt and grief. Please do not worry about me. I will contact you in a few days. Yours, Teresa.
Folding it, Teresa handed it to the footman to deliver it to Solomon’s mansion, and thanked him with a smile.
“Let me show you to your room,” Mrs. Bentley said, rising from the table. “I am sure you wish to lie down for a while.”
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