by Amanda Quick
This was the hellish atmosphere of feverish desperation that his father had chosen to breathe. In the end it had lured Edward Sinclair to his death.
He stood in the doorway for a time, listening to the click of the dice and the clink of bottles and glasses on the card tables. It likely made no difference how much one drank while playing hazard. The result of a toss of the dice was in the hands of the fates, unless the management had secretly weighted the small cubes. But it made no sense at all to drink oneself into a stupor while attempting to employ some logic to a hand of whist, he thought. Yet drinking deeply was precisely what almost all of the players chose to do.
With the exception of Dominic Hood.
Dominic played whist in the same style as the others, with a bottle of claret at hand. But Anthony noticed that he did not sip from his half-filled glass. There was a small pile of papers on the table. Vouchers from those who had lost to him.
Anthony studied him closely, searching for the evidence of their shared blood. There were, indeed, some similarities between them, he concluded. Their father had left his stamp on the shape of their noses and the angle of their shoulders. And on the color of our eyes, he thought. Why had he not noticed until now that Dominic’s eyes were the same shade of golden brown as those he saw in his shaving mirror every morning?
The hand of whist came to an end at Dominic’s table. In spite of his caution with the claret, this time he was the one who was obliged to scrawl his promise to make good on his wager on a small slip of paper. Sobriety might increase one’s odds of winning at cards, Anthony thought, but it certainly did not guarantee the outcome of the game. No amount of astute and logical play could make up for a bad hand.
With an easy smile and a bored nod to his companions, Dominic left the table and turned to walk toward the door. When he saw Anthony, he hesitated ever so slightly. Then his jaw clenched. He continued forward.
“I’m surprised to see you here this evening,” he said as he made to move past Anthony. “I got the impression that you avoided the gaming tables.” He smiled with faint derision. “Something to do with a fear of losing, no doubt.”
The insult sliced to the bone, but Anthony was proud that he was able to manage a thin, cold smile in return. “Something to do with a strong desire to avoid ending up dead because of a foolish dispute over a hand of cards.” He paused deliberately. “As our father did.”
A flicker of dark emotion came and went in Dominic’s eyes. He swiftly veiled the expression. “So you finally reasoned it out, did you? It certainly took you long enough. Perhaps you would do well to reconsider your choice of profession. One would expect a private-inquiry agent to be somewhat more astute, don’t you agree?”
“I believe that I shall stick with my career. Unlike you, I do not have the option of amusing myself with science experiments all day and card-playing all night. That sort of pleasant idleness is only for those who were so fortunate as to inherit property and an income.”
Dominic nodded. “I retract what I said about you not being observant, Sinclair. You are quite right. I never knew my father, but I do, indeed, have an inheritance. Which means that I have a good deal more to offer to a lady such as Miss Emeline than you do.”
He turned on his heel and walked off without waiting for a response.
Anger flashed through Anthony. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.
He pursued Dominic across the coffee room and out into the front hall, where an uneasy porter quickly handed both of them their hats and hastened to open the door.
“Stay away from Emeline,” Anthony said fiercely from the top of the steps.
Dominic came to a halt and spun around. In the harsh glare of the gas lamps, his face was a mask of barely contained rage. “Now, why should I deprive myself of the pleasure of her company, brother?”
“You do not love her.” Anthony went slowly down the steps, hat clenched in his fist. “You seek to use her in order to exact your revenge against me. Admit it, Hood.”
“I do not intend to discuss my interest in Miss Emeline with you.”
“Hell’s teeth, man, this has nothing to do with Emeline. I am the one you want to destroy. Would you hide behind a woman’s skirts to gain your vengeance?”
“Damn you, I could call you out for that insult.”
“Be my guest,” Anthony said. “But at least have the courage to admit why you are challenging me. I ask you again, sir, why do you hate me? Is it because your mother allowed herself to be seduced by our father? You cannot blame me for that. You cannot blame her either. The only one you can fault is Edward Sinclair, and he’s been dead and buried for some fourteen years.”
“Damn you to hell, Sinclair.” Dominic hurled his hat aside and launched himself forward. “Do not dare to mention my mother. Your father ruined her.”
Anthony employed the sliding maneuver that Tobias had taught him and managed to duck his brother’s wildly swinging fist.
Although Dominic’s blow did not strike its target, Anthony was unable to avoid him altogether. The impact of the collision spun him around and carried both of them to the pavement. They rolled together across the hard stones. He found himself struggling to ward off a series of erratically aimed punches while he tried to fight back.
In the heat of the first real fight in which he had ever participated, his brain ceased to function logically. Tobias had warned him that it would be like this. It was impossible to think clearly, impossible to recall the nuances of the art and science of the various pugilistic techniques they had practiced together. Anthony fell back on what seemed blind instinct, not even feeling the pain of Dominic’s blows.
But the lessons Tobias had taught him must have taken root somewhere deep inside, because he succeeded in landing a number of solid-sounding punches to Dominic’s ribs and one to his jaw. Each time he felt a shudder go through his opponent’s body, a fierce satisfaction roared through his veins.
He never heard the rattle of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves. The first indication he had that he and Dominic were no longer alone on the street was when he felt himself seized by the collar and hauled forcibly off his brother. He was then dropped rather carelessly onto the pavement beside Dominic.
He opened his eyes, blinked away the blood that blurred his vision, and found himself looking up at Tobias.
A familiar maroon carriage stood a short distance away. Mrs. Lake and Joan Dove peered anxiously from the windows. His first rational thought was that he was in luck. Emeline was not with them.
He sat up cautiously, raising his sleeve to mop the blood he could feel trickling down his face.
“Tobias? What the devil are you doing here?” he muttered.
Beside him, Dominic got to his knees, one hand on his ribs. He watched Tobias warily.
“I apologize for interrupting your entertainment this evening, gentlemen.” Tobias contemplated both of them with cold eyes. “But I happen to be in great need of some able-bodied assistants. There may well be a life hanging in the balance. I would take it as a great favor if you would both agree to continue this wholesome exercise at some other time.”
“What is going on?” Anthony staggered to his feet, grabbing the iron step railing to steady himself. Then the reason for Mrs. Lake’s and Mrs. Dove’s presence in front of a gentleman’s club at this hour finally registered. Excitement flashed through him, temporarily overriding his anger. “Have you found the killer?”
“Mrs. Lake believes we may have identified him,” Tobias said. “But I am not so certain. Nevertheless, we cannot afford to take chances.” Tobias switched his attention to Dominic. “I propose to mount a clandestine watch on our suspect. I think it would be best to use two men rather than one, in case action is required. Are you interested?”
“Action?” Dominic got to his feet, wincing again. “I don’t understand.”
“If my associate is right, the man is a cold-blooded murderer. There is every reason to believe that he plans to kill again. If someone tries to i
nterfere or if he feels cornered, he will likely become desperate and quite dangerous. Better to have two men on hand to stop him in that event.”
“Why do you need me?” Dominic scowled and gingerly touched his jaw. “You’ve got Sinclair and yourself, sir.”
“I cannot spare the time from my inquiries to watch one possible suspect. What about it, Hood? Would you be willing to aid me in this endeavor? As I said, a life may be hanging in the balance.”
Dominic gave Anthony a quick, unreadable glance and then slowly lowered his hand from his jaw. “You think this man will kill again?”
“It is only a matter of time. I will consider myself very much in your debt if you could see your way clear to help me keep this villain under surveillance tonight.”
“I suppose I could afford to spend some time keeping an eye on this suspect for you,” Dominic said carefully.
“Thank you,” Tobias said. “All the murders thus far have occurred at night, so I think we can assume that our killer prefers to act under cover of darkness. Therefore, for the rest of this evening, I want you two to watch his lodgings. You must not let him see you. Follow him if he leaves his residence, but do not interfere with him unless he looks as though he is about to commit another act of violence. Is that clear?”
“Who is this person?” Anthony asked, his blood heating again, not with anger but with anticipation of the hunt.
“I was afraid you would ask that question,” Tobias said.
“We’re to keep watch on a bloody hairdresser?” Dominic lounged deep in the shadows of the narrow alley and gazed glumly at the door of Mr. Pierce’s lodgings. “I don’t believe it. How do you suppose he goes about the job of murdering his victims? Do you think he smothers them in wigs?”
“It was your decision to agree to assist Tobias in this matter,” Anthony growled from the other side of the alley. “No one forced you to volunteer.”
“March said there was a life at stake. But I must tell you that it is extremely difficult to envision a hairdresser as a cold-blooded murderer-for-hire.”
“Perhaps that is why he has been successful thus far,” Anthony offered dryly. “No one suspects him.”
“Huh.” Dominic sounded struck by that possibility. “Hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“I think Tobias has a few doubts about this theory too,” Anthony said. “But he has learned not to discount Mrs. Lake’s intuition.”
Conversation lapsed. They went back to watching the front door of Pierce’s lodgings in silence. Moonlight and a sprinkling of weakly glowing gas lamps lit the narrow, night-shrouded street. The occasional hackney or nightman’s wagon rumbled past now and again, but otherwise it was quiet.
Anthony was aware of tenderness and swelling in the vicinity of his eye, and his ribs ached in numerous places. He suspected that he would have some bruises by morning. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Dominic was almost certainly nursing similar mementos of their skirmish.
“Mrs. Lake is an exceedingly strong-minded lady,” Dominic said after a while.
Anthony almost laughed at that comment. But he stopped, wincing, when he felt the cut on his lip open and dampen with blood. “Tobias frequently makes a similar observation. But not usually in such restrained terms.”
He raised the cloth soaked in clear, strong spirits that Mrs. Lake had given him and dabbed at the corner of his mouth. Dominic had a similar spirit-drenched cloth. Mrs. Lake had insisted upon ordering one for each of them from the harried club porter before she had allowed them to be driven here to take up their posts.
After a moment he heard Dominic unwrap the packet of meat pies that Mrs. Lake had also commissioned from the porter.
“She may be somewhat forceful in her temperament,” Dominic said, “but I’m glad she thought about the pies.” He paused. “Do you want one?”
Anthony realized that he was famished. “Yes.”
Dominic handed him a pie and took one for himself. They ate without speaking for a few minutes.
Dominic brushed crumbs from his hands. “What was he like?”
Anthony knew whom he meant. “I do not remember a great deal about him. He got himself killed shortly after I turned eight. Mother died later that same year. Ann and I went to live with relatives for a few months.”
“You must recall something about him.” Dominic sounded angry again. “You had him for over seven years.”
“Father wasn’t around much.” Anthony shrugged. “We lived in the country. He spent most of his time in London. He preferred the hells to family life.” He paused. “Ann had a miniature of him that she left to me.”
“Describe him.”
“I’ll show you the portrait tomorrow. He looked a lot like—”
“Like who?”
“Like us. Same eyes. Same physique. Same nose.”
“Was he ill-tempered? Quick to laugh? Clever?”
“Not clever enough to avoid a stupid argument over a hand of cards, apparently,” Anthony said. “As for the rest, I believe women found him quite charming.”
There was a heavy sigh from Dominic. “Yes, I suppose that must have been the case.”
“What I recall is that he made my mother cry often and that he lost everything, including our house, in that last game of cards.”
“That’s the lot? That is all you can remember?”
Anthony felt his temper start to slip again. “You want to know what I remember most vividly? I remember the man who raised me to manhood. I remember that it was Tobias who taught me how to play chess. It was Tobias who hired a tutor for me so I did not have to go away to school after Ann died. It was Tobias who gave me my first razor and showed me how to use it. It was Tobias who talked to me about what was expected of a man and the importance of honor. It was Tobias who—”
“Enough.” Dominic raised a hand in the shadows. “I take your point.”
Anthony picked up another meat pie and took a large bite. “What was he like? The man who raised you as his son.”
Dominic looked out into the dark street. “He seemed more like a grandfather than a father at times. He was plagued with gout. I remember that he used to keep one foot propped on a little stool a great deal of the time.”
“That is all you recall?”
Dominic hesitated. “No. I remember that he gave me my first telescope and showed me how to view the moon. He instructed me in mathematics. He took me to my first science lecture and later bought me some equipment so that I could perform simple chemistry experiments.”
“He treated you as a son.”
“Yes. And I loved him and respected him. He died when I was seventeen. I did not discover the truth about my real father until I found my mother’s diary after her death. If Bartholomew Hood ever knew that I was not his real son, he never gave any indication to me.”
“When you consider the matter closely,” Anthony said, “it appears that we were both rather fortunate in the men who reared us. We could have done a good deal worse.”
Dominic made an odd sound, part groan, part ironic laugh. “You mean we could have been raised by someone like our real father? I had not thought of it in that light. You may be right.”
Lavinia poured herself a small glass of sherry and sat down in the chair next to the one Tobias occupied. She propped her feet on the little hassock and contemplated the small blaze on the hearth.
It was nearly two o’clock in the morning and the house was quiet. Mrs. Chilton and Emeline had both retired to their beds before she and Tobias had returned. Tobias had refused Joan’s offer of the use of the carriage, saying that he would make his own way home after he discussed the next move in the case with Lavinia.
She wished now that she had argued against the dismissal of the comfortable vehicle. Although he hid it well, she sensed the weariness in Tobias tonight. It had been plain in the way he lowered himself into the large chair and the manner in which he absently massaged his left leg. She could see it in the lines of tension at the corners of
his eyes and his mouth.
She was well-aware that he had not slept much since they had returned from Beaumont Castle. This case was taking its toll on him. She did not care to think about him having to walk back to his own house later tonight. But she also knew him well enough to know that he would not welcome her fussing.
“Do you think it was wise to leave Anthony and Dominic alone together to watch Pierce?” she asked. “What if they decide to engage in another bout of boxing?”
“I do not think that will happen so long as they are both committed to the task of spying on Pierce.” Tobias took a swallow of his brandy. “With any luck, the time spent sharing the acute boredom of keeping a long night watch will encourage them to work out their differences.”
“Ah, yes, I comprehend the full scope of your crafty scheme now.” She leaned her head against the back of the chair and smiled slightly. “Force the pair of them to spend several hours together and hope that they start talking to each other. Very clever of you, sir.”
He gazed into the fire. “We shall see.”
“How did you know that Dominic would agree to assist you by keeping watch with Anthony?”
“Young men of that age yearn for a quest that is important and fraught with meaning. I was almost certain that, unless he was a complete scoundrel, the possibility of saving a life and helping to trap a murderer would override his need to avenge his mother. At least for a while.”
She examined the sherry in the firelight. “Do you believe that is the source of Dominic’s resentment toward Anthony? He feels that he owes something to his mother’s memory because of what happened all those years ago?”
“I suspect it is a bit more complicated than that. He is also no doubt having problems dealing with the knowledge that he was not told the truth about his past. He is angry, and Anthony is the only one left on whom he can vent his pain and frustration.”
“But vengeance is not possible in this instance. Anthony’s father is long dead. There is no way that Dominic can achieve any sort of justice at this late date.”
