by Edith Layton
“On the way to a fish shop?”
“Ah well, I knew a fellow who opened an oyster for his lady and pretended to find a fine pearl necklace for her there,” Will said. “Perhaps that was what he was after doing. Looking for something amusing to tickle her fancy.”
“Uncle? No. He was not a fanciful man.”
“Love makes a man do strange things, they say,” Will mused.
Lucian frowned. “So my brother supposed. But I’m not my brother. I tell you my uncle was not in love. He didn’t know the meaning of the word anymore than I do. He was a cold selfish man, who wanted a child and so he needed a wife, and he never pretended otherwise, not to us, or to her, and certainly not to himself.”
“Can you be sure?”
“I was not privy to their private moments, of course. But I’d be shocked if it were otherwise.”
Will hummed tunelessly for a moment before he spoke again, and when he did he sounded quizzical. “The baron was middle-aged, not handsome, nor did he cut a fine figure, I saw that for myself. He had no wit or charm, you say. Yet he got a young woman of good birth to agree to marry him. You’re saying she was after his fortune?”
“She is of good birth but no funds, that’s true. As for the rest—that’s what I want you to discover.”
“Ah. So you think the Honorable Louisa had reason? But surely not means?”
“No. But at the funeral she did suddenly have an ardent admirer we’d never seen before.”
“Oh, Lieutenant Pascal?” Will asked, pleased at the almost imperceptible start he surprised from Lucian. “He’s an admirer of hers, all right. So much so that he was otherwise occupied the night your uncle died. He was drowning his sorrows over her coming marriage, in fact. So he couldn’t have bashed your uncle even if he wanted to, being drunk as a wheelbarrow all night. There are five fellow officers who’ll swear to it. They had to put him to bed at dawn because he couldn’t even fall down on his own by then. Drunk as a goat, and so say all.”
“You knew about him?” Lucian asked in astonishment.
“I’m very good at my job, my lord. I never lied about that,” Will said. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”
Lucian frowned, but shook his head. “No, nothing, right now.”
“Ah, but I’ve something else,” Will said, looking thoughtfully at his visitor. “My lord, I’ve a proposition for you. I always work alone. I let you accompany me that first time because, to tell the truth…”
“The truth?” Lucian muttered with a hint of his usual mockery, “how refreshing.”
“…that day I was interested in watching you as much as the others I talked to,” Will went on blandly. “But now, and in this case…let me put it to you straightly. Your uncle moved in circles I can’t. Bow Street doesn’t appeal to the upper classes, you see. They think us not much better than thieves.” Will was pleased to see betraying color bloom on those bony cheekbones as he continued. “So, I was thinking the ginger widow was more right than she knew. Working together sometimes might work to both our advantages. Meaning which, if you’d come along with me on some of my inquiries amongst your set, they’d be less likely to try to throw me into the gutter.” He laughed, but his eyes didn’t.
“Does that mean you don’t suspect me anymore?” Lucian asked wryly.
“Oh no. I never stop suspecting anyone until I’ve got a confessed culprit with his head in the noose, and even then I wonder. But I will say I suspect you less, if that makes you happier.”
“Infinitely,” Lucian drawled, and discovered that it did seem that he felt better. At least something was going to be done.
“Well, then, so when I need you, I’ll be sending for you, and thank you,” Will said, rising to his feet.
“Where are you going now?”
“Now?” Will laughed. “So eager, are you? Well, I’m that sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I don’t need you now. I’m off to the fishmongers’ again, and I don’t think you want to go there.”
“Why? Do you have any more evidence? Do you think she had some hand in it now?”
“Maybe. At least, there are some things I found out, and some things I don’t understand, and so I have to speak with Mrs. Pushkin again. But I don’t expect a man of your kidney to want to go to such a place, so adieu, my lord, for now.”
But Lucian didn’t move. His face became cold as it had been when he’d first entered the room. “Any fool with a title could help you gain entrée to someone’s house,” he said stiffly. “I would hope you wished for my reasoning abilities as well as my title, Mr. Corby.”
“Aye, well, I do, of course, I do,” Will said with a show of surprise. “If you want to come along with me now, I’d be honored, of course. It would be much easier today, at that, since it’s cold enough to freeze a man’s toes in his boots, and since the villains all know who you are by now they wouldn’t be expecting you to walk with me. You do have your carriage at the curb?”
“Indeed,” Lucian said, giving him a sidewise glance as they went to the door together. The runner looked monstrously pleased with himself. If he didn’t know better, Lucian thought uneasily, he’d believe he’d been as neatly caught and landed as any fish for sale in the shop they were going to visit now. And not just because he had a warm coach at his disposal today.
*
This time Mrs. Pushkin received them in her front parlor, without making them wait in the cold. She had her little Davie bow them in and heap up the fire in the hearth, and after only a little wait, she joined them. Her hair was neatly bound, she wore an elegant blue gown, high at the neck and long at the wrist. She was calm and composed, and if they hadn’t been across the hall from a fish shop filled with her customers, Lucian would have believed her to be any society hostess he knew. Any severely freckled haughty and hostile hostess, he corrected himself as she gave them a scant curtsey and motioned for them to be seated.
“To what do I owe this honor?” she asked, looking from one of them to the other.
“A few questions,” Spanish Will said, taking out his notebook.
“I see. And is the Viscount Maldon now a runner too?”
“He is helping me with inquiries,” Will said.
“Oh really?” she flashed, looking daggers at Lucian. “Things get boring down at Bethlehem Hospital, my lord? The inmates of Bedlam not up to snuff today, I suppose? No bear-baiting at the moment, nor any cockfights? And I suppose it’s too cold to go down to Billingsgate and hope for some of the other fishwives there to do battle with each other, is it? The runner’s doing his job. But you? I don’t think this is amusing. Please go find your entertainment elsewhere!”
“I am not amused,” Lucian retorted. “You perhaps forget that it was my uncle on your doorstep, and so whatever the runner does is of utmost interest to me.”
“The runner is asking the Viscount Maldon to let him handle this,” Will told Lucian sternly. “Look you, Mrs. Pushkin,” he said abruptly, “it’s a cold trail in more ways than one. The viscount is going to help me with inquiries, that’s truth. There are some places I can’t go he can, so we’ve come to terms. He wanted to come along to other interviews as well. It seemed only fair. That’s all it is, my word on it.”
“So you no longer think he had anything to do with it?” Maggie asked incredulously.
“Never said that,” Will said, “but I got to thinking about what you said last time. You were right. We three can do more together than alone. Now, at least, we have two cooperating.”
“But you don’t need my cooperation?” Maggie said angrily.
“Who said not?” Will asked in amazement.
“I do!” she spat, “and why should you, when you have me watched day and night!”
“Ha. The lad’s doing more sleeping than watching these days,” Will said disparagingly. “The one I employed to watch his lordship does a much better job.”
Both Maggie and Lucian said, “What?” at once.
“I set a boy to watch the shop,” Will tol
d Lucian, “and what does she do but have him in for tea? And let him sleep by her kitchen fire like a tabby cat. You think he wouldn’t tell me?” he asked Maggie. “My nose told me before he did. He smells like a rose now—she even sent him to the baths—well, who could blame her? He reeked. And tea gave way to bread and butter, and soon she’s got him eating better than he has in his life. She could be murdering men every day and slicing them up by night and he wouldn’t want to say, he thinks she’s such a treat. Your lad freezes his skinny rump off in the alley, my lord, do you but sneeze and he’ll tell me of it. I like uncomfortable servants much better, Mrs. Pushkin, ’deed I do.”
They continued to stare. Will looked affronted. “Well,” he said, “what sort of a runner would I be if I believed you straight off?”
“A boy watching my house?” Lucian muttered. “So much for your trust, Mr. Corby.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Will said simply, “that’s why I’m still here. It’s also why I’m such a good runner. But I do listen. That’s why I’m here right now. It’s in your own best interests to work with me, Mrs. Pushkin. The viscount can get me into some places, you can serve me in others. What do they say in the neighborhood? Who remembers seeing the baron that night?”
Maggie looked down at her reddened hands. “I haven’t heard—well, but I haven’t gone out and asked either. I think I was waiting for it all to go away. I see your point, Mr. Corby. I’ll ask ’round tomorrow, I promise.” She raised her head. “But you could have asked me that any time. That’s not why you’re here now, is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” he admitted. “I have been asking around. I heard something, then the viscount’s brother suggested a thing, and I admit, it’s been working at me. See, he suggested the baron was after buying his fiancée a bride present that night, and being a frugal sort, maybe he came down here to buy it cheaply, and that’s how he brought himself troubles.”
Maggie thought about it. “It makes sense,” she said, “and so you want me to ask about that?”
“Absolutely,” Will said. “But I’ve done that too. What I want to know right now, is if he came here that night to buy something?”
“Here?” Maggie squeaked. “Are you mad? The shop closes at dark, and what would he buy off me anyway? A hake? A cod’s head?”
Will flipped open his notebook. “An antique silver dresser set,” he read, “some French porcelain, a little China jade statue? A cloisonné urn, a crystal dagger, a snuffbox with a musical mechanism? Oh, there’s much more he could have bought from you, Mrs. P., considering you bought all those things and more off your late husband’s relatives. And what would a fishmonger be doing with such if not selling it off again? And so?”
Lucian’s eyes widened almost as much as Maggie’s did.
“Come on, Mrs. P.,” Spanish Will said gently as Maggie sat horrified. “If you sold him aught, and then didn’t tell for fear I’d find out and think you tried to take it back with interest, I can understand. But I’ve got to know. You do see that? And don’t be vexed with your late husband’s kin. They saw no harm in telling me. They’re that proud of Bernard’s widow has such taste, you see. They think you’re collecting their treasures. But money’s money. And what else would a fishmonger be doing with such fine and rare things?”
Lucian watched as the fishwife’s face grew pale, and then flushed, and her little chapped hands curled into fists in her lap. He wondered if she’d fly at the runner, and braced himself so he could stop her. But she surprised him. She stood in one smooth movement, her hands remaining fisted at her sides.
“Come with me,” she said in a cold tight voice.
Lucian hesitated, but Will followed her without a word. So then he did too. Stiff-backed, head high, she led them out of the room, and then up the stair in silence. She opened the first door off the hall on the second floor, and threw it wide.
“See for yourself,” she said.
They stared. Her salon downstairs was a pleasant room. This one was not. It was magnificent. The dimmed late afternoon light could not diminish its grandeur. The walls were soft rose, picked out with green and gold, in the best Adam’s colors. They only set off the wonders within. Outfitted in the latest style, the salon had all the fashionable Egyptian touches a modern room required, but much more. The furniture was graceful, original, and in some cases, obviously priceless.
There was a beautiful golden French bombe chest glowing in one corner, a small gem of a Jacobean table by a window, a graceful inlaid tea table, a gilded chaise-lounge covered in fine rose-embroidered silk near the hearth, and two intricately carved high-backed chairs near it that surely came from some Moroccan palace. Chinese silks were swagged over the long windows, and a fine red Turkey carpet lay on the gleaming wooden floors.
And everywhere, there were small and wondrous objects d’art. Statues, figurines, vases and bowls, all tastefully arranged so that the eye was as surprised to find them as it was enchanted by their discovery. It was the room of a connoisseur, of a collector, of a lady. The two men were speechless.
Will was the first to recover. “Well, you’ve dazzled me, Mrs. P.,” he said, “and shamed me too, at that.”
“It is not what one expects in a fishmong…seller’s home,” Lucian said.
“Indeed?” Maggie said icily, “are you sure? How can you be? After all, how many fishmong—seller’s parlors have you been in, my lord?”
They were silenced, thinking about what she’d said. But so was Maggie. She blinked, coughed, but then it was too much for her and the cough turned into the giggle she couldn’t suppress anymore. And then, all of them began to laugh.
“My apologies, Ma’am,” Lucian said, when he was able.
“Aye, mine too,” Will said.
“I never thought,” Lucian added. “Doubtless Mrs. Gow and Mrs. Gudge have the very same in their front parlors.” But that was too much for even him, and soon he, Maggie and Spanish Will were laughing together.
“Now,” Maggie said, when she subsided, “do come in and please be seated. I can’t offer tea, as my servants are downstairs serving up fish to my customers. But I have some very special brandy my late husband’s relatives are also pleased to keep me supplied with. And yes, Mr. Corby, I do enjoy fine wines as well. And no,” she added as the men seated themselves, “I do not resell them, or any of my treasures.”
“So I see,” Will said, “and thank you, brandy would be fine on such a day. This is one thing my lad never told me about,” he commented as his eyes continued to make an inventory of the room.
“Don’t blame him,” Maggie said, as she poured, “he didn’t know. This is my room. The children’s is downstairs. I don’t even let them clean here. The girls are careful, but they are only girls. I’ve been a widow six years, and in that time I’ve made this room my haven, mine alone, my escape from the shop and the street, and the world, I suppose.”
Lucian stood. “Then we won’t presume,” he said.
“But it’s my job to presume, my lord,” Will said smoothly. “A runner can’t afford to be such a grand gentleman, and if you want to help me you must remember that.”
“Oh. But don’t worry,” Maggie said sweetly, as she handed them their brandy, “it’s no presumption. After all, I asked you to stay. Now. How may I help you, gentlemen?”
She seated herself and looked at them expectantly. Her room was a fine setting, and now, at last, she realized, it had all the right accessories. The two gentlemen, one so dark and handsome, the other so impeccable and imperious, looked exactly right in it. That wasn’t strictly true, she supposed. Spanish Will was about as far from a gentleman as a man could be. But he looked very gentlemanly, at least, and the Viscount Maldon was definitely top of the trees. She got a queer sense of pleasure seeing them there—when she could forget why there were there.
“Well,” Will said, “it’s as I said. Only now I’ve had to cross off one more promising lead, haven’t I? I concede the baron wasn’t on his way here to buy a bride gif
t from you. But from one of your husband’s relatives, maybe?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. They’re very careful who they sell to. They don’t deal with strangers.”
“Then I suppose you’ll ask around here, my lord will ask around there, and I’ll do what I can,” Will sighed. “I’ll have to try talking to the baron’s fiancée again.”
Lucian looked up from contemplation of the excellent brandy. “You spoke to her already?” he asked in surprise.
“For all the good it did,” Will admitted. “I wanted to know more about her soldier friend, more about all her doings, in fact. But she was cold enough to strike a match on. Maybe you can come along next time to help warm her up.”
“Not I,” Lucian said. “She’s taken a distaste to me; I can’t imagine why.”
“Maybe she heard about how glad you were to have her in the family,” Will murmured.
Lucian sipped his brandy, pretending not to have heard the comment.
“Is she normally reserved? I mean to say, with gentlemen?” Maggie asked.
“I can’t say,” Lucian drawled, “I never passed much time with her, before or after she became my uncle’s bride to be. I saw her with him, of course. She stood at his side when he announced their engagement. Fortunately, for the sake of everyone’s dinners that night, they did not cuddle, in the manner of those newly enamored, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Well, no wonder she’s cold with you,” Maggie declared. “I can hear what you think of her in your voice when you talk about her.”
“Grant me a bit more tact than that,” Lucian said. “I am positively pleasant when we meet.”
“I’m sure,” Maggie said with a grimace.
“And I’m just a runner, so I suspect she doesn’t look at me as an equal,” Will said mildly, “which is right, as I’m not, after all.”
“What kind of a woman is she, in all?” Maggie asked.
Will looked at Lucian, who shrugged. “She’s been on the town any number of years, she’s almost as old as I am, in fact. Good family, but no money there. Not pretty, not ugly, not a great conversationalist, but neither is she foolish when she does speak. She’s thoughtful, or at least so she looks much of the time. I know why Uncle offered for her, but I’m surprised he even noticed her.”
