Something I’d said must have intrigued her, for her coffee brown eyes sharpened with interest. I continued to meet her penetrating gaze, letting her know I was in perfect earnest. When finally she broke eye contact, it was to flick a glance at the man who rode beside her, who I’d just realized was also staring at me.
The duchess smiled. “I can see now what snared Mr. Gage’s regard. For you’ve already captured Wansford’s as well.”
The earl grinned at her teasing.
“Will you come Wednesday?” she asked me. “I shall be ready to receive you then. And I know precisely what I shall wear.”
“I would be pleased to,” I replied.
After we arranged the time, they rode on, leaving me to face Lorna’s self-satisfied smirk.
“I knew the duchess would be perfect. Once you’ve secured her endorsement, you shall have every lord and lady in Mayfair—from royal dukes to no-account baronets—begging you to paint their families.”
“And Lady Morley will be forced to eat crow.” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with vicious delight.
“Remind me never to cross you,” Lorna told her, eyeing her with the same surprise I did.
“I also think we may be getting ahead of ourselves,” I murmured, my worries over the implications of the blackmail note and the inquiry into the Italian Boy never far from my thoughts. “We don’t yet know what trouble might arise.”
“Don’t fret, Kiera.” Charlotte leaned across the carriage to clasp my hand. “You’re already past the worst of it. I just know it.”
If only I’d realized how wrong she could be.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“My lady.”
I turned from my contemplation of the rain-slicked street outside the drawing room window, my shawl draped around my shoulders against the cold that had settled overnight. The townhouse creaked as yet another blast of wind buffeted it.
“Mr. Gage has requested your presence in his study,” Jeffers announced. “A Mr. Goddard is there with him.”
“Thank you, Jeffers. I’ll join them presently.”
He nodded. “Very good, my lady.” His gaze dipped to where I absently rubbed my stomach in circles. “If I may be so bold,” he added, tentative at first, and then more assured. “I could send to the apothecary for something to relieve your discomfort.”
I should have known Jeffers’s eagle eyes had not missed my lack of appetite the past few days. I had left more food on my plate than I’d eaten. A fact Bree had already taken me to task for the evening before, insisting the bairn needed more nourishment than the pecking I’d been doing. But I was not ill, nor troubled by nausea from the baby. My nerves were simply too tangled, my anxiety too acute, to allow much food to pass my lips.
“No, thank you,” I demurred with an encouraging smile. “I’m sure it shall pass.”
He did not appear the least convinced by this, but he did not argue. “Of course, my lady.”
“If Mr. Gage hasn’t yet ordered tea, please have some brought to the study.”
And if some of my favorite lemon cakes didn’t appear on the tray, ordered up special by either Bree or Jeffers, then I would eat my hat.
He bowed and departed.
I soon followed in his wake, pausing before the mirror hanging over one of the console tables in the hall to check my appearance. Seeing that all was in order, I entered my husband’s study to find him seated behind his burr elm kneehole desk. The man that was perched on the Windsor armchair swiveled to look at me before rising to his feet and bowing quite correctly.
“Kiera, this is Mr. Goddard, the Bow Street Runner I mentioned,” Gage said. “Goddard, my wife.”
“How do you do,” I murmured, advancing into the room.
Having no experience with the Runners, I hadn’t known what to expect. Goddard was a spry man of about thirty years of age, with a medium build and a head full of dark hair. His clothing was plain, but respectable, likely chosen for its ability to blend in to most settings, from the slums of the East End to the streets of Mayfair. In fact, there was very little that was remarkable about him except the dark shadow cast by his shaved facial hair over the lower portion of his face. That, and his keen eyes, which studied me with respectful interest. It was evident he was aware of my reputation. He might have even been present during my appearance at the Bow Street Magistrates Court two and a half years prior, waiting to bring another criminal to court.
I crossed the room to sit on the claret damask cushioned window seat to the left of Gage’s desk, where I sometimes curled up to read while Gage handled business and estate matters at his desk.
“Mr. Goddard and I have been discussing the Italian Boy inquiry,” Gage explained before turning back to our guest. “The Runners haven’t yet been called in, have they?”
He shook his head. “No. But I suspect it’s only a matter of time. Though it’s like to be one of the veterans. Probably Taunton, seein’ as he’s particular friends with Minshull, the magistrate for the case.” Though more polished than some, his accent still betrayed his origins as being from Southwark, south of the Thames.
“I’m sure you’re correct. And the sooner Minshull calls him in, the better. Superintendent Thomas seems eager enough, but he has little experience in these matters”
“His first murder case, I believe,” Goddard replied, choosing his words with care. He was savvy enough not to be caught directly criticizing a man who might be considered his superior, even if Thomas was with the New Police and not part of the Runners.
“Well, let us hope they don’t bungle it.” Gage sat forward, clasping his hands on his desk as he dismissed that matter and moved on to the real reason we’d asked him here. “I have a matter I’d like to hire you to look into. Something of great delicacy.” He stared at the man in frank appraisal. “I know I can trust your discretion.”
“Of course, sir,” Goddard replied without hesitation.
Gage opened his desk drawer to remove the blackmail note and passed it across the desk to the Runner. “My wife received this the morning of the twelfth. It was delivered by a messenger, most likely an Italian Boy hired to run the errand.”
Goddard’s eyes sharpened at this information, but otherwise he didn’t react, not even while reading it. When he’d finished, he lifted it to his nose to sniff it and then flipped it over to examine it for stray marks, as Gage and I had already done. “And you want me to find out who’s threatenin’ her ladyship?” he guessed.
“Yes,” Gage confirmed, nodding toward the letter. “Based on the information shared in the missive, we assume it’s one or more of the resurrectionists her late husband procured subjects from. But there’s always the possibility one or more of them talked, or that someone on the fringes of such work—like that man Shields, who the burkers employed to carry the body of the Italian Boy—is seeking to profit from such knowledge.”
Goddard’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as he considered this. “’Tis possible. These sort of men like to frequent the same haunts. Pubs and inns where the trade is known, and they can drink without sufferin’ the scorn of other workin’ folk. Anyone willin’ to be associated with or hired out by such characters would know to go there. And if they were to blabber about it, who knows who heard.”
“And you know which pubs and inns they meet at?”
He nodded and shrugged. “’Tisn’t a secret. In the old days, they used to store the bodies under the benches and return for ’em later. Can’t get away with such brass now.” He folded the letter. “I’ll pay a call to a few of these establishments and see what I can find out. Their porters and barmen should be in a more cooperative frame of mind given recent events.” His eyes slid sideways to meet mine. “Unless her ladyship has a better idea where I should start.”
I understood what he was trying to ask without giving offense. “I had nothing to do with Sir Anthony Darby’s procurement of
bodies. I suspected, of course, that he was using resurrectionists, but I never met such men nor took part in the process.”
Goddard accepted this response without argument, though I could tell by the glint in his eyes that he wasn’t completely convinced of my truthfulness.
“What of you?” Gage interjected. “Do you have any suspicions who the culprit might be?”
He sat back, rubbing his chin. “Well, nowadays, snatchin’ has become a bit of a specialist’s trade. Many of the best made their money and got out after the work became too dangerous when London graveyards started hirin’ armed guards. Most of those that are left either work in gangs or undertake the occasional odd job, lured by the blunt.” He waved the letter. “’Tis far more likely this is the work of one of the gangs than an outlier. I expect I’ll find your blackmailer among them.”
His sharp gaze shifted once again to meet mine. “What of Sir Anthony’s servants? Were any of them involved?”
“To be certain. The butler, for sure. And perhaps one or two others.” I felt no qualms accusing Sir Anthony’s odious butler.
“Then I had best question them, discover what they might know.”
“Best of luck with that,” I remarked wryly. “I believe they are still employed by Sir Anthony’s nephew at the same address. But a word of caution,” I added when he would have turned away. “Do not mention my name or the letter. Most of the staff, particularly the butler, was loyal to their employer. You’ll find they spare me little sympathy.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gage’s jaw clench with anger, but I was more concerned with Mr. Goddard’s reaction. His eyebrows quivered, and I could almost see the questions piling up behind the tight line of his lips, but he showed remarkable restraint when he did not voice them. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.
“I shall approach the matter with care,” he assured me.
“Thank you.”
Either he was unused to being thanked or the genuineness of my tone had startled him, for he shifted awkwardly in his chair before nodding in acknowledgment. “What do you wish me to do with the blackmailers when I find them?” he asked Gage.
My husband drummed his fingers against the desk, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. We certainly didn’t want the men arrested and brought before a magistrate. That would mean having to publicly reveal the contents of their letter. “Nothing for the moment. Simply bring their names and possible whereabouts to me. Then we can decide what is to be done.”
Goddard seemed to understand the complexities of the situation. “I’ve a fellow, used to be part of the Bow Street Foot Patrol, who I can set to watch the men until you resolve what to do.”
“Yes. That would be suitable.” Gage pushed to his feet, forcing Goddard to rise as well.
“The letter. May I keep it? I may be able to match the handwriting.”
Gage turned to me, and I nodded. If he trusted this Runner, then so did I.
Goddard tucked the letter inside his waistcoat. “I’ll report back to you in one week, or sooner if I have anything of importance to share.”
Gage told him this was acceptable and then rang for Jeffers to show him out through the servants’ entrance, as he’d entered.
“I expected you to ask him if he knew anything about Feckenham,” I commented when Gage returned to the side of his desk.
“Goddard knows we’re investigating the murder, and we are well enough acquainted for me to know that he would have shared anything he thought I should be aware of.” He crossed the few steps to where I sat, taking hold of my hands. “For me to ask him without first offering him a commission in the inquiry would have been overstepping. He makes his living from such retainers, after all.”
“Does he resent your taking some of his business?”
“With my and my father’s inquiries?” He sank down onto the cushion next to me so that I wouldn’t have to crane my neck to look up into his face. “No. Most of the Runners understand the clients who hire us would never have allowed them over their thresholds in the first place.” He grinned crookedly. “Although those clients do not realize that Father and I often hire those same Runners to do a portion of the work for us. Though we pick and choose judiciously which ones we use.”
I smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder.
“Whether that makes up for the loss of income from our ‘interference’?” He shrugged. “I can’t say. But they seem satisfied with the arrangement. Most of them would rather not have to contend with outraged lords and haughty butlers. And I don’t blame them.”
“Considering the amount of trouble some of those lords and butlers give us, I can only imagine how uncooperative they would be to those of a lower social class.”
“Precisely.”
We fell silent, sitting companionably side by side as we listened to the rain patter against the window behind us. It was a dreary day, and as much as there was still to do, I rather hoped we wouldn’t need to go out in it.
Gage seemed to be of a similar bent, at least for the moment. He shifted to lean back against the pillow propped alongside the wall, lifting his leg around me and drawing me toward him so that my back was cradled to his chest. I sighed as his arms wrapped around me, content to sit snuggly in his embrace, the spicy scent of his cologne teasing at my nostrils. Closing my eyes, I let the rise and fall of Gage’s breath and the soft tapping of the rain lull me.
“I heard from the lads I hired to find out who might have purchased that sticking plaster,” he murmured. “But they haven’t had any luck. Then again, I didn’t expect them to.”
Being in agreement, and too contented to care, I didn’t comment.
“I also sent a note to Lord Damien Marlowe, asking him to pay us a visit outside of normal calling hours so that we might speak to him alone.”
“Excellent. So long as he doesn’t arrive within the next hour,” I mumbled. “Then I shall be very vexed with him.”
Gage chuckled behind me, jostling me in his amusement.
“What’s so funny?”
He shook his head, and then pressed his lips to my temple as he spread his hands over the slight swell of my abdomen. “I wonder if it’s wrong that I long to see you round with my child.”
His words were so tender that I felt a catch in my chest. I lifted my hands to cover his, spreading my fingers so they sank between his longer digits. “I suspect it’s something to do with male prowess,” I remarked lightly, and was rewarded with another chuckle. The pale bristles just beginning to show from his morning shave scraped against my cheek as he smiled.
“Probably.” His lips shifted to graze my ear. “Though your reaction has never left me in any doubt as to my competence.”
Tingles raced across my skin and my breath audibly caught as his mouth captured my earlobe between his teeth.
“Have you considered any names yet?”
I fumbled for words, trying to understand how he expected me to think when his mouth was now doing delicious things to my neck. “For the baby?”
“Yes.”
“N-no. Not really.”
“If it’s a boy, how about Stephen?”
“Stephen? I . . .” Such was my distraction that it took a full five seconds for this name to penetrate through the haze of my desire. I pulled back. “After your father?”
Gage’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “No?” He bent his head to my neck again. “Then maybe Meryasek.”
“Mery-what?” Laughter tinged my voice as I leaned away.
“Meryasek. It’s Cornish. One of my great-grandfathers got saddled with it.”
I shook my head. “And you want to name our son this?”
“No.”
“Then why suggest it?”
“To see you smile like that.”
My heart turned over in my chest, and I lifted a hand to cradle his cheek. I k
new now what he was doing. Since the moment I’d learned about the burking of that poor Italian Boy, the pain of my past had not been far from my thoughts. That he should wish to lift that from me, even if for but a moment, flooded me with joy and gratitude. It made the ever-present ache more bearable. And it made me want to give him anything he wished.
With the possible exception of naming our child Meryasek.
“I don’t know about a boy. But if it’s a girl, why don’t we name her Emma.”
A light flared in Gage’s eyes. “After my mother?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t respond. At least, not with words.
And several agreeable minutes later, when he did speak, it was only to say, “If Lord Damien arrives within the next hour, I shall be very vexed with him as well.”
* * *
• • •
As it happened, Lord Damien didn’t call on us until the following day. Gage and I were emerging from our front door when he strolled up the pavement toward us. I almost didn’t recognize him, for he’d grown out his dark facial hair into the popular chinstrap beard. He cast one glance at our carriage where it was waiting for us and hastened forward.
“My apologies. I was in the country until yesterday evening and did not receive your note until I returned. Shall I call at a better time?”
Seeing he had walked, Gage made another suggestion. “Are you bound elsewhere, or would you like to ride with us? We’re only traveling as far as Cromarty House. Then my carriage can take you wherever you like.”
“Capital,” he proclaimed with his easy grin.
An Artless Demise Page 15
