by Cheryl Bolen
The woman nodded solemnly. “I unpinned this from his uniform.” She fingered a regimental pin attached to her dress. Were Daphne more discerning about clothing, she would have noticed it before now. But, of course, she was hopelessly unfashionable.
“I wear it always.”
Just as Daphne would never remove the gold band Jack had placed on her hand their wedding day. “I think we've seen enough.” Her voice cracked. Her melancholy thoughts kept reverting to the previous night, to the terrifying site of Sir Ronald carrying Jack's lifeless body into their house. She had to rush home and make certain Jack had not taken a turn for the worse.
They left the chambers, and Mrs. Hale locked the door behind them.
It then occurred to Daphne that someone who lived in this quiet little court may have seen the murderer enter or leave Eli Prufoy's lodgings. “I beg that you wait a moment while I knock upon the neighbors' doors.”
The next-door-neighbor to the south was an elderly woman who apparently lived alone. “I'm inquiring about the chambers next to yours,” Daphne said, pointing toward Eli Prufoy's. “Did you see someone other than the resident enter those chambers?”
As wrinkled as a prune drying in the sun, the white-haired woman nodded. “He died. Killed at the Cock & Stalk.”
So she was hard of hearing. “Yes, I know. Did you see another man—or possibly more than one—enter his chambers?” This time Daphne nearly shouted.
The woman shook her head. “I never leave me chambers. Me daughter brings me food twice a week.”
As deaf as she was, the murderer could have bludgeoned Prufoy to death in the next house, and this woman would not have been able to hear a thing. Daphne smiled and took her leave.
The house on the north side of Prufoy's was where the two lads lived who had initially told Daphne and Jack about Prufoy's murder. The eldest of the two looked to be eight or nine while the youngest was no more than five. The lads were there, and they remembered Daphne. “You was with that army gent what gave us money!”
“Indeed I was. You are most observant. I have another question for you today. Did you see anyone enter the chambers next door—Mr. Prufoy's—anyone who was not accompanied by Mr. Prufoy?”
The elder boy's gaze leapt to Fanny Hake. “I seen her, but mostly she was with Mr. Prufoy.”
“You are wonderfully observant. Exactly the kind of lad I seek,” Daphne said. “Did you perchance see a man or more than one man enter the dead man's place?”
He shook his head. “He was quiet like, but ever so nice.”
A smile crossed Fanny's face as she nodded her agreement.
The younger boy tugged on his brother's sleeve. “What about that night you heard that noise next door?”
“Stupid. She didn't ask me what I heard. She asked what I seen. I didn't see nothing that night.”
“I did,” the younger lad said.
Chapter 12
Daphne lowered herself to the younger boy's level. “You saw another man next door?”
He nodded. “Me and Bobby was woke up by a noise, and I looked out the window and seen a man sticking a piece of something like metal to open the door at Mr. Prufoy's. But I was scared he would come after us next, so I hid under the covers.”
Knowing how dark that courtyard was at night, Daphne realized there must have been a full moon. Was it the night of Prufoy's death? “Can you tell me what the man looked like?”
He shook his head. “It was late, late at night and dark.”
“Could you tell if he was dressed like a rich man or not?”
He shook his head, then brightened. “I remember the moonlight shined on his head. He didn't wear no hat, and his hair was light like mine.” The brothers were both blond.
Daphne quizzed the elder. “And you didn't see anything?”
“I was too sleepy to get up.”
“Well, I thank both of you for being as helpful as possible.” She took pence from her reticule and gave several to each lad before she and Mrs. Hale returned to the carriage.
“I can walk home faster from here than in your carriage, my lady,” Fanny Hale said.
“You have been so very helpful and have given us so much of your time, I wish to give you some meager compensation.” Daphne took the woman's badly frayed reticule and dumped all the coins in hers into the other woman's.
“That is very kind of you, my lady.”
* * *
When she threw open the front door of Dryden House, a strong aroma of onions struck her. The smell permeated the entire house. She knew very well Jack was in no condition to be out of bed. . . Jack! She wouldn't have a second's peace until she reassured herself he was all right. She flew up two flights of stairs and sprinted down the third-floor corridor to the last room.
Lying in the large tester bed, he lay as still as . . .a corpse, and his eyes were closed. Her heart beat prodigiously, and not necessarily from being winded. She approached the bed, terrified because of the eerie silence. Didn't Jack usually snore when he slept? She set a trembling hand on his shoulder. Thank God it was warm!
Her light touch was enough to awaken him, those near-black eyes of his flicking open. “How do you feel?” she asked, tenderly stroking his dark hair.
“Bloody awful, but I'll be out of this bed day after tomorrow.”
Even a busted lip and a purple eye socket could not detract from his handsomeness. How she adored looking at his very satisfactory face with its dark, patrician countenance. “We shall see. Dearest? Can you tell me why our home smells of onions?”
“Because we now have a cook.”
A smile lifted her face. “How perfectly charming. How did we get one?”
“Your mother brought her. Apparently the girl has been a scullery maid at Sidworth House for two or three years.”
“Annie!”
“Yes, as I recall, that is her name—not that I've met her. Your mother said she's been observing their cook. The girl apparently expressed an interest in seeking a position as a cook in a small household.”
“How perfect! I do hope Mama inquired about your food preferences?”
He rolled his eyes. “First, I had the devil of a time explaining why I'm in bed looking as I do.”
“Oh, dear. I did neglect to tell her about your newest indisposition.”
“What do you mean, my newest indisposition?” His brows scrunched downward.
“Remember, my parents believe you were suffering from one of those contagious diseases when you were in Brighton. I cannot remember if it was measles or mumps.”
“This time it's obviously not a disease.”
“So how did you explain your injuries?”
“I didn't have to. The moment she saw me she jumped to her own assumptions—incorrect as they were.”
“Oh, dear, I daresay she attributed your infirmities to our visit to Spain. Did she assume you'd gotten yourself injured in battle?”
“Good lord, you two think diabolically alike!” He shook his head ruefully. “You mother was not the least concerned over my suffering.”
“That was very uncivil of her.”
“All of her concern was for my poor mother,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And not for this Mrs. Dryden? I've worried myself senseless over you.”
He fell back into his pillows and stared at the ceiling.
“Oh, my dearest, I am so sorry. I know how beastly awful you feel. I should never have left you today. I did not like you being alone.”
“And I did not like you traipsing around Cotton Lane without me to protect you.”
“You're hardly in a position to do much protecting. I am certain Jenkins and Pennington could have protected me and Mrs. Hale most ably.”
“I take it Jenkins and Pennington are servants at Sidworth House?”
She nodded.
“Did you find anything at Prufoy's?”
“Not a thing. I did, though, interview a person who actually saw the man who broke into Mr. Prufoy's lodg
ings.”
“Excellent.”
She got to her feet. “We'll discuss our investigation as soon as I come back from checking on Annie.”
“Apparently your mother gave her some money and sent her off to the green grocer's and to Billingsgate to procure food, which I daresay was a very good thing, and then the woman came back and started cooking.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat an elephant.”
Picturing her big, strapping husband eating an elephant, she giggled as she left the bedchamber. In the kitchen she found Annie happily stirring pots and chopping vegetables. Annie had come to Sidworth House when she was fourteen. That must have been two or three years earlier, and in those years, she had grown several inches taller. Cook, who became very fond of the fair and frail girl, attributed Annie's growth to her own good cooking.
“Oh, my lady,” Annie said, turning as Daphne entered the kitchen, “I am ever so grateful to you for allowing me to become your cook.”
Smiling, Daphne ran her eye over the girl. The white apron Annie wore must have been clean that morning, but it was now splotched with green and brown. Despite that her hair had been swept back into a bun, perspiration still beaded on her lightly freckled brow. “Not nearly as grateful as I am to have you. I do hope it won't be too difficult for you to run the kitchen without any help, but you'll just be cooking for the two of us. I think you'll manage beautifully.”
Daphne approached the large hearth and peered into the pot. She could not really tell what was cooking, owing to the bubbling and to the fact she knew as much about cooking as she knew about fencing. Which was nothing. “Everything smells delicious. How soon before you can have a meal ready? My husband's famished.” How wonderful that sounded! My husband.
“In 'alf an hour.”
“I beg that you bring our food up to the room at the end of the corridor on the third floor.” Daphne started for the door, then turned back. “Have you found your new bedchamber?”
Annie nodded. “Her ladyship told me I could take me pick of the basement rooms.”
“I shall have to be very grateful to my mother, then. Please, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask me.”
“Aye, my lady.”
* * *
When Daphne returned to Jack's bedchamber, she took a seat in a chair facing him. “Now what do you wish to know?”
She had not noticed he had managed to sit up in bed with his back to the headboard. He would have been incapable of such movement that morning. When he'd said he would be on his feet in three day's time, he hadn't really believed it. Now he was encouraged.
His wife had divested herself of the pelisse and wore a dress of thin cotton embroidered with tiny flowers. He lazily perused her from her bushy locks past her spectacles and down her slender body. She was much to his liking, but he was well aware that he'd found her appearance wanting—until he had fallen irrevocably in love with her.
Could Sir Ronald also be attracted to her? She did not seem his type at all. Sir Ronald's wife, Virginia, was an acknowledged beauty. And quite the opposite of her elder sister, Virginia was possessed of a large bosom.
His gaze fell on Daphne's chest. In today's dress, her breasts filled out the bodice only slightly better than a twelve-year-old lad, but he could not purge from his memory the sweet swell of her breasts beneath the fine lace she'd worn to bed two nights earlier.
How he lamented the fatigue that had robbed him of the enjoyment of making love with his wife that night.
“The description of the murderer?” he finally said.
“Well, I don't exactly have that.”
“What exactly do you have?”
“He was blond.”
“That's all?”
“It was dark. And . . ."
“And what?”
“And my witness is only five years of age.”
“Bloody hell!”
She proceeded to tell him what she had learned from the lads and Mrs. Hale.
“Now we must discuss the two lords. Lambeth and Braithwite.” He had thought of nothing else all day.
“So do you have any theories?” she asked.
“Possibly.”
“Though I am not acquainted with him, I know what Lord Lambeth looks like.”
He perked up. “And you're telling me this because. . .?”
“Because he happens to be blond.”
“That sounds most promising.”
“After what the widow told us about her husband and Lord Lambeth at gaming hells, we shall need to determine if Lord Lambeth had heavy gaming losses.”
“And if he's recently come into money.”
She bestowed a brilliant smile upon him. “Now, let's move on to Lord Braithwite.”
“Wait! How do you propose we investigate Lambeth?” While most women were incapable of analyzing situations, it wasn't like his wife to slip in such a manner.
“Oh, we'll think of something. Let us discuss Lord Braithwite now.”
She acted as if she wanted to dismiss Lambeth, which was bizarre, given that she had already insisted she was not acquainted with the man. Why in the hell was she wishing to protect him? “Do you not think it likely Lord Lambeth murdered Prufoy?” he asked.
“Oh, I think it's most probable.”
He did too. “So he murdered Prufoy, went to his victim's lodgings, and stole the letters as well as the list.”
“Oh, he didn't soil his own hands killing poor Mr. Prufoy.”
Jack nodded. “A man's life is cheap to a certain type of man. Offer the wretches a couple of quid and they'd kill their own gin-soaked mothers.”
“How I wish I could have paid the vile creatures not to kill the dear batman.” Her eyes shimmered with unspilt tears. She drew a deep breath. “So after the evil Lord Lambert had Eli Prufoy slain, he proceeded to blackmail my sister and get hordes of money.”
“It would seem so.”
“So there you have it! Now, what is your opinion regarding Lord Braithwite?”
“I do have an opinion, but it's only a guess.”
She leaned toward him, and her spectacles slipped down her nose. “Which is?”
“What if Braithwite's name was on Heffington's list? Neither Prufoy nor Lambeth would have any way of knowing what the list was. Prufoy might have seen Braithwite's name on the list, recognized his importance, and that was the highest-ranking official the major was to deliver the list to.”
“What if. . .” She stopped, obviously gathering her thoughts. “What if Lord Lambeth approached Braithwite and apprised him that he was in possession of a list with his name on it?”
Their eyes locked.
They were both obviously on the same page.
“I believe Lord Traitorwite immediately alerted his superior, the vile duc d'Arblier. Of course the duc's first order of business would be to eradicate his number one obstacle, which is you.”
“I don't know that I'm that important, but I had reached the same conclusion as you.” He was relieved that his wife was still possessed of an analytical mind, after all. Independent of him, she had come up with the same theory he had. Only his supposition had taken all day.
“What do you think we should do next?”
“We need to get the list from Lord Lambeth before d'Arblier does. Unfortunately, we must wait until I am more physically capable. The problem is I'm afraid Lambeth will be murdered.”
“That's assuming Lambeth is the one with the list—which we're not certain of.”
“We need some kind of proof that demonstrates Lambeth has gone from empty pockets to flush purse.”
“I shall have to see how Cornelia can assist us in that. If her major had been great friends with Lord Lambeth, she will know all about him. Apparently her flirtation with the major was of some long standing. Truth be told, she's awfully broken up over Major Styles' death.”
His eyes narrowed. “It serves her right—not his death, but her remorse.”
“I know, my
dearest, adultery is extraordinarily disgusting.”
Why in the hell was she secretly meeting with that damned baronet?
Their cook entered the chamber, carrying a heavy silver tray laden with tasty-looking food. She was little more than a child.
Daphne hopped up and took the tray, thanking the cook profusely. “It smells lovely. And leek soup is my favorite! Oh, and you've prepared salmon, giblet pie, tongue with redcurrant sauce, peas, and, oh look, Jack, vegetable pudding! I must tell you my husband adores vegetable pudding.”
Annie dipped a curtsey as she left the chamber. Daphne brought his plate, but when he went to take it, she shook her head. “Don't you think, dearest, moving your arms, lifting the fork back and forth, will aggravate your wounds?”
“Every movement hurts.”
She settled herself on the edge of his bed. “That's why I'm going to feed you.”
“Now see here, Daphne! I am not a child.”
Her eyes raked over his body. She swallowed and gave him a most somber gaze. “I am well aware of that, Captain. You're the most masculine man I know.”
The seductiveness of her words made him wish like hell he was not in such bad shape. But as out of charity as he was with his lying wife right now, he would not have made love to her if he'd been in prime condition. “Very well. Just this first day. I will be better tomorrow.”
Damn, but the food was awful, but he was so hungry he wouldn't let a little matter like food tasting like old boots deter him from eating. He wondered if his infirmity had affected his sense of taste. Before commenting on it, he waited to see what Daphne's reaction to the food would be.
Once she finished feeding him, she scooted up to his desk to eat her dinner. “I adore leek soup,” she said as she plunged her spoon into it. After that first taste, her brows, too, plunged. She quickly rinsed her mouth with claret. “Dearest?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know of a vegetable or legume which most decidedly looks like leeks but most decidedly does not taste like leek?”
He regarded her with amusement. “Perhaps your Annie mistook a hollyhock stalk for leeks.”
She shrugged. “I don't believe I will be able to eat this, but I cannot offend the dear girl. How can I be rid of this?”
