Livy cocked her head. “The Prince has a connection to Longmere?”
“Ain’t my place to question my leader’s connections. I just be passing along the message. Good day, ladies.” Fair Molly dipped her knees and disappeared in a blink.
“That was odd,” Fi said.
“Undoubtedly. But let us concentrate on the task at hand.” Charlie’s gaze homed in on the building. “We’ll make our move when the sun sets. Until then, we’ll monitor the building.”
Shadows bled through the sky and onto the street. No light leaked from the shuttered windows of the house, and Livy hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit. Charlie led the way from the carriage, the darkness and their disguises as male dock workers allowing them to blend in.
They circled around to the back of the building, where the property abutted the Thames. The rickety dock shown in the painting was presently empty. Charlie and the Angels scaled the fence at the back of the building, landing softly in a small courtyard.
No light shone from the back windows. They found the door locked.
“Allow me,” Fi said, taking out her lock picks.
Within moments, they entered. The air inside had a stale, fishy smell. Charlie lit some candles she’d brought, eerie shadows chasing over the cracked walls.
“Let’s split up,” she said. “Glory and I will take this floor, Livy and Fiona the one above.”
Livy and Fi headed up the creaking stairs. The plan of the top floor was like the bottom: three rooms separated by a hallway. The front room held a few worn furnishings. While Fi poked around in the middle room, Livy went to the one at the back. As she held up her candle, the light illuminated a head of black hair.
Heart seizing, she yanked out her pistol; the figure did not move. She inched forward…and realized that she was looking at a dressmaker’s form. A wig of long black hair tied in a Chinese-style single braid sat upon a blank wooden head. Below, the form wore a long tunic over matching trousers.
Fiona came up behind her. “Heavens. Is that…?”
“I think we’ve found Fong,” Livy said grimly.
She shone her light over the desk next to the dummy: the surface was covered in pots of face paint and brushes. As Charlie and Glory came into the bedchamber, Livy pinched a strip of hair between finger and thumb, holding up a straggly black beard.
“Master Fong is a fake,” she said. “Someone is pretending to be the Chinese mastermind.”
“Who?” Glory asked, her eyes wide.
“I have four likely suspects in mind,” Charlie said in a hard tone.
“That makes perfect, diabolic sense.” Fi opened the cupboard, revealing more garments cut in the Chinese style. “One of the Horsemen is supplying the drug, but he is protecting himself by using a false persona.”
“Then if the lethal effect of the drug is uncovered, he can deny having knowledge of it.” Livy picked up the theory. “He will claim that he was an unwitting dupe like everyone else. The upstanding Englishman can blame everything on the evil foreigner…who, of course, will never be found.”
“A stratagem as brilliant as it is despicable. One that society is primed to believe, given its prejudices,” Glory said darkly. “Now, who of the four is responsible for this heinous crime?”
As the others rifled through the room, Livy tried the drawer beneath the desk. When it didn’t open, she crouched and picked the lock. Inside were assorted papers. She pulled out the loose sheet on top and read the scrawled lines.
A favorite of pirating swaps,
And mannered grocers,
I am the cause of a nightdress furor.
To find me, head on yonder towards snails
And swim with the fish beating gills.
“Did you find something?” Glory asked.
Livy frowned. “It appears to be an odd bit of verse. A riddle, perhaps?”
She continued searching through the drawer. She found a note. Unfolding it, she scanned the lavish feminine hand.
My darling,
* * *
I count the days, hours, and minutes until I can see you again.
Every moment while I am trapped in this country prison with Hadleigh as my warden is torture. How I loathe my husband. He seeks to stifle my soul with his bourgeois ways. He cannot hold a candle to your manly sophistication, my darling. How I miss you!
I dream of the day we can run away together. Until then, the life you put inside me gives me hope for our future. Come for me soon, my love, or I shall expire from wanting you.
* * *
Your loving,
A.
The words sunk in, chilling Livy’s blood. “I have to warn Hadleigh.”
“About what?” Charlie asked alertly.
Livy dashed toward the door. “I think whoever is masquerading as Fong had an affair with Hadleigh’s wife…and may thus have a personal vendetta against Hadleigh!”
The spotted billiard ball dropped into a pocket. Across the baize-covered table, Thorne’s smile was smug as he straightened after taking his shot. “Sorry, old b-boy. I win again.”
Ben knew the bastard wasn’t sorry in the least. Which was why he’d been deliberately letting the other win at billiards all night, with substantial wagers made on the outcome. Men in good spirits were easier to tap for information.
“Where is Stamford tonight?” Ben asked casually as he retrieved the balls.
“He sent a m-message saying he has a head cold or something of the sort. Namby-pamby fellow.” Thorne gave a derisive shrug. “Stamford never managed to fill your shoes. I’ll confess that I wasn’t certain at first about your return, Hadleigh, but now I can say that it is g-good to have you back. Cheers, old boy.”
Thorne held up his whisky in a toast.
Ben had no choice but to reach for his own glass. “Cheers.”
It was only his second serving of alcohol thus far; he’d managed to appear like he was drinking more than he actually was. The more the other men indulged, the less they would notice his minimal participation in the various forms of depravity Bollinger had made available to his guests this eve. As Ben set up another billiards game, his vision briefly wavered.
His period of abstinence had affected his ability to hold his drink. Luckily, the wave of dizziness passed, and his mind cleared once more. He couldn’t help but see the irony of it: abandoning his vices had made him more susceptible to their effects. In trying to become a better man, he’d made his present mission more difficult.
The memory of Bea’s visit flashed in his head. His chest knotted as he recalled the doubt in his sister’s eyes, the resignation and anger. Even if he had been able to tell her that his recent behavior was just a ploy, would she have believed him? He’d broken her trust too many times. Caused her pain for which he could never make amends. He’d deserved her parting shot.
“It was my fault for thinking better of you, Hadleigh,” she’d said bitterly. “A leopard never changes its spots.”
Perhaps there was no escaping his past. Perhaps redemption was a mere illusion.
Yet for Livy, his love and duchess-to-be, he had to try to wipe his slate clean.
Edgecombe sauntered in. “Still at the billiards, fellows?”
The earl had lost his cravat, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His face bore traces of rouge from the two French prostitutes he’d taken upstairs.
“Bed sport isn’t a m-man’s only choice of entertainment,” Thorne said.
“While the two of you play with your own balls, I prefer,” Edgecombe drawled, “to delegate the task.”
The risqué quip drew appreciative guffaws, and Ben found himself laughing along.
Rising from the divan where he’d been nursing a bottle of brandy, Bollinger stumbled over.
“Speaking of tasks, I’ve been thinking.” His words were slurred. “I should take Hadleigh with me on my errand tomorrow night.”
Seeing the significant looks exchanged, Ben felt a surge of euphoria.
At last, news of Fong.
My plan is coming to fruition.
Giddy with success, he strove to keep his wits about him.
“Have you heard from Fong?” he asked. “Is a shipment arriving?”
“Yes. And the fellows and I think you’re ready to help,” Bollinger said.
“You have to earn your keep along with the rest of us, Your Grace,” Edgecombe said with a smirk. “If you want Longmere’s cut, then you’ll be taking over his position on the route.”
“There’s a route?” Ben asked.
“It’s all very hush-hush.” Thorne’s gaze glittered with illicit thrill. “We had to solve a r-riddle to figure out where to pick up the Devil’s Bliss.”
“You’ll see for yourself tomorrow night,” Edgecombe said.
He gave Ben a slap on the back. Ben pitched forward, catching himself against the billiards table, his vision swimming. He felt as if he’d suddenly plunged underwater, the voices and faces around him growing blurry and indistinct. At the same time, he was oddly content to float there, listening to the ebb and flow.
“You all right?” someone asked.
“Old boy has lost his touch...”
Laughter…were they laughing at him? He frowned, trying to think.
Not supposed to look weak. Have to stay strong—about to bring down Fong at last…
“Just need some air,” he managed.
He staggered from the billiards room. In the hallway, the walls seemed to curve around him, and he found himself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Of him being foxed from two drams of whisky. He couldn’t remember spirits making him feel this way before. So free of care, the world bathed in a rosy glow. It was almost like how he felt when he was with Livy…
…or when I had that first hit of opium.
The realization jolted him. Gave him enough presence of mind to lurch over to the lavatory. Inside, he went to the looking glass, gripping the edges of the water basin.
Darkened pupils. Flushed cheeks. The rush of euphoria.
Holy hell...I’ve been drugged.
At that moment, his legs gave out, and he was sucked into a terrifying quicksand of exultant torpor. The harder he tried to fight it, the more ensnared he became. Time floated, he floated, suspended in a fuzzy kaleidoscope of color and shapes. Something slapped his cheek. His awareness sharpened on an object in front of his face.
A glittering pendulum of gold mesh swung from a chain. The peacock feathers swirling around the globe stirred a distant memory. Behind it, a masked face blurred in and out of his vision, accompanied by a muffled voice.
“Do you remember this vinaigrette? I gave its twin to Arabella. You left her no choice but to seek the freedom within when you locked her up. It was your fault that she took the drug during her pregnancy and died…
“Do you like your first taste of the Devil’s Bliss? You always thought you were better than the rest of us, but now you’ll see who truly holds the power. By the by, Arabella’s babe was mine. And now you shall pay for taking them both away…”
The voice grew distant, and Ben couldn’t fight the darkness any longer. As he succumbed to the airless depths, his last thought was of Livy.
Forgive me, little queen. I love you…
35
“Where do you think they are headed?” Livy said, peering ahead anxiously.
She was on the driver’s perch with Hawker, who kept his good eye trained on the unmarked carriage several lengths ahead.
“’Ard to tell,” he said. “We’ll keep on ’em.”
While Charlie had stayed at the villain’s lair to look for the cache of Devil’s Bliss—without which they had no evidence—she had sent Hawker along with the Angels to find Ben. The group had arrived at Bollinger’s townhouse in time to see two burly footmen load Ben into a carriage and take off at a rapid clip. Even from a distance, Ben had looked unstable, as if he was heavily foxed...or drugged. Any fleeting hope Livy had that the servants were merely delivering Ben to his residence vanished when the vehicle continued south past Piccadilly, turning east at St. James’s Park.
Now Hawker was following the other carriage through the streets sandwiched between the Strand and the Thames. Several conveyances separated them, and the view was obscured by the thick layer of fog rising off the river. Angling to keep an eye on Ben’s carriage, Livy tapped her foot in a restless rhythm.
Where are they taking Ben? she thought frantically. What is their plan?
“Bleeding ’ell,” Hawker bit out.
He swerved to avoid a produce wagon that had emerged from a side street and straight into their path. Livy grabbed onto the side of the perch, holding on for dear life as the carriage tilted, skidding on the edge of its wheels. The horses neighed in fright, but Hawker managed to keep the carriage upright through the hail of cabbages and carrots. They came to a juddering stop.
“Everyone all right?” Hawker barked.
From the cabin, Glory and Fi called out, “We’re fine!”
Heart pounding, Livy strained to see ahead. “We’ve lost the other carriage. We have to find it!”
Hawker picked up the reins, and they sped off. Livy’s stomach sank as she saw no sign of the vehicle carrying Hadleigh. It could have gone down any of the small dark lanes branching off the arterial route.
Glory poked her head out of the carriage window. She’d taken off her cap and wig, her hair streaming in the wind. “Do you see the carriage?”
“No,” Livy said desperately. “If they mean to do Ben harm, where would they take him?”
Fi’s head appeared next to Glory’s. “If he’s drunk, they could dump him into the river. Make it look like he fell in and drowned.”
A likely ploy. Where would the villains go to do the heinous deed, to make it appear like an accident instead of foul play? Livy’s mind raced through the closest places…
“Waterloo Bridge!” she and her friends exclaimed as one.
Hawker reacted by pulling a sharp right. The bridge was mere blocks away, infamous in recent years for a spate of accidental deaths and suicides taking place there. Indeed, Waterloo Bridge had been immortalized in “The Bridge of Sighs,” a poem about a woman’s tragic taking of her own life. They arrived at the granite bridge, the lamps on its span illuminating a smattering of vehicles and people crossing on foot.
“How would the villains toss Ben in without anyone seeing?” Livy muttered.
“I see them. The embankment, to the right of the bridge,” Hawker said.
He drove them toward the spot where the other carriage was parked. Livy made out two figures in the swirling mist. They were standing on the edge of the embankment. They hoisted something between them and heaved it into the river.
Seeing and hearing the heavy splash, Livy felt terror flood her being.
The sound of their approach tipped off the scoundrels.
“’Urry, let’s get out of ’ere!” The figures dove into their carriage, the vehicle speeding off.
By the time Hawker brought the carriage to a halt seconds later, Livy had stripped off her jacket and shoes. She ran toward the river, her gaze trained on the dark waves where she’d seen Ben go under. She heard the others shouting at her, but there was no time to spare. Scrambling up the embankment, she dove in.
She fought the cold currents, slicing her arms through the water. It was dark, and she could hardly see, but she guessed she had to be close to where Ben had landed. Taking a breath, she dove under. She waved her arms out blindly, hoping against hope to find him. When her air ran out, she surfaced, gasping for breath. Then she went under again. And again.
With each successive dive, her fear and panic grew.
Where are you, my love? Help me find you. Don’t let go.
The chill numbed her limbs. She fought off fatigue, staring over the dark mirror of the river with burning eyes. At that moment, a light from a passing barge swept over the water’s surface, and she saw something bobbing in the water some fifty yards away, the current pushing it through the third arch of the
bridge.
Ben.
She cut through the water with determined strokes. She pushed herself past cold, past exhaustion, past fear. Her mind and body were united in a single purpose: get to Ben.
She reached him, turning him over. His eyes were closed.
“Ben!” Frantically, she checked for the pulse at the side of his neck. His skin was horrifyingly icy. When she felt the faint leap beneath her fingertips, relief poured through her. Then she looked for the shore; the fog had thickened, and all she could see was water.
I will get us to safety. Hold on, my love.
With one arm hooked around Ben, Livy used the other to paddle. It was a struggle: she had to keep Ben’s face above the waves, and her energy was sapping. She felt heavier and heavier, the chill burning into her bones. Her strokes slowed, the fog pressing down upon her, watery chains dragging on her arms and legs…
“Livy! Hold on, we’re almost there!”
Livy blinked, disoriented. Glory’s voice—where was it coming from? An instant later, the prow of a lighter cut through the thick mist, Hawker rowing, and Fi and Glory leaning over the side. The Angels hauled Ben and Livy into the boat.
“Ben, wake up.” Livy knelt at Ben’s side, shaking him. She asked fretfully, “Why isn’t he responding?”
“Reckon he drank too much o’ the Thames.” Kneeling on the other side, Hawker placed his large palms on Ben’s chest, pressing down in quick succession.
Water spewed from Ben’s mouth, and he began to cough.
“Ben.” Heat trickled down Livy’s cheeks.
“He’ll live,” Hawker announced, stripping off his jacket and bundling it around Ben. “But we need to get the two of you somewhere warm straightaway.”
An awful pounding awakened Ben. It came from inside his head, a hammer whacking against his skull. Pain and nausea surged in an overwhelming tide. Rolling over, he retched.
“There now, my darling. Get it out. You’ll feel better.”
Olivia and the Masked Duke Page 27
