One thing he was certain of, he’d better decipher what all of this meant before allowing her to find out who he really was.
* * *
Philip Mason glanced around the country inn. When he spotted Bernard Morley, or “the Baron” as most of the Brotherhood called him, he made his way across the room to him. He pulled out a chair opposite his friend. “Why here? Why on the furthest outskirts of Town?”
“Didn’t want to chance anyone we know overhearing us.”
He heard the unusual caution in his friend’s voice. “What do we ever talk about that’s so confidential?”
“There’s something I have to discuss with you. Something I didn’t want overheard.”
The Baron’s low tone forced Mason to lean forward to hear him above the noise from the tables around them. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
“You have a new client, I hear.” His friend’s intent gaze, as well as his words, immediately made Mason wary.
“Yes?” Having anyone, even a good friend, know about his business made him uneasy.
He and the Baron had become friendly three years ago when he first came to Town. Mason had sold out about a year after Waterloo and decided to remain in London for awhile. Until matters at home had settled.
They’d first met as rivals in a friendly boxing contest at Jackson’s and, after their bout came to a draw, had become fast friends.
Even so, his professional life was private.
Had it been anyone outside their group, he’d have even denied knowledge of having a client, but as luck would have it, he’d landed among an enlightened bunch. No stigma was attached to working to earn a living in their group of friends. He knew that was not the case among most of their peers.
The Baron had introduced him to his group of friends, the Brotherhood of Spares. So called because most of them were… or had been spares. As such, most had to find a means of making enough blunt to survive in London. Some gambled, others helped manage their families’ property, and he and a good number of others had found a way to put the skills they’d learned in the army to use helping others, while earning a good living.
“Selly?” Morley tossed the name at him.
“Who?” He didn’t have to feign puzzlement.
“I forget you didn’t come to London until after the war,” the Baron said. “Selly is Viscount Selwich’s nickname.”
“Never heard of him,” Mason drawled.
His friend continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Selly, who incidentally is Chase and Francis Eames’ older brother...” He looked at Mason, obviously expecting him to know them. “No? You’ve never met them? They’re one of us. I was sure you’d met most of the Spares by now.”
“Heard their names, but haven’t met them yet.” Where was this name game going?
Mason was becoming impatient and the Baron must have sensed it because he dropped the do-you-know bit and started explaining. “Selly refuses to use his title these days. Insists on being addressed as “Gordon”, his maternal family name. His full name is Reed Gordon Eames.”
He didn’t think he had given himself away, but the Baron’s eyes narrowed and he persisted with renewed fervor. “Seems his father disowned him six years ago and he’s been living in Egypt ever since.”
“And this concerns me how?”
His friend must have belatedly recalled Mason’s aversion to gossip, because he came straight to the point. “He’s recently returned and I understand there’s some mystery as to his whereabouts.”
“I see.” Mason considered that. He liked the Baron, trusted him too, but he wasn’t about to divulge anything regarding his case. Mrs. Leighton — who he was quite certain was no such thing (He could spot a maiden from across the room, having grown up surrounded by them.) — was in enough hot water and he had no wish to bring her situation to a boil. He owed her his first loyalty. “And you heard about my supposed client from…?”
“I have dealings with Hallmoor.”
“You know the Chief!” He wasn’t able to hide his surprise. Not many people had the Chief’s ear. But Morley didn’t exactly say the Chief had told him anything. At the other man’s nod, he said, “I can’t imagine him discussing my work with you or anyone.”
The Baron leaned further across the table and lowered his voice even more. “I was telling him about the odd encounter Fitz and I had with Selly the other day. Outside the Royal Academy.”
Och, they must have shown up right after he’d left. Thank God for that! Fitz, the Baron’s cousin and an heir, not one of the Spares, was not the most discreet of persons. He’d have been asking all kinds of tactless questions and then spent the rest of the week disseminating everything he’d learned to all and sundry.
Mason was willing to bet that “Miss Tally” — as her butler called her — must have drawn a few of her amazingly accurate sketches of the Baron and Fitz and she’d no doubt be presenting them to him when he got home! He’d have to find some way of avoiding her for a day or two until he figured out how best to deal with this new hitch.
For now, he wasn’t about to reveal “Mr. Leighton’s” real identity to the Baron. Not even to reassure him that Reed was being well taken care of. He needed to untangle more of the knots, to know a lot more about what was going on in that house, before he’d divulge even the smallest morsel of information.
The Leightons were in trouble and it was not the right time to reveal anything to anyone about them. And that went both ways. He had no intention of telling his client about this little chat either. He had no idea who was threatening either of them yet, but he planned on staying in their house until he did. Both were in danger and he was being paid to protect them and investigate who was so set on killing Mrs. Leighton and who had shot Leighton or Gordon, or whatever he was called!
He’d had no idea that Leighton… Gordon... was a Viscount. He doubted Mrs. Leighton did either. That footman they’d told him about had asked for a Viscount, though Foster hadn’t noted the name, which meant that someone else was looking for Mr. Leighton. Had the fribble, Mrs. Leighton mentioned, who’d asked for the owner, also been seeking the Viscount?
“Look. If you don’t want to say anything, that’s fine,” the Baron reassured him. “Just... watch over him. Really closely. According to the Chief, there are some very dangerous characters doing their best to kill him.”
The tension in his friend’s voice underlined the seriousness of the situation. Icy tingles of premonition told him to heed this warning. He knew in his gut that this was the turning point in his investigation. The link he’d been searching for.
Chapter Twenty
Having failed to unearth a Debrett’s in the house library, Tally was on her way to the local lending library with Mr. Mason and Joseph trailing along behind them. For such a well-stocked home library, it was unbelievable such a vital tome was missing. Annoying too! Now, she was forced to go out to find one. Fortunately, she learned that the public library was only a few streets away, allowing them to go on foot.
She was impatient to get there. For some unexplained reason, Mr. Mason had been unable to accompany her yesterday. Didn’t he appreciate how urgent this matter was? She hoped he’d understand better by the time this morning was over. As they walked, she explained her intentions. “I’ll begin by looking up ‘Windhaven’, the place Foster thinks he heard them mention.”
He nodded. He’d been mainly silent, which made her uncomfortable and so she was gabbing away, something she didn’t usually do. He had insisted that Joseph come along. The cynic in her suspected it had more to do with his reputation than hers!
Well, that was just too bad. She hadn’t asked for a member of the beau monde to be her bodyguard and investigator. If he was worried about his good name, then he was the one who needed to take care of it.
Despite her grumbling, she was glad of his presence. He made her feel safer and, although he wasn’t loquacious, nor was he averse to offering his opinion when asked. And she needed plent
y of advice at the moment.
“Foster only heard a little part of the conversation but he said that the two men we ran into outside the Royal Academy, seemed to think “Windhaven” was somewhere Mr. Leighton would be keen to get back to, as if he’d been out of the country for a long while.”
“I may have heard of Windhaven.” The investigator surprised her by saying. “I can’t recall the connection at the moment, but I might be able to get that information for you fairly soon.” He leaned down, nearer, and lowered his voice. “And with those sketches you gave me, I’m sure my sources should recognize at least one of the two men.”
She’d never realized quite how tall he was. Somehow the disparity in their heights was more apparent when walking on the street with him.
“That’s wonderful.” She smiled gratefully. Perhaps having a member of the upper echelons as her investigator might end up being useful, after all. Though just the notion that Reed might be a peer made her tremble with dread. Seeing his friends had only increased her fears that he was. He might have met them while working at this Windhaven, she supposed, but the warm manner in which they’d greeted him suggested he was one of them. If so, she hated to imagine how he and his family were going to react when they… if they, learned she was pretending to be his wife.
He might already be married! Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? Unlike women, men rarely wore any outward sign of their bond, so it had never occurred to her. Was there a wife sitting at home, frantic, awaiting his return? Children?
She felt ill at the possibility. But there wasn’t much she could do about it now, so she forced the notion to the back of her mind. She had research to do. The good thing was that she now had a name to verify. One of the men had called the other “Morley”, and she hoped to find out who he was.
Less than an hour later, she had. They were now on their way back home. She hadn’t learned anything about Windhaven, but had been dismayed to discover that “Morley” was almost certainly Baron Bernard Morley. Reed’s friends were indeed peers, which meant he must be too! She gulped in trepidation. What could a peer do to her for shooting him?
She was having trouble believing it. He had been dressed nicely and he even acted a gentleman but why would a peer she’d never met, scale the wall and climb into her bedroom?
“I’ll make inquiries about the Baron too, shall I?” Mr. Mason suggested.
There was an unusual blandness to his voice. She darted a searching glance sideways at him. There was something odd about the way he’d said that, but she saw only his usual, impassive expression.
“That might be best. But we have to be careful lest anyone guess why we’re inquiring.” Caution was of the utmost importance. She didn’t want to alert others to their predicament.
“Understood. Someone shot Mr. Leighton and, without his memory, he’ll be an easy target for them to come back and finish the job.”
“Exactly.” Inside, she groaned. She was going to hell and damnation! It was the one thing she and Foster had agreed not to tell the investigator. How would a man, whose job was to uphold the law, feel about her having shot a man? So they told him the same tale they’d told Reed and had planned to tell the authorities, should it ever come to their attention. Now, she had to tell him the truth... at least, part of it.
“We… um… didn’t tell you the whole story.” She sounded reluctant, even to her own ears. “Mr. Leighton didn’t exactly arrive in the usual way.”
His glance sharpened suspiciously. Although she trusted he wasn’t about to blab about their dilemma to all and sundry, she still felt as if she were about to jump off a cliff. Figuratively holding her nose, she jumped.
Just above a whisper she said, “He came in my bedroom window.”
“He what!” For a usually phlegmatic man, Mr. Mason couldn’t conceal his astonishment at her revelation. He stopped walking to gape at her.
She wasn’t sure if he truly hadn’t heard her or if he was so shocked, he disbelieved her. “Mr. Leighton climbed in my bedroom window.” Should she tell him she’d shot Reed? Perhaps not.
“He’d already been shot by then and that must have caused him to stumble and hit his head.” She rushed on, not wanting him to pay too much attention to that part of her story. “When he awoke the next day, he remembered nothing. We didn’t know what to do. We sent for a physician and, when the doctor called him Mr. Leighton, assuming I was his wife, he seemed relieved to know he belonged. When I told the doctor I didn’t even know the man, he insisted I not tell him the truth or it might harm his chances of ever getting his memory back.”
“So you’re not married?” The Scot seemed remarkably unconcerned by her admission. “And Mr.... His name is not Mr. Leighton?”
“No.” She was relieved to tell someone else about the muddle she’d landed in, through no fault of her own. “We think his name might be Mr. Gordon. Foster found a gold watch in his pocket and, though time has eroded the engraving, “Gordon” appears to be the name inside. But we didn’t know if he stole the watch or not, so we’re not certain that is his name.
“Stole?”
“Well he did climb in my window, and usually only thieves do that, don’t you agree?” She looked at him for confirmation.
As usual, he paused to weigh his response. She thought she glimpsed an instant of doubt in his eyes before his almost reluctant, “I suppose.”
Uncertainty had not so far figured in the Scot’s character. He was always quietly confident. Deciding it must have been the way his eyes closed against the wind that caused her to think that, she came back to her own pressing problems. “Believe me, I had no idea following the doctor’s orders would become so complicated.”
“Aye, yet you’ve kept this stranger in your home and have been caring diligently for him.” He sounded amazed. Or was he astounded by her stupidity?
“You’re a good woman, not many would do as you have done.” was his surprising comment.
She flushed rosily at his approval. “At the time, we had no idea he was a gentleman. It seemed more likely he was a thief (or worse! she added to herself) and we assumed that, when… if… he recovered his memory, he’d wish to remain silent about the circumstances, to keep his crime a secret…” she tapered off. “Now…” Her worried grimace must have told him what she was having trouble voicing.
“Now,” he finished her reasoning, “you aren’t sure what a peer of the realm, or his family, might be capable of once he gets his memory back.”
“Exa...ctly,” she moaned her agreement.
“And you’re worried your role in it will become public knowledge.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes!”
He understood her dilemma completely. It felt good to have someone on her side. Someone who knew what was what in London society. Ever since that encounter with Reed’s friends outside the art exhibit, she had been almost wishing that his memory never be restored. Now, knowing he must be Quality and that there was a way for him to recover his life, if not his memory, via his friend, the Baron… she was hopeful that Mr. Mason might be able to make it happen. She was frightened, but she wanted it done as quickly and quietly as possible, for both their sakes.
I’ll never shoot a man again! she vowed.
Yet, even as she thought it, she knew she’d had no choice. Either she shot him or he killed her. That’s what she’d thought at the time!
“Thank you for telling me the whole story.” He resumed walking. “My job will be easier, knowing when and where I have to tread carefully.”
Put that way, it sounded complicated. She felt another stab of her old friend, guilt. Mr. Mason was still missing the final piece of their story, but surely not knowing she was the one who had shot Reed shouldn’t matter… much?
“Not that any of this helps solve the matter of who is trying to... to harm me.” She stumbled over using the word “kill”. It seemed too incredible. Killing was for war, or for greedy men who killed for money. Not for quiet country girls, of modest mea
ns, newly come to town. “Have you plans for dealing with that?”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
They walked a few more steps, the Scot in pensive silence. She was wishing he’d offered her more hope than that.
“Are you certain the two aren’t connected?”
“Quite certain,” she responded confidently. “Mr. Leigh... um... Gordon arrived a full two weeks after I’d been the object of at least three terrifying occurrences. Unless…” She stopped. She hated to speak ill of others and, now that she was coming to know Reed, she had a hard time believing he could ever be a danger to her.
“Unless what?”
“We did wonder, that first night, if Mr. Gordon had climbed in the window to… um… hurt me.” It sounded so stark, so awful, when put into words like that. She peeked up at the investigator to see his reaction.
“Hmmm…” His expression never changed. He paused for several long moments before saying, “Yes, it only makes sense to keep that in mind.”
His long stride was eating up the sidewalk, while he contemplated the circumstances. She was almost running to keep up with him.
“It appears to me you have a third problem,” he said. “Monsieur Moreau’s disappearance.” He peered down at her. “You suspect he was taken away unwillingly, I surmise.”
She was almost panting as she tried to talk and keep pace with him. “Yes, each attack against me took place on our way home from his studio.”
He probed further, “So you think Moreau’s absence is connected to these attacks on you?”
She hesitated. Telling him this next bit was a big step. It meant revealing a secret she’d kept for half of her life. “I may have discovered the reason for Monsieur’s disappearance, although, I hope I’m wrong.”
“Yes?”
Mr. Mason was not a patient man, she was discovering. It must be that red hair of his. At his prompting look, she hastened to continue. “First, I must have your promise that what I tell you remains between us.” Tally was nervous. She’d never told anyone about her painting.
The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife Page 26
