A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis

by Jillian Stone

  He pulled her into a door niche. “I did a quick calculation. Our chances of escape, should they corner us in the telegraph office, is the grim part of the equation.”

  Fanny swiveled around in the doorway and read a brass placard. “Mr. Howard, Surgeon-Dentist.” She wasted no time ringing the bell.

  “Fanny what are you—?”

  “Simple, Detective Lewis. The dentist who lives here is also a surgeon. If I am not mistaken, you still require stitching up.” Rafe pulled her away from the door just as it opened.

  “I’m afraid you’ve come to the back entrance.” A balding, near to middle-aged gent with a good bit of side whisker stood in the doorway. “How can I help you?”

  “My friend, the gentleman standing behind me, is in need of medical attention.”

  Rafe pulled her away. “Honestly, just a scratch—“

  Fanny dragged him back. “Mr. Howard, allow me to introduce Detective Lewis of Scotland Yard.”

  Rafe suddenly stopped their tug of war. “Hold on. I do have a favor to ask.” A reach inside his jacket produced a large banknote and his calling card.

  The dentist stuck his hand out for a shake. “Rupert Howard, at your service, Detective Lewis.” The man’s excessively expressive brows traveled up and down as he pumped Rafe’s hand.

  “I need you to deliver a few handwritten messages to the telegraph office.” Rafe handed over a note covered with scribblings. “Wait there. Make sure all the messages are sent, then destroy the originals.”

  Howard stood up straight, nearly bursting with enthusiasm. “I would be honored to be of service to Scotland Yard.”

  “Take care, play your part well, Mr. Howard, and you’ll have a tale to tell your grandchildren.” That said, Rafe moved off, and Fanny yanked him back.

  “As I said, Detective Lewis could use a bit of patching up.”

  Rafe hissed from the sting of antiseptic and yowled with every stitch. Fanny could not be sure whether she was happiest over the much-needed medical attention to his wound or Rafe’s obvious discomfort. “Why, Detective Lewis, you’re going to draw alley cats.” She received a glare followed by a spark of light in his eye. Pure Raphael.

  In a twinkling, they were back out in the street and on their way out of town. Following the back alley to the base of the hill, they turned south and wound their way through a run-down district of miner’s cottages. Fanny gritted her teeth and recoiled at the sight of fresh laundry lines hanging above open sewer trenches. She studied every detail of the deplorable living conditions, taking mental notes as she and Rafe walked the meandering path between a hodgepodge of crude shacks and stone hovels.

  Children dressed in tattered clothing, many without shoes, ran alongside, pulling her skirt and begging for ha’pennies. Rafe managed to distribute a few small coins before a woman chased after the urchins with a switch. Fanny could not take her eyes off the stray children as they ran off, each holding up a copper coin as if it were a gold sovereign.

  Rafe pointed at a cluster of oddly pointed hills, gob piles of waste coal heaped along the back side of the shale pits. “Those spoil tips make a lovely picture. Fanny, are you quite sure you want to preside over an industrial empire?” He shook his head. “Honestly, I can’t picture it.”

  His words stirred a cauldron of fear as well as joy inside her. “You haven’t been around to know anything about my life, my dreams and ambitions. My interest in women’s suffrage, for instance, goes well beyond anything the feeble masculine brain might imagine.”

  She did not miss the subtle flicker of eyelash and accompanying eye roll.

  “If I am to run one of the largest steam machinery enterprises in the empire, I believe I should be able to vote, run for government office, and attend as well as graduate college. Many of the rights gentlemen take for granted.”

  “But if you wish to be of service, say, to those little guttersnipes, you might do the same good works through a local ladies auxiliary.”

  “Charity events?” She scoffed. “If I am to help those families in Broxburn, I can do a better job by attending college and studying business economics or passing laws that protect workers as well as encourage commerce. You remember Mr. Lewis; it was the government who treated the workhouse children as pauper apprentices. Besides, I have a very keen interest in what I believe to be a noble experiment. I should like to see if it is possible to create a manufacturing enterprise that can satisfactorily address the interests of the worker and business owner.”

  He stopped and blinked at her. “My God, Fanny, you’ll only succeed in running the factories into the ground—and where will all those street urchins be then? Even worse off.”

  “I am determined to try, Rafe.”

  “What did your father have to say about these progressive ideas of yours?”

  Fanny marched ahead of him. “My father’s opinions are—were his. Mine are my own.”

  Rafe snorted. “He said you’d run the business right into bankruptcy. He did, didn’t he?”

  Fanny covered her ears and lengthened her stride. She would not listen to another word from him. Still, she wondered if her own ambitions for Greyville-Nugent Enterprises were, well, too ambitious. And there was something else—something her father only suspected before his death. Fanny was secretly enthralled with invention and design. The next generation of machines would be driven by electric and petrol engines. Machines that would replace the horse and carriage, and take the drudgery out of housework.

  Father had chided her over the concept, but had walked away pulling on his moustache, a sign he was taken with her ideas. Now, more than anything else in the world, she wanted those machines to be engineered and manufactured by Greyville-Nugent Enterprises.

  She walked a mile or two in solitary thought before Rafe intruded, hastening her past a cluster of village shops and a few local residents, who paid them little mind. They kept to the shady side of the street until they reached a crossroads. A church and vicarage were not far down the lane.

  She stopped to examine the road signs. “Which way are we going?”

  “Southeast.” A jumble of arrows pointed in a myriad of directions. Three of them aimed their direction. “Bathgate. Coatbridge. And Glasgow, thirty-seven miles.”

  The cooling mists of morning had long since given way to another sultry day. Fanny blew a few loose hairs from her face and rued the black dress with its heavy skirt and shelf bustle.

  Rafe turned off the main road and started down a cart path. “Just past those bluffs in the distance, I reckon we’ll find Bathgate and the next telegraph office.”

  They soon arrived at a copse of elm trees surrounding a quaint church and a modest vicar’s residence. Fanny raised her skirts and stepped through a patch of tall grass. “How is it you came to be married?”

  She had nurtured suspicions and a perverse need to know since his startling confession at the wake. And her question did seem to send him farther up the road. He scooped a rock off the path and tossed the stone over a stand of prickly thistle. “Our truce is up, Rafe. And the query is fair enough, given your betrayal of affection.”

  He settled in beside her and shrugged. “I hardly know how to explain or where to begin, Fanny.”

  She stopped and stared. “Begin anywhere you’d like. We have quite a long hike over hill and dale to Bathgate.” She shaded her eyes against the sun. “I’m going to get freckles without a sun bonnet.”

  Behind the vicar’s barn, Rafe stopped and pulled a white cotton gown dotted with small yellow flowers off the clothesline. Any distraction, she supposed, rather than answer the question. She inhaled a deep breath.

  “And I do hope to see a sprinkle of spots across your nose.” He shot a wink over his shoulder.

  “What a horrid thing to wish for.”

  Rafe grinned. “I always adored them on you.”

  “We are not going to steal from the vicar’s wife.” Fanny crossed her arms and adopted a fierce stance.

  “I wager this pretty li
ttle frock fits his daughter, not his wife.” Rafe took a pound note from his pocket and pinned it up where the dress once hung. He also pulled down a thin gauze petticoat.

  He wrapped the simple muslin dress over the petticoat and slipped the bundle under his arm. A baying of hounds in the distance drifted over the clothesline. They both swiveled toward Broxburn.

  She could hardly believe it. “They’ve set the dogs on us.”

  “An heiress to an industrial fortune is abducted—possibly by a man posing as an agent of Scotland Yard. Of course they’re scouring the countryside.” Rafe grabbed her hand and they ran along the dwindling cart path into rugged bluffs dotted with sheep. After a good steep climb, they caught their breaths on a jagged outcrop of rock. A trickle of a creek ran along the base of the hill headed for a loch off in the distance.

  He turned to her; a hint of gears and wheels circled behind those distracting green eyes. At one point she thought he was about to speak, but he looked away—far off across the fields ahead.

  She sighed.

  “All right, Fan. Five years ago I suffered a terrible lapse in judgment—worst of all, I allowed someone to influence my disreputable behavior. And it all ended badly with the death of one young woman and the betrayal of another—sadly, the only person in the world I have ever cared for.” He met her gaze directly, his expression so sincere, so anguished, she was forced to look away.

  “Not sure if that matters any to you.”

  She swallowed. “No one had any idea you were seeing someone—least of all me.”

  His exhale was loud, edged with frustration. “I had a rotten last term at university, including an accusation of cheating.” Rafe swept and an errant lock of hair back. “I didn’t cheat, Fanny.”

  “No, of course you didn’t. I can’t imagine you cheating.” She furrowed her brow. “At schoolwork, anyway.”

  A quick dart of eyes assured her he hadn’t missed the jibe. “The class instructor piled a mountain of extra work on me. Enough that I was forced to quit football.

  “Then word came down from Queensferry. There was no money for a grand tour—so I cancelled the trip to the Continent with you.” A weary smile faded quickly. “And your dear chaperone, Cousin Claire.”

  He picked up the ball of stolen clothing. “Come on, Fanny, we’re on the downside of the mountain.” They could barely hear the baying of the hounds. Occasionally, faint barks echoed through the hollows in the rolling landscape. At times, her heart would race and she would gulp in air, not so much from the dog’s cries, but from the story that unfolded as they made their way down the last slope of rugged terrain.

  Rafe waited for her to catch up. “Who would you say Claire is closest to—as a friend?”

  “She has several female companions she chums about with.” Fanny paused at the edge of a steep drop. “She thinks of me as her charge, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rafe lifted her down from the jagged rock. “And her closest male friend?”

  “That would be Nigel, of course. What are you getting at, Rafe?”

  “During the spring and summer you were gone, I finished up the term, as did Nigel. Coincidentally—or not so coincidentally—he received a number of letters from Claire, two or three for every one I received from you.”

  “You know how much I loathe correspondence.”

  “That’s because you’re a terrible speller.” A trace of crooked smile surfaced briefly. “I was at a low point when Claire sent word: ‘Exciting news afoot.’ Nigel delighted in sharing her letter. ‘Fanny is seeing the Duke of Grafton. A whirlwind romance appears to be in the offing, and a formal promise is expected shortly.’

  “I suppose I spiraled further downward.” Rafe jumped from one flat stepping-stone to another across the stream that fed the loch. “Watch your step.”

  She picked up her skirts and followed close behind. “But Claire’s letter was meant as a tease. You deserved as much . . .” Her speech drifted off. “. . . for not coming with us.” Fanny chewed on her lower lip. “Honestly, Rafe, I had no idea . . .”

  For a moment, he looked for all the world as if he was about to lose his only friend. “Nigel suggested a village pub crawl. Drink away the misery.” His gaze was dark, troubled. “Started off like any other night—letting off a bit of steam—perhaps I was more on edge than usual. Nigel introduced me to a young lady. There’s no delicate way of putting it, Fan—I took advantage of her, and a month later, paid the consequences.”

  Even though Fanny was safely on the bank, she wobbled and swayed a bit. “I see.” Rafe reached out and guided her toward a patch of grassland. She let go of his hand and walked ahead.

  “Fan, I didn’t know what to do—had no one to turn to. No chance of buying off the girl’s family. Not that I would have considered such a thing. Rather ironic, though—if there had been more than two bloody coins in the St. Aldwyn coffers, the family might have insisted on an arrangement.”

  “But you kept it all a secret, Rafe. And then you . . .” Fanny stopped in the middle of the field and turned. “And then you married.”

  “Yes.” He exhaled a long sigh. “Ceilia was sick for months after. In fact, she was never well. Neither mother nor child, as it turns out.” Absently, Rafe whipped a long twig through a tall stand of grass. “No good came from my indecent, immoral behavior, just suffering and death. I caused a great deal of hurt and anger and ended up losing friends and family.” He stopped flogging the grass and met her gaze. “And my fiancée.”

  Once before she had seen him this upset. The night the earl died. Fanny swallowed. “B-but, you never came home to explain—to tell me what happened.” Fanny trudged on ahead, her mind awhirl with Rafe’s revelations.

  Rafe trailed after her. “Honestly, Fan, how well would you have received the news?”

  She whirled around. “How could you believe I would do something like that—go off with Grafton? How ridiculous! Claire and I were having a bit of sport—the letter was written in jest.” Fanny chewed her lip. “Perhaps it was a stupid joke. But it wasn’t meant to be cruel.” She blinked back a few guilty tears. “Do you have any idea how old the duke was?” Rafe circled her in the tall grass. Fanny stepped in front of him and pressed a finger into his chest. “Do you?”

  He looked at her for a very long time and shrugged. “Haven’t a clue, Fan—ninety-one and balding?”

  “Fourteen and a carrottop. A freckle-faced. Redheaded. Boy.”

  Rafe wiped an errant teardrop from her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Fan. Whatever you and Claire did—however it was meant—it doesn’t excuse my foolish behavior.”

  A new deluge of tears threatened to drop. “And how is it you did the cheating and I’m the one who feels guilty?”

  Rafe reached an arm around her waist and swept her into an embrace. “Fanny—don’t. Exactly the reason I never returned home. I did not wish to force my mistakes on you or my family—more needless hurt and humiliation.”

  He tried to hold on but she wrenched away and pushed on ahead. Besides the old wounds, new feelings welled up inside, much more disturbing. There were ties that bound them together long before any mentioned engagements or marriage. “I thought we were friends, Rafe.”

  He caught up and spun her around. “I have always been and always will be your best friend. Years ago I made the biggest mistake of my life—”

  “Elephantine.”

  “I lost you, Fanny.”

  She swallowed a very big lump in her throat. “Perhaps when you withdrew from our tour, I harbored doubts.” Fanny dug down deep and searched her feelings. “You never told me you loved me.”

  “Neither one of us ever got a chance to say the words.” Rafe pulled her into his arms again. “I love you, Fanny. I always have and always will.” The sweetest, most wistful smile she had ever seen graced his handsome face. He looked at her as if she were something fine and precious. “And if I told you I was as sorry as a man could ever be, would you believe me?”

  A singularly wonderful and c
urious notion spread through her. She believed him.

  He brushed back a few wisps of hair in her eyes. “I would do anything to deserve you again.”

  Goodness. Something giddy and silly tugged at the ends of her mouth. “Anything?”

  His eyes crinkled. “Anything.”

  She slanted a wary gaze at him. “I must warn you there will be brutal trials ahead.”

  His nod was honest, serious. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “And, I might add, acceptance of your apology does not mean you are entirely forgiven. You should expect . . . outbursts.”

  “Which you have every right to express.” He hugged her tight and she surrendered to his embrace. “Ah, Fan. Put me through hell if you wish—just give me a chance to win your heart again.” He twirled her above the waving ocean of grassland, as a cloudless blue sky whirled above them.

  She couldn’t help but add her own breathless laughter to his. “You’ll have your chance.”

  Rafe set her down and neither one of them spoke or touched. A careless word or side-glance might break the spell. He backed away slowly, then turned and jumped onto an ancient stone wall. Fanny raised a hand to shade her eyes.

  Rafe stood on the wall, legs set in a wide stance. With his hands on his hips, he surveyed a wide swath of meadow ahead. The statuesque, princely St. Aldwyn was about to be put through the trials of his life. She grinned.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, he hopped a jig along the top of the wall and dropped down into the next pasture. Beyond the stone barrier, long-haired cattle and a plow horse grazed the field. “I reckon this sturdy steed can take us well past the loch ahead.” Rafe stroked the neck of the brawny workhorse. “We might even shake off the dogs.”

  Fanny squinted at the brilliant yellow orb high in the sky. “I haven’t heard a howl in some time—have you?” Perched on the wall, she eyed the large equine. “And how might you guide this old boy about?”

  “Ah, you will be pleased to know, I have a plan.” Rafe approached slowly. “I can rig a bridle using your bustle and petticoat.”