“D’accord.” Madame Dauphine sighed. “It is a sad tale, this one, but you are right that you will hear the story anyway, no?”
“Eventually,” Anna agreed. “But if all the gossip begins at Madame Dauphine’s, then of course, I must hear this on dit from you.”
The dressmaker gave a quick laugh. “You are most clever, mademoiselle. Very well.” Her expression sobered. “It is as I said, a tragedy. Monsieur Reginald Dalton, do you know him?”
“Slightly. He knew my brother.”
“He is the beau-frère of Madame Dalton, whose dresses I make. This morning I am told to make many dresses for Madame Dalton, all in black. Monsieur Dalton, he is dead.”
“Dead?” Anna exclaimed. Shock turned her insides to ice. “How? He’s so young!”
The modiste nodded. “Oui. He is found last night, dead, outside the Cock and Crown. His brother swears revenge.”
“Charles Dalton was an army man before he married his wealthy wife,” Anna mused. “My father knows the Daltons; he and Charles’s father were friends. Charles has always seemed to be the most calm and rational of men.”
“But he believes his brother is murdered,” Madame Dauphine said, lowering her voice. “He is killed with a sword through the heart.”
“A sword!” Apprehension curled in her stomach. “How unusual.”
“Oui. Swords are so old-fashioned. If it was a duel, surely they would have used pistols. So Monsieur Dalton swears it is murder.”
Cold had overtaken her heart, leaving her frozen inside. Just like Anthony, she thought, her mind numb with the shock of it. Two men dead by the sword. How many more might there be that they did not know about?
“Mademoiselle, are you all right? You have turned white like the snow.”
“I am fine, madame. The news is disturbing, that is all.”
“C’est vrai.” With a sigh, the dressmaker returned her attention to the sleeve that needed adjusting just as Anna’s mother walked into the room.
“Ah, lovely!” Mrs. Rosewood exclaimed. “I see you have adjusted that hem, madame.”
“Oui.” Madame Dauphine sent Anna a long-suffering look. “Just as Madame Rosewood suggested.”
“Excellent! Allow me to tell you my ideas for the peach satin…”
The modiste rolled her eyes as Mama rattled on. At any other time, Anna would have found their exchange most amusing. Instead she let the scene fade to the back of her mind.
Someone in London was going about killing young men with a sword. Her brother’s death had looked like the work of footpads, but Anna had never believed that. Footpads tended to use pistols or short, wide knives, not rapiers. Now it seemed that her instincts had been right— Anthony had been murdered, just like Reginald Dalton. And she had no doubt that the mysterious society and black-garbed swordsman from Vauxhall were responsible.
And standing right in the middle of the mess was Roman Devereaux. What part did he play?
She wished she could confide in her mother, but her parents had made it perfectly clear that they wanted to hear no more theories about Anthony’s death. They believed it was the work of thieves and had warned her that any further grief-stricken musings would only see her sent home to the country. And she desperately needed to be in London.
Madame Dauphine pushed Anna’s arms up over her head as if she were a doll and removed the blue silk. Then Mama and the modiste slipped the peach satin over Anna’s head, still debating about hems and trim and such. Anna barely noticed. Her mind had wandered far from the dressmaker’s shop, to the docks and a well-known sailors’ haunt called the Cock and Crown. Her father’s cronies had often spoken of the area when they hadn’t realized she could overhear them.
Maybe someone had seen something the night Reginald was killed. The spark of excitement ignited and spread through her body as the idea took shape. She had been unable to do anything about Anthony’s death, and her insistence that her twin had been murdered had been dismissed by her well-meaning parents. But this time, there was something she could do. She could take her pin money and go down to the Cock and Crown and see if any of the locals had noticed something the night Reginald was killed.
Good heavens, could she do it? For a moment, common sense reared its head as she recalled the mess she had created the last time she went out in search of information. The Cock and Crown was located in a section of London to which no well-reared lady would ever go. Her presence in such an area, if discovered, could sully her reputation to the point that Haverford could not ignore it. Since he hadn’t formally asked her to marry him yet, his honor would not be called into account by Society should he change his mind, and once the story of her activities got out, no one would blame him for his rejection.
No, it was impossible. She couldn’t. If she were caught, it would destroy the future her parents had worked so hard to obtain for her. They deserved better from her. But so did Anthony.
What if this was her only chance to learn the identity of his killer? She was certain that Reginald’s death was connected to Anthony’s. How could she ignore this chance? Tracking down the truth was the reason she had convinced her parents to bring her to London for the Season.
Rose wouldn’t hesitate.
The thought of her masquerade the other night gave her pause. Rose was brave and smart and wouldn’t think twice about going to the Cock and Crown and asking questions. But she was also a survivor. She would get the answers she needed, but she would do it in the most intelligent way possible.
Yes, this could be done, but only tonight. She could claim a headache and stay home from their dinner engagement with one of Papa’s cronies this evening. Her parents would go without her; they never missed an event at Admiral Westerman’s. And tomorrow night the three of them would attend the theater with Lord Haverford. Her mother would make certain she went to that, even if she were green with the ague.
Tonight was her only chance; she just prayed that intrepid Rose was up to the task.
“Explain yourself.” Silhouetted in shadow, the leader of the Triad turned a cold gaze on his underling. The leader was dressed completely in black, and his costume caused him to blend in with the dark wood of the huge chair in which he sat. The ruby of his ring glittered like fresh blood in the scant candlelight, as did the green eyes of the black cat who lay in his lap. He stroked a hand over the animal, his movement lazy and relaxed, but his lieutenant wasn’t fooled.
The man was furious.
“I did what had to be done.” He held his rigid stance, refusing to be cowed by his leader’s anger. “The boy had come undone, was babbling about wanting to leave the group. He intended to go to his brother for help.”
“So you killed him?” The words, when spoken in that silky tone, sounded pleasant to those who didn’t know this man. Soothing, even.
But he knew better.
“Yes,” he admitted. “He intended to violate the oath of secrecy.”
“Which is what you did by leaving his body in so public a place!” The rebuke cracked like a whiplash.
He physically flinched. “He was a gamester. The boy was always in one scrape or another. I thought the Cock and Crown appropriate, that everyone would think he’d been in a brawl.”
The cat jumped off the leader’s lap and disappeared into the shadows. “Foolish of you to think we can afford so many deaths by the blade in London. Why didn’t you follow procedure?”
“I thought—”
“It is not your place to think!” The leader lurched out of his chair and looked down on his shorter lieutenant. “Your blundering has risked exposure of the Society.”
“He would have gone to his brother. Then Charles Dalton would ask questions.”
“He’s asking questions now!” the leader sneered. “Our policy is to dump the body in the countryside. Why go to the trouble to start rumors of the renegade bandit who kills his victims with a sword if my own man undermines my efforts? You had no right to do anything else.”
“But Dal
ton—”
“Is mad with grief and swearing vengeance on his brother’s killer. Bravo.” He clapped his hands in scathing mockery. “Before, he would have been grief-stricken. Now he will not stop until we are disbanded.”
The lieutenant opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it.
“Good,” the leader said, noting his choice of silence. “Now you understand what you have done.” He wandered over to the wall and perused the crosseds words that hungt here. “Do you know the worst thing about this whole situation?”
The lieutenant cleared his throat. “Ah, no, sir.”
The leader took down a sword and looked at it, then turned back to his underling. He swished the sword in the air with a practiced motion, each move perfectly graceful, perfectly executed.
Of course, he was perfect. He was the best swordsman in their society, the unchallenged leader of the Triad.
“The worst thing about this whole distasteful tangle is that Reginald Dalton did not die in a match as he should have.” The leader came back toward his lieutenant, slicing the rapier through the air almost playfully. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “His purse is lost to us now. His pledged amount will no doubt go to his tailor or to cover his gambling vowels.”
“He would have bolted,” the lieutenant rasped, unable to tear his gaze from the blade.
“There is no way out.” The leader lunged at an invisible adversary.
“Gone straight to his brother and exposed us,” the lieutenant argued.
“You handled the matter poorly, and there is one less purse in the coffers of the Society.” With a polished maneuver, the leader swung around and brought the point of the rapier to his lieutenant’s throat. “But you will make up the difference out of your own winnings, won’t you?”
The leader’s eyes glittered with the light of battle, giving him an almost maniacal air. The lieutenant swallowed hard. Then he nodded.
There was no way out.
Chapter 6
“Miss Rosewood, please, do let us go home. This place is simply wretched!” Lizzie peered out at the dim streets and shivered with revulsion. “This is no place for you, miss.”
“I have no intention of getting out of this hack, Lizzie, so calm yourself.” Anna glanced out the window and fought back the urge to echo the maid’s shudder.
Papa’s cronies had always spoken of the Cock and Crown with great affection, and while she knew it to be near the docks, she had still imagined a fairly harmless tavern, a welcoming place ready to serve seafaring patrons a hot meal and a healthy draught of ale. Instead, the neighborhood where the Cock and Crown resided was truly one of London’s more unsavory ones, with drunken louts on street corners and doxies lingering in doorways. The building itself was a ramshackle pile of timber and brick that looked as if it would collapse with the next storm to blow in. Her instincts screamed at her to return to the warmth and safety of home.
But she couldn’t. This might be her only chance to discover the truth about Anthony.
As instructed, the driver stopped a few doors down from the Cock and Crown. Anna tensed with expectation. She was here, mere feet away from where Reginald Dalton’s body had been found. She was in disguise, garbed from head to toe in black with a veil over her face to hide her identity. Since she had no intention of leaving the coach, she had determined that she would pay the driver to ask questions of the locals.
Except the driver didn’t want to cooperate.
“I drive a hack. I’m no Bow Street Runner,” he called down when she asked him to make inquiries.
“But it’s very important, and I dare not do this myself,” Anna pleaded, arching her head out the window.
“Miss, you paid me to drive, and I drove. But if I leave this hack to go on some fool errand, my master’ll hitch me to the traces!”
“Botheration!” Anna flounced back against the seat and frowned. “This is an unexpected wrinkle.”
“May we go home now, miss?” Lizzie asked hopefully.
“No, I simply need a new plan.”
With a forlorn sigh, Lizzie slumped in the seat.
Anna stared out the window, hoping an idea would occur to her. She had never imagined that the driver would refuse her offer of a few coins. To go herself was madness, social suicide.
But what were her choices?
A scantily clad woman, rouged and hard-faced, caught her eye. She leaned out the window. “You there!”
The woman glanced her way, sneered, then gazed in the opposite direction, where two sailors in naval uniform were stumbling down the street toward her.
“You there!” Anna called again.
The woman tossed her too-bright blond curls and glared at her. Anna held up her purse, and the prostitute’s expression changed from annoyance to greed. She sauntered over to the carriage. “Ye talkin’ to me?”
“Yes. I would like to hire you for an errand.”
The woman smirked. “Never heard it called that before.”
Anna ignored the crudeness. “I would like you to ask some questions for me.”
“Me?” She cackled. “Them around here would soon as cuff me as talk to me.”
“I’ll pay you.” She jangled the purse.
“Hmmm.” The woman eyed the bulging pouch. “How much?”
“How’s this?” Anna held up a gold piece.
“Right enough, long as that gold is real.”
“Of course it’s real!”
“Let me see it.” She held out her hand.
Anna placed the gold coin in the woman’s palm, then gaped as the prostitute turned and sauntered away. “Hey there!”
The woman ignored her, sidling up to the naval sailors and whispering in one’s ear. They both laughed, and one grabbed her bottom in a fierce, one-handed grip as they turned down a dark alley.
“Very well then,” she muttered.
“What, miss?” Lizzie looked over, then squealed in alarm as Anna pushed open the door to the hack. “Miss Rosewood, what are you doing?”
Anna paused before descending the steps and leaned close to her maid. “Lizzie, listen to me. Do not call me by my name. I do not want my presence known. If you must address me, call me Miss Rose.”
The maid nodded frantically.
“Now let’s go.” Anna went to step down, and Lizzie cried out in alarm.
Anna swung back and grabbed the maid’s wrist. “Lizzie, hush! Do not attract attention to us.”
“But, miss, I can’t go out there. And neither should you!”
“What are you talking about? Come on, Lizzie. We’re just going to ask some questions.”
The maid shook her head, a mulish look on her face. “You can sack me if you want, miss, but I’m not going out there.”
“Of course I won’t sack you.”
Lizzie let out a relieved sigh. “Then let’s go home, please? This is no place for either of us.”
Anna sighed, then shook her head. “Fine, then. I’ll go alone.”
“But—”
“I know what I’m doing,” Anna said, with a sharp look at the servant. “I’ll stay within sight of the hack.”
The maid wrung her hands and whimpered but said nothing more. Anna took a bracing breath and climbed down from the coach.
Immediately she felt exposed. Vulnerable.
She took another breath, the stench of the street filling her nostrils. The door to the Cock and Crown burst open, and two raucous males stumbled out, laughing and singing, with their arms wrapped around each other. Anna nearly climbed back into the coach, but she thought of Anthony and stood her ground. The two sots staggered past her as if she didn’t even exist.
“Hmm.” A cautious look around revealed several people watching her from windows and corners. A woman leaned against the wall in a nearby alley, her impressive bosom swelling above her scandalously low-cut bodice. Glaring, henna red hair fell in fat curls over her bared shoulders.
Another prostitute. But this time she would hold tight to her gold
until the deed was done.
“What do you want?” the woman sneered, as Anna started toward her.
The threat in her tone made Anna falter. “I just want to speak to you.”
“Do you now?” The slattern gave her a quick, head-to-toe study and curled her lip in distaste. “I don’t tumble women, dearie. Go see Mary Fox near the Hawk and Hound. She’s got what you want.”
“I don’t…Good heavens.” Did women actually…how could that be done? Beneath the black veil, Anna’s face burned. “I want to ask you some questions.”
The harlot’s face hardened. “Off wi’ you now.”
“I’ll pay you,” Anna hastened to add. “As long as you can tell me something about the body they found here the other night.”
“The nob, eh?” The redhead chuckled. “You his woman then? Looking to see if he was nippin’ out on you?”
“No. I just want to know what happened.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out two silver coins, then held them up to the lamplight. “Please tell me.”
Eyes gleaming with greed, the prostitute began to talk.
Nursing his ale at the Cock and Crown, Rome watched the two men at the next table. His inquiries had revealed that these fellows were the ones who had discovered Dalton’s body. They seemed none the worse for their grisly experience, as both had imbibed copious amounts of liquor and were currently vying for the charms of the well-curved tavern wench.
Neither fellow seemed to be the type who belonged to the society.
Peter had told him that the Black Rose Society consisted of young men of means with adventurous spirits. These youths were approached by members higher up in the society and inducted into the group for a fee, then required to pledge an amount of money that they would stake on their first duel. Whoever won the duel would keep his stake and also win part of his opponent’s.
The society had started out as a strategic game played by university students. However, recently a new element had reached the upper echelons, and Peter feared for his life.
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