Devon grabbed her arm and summoned his most threatening expression. “This means a great deal to me.” He twisted her arm until she tensed with pain. She gazed stonily at him. He tightened his grasp, knowing that if he wrenched her arm another inch, the bone would snap.
Finally, he released her. He had no stomach for torture, but obviously his enemy did. With the instinct of the streets, this woman had judged him lacking in ruthlessness. If she feared the masked man more than him, it was with good reason.
He reached again for the packet of money and tossed it on the bed. “Tell your employer that this is all of it. If he thinks he can bleed me for more, he’s wrong.”
The woman eyed the money greedily, and then looked back at him. “You don’t have to come out with nothin’, luv. My offer’s still good.” She reached up with a grimy, broken-nailed hand and began to unbutton her bodice. “I keep some wine hidden away. Would ye like some?”
He recalled the punch he drank the night of Beaumont’s murder. “No, thank you,” he said hastily. “I’m afraid I must decline your invitation. Don’t forget to give my message to your employer.”
He left the room and hurried down the hall. How he longed to be out of this place. The smell of corruption was rank in his nose.
A nobleman, she’d said. He refused to believe it. It was unthinkable that any lord he knew would stoop to consorting with whores and tavern owners. Either the woman had been told to tell him the lie, or she was a poorer judge of people than he thought.
If she hadn’t seen the blackmailer’s face, she must have guessed his background by his voice. It was relatively easy for someone clever to feign a cultured accent, and this woman probably had few gentlemen as customers, if any. All he really knew was that the man was tall, unless that was a lie as well.
He cursed in frustration. There must be some way to discover the identity of his nemesis. A sudden thought came to him, and he turned the corner and circled around to the back of the tavern. As he suspected, there was another entrance. If he could sneak inside and wait in the woman’s room, he might have a chance of catching the blackmailer.
Devon moved to the door and cautiously opened it. It led into a storage chamber. He crept past barrels of ale and salted fish and mounds of potatoes and onions. A door at the other end of the room opened into a hallway. His heartbeat quickened as he saw a rickety stairway at one end.
He stealthily climbed the stairs and paused at the top. The hallway was so dark, it took him a moment to decide which way to go. He froze as he heard footsteps. He glanced back but could see nothing in the gloom. Pulling the gun from his pocket, he continued to the room where he’d met the woman.
Outside the door, he paused. If he knocked, she might refuse to let him in, or set up a cry.
With his left hand, he gripped the doorknob and turned. He pushed the door open, still holding the gun pointed straight ahead.
The woman sat on the bed with the banknotes spread around her. At his entrance, she sprang up, looking startled. Then she saw the gun and her expression turned to fear.
“Don’t move,” he said. “And don’t make a sound.”
He pressed his advantage and moved forward. A few feet from the bed, he stopped. “I’m going to wait for him,” he said. “The masked man will come eventually. When he does, he’ll find both of us.”
The woman didn’t speak, but her eyes widened, altering her expression from alarm to outright horror. He stared at her, wondering why she should fear him so much. Then, some sense told him that her terror wasn’t directed at him, but at someone behind him. He whirled, but too late. Something crashed into his temple. White light exploded into his brain, then everything went black.
~ ~ ~
“What do you mean, his lordship didn’t come home last night?” Caroline looked up from her breakfast, her appetite fast fleeing.
Walters, the Beaumont butler, shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I know no more than that. As I recall, he left on an errand in the afternoon. No one has seen him since then.”
“What could have happened to him?”
Walters cleared his throat. “If I do say so myself, it’s not uncommon for a man of his lordship’s situation to stay out all night. He could easily have had taken his meals at the club, run into acquaintances and been invited to some social engagement.”
Or spent the night in some actress’s or Cyprian’s bed! Even as the cynical, bitter thought flashed through her mind, Caroline realized how inappropriate her jealousy was. Walters was right. For a young lord to get caught up in London’s social whirl and spend all night out was hardly remarkable. No doubt Devon had done it many times before. She was behaving ridiculously.
Except... her distress wasn’t entirely caused by jealousy. A nagging worry told her that Devon might be in trouble, rather than simply enjoying himself. He’d never struck her as a typical hedonistic lord. Indeed, she’d seen no indication that he enjoyed the London social whirl at all.
Distracted, Caroline left her breakfast and wandered down the hall to the drawing room. She sat down at the escritoire and stared at the letters and bills piled on the desk. Noting that some of them dated from her wedding, she put them in a stack. She must see that they got to her father’s solicitor so they could be paid. Her father had always been prompt in settling his debts; she intended to maintain that reputation.
Tears filled her eyes. How badly she missed him. For all that she had chafed at his plans for her, she had loved her father dearly. Now he was gone and it seemed unlikely that Bow Street would investigate the murder very vigorously. After all, her father was only a merchant.
Anger suffused her. She owed it to her father to try to discover who his murderer was. She rose and rang for Walters. When he appeared, she instructed him to have the coach brought around. “I’m going out,” she told him.
“Of course, madam. I’ll arrange for a driver and footmen to accompany you.”
She went first to the Bow Street office, but the man there was singularly unhelpful. Not only did he not know how the investigation into Merton Beaumont’s murder was proceeding, he did not appear to care either. Most of all, the magistrate’s clerk seemed appalled at the notion of a woman poking her nose into such sordid and repellent business. He suggested if she had her husband come to see him, he might discuss the matter with him.
Infuriated, Caroline decided to visit her father’s main London warehouse. Perhaps someone there could shed some light on her father’s actions the day he was killed.
The warehouse was located at the London docks, which had been built only ten years before. The dock and the nearby warehouses, including those belonging to the famed East India Company, had displaced a whole neighborhood of shacks and hovels, forcing the poverty-stricken inhabitants further downriver. But the area was still dangerous, thick with thieves and violence, Caroline felt very glad for the footmen accompanying her.
Her father’s brick warehouse looked very stolid and respectable and the manager who met her, Elijah. Hopper, a slight man of about thirty years with myopic blue eyes and thinning brown hair, enhanced the image of order and purpose.
He cordially showed. Caroline into his office and helped her take a seat in a chair near the fire. She smoothed her skirts and smiled at him. “I know that my father put great confidence in you. It appears his trust was not misplaced. Everything seems to be running efficiently.”
Hopper cleared his throat. “Mr. Beaumont gave me a free hand with the shipping enterprise this last year, so his death has not been too disruptive. There are a few matters I would like to discuss with you, though. Beaumont and I had talked about purchasing a ship of our own so we could more readily control transportation costs. While he hadn’t made a final decision before he died, I would like to proceed with the plan. If you agree, of course. It will involve a substantial outlay of funds, but I think the money saved in the future, plus having more control over such a vital part of the business would more than justify the expense.”
&
nbsp; Caroline put up a hand. “Please, I’m afraid I’m not the one you must convince. Mr. Barton, my father’s solicitor, is whom you must apply to for funds. Indeed, I’m not here regarding the business. I’m trying to determine who might have murdered my father.”
Mr. Hopper stared at her, clearly startled.
“I know that Bow Street has been conducting an investigation, but I can’t say I’m satisfied with their progress. I’ve decided to look into the matter myself.”
The young clerk shook his head. “It’s not a fit pursuit for a lady, madam. Surely your husband, Lord Northrup, is in a position to prod the authorities. 1 would look to him, Miss Beau— that is, your ladyship.”
Caroline stiffened. “My husband is doing all he can, of course, but I want to help. I was close to my father. We frequently discussed his business enterprises. I can’t help but think there may be a clue that has been overlooked.”
“Perhaps you should give the authorities more time.”
“You must remember who my father was, Mr. Hopper. A mere merchant, a cit. I doubt that Bow Street is overly concerned if his murderer is brought to justice. There are those who disliked Mr. Beaumont enough to say that his end was deserved. What I intend to do is pursue the facts myself. I want to know who might have wanted to kill my father. If he had any appointments the day he died. If you’ve ever known him to frequent that squalid inn where his body was found.”
Hopper drew his brows together, frowning. “Hmmm. Let me see. I do believe that Mr. Beaumont said he had an appointment that day, but he didn’t mention who it was with.”
“There must be some clue,” she said. “Did my father keep an appointment book, or write down what he planned to do on a given day?”
“Perhaps.” Mr. Hopper stood. “When he was working on the shipping ventures, he did sometimes dictate notes to a clerk. I’ll show you the part of the building he used.”
Hopper took Caroline to a little cubbyhole in the back of the warehouse. Barely large enough for a coal stove and a small desk, the tiny chamber hardly seemed appropriate for a man who had commanded a large business empire. Caroline couldn’t help thinking that for all her father’s ostentation in his personal dwelling, his work accommodations were very austere.
While Hopper held up a lamp, Caroline hastily shuffled through the papers littering the desk. She saw invoices and letters, but no notes in her father’s hand. A card fluttered to the floor. Caroline bent to pick it up, freezing when she saw the name Devon Langley engraved on the front. She turned it over.
“Find anything?” Hopper inquired.
Caroline took a deep breath. It didn’t mean anything. Of course, it didn’t. “I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time and gotten nowhere.”
“No trouble. I admire your loyalty, my lady. Many daughters would not bother to pursue such matters, but simply occupy themselves spending their inheritance.”
Caroline turned away, feeling numb. Had her father brought the card to his office, or had Devon left it there? When had her husband had reason to visit the warehouse?
“Would you like me to escort you back to Mayfair?” Mr. Hopper asked. “I’m almost finished for the day anyway.”
“No. I have the coach waiting, and I brought two footmen with me for protection. Thank you for all your help. I truly appreciate it.”
“Glad to be of service. I’d be beholden to you if you could put in a good word for me with Barton. He holds the purse-strings now, and he’s damn... I mean, dashed tight about it.”
“Of course.” Caroline extended her hand.
Hopper bowed over it. “Your servant, madam.”
She made her way to the waiting coach, her mind churning with distressing thoughts. Devon’s calling card had been among the papers on her father’s desk. On the back of it was written, “Meet me at Brooks.” Devon had gone to London the day before the murder, claiming to have urgent business. The coincidences kept piling up.
Shaky with nerves, she let one of the footmen help her into the coach. When he asked her destination, Caroline thought a moment, then said, “The Crown and Crumpet. It’s a tavern near the docks.”
On the way there, she struggled for control. She must keep digging for the truth, no matter what horrifying things she unearthed.
The Crown and Crumpet was not as dismaying as she had anticipated. Although the taproom was shabby, the adjoining parlor where she met with Mr. Winters was comfortably if plainly furnished. The proprietor led her to a settle by the fire and bade her sit. Then he fetched her some punch.
When he returned, she didn’t tell him her name or her relationship to Merton Beaumont. Instead, she used her mother’s maiden name, introducing herself as “Madam Augustine, a friend of the man who was murdered here a week ago.” She feared if the proprietor knew she was Lady Northrup, he would not be as forthcoming.
“I’m certain you have explained these things many times to the authorities,” she began, “but would like to hear them myself.”
The innkeeper glanced away, looking discomfited. “I fear this will be unpleasant for you, madam. The facts are not quite the thing for gentle ears.”
“But I must know!” Caroline grasped the man’s hand and fixed him with a pleading look. “I simply must settle my fears about how poor Merton met his end. I will never rest easy otherwise!”
Still looking dubious, the man nodded. “Well, I’m certain he knew no pain. The look on his face was one of utter surprise.”
Caroline nodded. “So the brute must have crept up behind him. How cowardly!”
“Indeed,” the innkeeper agreed. “Because of that, I knew Lord Northrup could not be involved. A nob like him would never kill in such base, loathsome fashion. Duels with pistols or rapiers are all the thing with gentlemen. But to murder a man from strangling him behind... It don’t answer.”
“Lord Northrup?” Caroline asked sharply. “He was here?” The churning sickness in her stomach deepened. “How did he explain himself when the watch arrived?”
The innkeeper shrugged. “Said Beaumont was his father-in-law, and they’d planned to meet here because it was close to Beaumont’s warehouse. Didn’t say why, but it’s likely enough. They was family, after all.”
“Lord Northrup arrived first?” She could barely force the words out.
“By several hours. Said he fell asleep waiting. I don’t doubt it. I dozed myself. That’s likely why I didn’t see the murderer. Unless he came in the back way.”
“There’s a back way to the upstairs rooms?”
“Of course. Discretion is important to my business.”
Caroline took a deep breath. “So, you think someone other than Lord Northrup came up the backstairs and murdered Beaumont?”
The innkeeper nodded. “That’s what I told the authorities. I believed Northrup’s story right off. He just didn’t seem the sort to do murder, and certainly not in such brutal fashion.”
Caroline rose slowly. “Thank you, Mr. Winters. You’ve been most helpful.”
The innkeeper stood to escort her out. “Glad to oblige, milady. You take care now. This is not an area of the city for a lady to be out after dark.”
“I have a driver and two footmen with me,” she answered reflexively.
She returned to the coach and one of the footmen helped her in. “Where to now, ma’am?” he asked when she was seated.
“I don’t know. Perhaps we can drive along the river for a while. I haven’t been to this area for some time.”
The footman gave her a perplexed look. Caroline didn’t care what he thought. She needed time to sort out what she had learned. Devon had been there, at the tavern, the night her father was killed. What did it mean? Was he the murderer?
But the innkeeper didn’t believe that Devon had killed Merton Beaumont, and he seemed quite confident of the matter. As the proprietor of an establishment in that area of town, Mr. Winter must be a good judge of men’s character. If he didn’t think Devon was the murderer, why should she?
She leaned back against the squabs and fought the dark dread creeping into her thoughts.
They’d gone a short distance when there was a sharp outcry from the driver of the coach. Caroline sat upright with a jerk. She tensed as the carriage slowed, then stopped. Hearing loud voices and cursing outside the vehicle, she pressed her face to the window. Shadows writhed and she heard the sounds of a struggle. Terror dawned as Caroline realized they were being attacked.
There was a scream of pain. More shouting. Someone wrenched open the door of the carriage. “Run for it!” someone yelled.
Caroline shook off her shock and moved toward the other side of the coach. Cautiously, she pushed the door open. The sounds of fighting echoed through the night. She leaped to the ground and began to run.
Down the street she fled, her slippers making a soft slapping sound against the cobblestones. She glanced behind once and thought she spied a shadow following. She ran faster, her breath coming in rasps.
The street narrowed, grew darker. Caroline slowed her pace, fearful she would trip. Spying a shed built against one of the buildings, she ducked behind it. She struggled to catch her breath. The noise of her breathing seemed terribly loud.
Panic rose in up in her as she realized how trapped she was. Rough wood walls surrounded her on two sides. Formless darkness gaped ahead of her. If they found her here, she was dead.
She dug her hands into the fabric of her redingote, trying to gain control over her thoughts. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and she was able to hear something besides the frantic thud of her own heart. She listened intently.
A few scurrying noises, sounds too faint to be made by a human, Otherwise the alleyway seemed shrouded in silence. Taking a deep breath, she edged away from the building. The way she had come appeared almost as murky as the other direction. She turned and moved forward, feeling her way. Her foot struck something that made a clattering sound. She froze, listening.
When she heard nothing else, she continued her painful progress. At last she reached an opening between buildings. In the distance, she could see the glowing lamplights of the coach. No matter how worried she was about how her guard had fared, she knew she could not go back there.
Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords) Page 11
