by Darcy Burke
This didn’t sound good. Jason’s gut clenched. “What was he doing?”
“Delivering laudanum.”
Which would not have been odd if Oak had been an apothecary’s assistant or some manner of delivery boy. But he wasn’t. He was Ethan’s manservant and a likely criminal. Still, there could be a plausible and legal explanation for his actions.
Jason’s jaw clenched as he looked at Carlyle expectantly. “Is there more?”
“Bow Street is beginning to believe she was murdered. She began taking laudanum after her husband died, but in recent weeks her intake increased to the point where she was barely conscious.”
Bloody hell. Jason had wondered if she’d suffered the same fate as her late husband, though in a thankfully less grisly fashion, but hadn’t really believed Ethan could be responsible. Carlyle, it seemed, didn’t agree. “You think Ethan is behind her death, that he somehow orchestrated her overdose by laudanum? How would that even be possible?”
Carlyle’s expression was grim. “Lady Aldridge’s maid reported that her ladyship’s laudanum use increased after she began to be seen with Jagger. Then even those brief public appearances halted. Bow Street has carefully questioned all of the retainers and anyone else who had contact with Aldridge House. Given Lady Aldridge’s rapid decline, Bow Street believes the laudanum delivered by Oak was a stronger concoction than what she’d previously taken. Lethally so.”
“And Bow Street simply offers you their information?” That was bloody convenient. “Is there some sort of former constable club that allows you such access?”
Carlyle smiled wryly. “Something like that.” His features darkened. “I hope that I’m wrong and there’s some explanation for Jagger’s manservant’s involvement.”
“Perhaps Ethan had no knowledge of what Oak was about. Or, maybe Ethan is acting out of fear. You said yourself that Ethan works for a dangerous man and that his choices may not be his own.” Jason wasn’t sure he believed Ethan would follow anyone’s orders. Ethan didn’t seem the sort of man to fear much of anything, nor would he play the role of a puppet.
With his lips pressed together in a tight line, Carlyle didn’t seem to believe it either. “Let’s hope it’s the former—that he isn’t aware of Oak’s actions. Because if it’s the latter, Bow Street won’t care who was in charge. Ethan will hang.”
Jason tried to ignore the feeling of dread creeping over him. He shouldn’t care what happened to Ethan. But the violent fury roiling in his gut, that for the first time was in defense of Ethan instead of directed at him, said he did. “What do you propose?”
“Let’s pay him a visit.”
While Jason wanted to know what Ethan had to say about his manservant’s deliveries to Aldridge House, he feared it would be a wasted errand. “He’s not going to tell you anything.”
Carlyle’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve spoken to him on more than one occasion and he refuses to discuss anything regarding Lady Aldridge.”
Standing, Carlyle took a deep breath. “Maybe I can persuade him to talk. It was, after all, my occupation.”
Jason doubted Carlyle would succeed where he’d failed, but he was too curious about these developments to decline the invitation. He stood and moved around the desk. “Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later Carlyle’s coachman dropped them off in front of the Bevelstoke. A footman admitted them to the building.
Carlyle led Jason up two flights of stairs. They made their way down the corridor until they reached at door at the end. Carlyle knocked. They waited, but there was no response. Carlyle tried a second time, and again they were greeted with silence.
Carlyle glanced in his direction. He slipped his hand into his coat and withdrew something.
“What are you doing?” Jason leaned over his shoulder to see.
“Exactly what you think. You’re blocking my light.” Carlyle indicated the sconce behind Jason.
“Is this legal?” Jason asked, wondering not only about the lawfulness of their activity, but also whether Ethan was inside and simply ignoring the summons.
“It is for me.” Carlyle peered at him sideways. “If you’re uncomfortable with this, you’re welcome to leave. We’re only going to look around.”
Jason supposed there was no harm in that. “What if he’s inside?”
Carlyle shook his head with a small smile. “Men like him come to the door—or have their lackeys come to the door. Precisely because they don’t want to be barged in on. You don’t have to join me, but if I find something inside, don’t you want to know about it?”
Unable to argue with Carlyle’s logic—he’d been wanting to get to the bottom of Ethan’s plans for some time—Jason moved to the side to allow Carlyle space and illumination to complete his work. A moment later, the lock was successfully released and the door sprung open.
Carlyle stepped inside tentatively, silently. A wide window on the opposite wall let in a stream of midday sunlight. Jason followed him into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Carlyle disappeared into a doorway to the right.
The main room wasn’t terribly large, but it was well appointed with a round mirror decorated with gold scrollwork over the mantel, a pair of dark green chairs, and a gold settee bearing green pillows stitched with gold thread. The corner to the left of the door contained a cupboard and some shelving along with a small table and a pair of chairs.
Carlyle emerged from the doorway shaking his head. “No one here.” Then he went to a desk near the windows and looked through the papers stacked neatly atop it.
Jason moved closer. “What are you doing?”
Carlyle didn’t look up. “Searching for anything that might tell us what your brother is about.”
It felt a bit wrong to enter Ethan’s lodgings without his permission and rifle through his things, but how else was he to learn the truth when Ethan wouldn’t trust him? Furthermore, what was Jason going to do with that truth? Watch him be thrown in gaol or, as Carlyle had said, hang? Or was there a slim chance Jason wanted to help Ethan? He didn’t have an answer for that right now.
“I’ll look in here.” Jason went to the doorway Carlyle had already investigated and moved through it into Ethan’s bedchamber.
Again, a window shed light on rich appointments—a large four-poster bed hung with dark red curtains and covered in matching silk stitched with a silver pattern of flourishes, a massive armoire in the corner. Everything was ordered and neat, like the sitting room. Another doorway led to a small alcove with a pallet where his manservant presumably slept. This seemed a likely place to begin, but there was only the pallet and a quick search revealed nothing.
Jason turned back to the bedchamber. His eye caught a small box atop a bedside table. He went to it and opened the lid. Nestled in scarlet velvet were a few baubles, some stickpins, a handful of gold rings, and a pocket watch. He picked up one of the rings. It contained a garish ruby. He dropped it and plucked up another. He froze. It was emblazoned with an L and perfectly matched the one he’d inherited when Father had died. The one Jason never wore.
He looked at it closely. The inside and edges of the ring were quite smooth, indicating frequent wear. Had their father given this to him or had Ethan had it made? Either one was a discomfiting thought. Frowning, Jason dropped it in the box and slammed the lid down.
The box moved, revealing a corner of paper beneath it. Jason slid the case aside and picked up a folded piece of parchment.
On it was a list of addresses. Some had marks next to them. Jason’s gut clenched as he read that one of the addresses was Curzon Street. This list could possibly incriminate Ethan in the thefts. His instincts told him to pocket the parchment until he could investigate it further, when he was back at Lockwood House, but Carlyle entered at that inopportune moment.
“What did you find?” he asked, his inquisitive gaze fixed on the paper in Jason’s hand.
Jason didn’t think he could disregard the paper
as nothing, not with the way Carlyle was intently advancing. So, Jason committed the contents to memory as best he could before handing the parchment to Carlyle. “It’s a list of addresses.”
Carlyle scanned the paper. “There are addresses on Curzon Street and South Audley Street.” He was frowning when he looked up at Jason. “This doesn’t look good for him.”
For whatever reason, Jason took a defensive stance. “Are those the addresses of the robberies?”
“I don’t know, but Bow Street will.”
Jason’s neck prickled. “You’ll give that to Bow Street?”
Carlyle nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it. “I told Teague I would let him know if I learned anything.”
Irritation sparked in Jason’s chest. “Is that why you came to see me today? As some sort of agent of Bow Street?”
“No, I sought you out because I thought you were interested in determining your brother’s motives for showing up in Society. You were all but certain he was here to take over Aldridge’s theft ring, but now you seem far less so.” He tipped his head to the side, his eyes taking on an inquisitive sheen. “You said you’d spoken to him more than once. If he’s convinced you to trust him, I’d like to know how.”
“He hasn’t.” Jason could unequivocally say that. “However, I saw a little of what you spoke of—he seems a man bent on improving himself.” Jason gestured to the elegant bedchamber they were standing in.
“Indeed,” Carlyle said with a touch of sadness. “Though I’d hoped he was trying to do so within the law.”
Jason realized he’d hoped so too, but refused to feel disappointed. He shouldn’t have expected things to turn out any differently where his half brother was concerned. “Ethan’s business isn’t mine. You’re going to take that to Bow Street now?” He indicated the list in Carlyle’s hand.
Refolding the paper and tucking it into his coat, Carlyle nodded. “After I drop you at Lockwood House.” He looked remorseful. “I said I would be the first to drag him to Bow Street if I thought he was doing anything illegal.”
So he had. But whereas that had once filled Jason with satisfaction, he now felt only anxiety. No one had saved his brother, but maybe now it was time someone did. Not just any someone—Jason.
Chapter Fourteen
LYDIA WAITED in Audrey’s private sitting room the following afternoon for the arrival of Mr. Ethan Locke. They’d moved the furniture a bit to allow for waltzing space. Audrey sat in her favorite floral chair while Lydia walked circuits around the room.
“Why are you pacing?” Audrey asked.
“I’m worried this wasn’t a very good idea. What if someone sees Mr. Locke come to your house? What if one of the servants spreads the information?”
Audrey laughed. “They won’t. I concocted a scheme that would allow Mr. Locke to gain entrance without drawing notice.”
Lydia wanted to ask how, but decided her brain was already too full of tumbling thoughts. She reluctantly sat beside Audrey. Energy still coursed through her, but then she’d been fraught with tension since the dinner party the other night. Her secret tour of Lockwood House was supposed to take place tomorrow, but she had yet to receive the details of her visit from Jason and suspected he’d changed his mind after the way Aunt Margaret had prodded him at the Horwatts’. She ought to be relieved, but she was scandalously disappointed instead.
Audrey patted Lydia’s knee and regarded her with a depth of concern that no one else—save Mrs. Lloyd-Jones, perhaps—afforded her. “What’s really bothering you?”
Lydia found she couldn’t quite verbalize it. There was Jason and whether he’d decided he didn’t want anything more to do with her. There was Aunt Margaret, of course, and whatever she planned to do at Jason’s party, plus her ever-present harping about gossip and maintaining their place in Society. And then there was Mr. Locke and keeping his secret. Lydia was happy to do it, but was still anxious should Aunt Margaret discover what she was up to.
In the end, Lydia forced a smile and waved her hand. “Oh, it’s a multitude of things, none of which matter all that much.”
“I like this new you,” Audrey said softly. “I mean, I liked you before, but now everyone shall like you because they can finally see what I see—a caring young woman who only wants to be accepted. And I know that is what’s most important to you.”
It was. “How is it that we came to be such good friends? Fitting into Society’s mold doesn’t seem to matter all that much to you.”
Audrey laughed. “Perhaps that’s why. Because I don’t necessarily care how people see me, I was able to be your friend—and I mean no offense by that. I know you acknowledge the fact that your aunt and her demands on you have made your social success less than what you wanted.”
“It’s true.” Lydia didn’t bother hiding the defeat in her tone. “I had such wonderful expectations when I first came to London.” She’d begged and begged her father to let her have a Season, but he wasn’t interested in leasing a town house and squiring her around to parties and balls. He came to town to sit in the Lords and to visit his mother, and he always stayed at his club. And Lydia’s grandmother was unable to sponsor Lydia because she lived in a small town house with her two spinster cousins. Lydia had been thrilled when Aunt Margaret had agreed to take her in and guide her through a Season. But here she was six Seasons later with a disappointing social standing—she was feared of course, but not especially liked—and no husband. All she ever wanted was to find a place in Society where she could have a circle of friends, a home, a family. She had none of those things, save Audrey, who had to be worth at least a half-circle of friends. Lydia clasped Audrey’s hand and smiled. “I’m so glad you understand.”
The door joining the sitting room to Audrey’s bedchamber opened and in walked Mr. Ethan Locke.
Lydia gaped at him. “Did you come in through Audrey’s bedchamber?” She swung an incredulous look at Audrey, whose cheeks had turned a faint pink.
Audrey inclined her head at Locke. “There’s a leaf on your sleeve.”
Locke plucked the yellowing foliage from his moss-green coat. “Thank you, Miss Cheswick.” He looked at Lydia. “Yes, I came in through Miss Cheswick’s bedchamber. She was kind enough to direct me up a tree outside her window. She is quite enterprising.” He slid her an appreciative glance.
What the devil was going on here? Was Locke flirting with Audrey? Lydia rather hoped he was. A little excitement would be good for Audrey.
Locke offered them a belated bow. “Good afternoon, ladies. Thank you for helping this poor gentleman.”
He was anything but “poor,” at least in his appearance. He was elegantly dressed with tan breeches, boots polished to a high sheen, and a smart white cravat sporting a small, jeweled pin that caught the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Locke moved toward Audrey, and Lydia was reminded of her childhood cat who stalked birds in the garden. “I’m pleased to finally make your formal—acquaintance, Miss Cheswick.”
Audrey held out her hand. “Mr. Locke, it’s a pleasure. Actually, this isn’t a formal acquaintance either, since we’re meeting in secret.” Her tone was daring, but the faint flags of pink in her cheeks told Lydia that her friend was nervous, as she often was around gentlemen.
Locke took Audrey’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back. He smiled lazily at her while she—slowly—withdrew her hand. “The pleasure is mine, but I’m delighted to share it with you.”
Audrey placed her hand in her lap but said nothing. Lydia couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Goodness, no one had probably ever flirted with Audrey. Did she even recognize it?
Locke turned to Lydia, breaking her reverie. “How shall we begin?”
Lydia nodded. “You said you wanted to waltz, so we’ll start there.”
“And end there,” Locke said pointedly. “I meant it when I said I didn’t want to learn any of those silly country dances.”
Audrey tipped her head to the side. “Thank goodness. I do
n’t particularly care for them either.”
Lydia shot her a surprised glance, but didn’t say anything.
Mr. Locke’s gaze took on a sheen of admiration as he regarded Audrey. “Dare I hope you’re to be my partner, Miss Cheswick?”
Audrey nodded.
“It would be my honor,” he said, offering his hand.
Audrey—again, very slowly—took his hand. He was wearing gloves, but she was not. Lydia wondered if she would’ve preferred to wear them too and made a mental note to ask her for the next lesson.
“Waltzing isn’t difficult,” Lydia began. “Audrey, show Mr. Locke where to put his hands.”
Audrey guided Locke to the middle of the space they’d cleared. He was staring intently at Audrey, and Lydia didn’t want him frightening her.
“Mr. Locke,” Lydia began, “you look nervous. This really is rather simple. There’s nothing to be alarmed about.”
“I think he looks bored,” Audrey said, her gaze locked on his. “In fact, I think he may even look beleaguered.” She lowered her voice a bit. “You don’t have to do this, you know. No one will care that you don’t dance. I rarely dance and no one even notices.”
“But no one’s watching you,” Locke said.
Lydia opened her mouth to take him to task for pointing that out, but shut it again after he whispered, “It’s criminal.”
Audrey glanced away then, and Lydia realized two things: Locke was flirting with Audrey, and Audrey knew it.
“Take her left hand,” Lydia said when it appeared neither Audrey nor Locke was going to move. “Then place your left hand at her shoulder blade. You don’t need to touch her firmly, just a light brushing of your fingertips is sufficient.”
That hadn’t been how Jason had touched her when they’d waltzed, but she didn’t see the need to encourage it here. It was all fine and good for Locke to flirt with Audrey, but his mysterious background did not recommend him for anything more permanent.
