Tall, Dark, and Wicked (Wicked Trilogy)

by Madeline Hunter

  Ives caught his eye and glanced to Belleterre. Strickland took the hint.

  “I have to go piss,” Belleterre said, unaware of their silent messages.

  As soon as he left them, Ives put his head to Strickland’s. “Sedition now? I don’t believe it.”

  Strickland sipped whiskey and smacked his lips. “Not what you believe that matters, is it? What the jury believes is all anyone cares about.”

  “Do they have anything at all to convince a jury about that?”

  “Enough for a good barrister to get the job done. More than enough for you to do it. Belvoir was told there would be hell to pay if he did not cooperate. Them that said it, meant it.”

  “One more reason for me to decline to prosecute,” Ives muttered.

  Strickland stared at him. “You cannot be thinking of it. I heard you were firmly committed.” He bent forward and whispered, “That word came from way on high. Do you understand? He has every confidence you will do your duty, it is said.”

  “I have a conflict.”

  “A conflict? Well, get rid of it.”

  He had gotten rid of it. Or rather, it had gotten rid of him. Still, he remained a far cry from committed. It did a man’s soul no good to do his duty if he had lost faith in it.

  Belleterre staggered toward them. “Let us go find some women,” he declared.

  “The way I heard it, the woman you married has your cock under lock and key these days,” Strickland said.

  Belleterre looked at Ives, pained. “See? The whole town knows. If Strickland quips at my expense, imagine what is being said by those with some wit?”

  Ives sent Strickland a sidelong glance. Strickland’s own glance met his. They burst out laughing. “Trust us,” Ives choked out. “You do not want to know what those with wit are saying.”

  Dispirited, Belleterre downed more whiskey.

  * * *

  Padua entered the gaoler’s office. He eyed her from head to toe.

  “It has been some time, Miss Belvoir.”

  “It has.”

  “No food? No books?”

  She shook her head. “It will be a very brief visit.”

  “Make it so. He has been designated dangerous, I’ll have you know. We are supposed to keep a closer watch on him.”

  She left the office and strode through the prison. Dangerous. What nonsense. Were the authorities blind?

  Then again, what did she know? Perhaps Papa was a criminal mastermind.

  She found him sleeping in his corner. The other inmates of his cell had changed over time. She did not recognize most of them. She gestured to one, and then at her father. The big fellow went over, and gave her father’s hip a good kick.

  He startled awake, cowered, frowned, then saw her. He closed his eyes again.

  “I know about the house,” she called. “The one on Silver Street.”

  His eyes opened again. Wide. He scrambled to his feet and shuffled over to the bars. “Padua, I—”

  “Do not say a word. You have had precious little to say to me in ten years, so do not start talking now. Just listen. I found the house. I have been there. You have no pride left to protect with me. I should turn my back on you, as you have done with me so often. I will not, however. I promised Mama, and I am your daughter. I only want to hear one word from you. Will you now, finally, make some attempt to defend yourself?”

  “You have been there?” His face flushed.

  “I am living there.”

  His eyes widened. “No. You cannot have—”

  “Oh, Papa, for heaven’s sake. I have not begun working there. I am not one of Mrs. Lavender’s young ladies. I am up with the servants. I have to live somewhere, don’t I? If you were not too proud to own such a place, who am I to be too proud to take sanctuary under its roof?”

  “It is different. It is—”

  “One word, Papa. Yes or no. Will you finally fight this? If not, I will leave you alone, as you have so often insisted.”

  He looked down. Emotion twisted his face. “I am sorry you know.”

  “Yes or no, Papa?”

  He weighed his answer for a long time. Exasperated, she turned to leave.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

  * * *

  “Sir.” Vickers spoke lowly. “Sir, you have a visitor.”

  Ives opened his eyes. Low flames in the fireplace greeted him. He had dozed off while reading a long, boring brief regarding a contested inheritance. It was the kind of family argument that made lawyers rich and the family in question much, much poorer.

  “Send him away. Tell him to return tomorrow afternoon.”

  “It is a woman, sir.”

  Ives held out his hand.

  “She has no card, sir. It is the same woman as before. The very tall one.”

  Padua? Here?

  He stood. “I will see her.”

  “I put her in the office, sir.”

  He wanted to tell Vickers to go and get her. Instead, he strode to the office.

  She sat where she had been that first night. She appeared less distraught than that time. Less vulnerable. He paused at the door and admired her bright eyes and self-contained poise. Damnation, but it was good to see her. Too good.

  She noticed him and he walked forward. “Padua.”

  “I am sorry to come at this hour. Again.”

  “You are welcome at any hour. Come to the library.”

  “No. I would prefer we talk here. I have come to speak with the famed barrister, you see. Not my former lover.”

  Her last words sliced at his heart. With difficulty, he became the barrister she sought. He sat in a chair facing her.

  “I know you will not prosecute, and I know you cannot defend without great cost to yourself,” she said. “However, I hope you will speak to him. To my father. You know everything—about the house and that income. Mr. Notley does not as yet. If you question him, you may learn things Mr. Notley never will. And, I trust you, as I never will trust another.”

  Another what? Man? Lawyer? He did not ask.

  “Do you have reason to think he will talk to me, Padua? Or anyone?”

  “I saw him today. I told him I know about the house. He was ashamed. I think he did not want me or anyone to know about it. That was why he would not speak, I think.”

  “Did he say as much? Will he cooperate now?”

  “Yes. He told me he would. Will you do it? I know I have no right to ask it, but—”

  “You have every right to ask it. What we shared does give us rights, Padua. Both of us. We are not made out of stone. Of course I will do it, if you ask it of me.”

  She flushed. “Thank you. Do I need to do anything? Will the gaoler permit it?”

  The gaoler would permit it because he still believed Ives would prosecute. The letter begging off lay on his writing table upstairs, waiting for the morning post. He had labored over it for hours, trying to find words that would not imply indifference to duty, or to the royal favor he had enjoyed. A second letter, directly to the prince regent, tried even harder.

  Neither would be well received. They could wait another day to be posted.

  “He always receives me, Padua. He will allow me to speak with your father. I will go tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. I feel better now, knowing it will be you. Do not let him slither out of full answers. Make him tell you everything, Ives, even if it is the worst news.”

  “Even a snake cannot slither out of answering me, and your father is nowhere near that sly.”

  She stood and he followed. She smiled weakly and made a clumsy gesture with her hand that almost looked like a wave good-bye.

  “You can stay, you know,” he said. “No one saw you enter. No one will see you leave.”

  She appeared torn. He urged her silently to follow her hunger if not her heart. One step toward him. Just one, and he would—

  “I have spent three days crying, Ives. Mourning. I do not want to cry all over again.” She took that step then. And ano
ther, until she could kiss him. He fought the impulse to grab her, and hold her close, and caress her the way that would overcome her worries and fears, for a few hours at least.

  He accepted her kiss of thanks, and branded his mind with the softness of her lips. Then she was gone, gliding to the door, and away.

  * * *

  “If you like, you can use this chamber here,” Mr. Brown said. “I’ll have him brought here for you.”

  Ives knew the chamber well. There were men who went in there for conversations, and who came out battered.

  Belvoir had faced no physical coercion. Those who use such tactics know their men, and Belvoir was not a promising candidate. Belvoir had the look of a fanatic to him, a man who would die before betraying a principle. Such men did not talk on the rack. They died on it.

  Ives waited in the small, windowless chamber while guards went for Belvoir. Unlike some barristers, he did not plan elaborate strategies and stage directions when he performed. A few facts and a lot of instinct stood him in good stead. He would wait to see if Belvoir needed to be lured or browbeaten to be fully forthcoming.

  Tall and lanky, thinner by far than several weeks ago, Hadrian Belvoir shuffled in, his hands and legs manacled. Ives told the guard to wait outside the door, which he then closed.

  “Guard said you are my prosecutor,” Belvoir said after sitting in the one chair.

  “All you need to know is that your daughter asked me to come. She thinks you will tell me the truth that you might avoid telling her.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I am a man, and no relative or friend. The charges against you are severe. The odds are even that you will hang if convicted. It is time to add your side to this story.”

  He hung his head, breathing hard. Ives realized some malady of the lungs afflicted him. Newgate was taking its toll.

  “It all is because of that damned legacy,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have refused it, or sold that woman the whole damned thing. Got greedy, didn’t I? A steady living was something I had never had for long. I figured I could just take the money, and pretend the property weren’t mine.”

  “How does that involve you in counterfeiting?”

  “These men came to me. Strangers. They knew about that house. They said either I stored that trunk for them, or they would let the world know. I’d be branded a whoremonger. All who knew me would know of it.” He looked away. “My daughter would know. This was a year ago, maybe fifteen months now. Had to do it, didn’t I?”

  “No, you did not have to do it. Your interest in mathematics has led you to forget your readings in moral philosophy. Do not expect me to approve the bargain you made.”

  Belvoir’s head went down again.

  “Did you open that trunk? Did you know what was in it?”

  “After they took the first one away and brought the second, I opened it. I had never seen so much money in my life. I knew then I was deep into something that was probably illegal. I figured the money was no good. It smelled when it first came. Like the ink on it still had an odor. It was all fresh, crisp. Either they were robbing the Bank of England, or they were printing that up themselves.”

  Belvoir was a smart man. Too bad. If he could claim ignorance, if a jury would believe he might be too dimwitted to understand what he had in that trunk—

  “I chewed it over a lot after that,” Belvoir said. “They knew about that house. No one else did. Even the deed uses my whole Christian name. No one has called me John in thirty years. So I wondered if the counterfeiting was not tied to that house too. How else did they find me?”

  “Do you think Mrs. Lavender is a counterfeiter?”

  He shook his head. “I’d be surprised. She is old-fashioned, and honest in her way. I assume she cheats me on the accounts, but not too much. That is the sort she is. Even her trade there. It is so proper a brothel it is a wonder she gets any business. It is wrong, but not too wrong.”

  Ives bit back a smile. For a man in perpetual distraction, Belvoir could show remarkable insight when he paid attention to something or someone.

  “There are the servants, though. Hector and the groom and a couple of others. I wondered if one of them might be up to no good, and pulled me into the web.”

  “You said they came to you. Who were they? Describe them.”

  “Two men. One tall, one short. There was nothing special about them. I’d never seen them before, nor later. Even when one trunk left and another arrived, they did not carry them. Regular transport movers did that work, and I don’t think they even knew what they carried.”

  “Do you remember the name of the transport company?”

  He closed his eyes, then shook his head. “Brown wagon it was. Painted. I don’t recall a name on it.”

  “Do you have anything else to add? Anything at all, that might shed more light on this?”

  Belvoir shook his head.

  “Then I have a few other questions for you. Answer honestly. If you do not, no one can help you. Do you have any associations with radicals or revolutionaries? Even old friendships that might be misunderstood?”

  “I have no interest in politics. Never have. I also have no old friends. I’m not a man who needs them much. I like being alone.” He paused, then added, “I have books, of course. Pamphlets and such. I read many things. Reading isn’t the same as doing, or even agreeing. Everyone knows that.”

  Not everyone. Ives pictured the prosecutor reading from one of the more lurid revolutionary tracts, waving it around, describing it being found by the accused’s bedside.

  “One more question. You are not a man much engaged with the world. You say you have no old friends, and you have no living that would be threatened by scandal. Why, then, have you refused to speak until now? Why agree to the blackmail you describe? It is hard to believe you cared if the whole world knew.”

  “It wasn’t the whole world I cared about. Just one small part of it. My daughter. I did not want to taint her with the story, and I never wanted her to know.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “But she does now. She must despise me.”

  “She is surprised, and disappointed, but she does not despise you. She is glad, I think, to learn there was a reason you refused her help.” He gave the man his handkerchief. “Regarding your daughter, I have a few more questions now, if you will indulge me.”

  * * *

  Padua listened to Ives’s description of the meeting with her father. He had asked to meet in Hyde Park, and they strolled along the Serpentine while he reported her father’s explanation.

  “I guessed as much,” she said. “As soon as I realized what went on in that house, I knew that was why he would not speak. Eventually it would come out, to my humiliation.”

  “It is not the thinking of a man who is indifferent to you,” Ives said.

  “Perhaps not.” She was not sure what to think of Papa now. Her old image had been destroyed, and a new one had not yet formed.

  “This is England. I cannot believe owning some radical tracts can be used to prove sedition,” she said.

  “It is all in how it is presented at the trial.”

  “Could you use it well enough?”

  “Yes.”

  That was not the answer she wanted to hear. “Would you?”

  “If I were convinced a man plotted assassinations, I might.”

  Could you do the opposite, and present it so everyone decided it meant nothing at all? She did not ask. She did not have to. Of course he could. She already regretted having compromised him to where he would not prosecute. She would curse herself before this was over, she feared.

  He had told her all there was to tell. Walking with him, seeing him, made her sad and wistful. Her heart wanted to stay, no matter how painful it might be. She knew, however, that was not wise.

  “I must go.”

  He pulled out his pocket watch. “Not yet. We are meeting someone soon.”

  “You arranged a rendezvous for me?”


  “I am the rendezvous. They are the friends.” He looked above the heads surrounding them. “Ah, there they are.” He guided her down the path.

  Up ahead, Eva and Gareth waved.

  “What brings you to town?” Padua asked when they all continued on the path.

  “We are meeting with estate agents, looking for a house to let,” Eva said.

  “Also, Lance had become poor company.” Gareth looked apologetic. “He will be following us, I think. We are sorry, Ives, but I could not listen to his moaning about dying of boredom in the country another day. I promise to play nursemaid if he turns up.”

  “I expect we will both be needed. If he issues another challenge, however, you can be his second this time. I am all talked out where he is concerned.”

  The two brothers pulled ahead as they chatted on. Eva fell into step with Padua. “Where are you staying? I will call on you.”

  “It is a simple room in a house. I would love to receive you, but I do not even have a sitting room.”

  Eva’s little smile matched the sly way she looked ahead at Ives’s back. “I can’t imagine Ives is happy about that.”

  “He is not happy about much where I am concerned.”

  Concern replaced Eva’s mirth. “Did you break with him?”

  “I had to. London is not Merrywood. We both knew such a liaison would only bring scandal to him. Surely Gareth told you about that, and how Ives has already paid a cost for befriending me even if the affair is over.”

  “He only told me that Ives’s refusal to serve against your father would not be well received at court. He is doing the right thing, however. If he made a different choice, it would be despicable.”

  On the face of it, yes. Eva would not think any better of Ives if he did make a different choice, in order to do less than his best for his lover’s sake. Whether cruel for his own benefit, or dishonorable for hers, Ives could not win. It had been heartless of her to force that dilemma on him.

  “I do not like picturing you in some tiny chamber in a stranger’s house,” Eva said. “Once we have settled into our new home, you must stay with us.”

  “I could not intrude. You are still almost newlyweds. Please do not try to cajole me, Eva. You have a kind heart, but I am contented where I am. And please do not let Ives know that you offered. He does not approve of the arrangements I made for myself.”