by Anne Mallory
“Oh, this?” Nickford picked up the second journal, the gold embossment gleaming like a lighthouse in a storm. “Found it the morning Janson died when I was in the dining room. I needed a new journal to record my ghostly observations. The inn has probably been readying itself for a ghost for days, perhaps weeks. Buildings know these kinds of things, or so I’ve been told.”
“You didn’t think that the journal might belong to someone else?” Frankly Christian didn’t care why Nickford had picked it up; he was just exultant that he had. The hard knot in his stomach turned into a river of fire.
“I needed it. Very important work to be done.”
Christian nodded and reached for the journal. Nickford pulled it toward himself, a suspicious look in his eye.
“I know the owner of this journal, and he has been searching for it. Allow me to return it to the rightful owner and perhaps you will find yourself with a benefactor for your work.”
Nickford perked up. Christian noted Kate’s suspicion, but he ignored her for the moment. He needed Anthony’s journal, with its lustrously embossed cover, safely in his possession, and then he could deal with soothing his partner’s ruffled feathers.
“Really?” Nickford looked cautiously hopeful. Christian had no idea where the caution sprang from. Nickford hadn’t seemed to possess an ounce of the quality previously.
“I have some high contacts. I think you will be pleased. But I need the journal.”
It took Nickford only a moment to decide. “I suppose it is just as well. I only have some side notes in there, nothing too important. Most of the pages were used. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare book, would you?” His gaze turned hopeful and Christian smiled widely.
“It just so happens that I do, Nickford. I just happen to have the perfect book for you.”
Christian swept the lamp back into the opening of the wall hole and saw nothing else inside. He replaced the board and led the way to his room.
He gave Nickford a clean writing journal. Nickford nearly skipped to the door in his ecstasy.
“I will give you a full report on my progress, Mr. Black. Good night!”
As soon as the door shut, Kate turned to Christian. “What was that all about? Should we return Freewater’s journal now or wait until morning?”
Christian unconsciously tightened his grip on the journal. “We aren’t giving the journal back to Freewater.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Why not?”
“Because it isn’t his.”
“It most certainly is. I saw the gold embossment. The journal looks exactly as he described it.”
“Yes, but it isn’t Freewater’s journal. He stole it.”
Christian stroked a hand over the cover, his relief warring with triumph. He hadn’t failed his friend after all. The niggling doubts about his worth quieted amid his exultation.
“How do you know?” Kate’s voice had turned deadly. “What are you hiding? Why are you really at this inn, Christian Black?”
He looked up, surprised at the vehemence and the beginnings of betrayal shining in her eyes.
“I came for the journal, Kate. This book contains very sensitive information that can be very damaging to my friend if it falls into the wrong hands.”
“Who are you? Are you a Runner after all? A spy?”
He shook his head. “No, just a man retrieving something for a friend. I wasn’t lying the morning that we discovered Janson’s body when I said I was on a personal retrieval mission for something sensitive. I just never said what the retrieval mission was.”
She looked down. “I don’t know why I’m angry. You never pretended otherwise.”
A little of his excitement faded and he hugged the small book. “I know. I’m sorry, Kate.”
She shook her head and then smiled. “I was worried for a second that you really were someone else in disguise.”
Someone must be stoking a fire in the kitchens below because he could feel sweat beginning to break out on his brow. “Er, that would be something, wouldn’t it?”
Tell her! Tell her!
She smiled broadly.
The voice withered and died. Would she still smile like that if she knew he was slightly higher on the social scale? Most women would be ecstatic. He should know. He had used his status in seductions before. But Kate didn’t seem to hold much stock in titles.
And he wanted her to like him for himself. Not for some stupid title that neither he nor his father wanted him to claim.
“So what are you going to tell Freewater about the journal?”
He shrugged uncomfortably and willed his body to cool. It was best to leave such revelations till later. “Freewater stole this book; he doesn’t deserve an explanation. His intent was to publish its contents in the press and embarrass people I care about. It will serve him right to forever mourn its loss not knowing what happened.”
She raised a brow. “A bit bloodthirsty, aren’t we?”
“He should never have taken it.” Christian knew he sounded harsh, but he couldn’t help it. Anthony was the closest thing he had to family. He would do anything for him. “Freewater was intent on ruining a good man.”
“Mustn’t there be something bad in there in order to be ruined? How do you ruin a good man?”
Christian turned away from Kate. How indeed. And how do you redeem a ruined man?
He could leave in the morning. Now that he had the journal, he was free. He didn’t have to answer any uncomfortable questions. He didn’t have to make the extra effort for Kate. There were plenty more women in the country. He could probably find ten willing, buxom maids in the next village over.
“Christian, you are still going to help find Janson’s killer, aren’t you?” The skeptical note in Kate’s tone made him pause. He looked at the mussed bed and the bat they had recovered.
“Of course I am,” he replied, unsure of his intent until the words popped out of his mouth. He turned to face her, and something shifted inside. Yes, he had found Anthony’s journal by a freakish piece of good luck, but he had also found Kate, who had broken through his constant state of ennui.
There weren’t a hundred women in the next village that could compare to Kate.
He smiled. “I won’t leave you, Kate.”
And when she flashed him a grateful smile, he realized he meant it.
“Good.” He could almost imagine her relief was due to wanting to keep him around rather than wanting him to help her solve the mystery. Just this once he was going to forgive himself for the thought.
“I can’t believe you found the bat inside a cubby in the common room wall,” Kate said.
“I know.” He paused, considering the bat. “How many people would know about the spot? Not many, I’m sure.”
“The servants probably.”
They exchanged a look. Neither of them wanted it to be Mary.
“And anyone exceedingly lucky or clever. Although not so lucky because we discovered it,” he said.
“No.”
Christian paced back and forth in front of the bed, still clutching Anthony’s journal and trying to think of other scenarios.
“Donald Desmond was jealous of Lake and Janson, although he hid his jealousy by flattering Janson and being his spineless second. What if Desmond got tired of always being second best, and knocked Janson off at a time when the blame could easily be placed on Lake? Desmond has verbally attacked nearly everyone in the inn, and has made it his duty to pin the blame on Lake. He would be killing two birds at once by getting rid of Janson and then having Lake tried for the murder.”
Kate seemed to understand where his thinking was going because she sat down and pulled out their paper, nodded, dipped her quill, and jotted notes as he talked.
“Then there’s Tiegs. And Tiegs’s two underlings, either of whom would comply with Tiegs’s orders. There was a connection between Tiegs and Janson. Perhaps he too planned to frame Lake after the fight in the taproom.”
Christian tapped a foot and
smiled blandly. “Olivia Trent and Francine seem innocent enough, but who knows, maybe one of them is a long-lost cousin or aunt who will profit from the death of the town squire’s son. Or perhaps it is a two-part plot and at this instant the squire is lying dead somewhere, his carcass frozen and stiff, his—”
Kate stopped writing, a look of complete exasperation gracing her features. He grinned, and it felt good, as it always did with her. “No? Moving onward. Nickford. Just doesn’t strike me as the violent type. Unless it would further his experiments. And in that case he would just leave the body where it dropped, or else drag it into his room, not to the stable. Unless he is a long-lost uncle looking to profit from the same—”
He smiled again at her expression. “No again? Does that mean I can’t apply that theory to the Crescents either?”
“Christian.”
“You are ruining my enjoyment.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Moving forward. Freewater was in his room all night.”
Kate raised a brow.
“Believe me. I listened and waited for the blasted man to leave all night. Why do you think I took the bed?”
“Because you aren’t a gentleman. I clearly remember you telling me.”
“Well, there is that.” He gave her a slow once-over and proclaimed victory when color infused her cheeks. “But also because the bed is against that wall. I planned to retrieve the journal as soon as the blasted man left, but he never did. Quite annoying really.”
Christian was in high spirits now that he had Anthony’s journal in hand. He saw Kate frowning though and thought maybe he should avoid the topic of the journal until he could bring her around.
“Freewater was passing through, in any case. We have no evidence that he knew Janson prior to arriving here at the inn. I suppose he could be a spy for the French. He slipped from his room in the dead of the night, rifled through Janson’s room, found his bat, crept up behind him, and…wham. What do you suppose?”
“Freewater is as dull as dull can be. I highly doubt his ability for any type of stealth.”
“Wouldn’t that be a perfect cover for a spy?”
“Christian, how many spies do you know?”
“Too true. So that leaves us with Lake, who we both thought was next door the entire time. You were closer, since I had my ear pressed to the other wall. I wasn’t paying much attention to him. His door was oiled and he could have slipped out with ill intent. Other than Mary or one of the servants, the man had motive and opportunity. More than anyone else he may have wished Janson dead. He made little effort to hide the fact.”
Kate scribbled furiously.
“And that brings us to the servants. Mary was as good as betrothed to the cur. According to you, the man spouted terrible things about Mary when he was out of range of the Wickets. Mary’s face closed down whenever Janson was mentioned, and she has been canoodling with Lake since Janson’s death. She had plenty of reason to dislike Janson.”
Kate tapped the quill against her mouth. “And she could have hired anyone in this inn to murder him.”
“Exactly. But it could have been Mary herself who did the dastardly deed. She could have immediately hidden the bat; this is her inn, after all, and she would know every nook and cranny. She could then have called in one of the other servants, or even Lake, to help toss the body over the railing and drag it into the stables.”
Kate nodded. “But it snowed and they couldn’t bear the body away with ease.”
“As I said before, they should have just left the body on the ground, covered in snow. I think the guilty party or parties panicked.”
“I think you make a valid point.”
He had perfected the art of preening under false pretenses, but Kate’s real praise made him want to sweep her into his arms.
“At least one person involved in Janson’s death knew where the wall cubby was located. I don’t think someone carried the bat around the screen to relieve themselves, thinking about where to hide the murder weapon, and just happened upon the hiding place. A little too convenient and unlikely.”
“I agree, Inspector Black. I think you should hire on as a Runner after all.”
He winked at her. There was no way he would ever be allowed to be a Runner. Although he would love to see his father’s face contorted in horror, society wouldn’t allow it. Bow Street wouldn’t allow it. The unfairness of life, he thought. He was sure that someone like Kate would scoff at any self-pity on his part should she learn who he really was. But then she didn’t strike him as being someone who appreciated self-pity in any case.
“Christian, we can’t forget Mrs. Wicket. She may have even more motive and opportunity than Mary. Responsible for both the cover-up and the cleaning up. If Tom really did get the instructions from Mrs. Wicket to clean up the evidence, we may have a case of mother protecting daughter.”
Christian had never experienced the protective feelings that parents felt toward their offspring, but a few of his friends had good family relationships, and he had observed how oddly people acted when a family member was in danger.
Then again he was taking risks and doing strange things to save Anthony, so perhaps those feelings weren’t just relegated to blood family.
Kate frowned. “But Mrs. Wicket had a choice to go to Mr. Wicket and stop the farce, cricket be damned.”
He touched the rough wooden wall. “Mr. Wicket seemed ready to sacrifice his own daughter for the sake of the team.”
She tapped the quill against the paper, and small flecks of ink landed in a haphazard pattern. “No, I don’t think he would have. I think Mr. Wicket was willfully blind to Janson’s faults, but I don’t think he would have sacrificed his daughter to Janson. I think Mr. Wicket knew there was something wrong with the man. He tried too hard to make excuses for him, calling him passionate, headstrong, and competitive. I think he was just hoping and praying that ‘his Julius’ would lose his wild streak and become the perfect man to protect his daughter.”
“If you say so.”
She frowned more deeply. “You seem awfully willing to believe that Mr. Wicket has or had ill intentions.”
“I just think the man is plain daft.”
“Daft doesn’t equate to evil.”
“No.” He sighed heavily. “No, it doesn’t.” He would have taken daft any day of his childhood over the alternative.
“What do you say we talk about it in the morning? We can question both of the Wickets. We’ll have to do it early. Mr. Wicket said the roads are likely to open up tomorrow, and we need to get this damn thing solved.”
He looked at the clock. It was almost four in the morning. It had been quite an eventful night. And he still had half a mind to visit the screen to finish up what had been started earlier.
He looked to Kate, who had put down the quill and was chewing her lip in earnest.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I agree. Let’s turn in for the night.”
He nodded and was surprised to find Kate a bit skittish. For some odd reason he found it endearing. He really was going soft.
She kicked off her shoes and climbed under the sheets. For whatever reason, she continued to wear her head wrap. He hesitated for a second. He had left earlier because he wanted to take things, well, not slowly, but at a pace that was comfortable to Kate. He perched on the edge of the bed and slowly removed his boots.
The hall clock started to chime the hour and he felt the stiffening of his bed partner. He turned toward her to offer comfort and was surprised when she toppled him forward and began kissing him in earnest.
Christian recovered quickly and took the lead. If she was going to up the pace, far be it from him to complain. He muttered soft words into her hair as she clutched his back. Settling light kisses in her hair and around her face and neck, he felt her begin to relax.
He ran soothing hands over her arms and back. She turned her head to look at him and he kissed her. A light kiss, jus
t a taste really. She responded instantly, and the kiss progressed to a deeper passion and turned hungry and demanding.
Christian wasn’t quite sure how her shirt came off, or his, and the removal of trousers was completely beyond his memory, but he did remember dipping his fingers into liquid fire and the taste of her mouth and skin, raspberries and desire, fire and song.
And he saw the determination in her eyes right before the small, smooth fingers took him in hand. She had obviously never done this before. It was in her eyes and her, at first, tentative touches. He responded to her touches, letting her know what he liked, and moved into her hand to help her with others. The touches became bolder; the fire in her eyes smoldered as he continued to reciprocate.
He had never let his guard down during sex. Had never let his partner see any deeper than what he wanted. He didn’t know if his inability to hold the mask was due to his desire to allow her to experience this first foray into her own sexuality without doubt or if it was just an extension of his increasingly hard grip on the mask while in her presence. Maybe it was just Kate herself.
He looked deep into her eyes and gave in to the feelings and emotions. Just as he reached release and knew that she had reached hers, he saw an emotion in her eyes, one he wasn’t accustomed to seeing, and he could have sworn that just for a second her features turned golden.
Chapter 17
Did you think that showing off for the tutor was going to elevate you above your brother?
The Marquess of Penderdale
to Christian, age seven
Kate woke to the steady drip of snow melting from the roof and birds chirping noisily outside the window. She opened her eyes slowly, watching the jagged beams of light filtering around the edges of the drapery. She felt better than she had in weeks. Four weeks, to be exact.
She paused. It worried her a bit to feel such pleasure. The last time she had awakened this happy, her father had died.
An arm, warm and heavy, held her securely. Closing her eyes, she nestled farther into the warmth, afraid to check if Christian was awake. She had confessed a number of things last night in the dark. In the dark she could believe that she was still attractive and desirable, the kind of woman Christian would want.
