Notorious

by Minerva Spencer

  “Right here will be fine,” she said, smiling at the obviously upset servant and gesturing to the table in front of the fire. It had seemed chilly tonight, although she knew it was most likely an emotional chill they were all feeling.

  “Thank you, Parker.”

  She began to prepare the tea, unable to wrap her mind around what had happened. She shook her head and turned to Gabriel. “Who would kidnap the boy? Could it be somebody from his mother’s family, Gabriel? Perhaps they want him back? Or maybe—”

  “Byer and I believe we know who is behind this.”

  He told her how he’d seen Rowland meeting with Visel at least twice.

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Gabriel?”

  “Because I had no idea what they were doing. I assumed that if Visel was involved, it would be something to do with me.” He shrugged. “As for Rowland? I thought perhaps he would be helping with whatever Visel had planned.”

  “Yes, his cousin. Although he always indicated he was not close to him—that he despised his wealthier relatives as lazy, useless spendthrifts.”

  Gabriel set down his cup, his jaw tight. “Did Rowland ever tell you about his gambling?”

  “No—he said he hated gambling, that it was the downfall of his father.”

  “The second part of what you say is true. But as to the first—well, Rowland owes money to several people. A great deal of money.”

  Her cup and saucer clattered, and tea sloshed over the side. Gabriel reached across and took it from her, setting it down on the tray before continuing.

  “He lost his lodgings and sold most of his possessions about ten days ago. He’s been living with his cousin since then. It seems they had a falling out over something and Visel turfed him out. I lost track of him after that.”

  “Wait—you mean you’ve been following him?”

  “Yes, since the night he met you in the garden. Byer and I split the task and his valet also helped.” He grimaced. “I’m ashamed to say we lost track of Rowland on my watch. He went into a—” He stopped, his cheeks darkening. “Well, he went into a brothel.”

  “You followed him into a brothel?” It was all she could do to force the words out.

  “It is because I didn’t follow him inside that he was able to disappear.” He gave her a wry look. “You see how well you’ve trained your husband without even realizing it?”

  It was Drusilla’s turn to blush.

  “I waited for hours. And when Byer came, he waited for hours.” He coughed. “Although he waited inside. Which is how he found out that Rowland had left hours earlier—that he’d gone with another man to a card game in an adjacent building. The men had left through the servants’ entrance for convenience.” He shook his head. “And that was the last we saw of him.”

  “Why do you think he would have taken Sami? What could he—”

  A sharp rap on the door interrupted her. Parker rushed inside the room, his cheeks flushed. “This just came for you, sir.”

  Gabriel took the folded rectangle. “Who delivered it?”

  “A boy from The Greenman,” he said, naming a posting inn on the north end of the city. “But he said he was paid in advance to deliver it—double his usual amount. He said the man who paid him was slight with curly dark brown hair.”

  Drusilla and Gabriel stared at each other: Rowland fit that description.

  “You may go, Parker.” Gabriel waited until the door closed before breaking the seal.

  Drusilla felt sick. “My God, it is Rowland.”

  He read it out loud:

  “Marlington:

  “By now you will know the boy is gone. He is unharmed and will remain so as long as you do exactly what I say. I want 10,000£ and I will give you until tomorrow night to gather it. You will receive a message tomorrow at nine o’clock telling you where to take the money and how to go about it. If you do not follow the directions to the letter—if you think to send a Runner, for example—you will never see the boy again. I know Drusilla has the money, so I will not tolerate any delaying tactics. Also, don’t try any tricks. I will not hesitate to carry out my threat. I shall accept the money from nobody other than Drusilla—alone.”

  Gabriel handed her the note. “Of course he did not sign it—do you recognize the handwriting?”

  Drusilla glanced at the letter and then handed it back. “It is his writing.”

  Gabriel strode to his desk, tossed down the letter, and then pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer and sat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Writing to my mother.”

  Drusilla went to stand over the desk. “Does she know Rowland has been stalking us?”

  “No, but she will be able to get the money quickly. I’m afraid I simply do not have such an amount lying around. It would take me days to assemble it.”

  His words were like a slap. She leaned forward and splayed her hand in the middle of the piece of paper, forcing him to look at her.

  He was already shaking his head. “No. I will not take your money. Nor will you deliver it to that worm.” He frowned, his expression fierce enough to make her shiver. “The nerve of—”

  “It is our money, Gabriel. And Samir is our son. How can you think I would ever want anything else?”

  His face flushed darkly. “While I appreciate your sentiment, he is either my estranged brother’s son or my bastard child by a former lover, Drusilla. How can I expect you to pay?”

  “First,” she said, yanking the paper from his hands and crumpling it in a ball, “I never want to hear that word spoken out loud again. Second, we are family. Do you think I would give tens of thousands of pounds to help strangers yet begrudge money to save our son—no matter who his mother was?”

  She could tell he was angry—at her, at himself, at Rowland? Probably all three.

  He closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, dropping his head into his hand. “I should have known he was up to something like this—he and Visel were—” He stopped, shook his head, and snapped his fingers. “Visel!” He was halfway to the door before she realized what he was doing.

  “Gabriel—wait. You’re going to see him now? It is four o’clock in the morning.”

  He yanked open the door and said over his shoulder. “Don’t you know, Drusilla? Nighttime is the best time to hunt rats.”

  * * *

  Drusilla had hoped Gabriel would be home when her man of business came to see her at eight o’clock sharp, but—as it turned out—she was very glad he wasn’t.

  “Hello, Mr. Jenkins, thank you for coming so quickly.” Of her three trustees, she had always liked Mr. Jenkins the best. He wasn’t warm or affectionate, but he was always forthright and treated her as a thinking being. She’d decided to keep him as her personal man of business after she had married. Her plans for expanding her charitable endeavors were not yet fully developed, but when they were, she would need help implementing them.

  “Would you like tea?” she asked once he’d settled in the chair across from her. She had decided to meet him in the library, by far the most comfortable room in the house.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Marlington. I had some before I left.” He opened the large black leather satchel he’d brought with him. “If you hadn’t summoned me today, I was going to ask for a meeting with you.”

  Oh dear. This did not sound good. “And why is that, Mr. Jenkins?”

  His mouth settled into a grim frown. “I’m afraid I received some rather disturbing news late yesterday.”

  She could have told him it was going around. “Nothing wrong with Mrs. Jenkins, I hope?”

  “No, no, nothing of that sort.” He cleared his throat and then opened one of the ledgers he’d brought. He was acting almost. . . nervous. “I received word from my man up in Leeds. He went to look at the house you purchased for the women’s home.”

  Drusilla had a bad feeling developing in her already churning stomach. “What did he find?”

  “There was no such house. The address doesn
’t exist.”

  She could not speak.

  “After he found that, he hastened to Manchester, and then he went to Birmingham.”

  “He found the same thing.” Her voice was the husk of a whisper.

  “Yes. In all three situations false papers had been prepared—right down to the architectural plans. It appears Mr. Rowland employed a competent forger.” He closed the folder. “I hope you won’t take it amiss, but I had a Runner look into Mr. Rowland even before I sent my man up North.”

  “He is in debt—gambling debts.”

  Jenkins raised his eyebrows.

  “I found out last night,” she explained. “In fact, Rowland and his activities are the reason I asked you here today.”

  Jenkins looked perplexed. Drusilla stood and went to the bellpull.

  “You might not need tea, Mr. Jenkins, but I certainly do.”

  * * *

  The valet’s face had turned an alarming shade of red.

  Byer’s hand landed on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Perhaps you might loosen up on him a bit, Gabe. I believe he’s trying to tell you something.”

  Gabriel grudgingly loosened his grip.

  “I don’t kn-know,” the man wheezed.

  “That was not what I wanted to hear,” Gabriel said, flexing his fingers.

  “Wait—wait! Give me a moment. I’ll tell you what I know.” He repeatedly cleared his throat. “May I have a drink, please?”

  Gabriel’s hands began to tighten, but Byer said, “Come on, Gabe. Let’s all have a drink.”

  Gabriel dragged the servant to the only armchair in the room and shoved the man into it, glaring down at him while Byer went to fetch the drinks.

  Gabriel had met Byer’s Runner—Tompkins—outside Visel’s apartments. He could see by the man’s surprised expression that Byer had not sent word to him yet about Samir’s abduction. When Gabriel told him, the short, slight man let out an unspeakably vulgar curse.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I’m a right fool for not suggesting we watch the boy’s house.”

  “Well, so was I,” Gabriel had admitted. “Is there anyone inside?” He gestured to the lodgings with his chin.

  “Nobody came or went from Visel’s apartments last night except his valet, who left at around seven, came back at ten, and then left again early this morning.”

  “Is there a way to get inside?”

  The Runner had grinned.

  Byer had joined them not much later and waited with Gabriel while Tompkins went off to see what he could find from his sources.

  They’d grabbed the valet the second he’d entered Visel’s lodgings. And then Gabriel had begun to question him.

  Gabriel turned to where Byer was pouring out what appeared to be brandy.

  “Care for a glass?” the viscount asked, cocking a brow.

  “No.” Gabriel didn’t care for hard spirits even at the best of times. Right now was not the best of times.

  Byer brought the valet a glass and then propped his hip on the desk and took a sip.

  The man gulped half the glass, dragged the back of his hand across his lips, and then threw back the other half.

  “That’s enough,” Gabriel growled, taking the glass from his hand before the valet could convince Byer to give him more. That’s all he needed, for the man to become even more insensible.

  Byer grinned down at their captive. “I won’t be able to hold Mr. Marlington back much longer, old chap. Why don’t you tell us everything before my savage friend here tears it out of you piece by piece? Let’s start with your name,” the viscount suggested.

  “Symond, sir.”

  “Talk,” Gabriel ordered.

  “I haven’t seen Lord Visel since last night—before he went to the masquerade party and he—”

  Gabriel lunged at Symond, who pressed himself back into his chair.

  “What? Good God—what did I say?” he squeaked as Gabriel grabbed the lapels of his coat and loomed over him.

  “Visel was at the Duchess of Richland’s masquerade party?”

  Symond nodded vigorously. “He was going to the party but he said he would come back afterward—only briefly—and that I should have everything packed.” He cut Gabriel a sly look. “He said he would have a ladybird waiting in his carriage and that he wanted to set out immediately after he loaded his bags.”

  Gabriel had noticed the luggage and trunks in the small entry hall.

  “I packed first thing—I didn’t want to anger him. His lordship is a man with a short fuse.” He tapped his temple. “It’s my opinion he’s not quite right in the head.” He gave Gabriel a suggestive look.

  “Keep your medical opinions to yourself. What else happened last night?”

  “He was in a right ugly mood. He’d ordered his costume in advance, but they delivered the wrong one—a Roman outfit. Anyhow, he went storming off to the tailor’s shop where I’d found the costume.” Symond shook his head. “Madness. What difference could it make?”

  “Let me guess—he went as a corsair.”

  The valet looked arrested. “Why, yes, that’s right, sir. Did you see him? Not that his own mother would have recognized him. He even dyed his hair. Looked just like those corsair villains you see in the broadsheets.” He stopped abruptly, his eyes suddenly widening as he realized what he’d just said and to whom he’d said it.

  But Gabriel was no longer listening to the man’s babbling. He released the valet’s coat and thrust him away, commencing to pace.

  All he could think was that something had happened last night to have foiled Visel’s plan with Drusilla. Why else would he have injured her and taken her out to the garden? Perhaps he had planned to spirit her away? But for what? What could he possibly have planned?

  Byer’s voice interrupted Gabriel’s frantic imaginings.

  “Why was he leaving so late and in such a furtive manner?”

  “I don’t know. I assumed he and his lady friend didn’t want to be seen hanging about together.”

  Symond’s slimy expression made Gabriel’s hands twitch to strangle him. “Where was he going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” He reached for Symond’s coat again, but the man held up his hands.

  “I don’t—it’s the truth. He only hired me a few months ago—at the start of the Season.”

  That stopped Gabriel. “He didn’t have his own man?”

  “No, he said he’d been killed—a while ago in the Peninsula—and that he’d not gotten around to replacing him.” His expression turned sullen. “He told me only last week he would not be keeping me on.”

  Gabriel could understand that; Symond was not only slovenly, but he also had an unsavory air about him and it had taken very little effort to get him to turn on his master.

  “What about Rowland—his cousin?”

  “That one.” Symond scowled with disgust. “The master let him stay here for almost a week. What a pig.”

  “Did the two spend a lot of time together?”

  “Not much. They came back from some club together a few times, but I heard them arguing.” His eyes shifted between Byer and Gabriel. “It was loud; it woke me up,” he explained, although neither of them had said anything. Gabriel knew a man like Symond probably spent a good deal of his time hovering around keyholes.

  “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  “They were arguing about a woman and some boy.”

  “What?” Gabriel took a step closer. “Tell me every single detail. Every. Single. One.”

  Symond gulped, his shifty eyes filled with fear. “There wasn’t much. Rowland wanted to take some boy; he never did say who. He said taking a child was easier than taking a full-grown woman. Lord Visel said he would not countenance such a thing—that they should stick with the original plan. But they started to really row when his lordship said he would thrash Rowland if he learned he’d done anything with the boy and that he’d turn him over to the constable.”r />
  Gabriel and Byer exchanged looks.

  “And when was that?” Gabriel asked the valet.

  Symond shrugged. “Less than a week ago. Not long afterward Lord Visel found out Rowland had stolen and sold some of Lord Visel’s odds and sods, like a family ring—something that had belonged to his lordship’s father.” He grimaced. “I thought I’d seen him get mad before, but that was nothing compared to this. He was in a proper taking over that ring.”

  “Did he report Rowland’s thieving?”

  “That’s the funny thing,” Symond said, scratching his head. “He didn’t. He smacked him around a bit—until Rowland told him where he’d pawned it—and then told him he’d find somebody else to help carry out his plan if Rowland did anything else stupid.” His mouth twisted into a derisive sneer. “Rowland actually cried and begged his forgiveness.”

  “Where did he sell the ring?”

  “At a pawnshop down by the East Docks—Hurley’s, I think the name was.”

  Gabriel turned to Byer and could see his friend was thinking the same thing he was: a rat always returned to its lair.

  “You mentioned a plan,” Gabriel said. “What plan?”

  “Whatever it was, they were doing it after the masquerade ball. Rowland met him here, and they left the house together.”

  “Was Rowland in costume?”

  “No, sir. Just his regular cheaply made togs.”

  “They must have meant to do something at the ball but it fell through,” Byer said.

  “So they left Drusilla and came for Samir.”

  Byer pushed off the desk and stood over Symond. “Is there anything else?”

  “I’ve told you all I know, sir.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, sir. Everything.”

  Byer turned to Gabriel. “You ready?”

  He nodded, and they headed for the door.

  “Sirs!”

  They both turned to find the valet standing in the middle of the room, his hands out.

  “What?” Gabriel asked, impatient to be moving on.

  Symond gestured around the room. “What should I do?”

  “About what?”

  “About Lord Visel. He should have been home already—I think something might have happened to him. Surely I should do something? Tell someone?”