by Louise Allen
‘No problem. And you had a lot on your mind at the time.’
‘I will go and find out now before they have the chance to forget any more than they probably have already. I should have thought to check those names yesterday.’
James looked up from where he was trying his hand at the coded ledgers. From the muttering and scattered paper he was having no luck with them either. ‘Did you say Albright?’
‘The porters saw a Mr Albright and an A. Albright is a Home Office Clerk.’
‘Augustus Albright. I saw him with George Coates once or twice in gaming clubs. Keen card player.’
‘And not the marrying kind?’ Luc asked.
‘No, definitely not. He was never seriously involved with George that I know of, simply as a partner at cards.’
‘But he was here around the time I was attacked, he knew Coates socially and at the Home Office, he was equally vulnerable to blackmail and he might have gambling debts. What does he look like?’
‘Dark hair,’ James admitted. ‘Medium height and build.’
‘That’s what the porters’ notes say.’
‘What about J. Potter?’
James shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’ He bit the end of his pen. ‘If we are dealing with blackmail then Albright might be responsible – he’d know the secrets.’
‘Wouldn’t he be equally vulnerable? Surely his victim would simply turn around and threaten to expose him too?’
‘And Coates was the one with money we can’t account for,’ Luc pointed out. ‘If he was being blackmailed, that doesn’t make sense.’
‘He was blackmailing Albright and then had an attack of conscience?’ I suggested.
‘No, not George,’ James said, without a shadow of doubt in his voice.
‘What about Talbot? Listen – this might make sense. Talbot knows Albright through Coates, knows he’s particularly vulnerable because of his government work, blackmails him, Coates finds out and hangs himself in horror at what his lover’s done.’
‘Possibly.’ Luc frowned over it for a moment. ‘But that doesn’t make sense with the note – What have I done. And Talbot doesn’t seem to have needed the money.’
‘Often the people who commit the crimes to get money are the people who don’t really need it,’ I said, remembering some of the white collar crime I’d encountered in training.
Garrick came back in looking harassed. ‘Yes, that was Elliott Reece. The porters remember him because they don’t like him. He was offensively rude when they asked his name the first time he called on Trelway and he stuck in their mind.’
‘He sounds as though he has an overdeveloped sense of entitlement,’ I said. ‘Which probably means he isn’t as bright as he thinks he is. Do we know whether he is interested in women?’
‘If he isn’t, I don’t know about it,’ James said. ‘Why, are you thinking of seducing the truth out of him?’
Luc sat bolt upright in his chair and said something exceedingly ungentlemanly, ending up with, ‘Over my dead body.’
‘I was merely thinking of talking to him and looking admiring, not seducing him,’ I said mildly. ‘He probably can’t resist the opportunity to show off and he could well let something slip, especially if he doesn’t know who I am. That type is usually very unobservant – unless I’ve been specifically pointed out to him as being close to you, he’ll not know.’
Luc didn’t look convinced.
‘Look, if we go to the garden party tomorrow and move about as a trio with our backs to the wall we will never learn anything. It will be broad daylight in a controlled space, which has to be pretty safe, surely?’ Oh for bugs and smart phones…
‘Then we need to keep an eye on each other,’ Luc said. ‘And we need a list of all the Home Office men so we can talk to as many as possible and make notes against each.’
‘Good idea. I’ll take Elliott Reece and the Count and also talk about Doctor Talbot and see if any of the ladies respond, but I’ll have the list as well in case I encounter anyone on it.’
James eventually took himself off back to his own lodgings and a card game that had been arranged days before. Garrick shut himself in the kitchen, hopefully to cook up a storm, because I’d reached the stage of needing to either drag Luc off to bed – which was clearly unwise – or eat, preferably thoroughly unhealthy things like ice cream and chips.
I curled up on the floor and leaned against Luc’s leg, which was comforting and even better when he reached out and began to stroke my hair. It took a minute or two of enjoying that before I realised that his fingers were stiff, the leg I was leaning against was tense.
‘What is it? Does your head hurt badly?’ I twisted round to look up at him, then came up on my knees and rested my elbows on the arms of the chair so not to put any pressure on his bruised ribs.
‘No.’
‘What’s wrong? Other than the fact that someone tried to kill you, we’ve a murder and a suicide to solve and James is at risk if the reason he knows the victims comes out.’
‘No, none of those things. Nothing.’ He was avoiding my eyes, I realised, so I didn’t move, just stayed there, caging him into the chair, watching his face while he rolled his shoulders, shifted about and generally pretended that everything was fine and he had no idea what I was going on about.
Eventually I won, although by that time I was beginning to wish I hadn’t started this. What if he told me that what he felt for me had simply been a passing attraction, that we shouldn’t be lovers any longer, that I was an unwanted complication in his life? I wasn’t sure I could cope with that because now I was very much afraid that I was in love with Lucian Franklin.
‘What brings you here, to this time?’ he asked, startling me out of my gloomy thoughts.
‘The miniature of you seems to be the mechanism.’
‘But why? Both times you have come when I was facing a puzzle, a serious problem.’
‘Yes, but twice is not statistically significant – that might simply be coincidence,’ I argued.
‘But you come to me. Not to this place, because it has been somewhere different each time. Not to a specific date, but to me. That cannot be simply chance, can it?’
‘No,’ I agreed. I come to you.
‘What happens if I am not here, in this time, but you are? What if I’d been killed on Friday? What would have happened to you?’
‘I would stay until the original problem was solved,’ I said, trying to reason rationally and not think about Luc being killed. ‘That was what happened last time. Or I would go back immediately.’
‘But would the same mechanism work? We have no idea how it happens. You could vanish into nothingness or you could be stranded here for ever.’
Well, that was cheerful. ‘I have a strong bond to James and Garrick now,’ I said, searching for something positive. ‘That would probably make it work, whatever it is. And anyway, you aren’t dead, so it doesn’t arise.’ I leaned in and kissed him, becoming aware that he was very much alive, even if his eyes were shadowed with worry.
He hauled me in and kissed me back, apparently determined to prove it. I shouldn’t have let him, I knew, it was probably high on the list of things not to do with concussion, but if it distracted him from worrying about me, then it was worth it.
The door opened and Garrick made his Interrupting Butler Pretending He Hasn’t Seen a Thing noise, a kind of polite cough plus an Ahem! ‘Dinner is served, my lord.’
We got to our feet and I followed Luc to the table, trying not to look as though my appetite had completely deserted me. Food and the prospect of sex might distract a slightly-concussed male for a while, but that conversation had left me worried. I’d been trying not to think about Luc’s narrow escape, now I had to worry about what exactly had pulled me here through time and what might stop me going back. And returning again. To Lucian.
Chapter Thirteen
If it wasn’t for the stitches in the back of his head no-one would ever have guessed that Luc had been injured if th
ey had seen him at breakfast Monday morning. He looked disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed whereas I felt as though I’d hadn’t slept properly for forty-eight hours. When I looked in the mirror I shuddered and thought longingly of my drawer full of make-up at home, but I did my best with mascara, tinted moisturiser and crushed geranium petals mixed with my lip gloss. (I knew reading all those historical romances would come in useful some day.)
By the time James arrived looking elegant and, to my eyes, strained, Luc’s hair was glued firmly into place with the whites of three eggs with enough still in the larder to redo it in the evening. The jewellery collection produced aquamarines and pearls to go with my gown of pale blue muslin, satin-straw bonnet with silk ribbons dyed to match the gown and deep blue shawl draped elegantly over my elbows.
Garrick provided a parasol to match the shawl, kid gloves, a reticule and a string of instructions including a prohibition on huddling into the shawl, even if it turned cold. Apparently my skin could turn blue to match the gown before I would be permitted to do anything so inelegant. The men, of course, were comfortable in palest biscuit-coloured pantaloons, Hessians, swallow-tailed coats and elegant waistcoats.
Garrick hovered with the clothes brush, flicking at imaginary flecks of dust until I told the three of them to stop peacocking and give some thought to what we were supposed to be doing at the garden party.
Finally we set out, each with a copy of the list of Home Office staff, some paper and a pencil for notes and assurances on my part that I would not go off into the shrubbery with anyone, let alone a government clerk. Garrick slipped me a folding knife which, when I opened it, glinted at me wickedly. It was most definitely a bladed weapon within the meaning of the Act and I’d have arrested anyone on sight if I’d seen it when on duty in my time, although I’d have called for back-up first. I folded it up again gingerly and put it in my reticule where it nestled incongruously into a lavender-scented handkerchief.
Luc settled next to me in the carriage and stared fixedly at his brother. ‘What’s wrong, James. No, don’t say nothing, I won’t believe you.’
‘There have been reports of men hanging around a couple of the clubs.’ James shifted uncomfortably against the upholstery and I realised that by clubs he wasn’t talking about White’s or Boodle’s. ‘Plain clothes, but all the marks of constables. They seem to be taking notice of who goes in and out and the staff report approaches being made when they are off duty – friendly strangers in public houses asking about their work, that kind of thing.’
‘Have you been to any of those clubs since they started watching?’ Luc demanded sharply.
‘No, but this isn’t just about me,’ James snapped back. ‘There are my friends to think about. If the authorities are cracking down – ’
‘And why now?’ I asked. ‘Does this happen regularly and is it just a coincidence that it is happening now?’
‘Yes, it happens,’ James said. ‘But the clubs are normally safe. The blatant molly houses run into trouble regularly, but the clubs have a face of – ’ He grimaced. ‘Respectability. They are houses of assignation, but they have a front that is enough to fool anyone not in the know.’
‘Even so, you’ll avoid them,’ Luc said, very much the Earl. ‘Stick to White’s and Brooks’s.’
‘Damn it, I’m not seventeen,’ James protested.
‘No, you are old enough to know better and not go risking your confounded neck.’
‘Do you think how I feel, how I am, is some adolescent game?’ James demanded, furious.
‘No. I think it a lethally dangerous part of you which cannot be changed – but you need to learn caution.’
‘I am cautious! If I dressed like Freddie Duncan and trailed up and down St James’s Park batting my eyelashes at any passing guardsman or with a pretty boy on each arm, then you could lecture me on caution – ’
‘His father’s one of Prinny’s favourites,’ Luc said crushingly. ‘If Prince George owed me as much money as he does him, then you could take out an advertisement in the Times announcing your preferences and still get away with it. As it is, I can probably keep you off the scaffold and out of the pillory. I hope.’
James subsided into seething silence and, when we arrived, got out of the carriage and stalked off by himself.
‘He will get over it,’ Luc said curtly, helping me out. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
I did my best not to, not helped by the fact that Luc was clearly very worried indeed about his brother.
I had wondered how anyone could host a full-scale garden party with hundreds of guests in central London, then realised that many of the great Town houses had very large gardens that had been built over during the Victorian period. In the twenty-first century only the royal palaces and the Saudi Embassy in what was Crewe House on Curzon Street have kept their sweeping grounds, but the Liverpool’s house and garden could easily accommodate the crowd of guests.
‘I can see some of the gentlemen from Mr Salmond’s office,’ I said once we had negotiated the receiving line and emerged onto the terrace. ‘I’ll just – ’
‘You can’t simply stroll up to a group of men.’ Luc slapped his hand over mine where it rested in the crook of his elbow. ‘I will have to come with you and then drift away.’
We were recognised and greeted warmly. I got the impression that enough champagne had been drunk, at just on midday, to relax everyone nicely. I smiled and apologised for not having remembered names and was mentally able to tick off Messrs Green, Hopkins, Bradshaw, Ruggles, Galway and Prettiman.
Luc wandered away and I settled down to half an hour of chatting, mild flirting and fizz before I started digging. ‘I was so excited to discover that the Home Office is in charge of spies. Or are you all really secret agents of the Crown?’
They grinned and shuffled their feet and did their best to look dashing and mysterious, all except Mr Prettiman who appeared to have no sense of humour. ‘Certainly not.’ He looked down his over-long nose at me. ‘English gentlemen do not engage in such activities.’ Oh yeah? ‘The Home Office directs the activities of various foreign nationals who may be of assistance.’
‘That’s mostly Sir Thomas’s section,’ Mr Hopkins explained. I remembered him from our visit to the office, skinny and freckled. ‘They give themselves airs about it.’
‘Mostly?’ I queried. ‘So none of you have anything to do with it?’ I looked disappointed. ‘Or are some of you really spy masters and you are just teasing me?’ I opened my eyes wide. ‘Oh no, was that poor man who died involved with spies? Is there really a deep dark mystery?’
‘Coates? No, of course not.’ That was Prettiman again, looking disapproving. ‘He worked on petitions. Deadly stuff, because it is exceedingly dull and he had to spend so much time hanging around St James’s Palace waiting for courtiers. Excuse me.’ He stalked off.
‘Stuffy so-and-so,’ Hopkins said and the others nodded. ‘Actually, I did wonder if Coates was trying to get a transfer to Sir Thomas’s section. He was asking about intelligence a few weeks ago. Do you recall, Bradshaw?’
Mr Bradshaw blinked at me from behind thick lenses. ‘He was, wasn’t he? But I think that was because Mr Reece put his back up. That’s Sir Thomas’s nephew who works with him. Objectionable type. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d been baiting Coates with how much more important his work was than ours, that kind of thing. Anyway, Coates mentioned Reece several times.’ He shrugged. ‘We don’t have anything to do with them upstairs really.’
That was some meat to chew over, although what it meant – if anything – I couldn’t tell. I thought I had better do some circulating, see if I could find some of the ladies whose names had been in Talbot’s ledgers. I thanked the young men for their company and the champagne, said I had to catch up with Lord Radcliffe and strolled off.
The gardens had been heavily planted with clumps of shrubs. I rounded one group and found myself not out in the open again, but in a kind of little glade. ‘Drat.’ I turned on
my heel and walked slap into a man.
‘I am so sorry,’ he drawled and took me by the elbows as though to steady me. He was, presumably, used to females becoming unsteady at the sight of him, with some reason. He was gorgeous – thick black hair, deep blue eyes, chiselled cheekbones. Elliott Reece, of course.
Mr Reece might be delicious to look at, if one ignored the assessing look in his eyes, but he was also a Class One creep, as I rapidly discovered. The supporting hands didn’t let go but his thumbs began to caress the inside of my elbows and his mouth curved into an expression that managed to mix lasciviousness with a large dose of smug.
‘Oh!’ I teetered forward, fell against him and, when he shifted his grip to grab me by the waist, I used my elbow to catch him in the ribs and trod on his instep with the neat little heel of my shoe.
He let go, reeled back and mouthed something that I had no trouble interpreting as Anglo-Saxon and four-lettered. Now I had to be careful. I wanted to talk to him but I did not want to be groped by him and this was going to take some doing.
‘I am so sorry!’ I rushed forward, caught his arm and pushed him down on to a bench that was just behind him. ‘I quite lost my balance. Are you hurt, sir?’ I plumped down on the other end of the seat and put my parasol and reticule between us. ‘You are so brave – I must have caused you pain.’ I batted my eyelashes, a thing I had never done seriously in my entire life before, but was becoming worryingly proficient at in 1807. I gazed at him, wondering if I could go for worshipful or whether that was completely overdoing it. ‘Would you like to use my smelling salts?’
‘No. That is, no thank you.’ The calculating look was back in his eyes and I guessed he’d decided I was a foolish, clumsy female who was too naive to realise that she was in any danger from a good-looking man in the shrubbery. This, come to think of it, was the one thing I had promised Luc I would not do. ‘Elliott Reece at you service, ma’am. I realise that we have not been introduced – ’
‘I think almost knocking each other over counts.’ I managed a light laugh. ‘I am Cassandra Lawrence from Boston in the United States and I am visiting relatives in London.’
