“I gather that was enough to form an opinion?”
Mrs. Huffington looked down at her feet. “Yes.”
“An unsatisfactory opinion?” she guessed.
“I think, under the circumstances, I will have to trust you. If I can spare you what I suffered, I feel it is my obligation. But what I have to say is for your ears only, Miss O’Rourke, or I shall say nothing at all.” Mrs. Huffington looked around, almost as if she expected to find Mr. Henley lurking nearby. Servants were placing chairs about the room in preparation for the performance and not paying the least attention to them.
Gina nodded, her heartbeat racing. If she could trust Mrs. Huffington, she could enlist her aid in locating Mr. Henley.
“I met Miss Metcalfe at a crush in early July,” Mrs. Huffington began. “I recall that precisely, because I was fresh out of mourning and we had just come to town. Miss Metcalfe and her brother were part of a large group of merry-makers. They invited me to join them in an excursion to Vauxhall Gardens. Lady Caroline, my aunt, said she could see no impediment after the group was vouched for by Lord Daschel, whom she knew quite well.”
Gina scarcely blinked at the mention of that loathsome name. Lord Daschel had been a founder of the Brotherhood, and responsible for seducing Cora into meeting him the night they killed her.
“We took a barge across the Thames, laughing and jesting the whole way. It was then that I met a Mr. Booth and Mr. Henley. I thought I had truly ‘arrived,’ if you know what I mean—terribly flattered to be a part of such a haute gathering.”
A smile came to Gina’s lips. She knew the feeling quite well. She, too, had wanted to belong.
Mrs. Huffington removed a lace-edged handkerchief from the little reticule dangling at her wrist and dabbed delicately at the corners of her eyes. “In the beginning, it was great fun. We danced and watched the fireworks, and then Mr. Henley brought us libation, toasting often and encouraging us to drink deeply.”
Just as he’d done with Gina when they’d left the theatre and gone to another part of town for the tableaus. She recalled growing quite tipsy rather quickly, and had begged off subsequent glasses of wine. Even so, she’d been quite ill the next day.
“I began to feel fuddled,” Mrs. Huffington continued. “Then Mr. Henley took my hand and asked me to walk with him. I thought there could be no harm in that and that perhaps it would clear my head. The walks were well lit and there were people all about. But we were no more than out of sight of the rest when he led me down quite another path. I learned later they call those paths ‘dark walks’ or ‘lover’s walks’ because they are not lit.
“I did not grow alarmed until Mr. Henley stopped and began to press me for favors.” She twisted her handkerchief as she recalled the events of that night. “Perhaps it was because I am a widow that he thought I would be receptive to such a ploy, but I demanded he stop at once. He did not. The more I struggled, the more…inflamed he became. I think…I really think, he enjoyed my terror.”
Gina covered the woman’s hand with her own. “You needn’t continue, Mrs. Huffington. I perceive the drift of your story.”
“There is more, but I have not spoken of it since that night. I have not even told Lady Caroline. I was afraid she would not trust my judgment after that.”
“My experience was much the same. But we went to a tableau at a mansion somewhere in Kensington.” Though she had been much more naive than Mrs. Huffington. She had gone back that second, nearly fatal, night.
Mrs. Huffington shuddered. “It was dreadful. I actually feared I would not escape with my virtue. But when he’d nearly ravished me, he stopped and said he wanted to ‘save’ me. Do you truly think he was remorseful and wanted to save my virtue?”
She thought it much more likely that he wanted to save Mrs. Huffington to be a victim for the ritual, for all that, as a widow, she could not be a virgin. “Did he call on you afterward? Or invite you to join his group another time?”
“Yes, but I declined to go. I have not spoken to any of them since.”
“Did you know that Mr. Booth and Mr. Metcalfe are both dead?”
Her green eyes widened in astonishment. “Gracious! Were they in an accident? How perfectly dreadful. I shall have to call upon Christina tomorrow.”
Gina shook her head. “No accident, I fear. I desperately need your help, Mrs. Huffington. We need to find Mr. Henley before anyone else dies.”
Mrs. Huffington took two steps backward and narrowed her eyes. “I am sorry, Miss O’Rourke, but I cannot help you.”
The guests began to take seats facing the pianoforte and Gina knew she would not have time to cajole Mrs. Huffington’s assistance. Plain speaking would have to suffice. “Lives may hang in the balance, Mrs. Huffington.”
But the lovely woman merely shook her head and backed away. “I wish you luck, Miss O’Rourke.”
After the last note had been played, Jamie’s attention was divided between his conversation with his brothers and watching Gina. Despite their earlier agreement, he was certain she was up to something. He had meant to leave her alone until it was time to take her and the Thayer twins home, but now he thought he would have to nip any plot Gina might be nurturing in the bud.
Marcus Wycliffe and Devlin joined their little group and Jamie only half listened to the conversation when one word caught his attention.
“Gibbons? Sorry, what did you say?”
“Artie Gibbons is dead,” Wycliffe repeated.
“How?”
“Bullet,” Devlin said. “I wonder if he had any last words.”
Jamie nearly choked on his wine. Lilly had gone a long way in civilizing Devlin, but he was glad to see that Devlin still maintained his wry humor.
“And Dick?”
“As you might imagine,” Wycliffe said.
“I might imagine nearly anything where Dick Gibbons is concerned. Either devastated and grief stricken or furious.”
“Devastation would require some actual humanity.”
Then it would be hell to pay for anyone Dick suspected of the deed.
“After the botched attempt on Charlie, I suspect Dick will be going after every Hunter and anyone attached to them.”
“Only if Artie had something to do with the attempt on Charlie.”
Devlin snorted. “If? Do cockroaches scurry from the light? Aye. Whether Artie held the gun or just stood by Dick as he pulled the trigger, the attack on Charlie was engineered by a Gibbons. Dick will make that connection.”
Jamie glanced at Gina, who had wandered closer to the group, and he wondered how much she’d heard. Enough to widen her eyes, it seemed.
“I warned them that they did not want to cross a Hunter, but you know how they are…were,” Devlin continued. “So blasted sure they could do whatever they pleased without consequence. They got away with everything else they’ve ever done, so I believe we owe our thanks to whoever pulled that trigger.”
They all raised their glasses in a silent toast to one another and Jamie wondered which one of them had actually “pulled that trigger.” Lockwood and Wycliffe were more than capable of it, Drew had not come to Charlie’s side until this morning, and Devlin might have even considered it his duty. Hell, Jamie would have done it himself if he hadn’t been keeping watch by Charlie’s bedside.
He drank to Devlin’s toast and then reminded them, “Alas, the job is only half done.”
“Dick will be harder to kill.” Drew nodded. “He’ll be looking for it.”
They grew thoughtful for a moment and then Wycliffe changed the subject. “I hear there is to be a tableau at Marchant’s tonight.”
“I know some find them entertaining, but I find them deucedly dull,” Devlin said.
Lockwood placed his empty glass on a tray borne by a passing footman. “That would depend upon the subject being reenacted. A Waterloo battle scene might be amusing.”
“I believe tonight’s subject is great works of art.”
Devlin yawned and glanced toward his
wife, across the room in conversation with guests. “I think I shall find something infinitely more amusing to entertain me.”
Drew laughed. “I will pass, Wycliffe, but perhaps Jamie could join you.”
Jamie had his own plans, and they didn’t include watching members of the ton dress up in costumes to replicate works of art on a stage. He had an idea of where he might find Henley’s mystery woman. “I have to pass. Perhaps another time?”
Wycliffe chortled. “Well, if I cannot lure anyone into sharing my misery, I believe I will drop by my office to see if there is any news, then go home and make an early night of it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The night had turned cold by the time Gina arrived home, escorted by Andrew and Bella instead of Jamie, who had made his apologies and then promised to come see her tomorrow afternoon. Or had he merely been trying to avoid her? Regretting his proposal?
She had waited an hour before donning her cloak and sneaking out the garden door to meet Ned. She’d overheard Lord Wycliffe’s announcement of a tableau at Marchant’s. A few discreet questions had revealed that this was Lord Marchant’s palatial home in Mayfair, and therefore not the same location as the erotic tableau where she’d met Christina Race. But, if Mr. Henley favored tableaus, perhaps he would be there. And if he was, she would summon the authorities at once.
Ned was waiting for her, barely perceptible in the shadows of a tree partway down the street. He emerged and came to her side. “Where to t’night, Miss Gina?”
“Do you know where Lord Marchant’s house is?”
“Aye, miss. Follow me, eh?”
As they rounded the corner, a dark form stepped in their way. “Oh, I do not think so,” he said.
She and Ned both squeaked in fright before they realized it was Jamie standing there, apparently waiting for her.
“Oh!” she gasped. “You frightened us to death!”
He looked them up and down. “A slight exaggeration. But do not think to divert me from the point, Eugenia, which is that you were not to investigate anything unless you were at my side.”
“And yet you were going out without me.”
Jamie pressed his lips together and pointed at Ned. “Hie back to your crib, boy. Miss O’Rourke will not need you further tonight, or any other night, for that matter.”
After a nod from Gina, Ned took off at a lope, but she knew he’d be there tomorrow night, too, if she needed him. The moment Ned was out of sight, she turned and faced Jamie.
“Where are we going, then?”
“You’re going home. I suspected you were up to something, so I came by here before going about my business. Home, Gina, where you will be safe and sound.”
She shook her head. “Together.”
He took her arm and turned her back home. “Where I am going, no decently raised woman would go.”
Decently raised? Insufferable. “Tell me.”
“I am going to a gaming hell. Thackery’s, to be precise. It is not the sort of place decent women go.”
“Since you will not answer my question, I do not know if I am decent or not. So shall we go without further delay?”
“Gina—”
“I can guess your arguments. My reputation. My good name. My safety. But those things mean nothing if I am already ruined. And nothing in view of the fact that I am leaving England after tomorrow. Who will remember me a fortnight hence? Who will care where I went or with whom?”
“No.”
“Why are you going, Jamie? For gambling? For a woman? Or on my business?”
“Henley is not just your business. He taints everything he touches, and he must be stopped.”
“Then do not worry over me. I am already tainted, am I not?” Oh, those words were bitter, but they finally hung in the air between them—his to refute or not.
He looked helpless, and she knew he could not counter her argument. Instead, he pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and draped it to shield her face. “The fewer people who recognize you, Gina, the better.”
His coach was waiting around the corner and he called an address to the driver and handed her in, settling himself beside her. “When we get there, Gina, try to say as little as possible. Do not speak to anyone I have not introduced you to, and keep your head down. Perhaps we will get out of this without damage.”
“What is our purpose there?”
“I am hoping we can discover who Henley’s mystery woman is.”
“At a gambling hell?”
“This one is a bit more democratic than the others. Courtesans, the demimonde and better cyprians frequent Thackery’s and mingle with the guests. More business than gambling is done above stairs. More to the point, when he was free to go about in society, Thackery’s was Henley’s favorite establishment. Any woman who kept his company would be familiar with the place.”
Cyprians? Did he mean prostitutes? “Is it squalid?”
Jamie laughed. “Very fashionable, actually, and clean. The food and drink are a bit more than passable. Only the customers are squalid.”
Gooseflesh rose on Gina’s arms. They would find the woman there, she was sure of it now. “And if we find her?”
“If so, I intend to persuade her to tell us where to find him. At the very least, once we learn her identity, we can set a watch on her and she will eventually lead us to him.”
Eventually. Gina did not have eventually. She only had tomorrow. She looked up at him and slipped her hand into his to give it a little squeeze. “You…you will write to me and let me know when he is captured, will you not?”
He gave her an infinitely sad smile. “Immediately.”
She nodded her understanding and was silent for the remainder of the ride, though Jamie did not release her hand and she gathered strength from that. She wanted to feel his determination, his warmth, as long as possible.
When the coach pulled up to an indiscriminate building near St. James Street, he got out, lifted her down and adjusted her hood. “Remember, keep your head down. With luck, we shall get our answer soon and not be here long.”
Inside, she allowed a footman to take her cloak, realizing she’d be conspicuous and draw more attention with it on. Jamie smiled at her, evidently approving her choice.
He led her into a large central room, a gambling salon with many tables throughout. There were cards, wheels and dice, and men clustered about to watch the play. Raucous laughter, quiet curses and the even tones of the croupiers punctuated the low tones of a three piece orchestra playing quietly in one corner.
A set of wide stairs led upward to a mezzanine that surrounded the room where men and brightly dressed women strolled, looking down on the players below. A massive chandelier that glittered with a thousand crystals hung from a gilded ceiling. Gina was ashamed to say that she was fascinated with the place. It was unlike anywhere she’d ever been—part palace, part carnival.
Jamie purchased a stack of counters and gave her a few. “If they think you are about to play, they will not bother you or make you go upstairs.”
“What is upstairs?”
“A ladies’ salon and a few private rooms, for those who have had too much to drink, and others who…are seeking other diversions.”
She glanced upward again, looking more closely at the ladies. Some were beautiful and dressed expensively, others were a bit more worn looking, and not quite as well turned out. Cyprians. Women who sold their favors. Women she’d never thought to mingle with, but who were now more like her than not.
She glanced down at her own gown, nearly scandalous by the standards of the ton, but prim in this place. She had the sudden urge to tug her bodice a bit lower just to fit in.
“’Lo there, Hunter. This your new mistress?”
She turned to look at the man who had just addressed Jamie. He was flushed and obviously in his cups. Jamie seemed annoyed, but he forced a smile and tucked Gina a bit tighter against his side. “She is, and I’ll thank you to keep your hands off her, Cavendish.”
She almost laughed when Jamie’s jaw tightened.
“What’s your name, poppet?”
She opened her mouth but Jamie interceded. “Mary.”
“Mary? I vow ’twould be Merry if you came with me, girl. And I vow I’d make merry, as well.” The man laughed with hardy enjoyment of his own joke.
Jamie didn’t bother with a reply and led her toward the staircase instead. “Stay within sight of me should we get separated, Gina. I am going to talk to some of the regulars to see if Henley has been around at all, then ask who they last saw him with.”
How clever. “I shall converse with some of the ladies, too,” Gina said.
“Ladies?” He laughed as they began to climb. “I think you had better stay close to me, poppet.”
And before she could catch her breath, she was in a smaller salon than the one downstairs, with softer lighting and mirrors and murals the length and width of the room. Pastoral scenes or…or…oh! Horned satyrs and naked women cavorted across the countryside and appeared to be copulating in every possible manner! Chubby-cheeked Pan-like creatures spilled wine over couples, and Gina wondered at the symbolism of such a thing until she saw one figure licking the libation off another. Her cheeks burned and she knew she was giving her naïveté away.
Jamie pressed a wineglass into her hand. “Breathe, Gina, and take a drink. It will steady your nerves.”
Bringing Gina to Thackery’s was a monumental mistake, but he hadn’t been able to figure any way around it. He did not fool himself that he could have taken her home and she would have stayed there. Keeping his eye on her would be considerably better than letting her wander about London unprotected. He could only hope that she would go unrecognized, although, as she’d been quick to point out, she would be gone in another day.
At his side, Gina took a long drink of her wine and then smiled up at him. “I believe I am better now. Thank you.”
A Rake by Midnight Page 21
