She shook her head, then Hugh leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
“Take him to the Metropolitan Police Department,” Hugh said to the two men holding her cousin. “Tell Commissioner Mayne to detain him as long as possible. Describe in detail exactly what Chillbrooke planned. Take the letter with you and have him keep it in Chillbrooke’s file. Then tell him that if anything suspicious happens to me, Chillbrooke is the first suspect.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Chillbrooke argued. “I refuse to be treated like a common criminal.”
Hugh glared at him. “You should have thought of that before you carried out the actions of a common criminal.”
“Be thankful my son is so lenient,” the Earl of Winsome added. “Because I’m not nearly so forgiving. Lady Cushing’s ball is tonight, and by the time I leave the festivities, everyone in attendance will know precisely what you tried to do to my son and Lady Lorna.”
“You can’t!” Chillbrooke hollered. “I’ll be ruined.”
“I’m sure you will,” the Earl of Winsome added.
Hugh nodded to his friends and they led Chillbrooke away. He looked to the corner where Burlingdon had been hiding. The corner was empty.
“I see the rat has left the sinking ship.”
Lorna smiled. “So it seems.”
When Chillbroooke was gone, Hugh gathered her hands in his. “Lady Lorna Willis, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes filled with tears and Lorna had to swallow past the lump in her throat before she could answer. “There’s nothing I would like more.”
With Hugh’s father and brother on one side of them, and Mack and Hugh’s fellow brigadesmen on the other, they stood before Reverend Cunningham and repeated their vows.
“Remember when I promised I would take care of you?” Hugh whispered to her.
With tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks, Lorna answered with a nod.
“That’s one promise I intend to keep for the rest of our lives.”
Then Hugh leaned down to kiss her again as everyone cheered for the happy couple. He touched her cheek with his steady hand.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
She blushed, but instead of shrinking, she pressed toward him. His compliment rose in her breast like a small, trapped bird fluttering free at last.
Lorna had never felt more beautiful in her life.
Prologue
Reid Livingston knew he should have stopped drinking four or five tankards ago. Just like he knew he should have been wise enough to throw in his cards and play the loser instead of taking such pride in besting the ruffians at the Beef and Ale Inn. Most of all though, he shouldn’t have goaded the men at the table into betting beyond the coin they had in their pockets, then taking it from them.
But Reid never thought of important things like those until it was too late. Until he was backed into a corner with no way to escape except by the use of his fists.
“You cheatin’ bastard,” one of the three men at the table bellowed.
Reid didn’t know him, only knew his friends called him Bark. Reid wanted to ask what the hell kind of name was that, except maybe the name fit. He did seem to bark his words when he talked.
Or maybe he was called Bark because his weathered face reminded Reid of the trunk of a twisted old ugly tree. Then, Reid realized Bark’s drunken friend had said Bart. Not Bark. Not that it mattered. Bart was mad as hell, drunk as a sailor his first night ashore, and mean as a hound with a sore paw. That should have warned Reid to back off long before now, but it hadn’t. The ale he’d poured down his throat gave him a false sense of invincibility, as well as more courage than was wise to exhibit. He’d no doubt realize that in the morning when he sobered.
“Are you calling me a cheat?” Reid said, sliding back his chair. He staggered to his feet and braced his hands on the scarred table and leaned toward the man making the accusation.
“You damn betcha I am,” Bart yelled back.
“And so are we,” the other two men at the table said, rising to their feet to make a solid line with their friend.
Reid hadn’t seen these men before tonight. One was called Skiver, and the other Plank. That was the extent of what he knew of them. Except that they were both big as an ox and probably twice as dumb. Reid released a low groan and prepared himself for the fight that would come next. He’d been in spots like this before—more times than he wanted to remember. Odds of three to one weren’t the most favorable, but he’d faced worse and survived.
For a fleeting moment he considered his options. He could always apologize and offer to give the winnings back. He rejected that idea as quickly as it popped into his mind. No, he’d stand and fight. He may not take all three of them down, but he’d get the better of at least one of them before they relieved him of his coin.
Reid pushed away from the table and readied himself for the battle that was about to ensue. He knew every inch of his body would scream with pain when he tried to rise in the morning, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
“You are gonna tell these blokes that you’re a bloody card cheat.” Skiver said, pointing to the crowd of onlookers who were anxiously awaiting the first punch.
“Ah, Skiver. Nobody would believe me if I told such a lie. There isn’t a man in here who doesn’t know how poorly you and your friends play.”
“Why you bloody—”
Those three words were the only warning Reid had before Skiver threw the first punch.
The table overturned and one of the chairs flew across the room. The man called Plank swung his fist. Luckily, Reid anticipated his move and brought his fist up beneath Plank’s jaw.
Plank’s head flew back and his eyes rolled in his head as he toppled over backward and landed on the floor.
A feeling of confidence rushed through Reid’s body and he smiled. The odds suddenly seemed more balanced—until Bart pinned Reid’s arms behind him, and Skiver punched him in the gut.
The air left Reid’s body in a rush, then Skiver’s fist flew forward and slammed into his jaw.
Reid’s head snapped to the side and bright lights exploded behind his eyelids. He shook his head to clear it, then kicked out his leg and caught Skiver in the groin.
The big man bellowed in a voice that sounded as if it had been squeezed from his throat. The crowd of onlookers roared. Reid strutted. It would be fun to relive the scuffle for Roarke later. He had no idea what it was Roarke wanted to meet him here tonight for. Whatever it was, his twin brother was damned excited about it. It would have to wait, though, until Reid filled him in on his latest victory. But Reid’s triumph was short-lived. Skiver heaved himself up from the floor and with a demented roar turned on him with a vengeance. At the same moment Bart dove toward him.
The three of them fell on a table and it crashed into a million splinters beneath them.
Reid tried to get free, but the two giants had him pinned down. Large, beefy fists struck him in the face and gut. One eye was already swollen shut, and blood ran down his face in thick rivulets that made seeing out of his good eye nearly impossible.
The beating Skiver and Bart gave him was taking its toll. Reid knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness, and almost welcomed it. The beating might continue after he was out, but at least he wouldn’t feel it.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, Skiver’s weight lifted off him. Then Bart’s.
Reid swiped the blood from his eye to see what had happened. He groaned when he realized that his rescuer was his brother Roarke.
“Blimey,” Skiver bellowed. “There be two of him!”
“Get the hell out of here, Roarke!” Reid bellowed.
The last person he wanted anywhere near a fight was his brother. It wasn’t that Roarke couldn’t handle himself in a brawl, he could. As good if not better than Reid. But the only time Roarke was involved in a fight, it was Reid’s fault.
Roarke would never have a part in something so undi
sciplined. Or even worse, would never start a fight.
Even though they were twins and few could tell them apart, they were as different as night and day. As different as black from white. As different as good from bad. And Reid doubted Roarke had ever done a bad thing in his life.
Reid bolted to his feet and tried to shove Roarke away from Skiver’s lethal fists. But Roarke deflected the giant’s blow, then turned to take aim at Bart.
“Get out of here, Roarke!” Reid bellowed again. “This isn’t your fight.”
Roarke ignored Reid and swung his fist at an attacking Skiver.
Reid wanted to call a halt to the fight so he could shove his brother from the inn, but that wasn’t possible. Now he’d have to look at the bruises that would be a week-long reminder that his brother had once again come to his rescue. That his brother had borne the brunt of the punishment that should have been his.
Now Reid would have to live with the guilt that always plagued him after Roarke got him out of the trouble his irresponsible behavior got him into.
When would he learn? When would he turn over a leaf and be more like his brother? Like the good twin?
Reid threw a hard punch into Bart’s face. Bones snapped beneath his knuckles and blood spurted out of Bart’s nose and mouth. The painful bellow that filled the noisy room was louder than the shouting and cheering from the onlookers.
Reid turned away from Bart and moved to help his brother, but there was nothing to help him with. Skiver was sprawled on the floor. Reid doubted he’d wake up before morning.
Reid looked into Roarke’s face. Bruises were already darkening his cheeks and one eye was swollen. “I didn’t need your help,” Reid said, struggling to form words through his swollen lips.
“The hell you didn’t. I can’t remember a time when you didn’t need my help.” He grinned. “’Sides, who’s going to help me celebrate tonight if you’re dead to the world?” He slapped Reid on the shoulder and they winced in unison.
Reid reached for a cup of ale one of the patrons of the inn handed him while patting him on the back, and took a swallow. The ale that ran out of his mouth burned as it hit his split lip.
“Here,” he said, handing Roarke the tankard. “This will help.”
Roarke reached for the cup, then lifted his gaze to a spot behind Reid.
“No!” he hollered, as he shoved Reid out of the way and lunged forward.
Reid wasn’t sure what happened next. All he knew was that when he looked, Roarke was staggering above him. His face bore a look of confusion and disbelief. And his hands clutched at a long-handled knife that was sticking out of his chest.
“No!” Reid bellowed as he scrambled to his feet. He reached for Roarke and caught him as he crumpled to the floor.
“Roarke!”
The expression on Roarke’s face changed to one of peaceful resolve. “It’s all right…Reid,” he gasped through his heavy breaths. “It doesn’t…hurt.”
“Hang in there, Roarke. We’ll get a doctor.”
Roarke clutched at Reid’s shirt and pulled him closer. “It’s too late.”
“No, it isn’t. You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you are.”
“I’m not worried about…me,” Roarke said. His voice was weaker now. His words more slurred. “It’s you. Who’s going to take care of you…now? You and…and…”
“You will,” Reid said, cradling his brother’s body in his arms. “Like you always have,” he finished, after Roarke’s limp hand released the hold he had on Reid’s shirt.
CHAPTER 1
Millie Shaw glanced back to make sure the children in the nursery were settled, then left the room. She walked down the hall and descended the stairs. She didn’t know what the meeting was about, but it must be terribly important for Lord Strothum to summon the entire staff to the servant’s hall. Millie was shocked when Lady Strothum had informed her that she would watch the children while Millie and Janie, Millie’s helper, went below stairs.
“What do you think is the matter?” Janie asked as they reached the bottom of the steps.
“I don’t know, but it must be serious. This is the first time I recall Lord Strothum calling the entire staff together. Usually, Rogers is the one who calls any meetings.”
“’Spose we’re getting the sack?”
Millie looked at the worried expression on Janie’s face. Janie was the oldest of six children, and a share of the wages she earned working for Lord Strothum helped her mother feed Janie’s brothers and sisters. “No, Janie. I doubt Lord Strothum is letting anyone go. Unless they’ve done something wrong.” That had to be it. Millie just wondered what that something was. She’d never known Lord Strothum to discipline an employee in front of the entire staff. That was the butler’s purview. And even Rogers, who’d been butler here for nearly a decade now, handled that particular part of his job with discretion.
No, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
Millie joined the rest of the staff as they filed into the room. The whispered comments around them echoed the same sentiments she and Janie had shared. They all wondered what had happened for their master to call such an important meeting. And important it was. Even Cook had left her kitchen to attend. And that never happened.
Two rows of chairs had been set up and the female staff members hesitantly took them while the men stood with their backs against the wall. Everyone eyed the person next to them, wondering if perhaps they knew the reason they’d been called together. It was indeed a somber gathering.
Millie sat in a chair in the second row, and waited. When the Earl of Strothum arrived, Rogers closed the door. Everyone turned to watch his lordship make his way to the front of the room. But he wasn’t alone. Three other men were with him.
“Do you know the men with his lordship?” Janie whispered.
Millie shook her head. She’d never seen any of them before, but that didn’t mean they’d never been here. Although she had a room of her own down the hall from the nursery, she spent most of her time on the third floor with the children. She rarely got a glimpse of the visitors who came to see Lord or Lady Strothum.
Millie took note of the three men with Lord Strothum. They were each unique in their own way. All tall, with broad shoulders, and serious expressions. Their gazes studied the people in front of them as if they were memorizing faces so they could put names to them later.
The man standing closest to Lord Strothum seemed to be the oldest of the group, although one could hardly call him old. Perhaps thirty-two or thirty-three at most. Yet he was clearly in charge. He and Lord Strothum exchanged a few hushed words, then the earl turned to face his staff.
“I know you’re anxious to hear why I’ve called you here. I wish I could say the reason was pleasant, but it is not.”
The staff around her looked at each other with expressions that said, ‘See, I told you so’.
“First, allow me to present my guest. This is Mr. Mack Wallace.” Lord Strothum nodded toward the older man next to him. “He is director of the Bedford Street Brigade, a group of highly trained investigators.”
A hushed murmur settled over the staff. His lordship held up his hand to quiet them.
“With him are two of the three investigators he brought to assist him. They are Mr. Jack Conway…” A brown-haired young man of about twenty-six or twenty-seven gave the group a sharp nod. “…And Mr. Hugh Baxter.” A man with hair a lighter shade than the other offered the same greeting.
“A third investigator is still at the scene.”
There was the sound of hushed whispers as everyone repeated the word ‘scene’.
Lord Strothum continued. “This morning, Rogers and I discovered Jimmy Jamison’s body in the library.” The room went still. “He’d been murdered sometime during the night.”
Hushed murmurs erupted into loud whispers of shock and disbelief as many turned their gazes to where the butler Rogers stood at the side of the room in stoic solemnity.
There was a sharp int
ake of breath from several of the younger female staff members, then the sound of quiet sobbing.
Jimmy Jamison had been a handsome young footman with whom most of the young maids were madly in love. He’d proved his willingness to work hard, and Millie had overheard several of the upstairs maids comment that if Rogers didn’t watch out, Jimmy would be after his post.
“We assume that Jimmy happened upon some thieves attempting to break into the house. Since nothing was taken, we believe that our brave footman chased them off before he died.”
“A real hero that lad,” Cook said, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her apron.
“Yes, he was a hero,” Lord Strothum repeated. “Which is why Mr. Wallace and his investigators are here. Lady Strothum and I feel responsible for what happened and we don’t intend to let Jimmy’s death go unsolved.”
“Bless you, my lord,” several of the servants echoed.
“Mr. Wallace and his investigators will be here for the next several weeks. They will want to speak with each of you. I expect you to give them your full cooperation. One never knows when something you say may be of help.”
There was an exuberant murmuring of agreement.
“Is there anything you’d like to add, Mr. Wallace?” Lord Strothum said to the chief investigator.
“No, other than I’d like to thank each of you in advance for your assistance. My men will be here for some time, and I want to apologize for any inconvenience we might cause.”
“Your being here won’t be an inconvenience,” Lord Strothum added. “It will be our pleasure to assist in any way possible.”
This was followed by another murmur of agreement.
“If there’s nothing else—” Lord Strothum began, then stopped when the door opened.
Heads turned as a stranger entered the room. Evidently the third investigator. The one who’d stayed behind to study the area where Jimmy had been killed.
Millie turned to catch a glimpse of the man.
Her heart skipped a beat. Something inside her turned and tumbled. A million pinpricks stabbed her flesh.
“Allow me to present another of my investigators,” Mr. Wallace said as the broad-shouldered man walked toward the front of the room. “This is Roarke Livingston. He and Mr. Conway will be in charge of the investigation and will be spending the most time here.”
Love Unbidden: Tales of the Bedford Street Brigade Page 26
