Discreet Gentleman Book One: A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery

by Tualla, Kris

  The creditor who came to her estate! Her heart thumped her ribs, urging her to run. But there was no room to slide past him.

  His mouth opened, but he didn't speak. He didn't introduce himself. He didn't step out of her path.

  He only stared.

  "Excuse me!" she spat.

  He took one large step backward and bowed elegantly low, before looking up at her with the hint of a grin. On closer view, his eyes looked blue. But maybe that was because he wore a blue tunic. Regin's glance flipped to another man behind him, not as tall and with brown hair and eyes, but just as strikingly handsome. She recognized him as well.

  She flew from the building and walked as quickly as she could without breaking into a full run. With every bit of distance she put between those two horrible men and herself, she felt a little less tainted. A little less panicked. A little more hopeful that Gulbrandsen might yet be able to help her.

  *****

  Brander was frozen by the unexpected appearance of the beautiful fowler from Hamar. Why was she in Christiania? How was she in Gulbrandsen's office? Who was she? Though he noticed her pink lips, glossy brown hair and flushing cheeks, all he could do was stare -- incredulous with the luck of it -- into her ocean-blue eyes.

  Excuse me, her mouth said, rippling an unsmiling sea of flawless skin.

  His manners jumped into place and pressed him into a courtly bow. He looked back up at her, risking a little smile. His pulse tripped and surged.

  She glared first at him then at Niels, and pushed past them. Why was she angry? Had her consult with Gulbrandsen gone poorly? The solicitor was intelligent and capable, so perhaps her quest was at fault. It didn't matter; he wanted to talk to her.

  Brander turned to see her rounded backside disappear out the door. His first urge was to run after her. Engage her and find out all about her. Reality, however, reined him in.

  What purpose would it serve? She didn't look the sort to offer a quick tumble, and he certainly wasn't looking for a romance. There was no reason to try to get to know either her or anything about her. For a brief moment, his resolve to never marry quaked.

  But the tremor passed and he stood firm once again.

  Niels smacked his arm and he turned. The two men walked into Gulbrandsen's richly paneled office and Brander shoved Lady Fowler forcibly from his mind with an insignificant amount of success.

  Gulbrandsen sat, slumping a bit, and extended his hand. "Welcome Niels, Brander. Or perhaps I should say, 'my Lords Olsen'!"

  Brander shook his hand first and -- while Niels prattled with the man -- evaluated his recovery. Arsenic poisoning was serious business. Gulbrandsen's brother tried to poison him and lay the blame on his wife. The solicitor was looking like a Nordic god compared to the last time Brander saw him.

  Gulbrandsen faced him. "I have a question to ask you."

  Brander nodded.

  The lawyer continued, his features glowing with amusement. "Are you well acquainted with the woman who left my office before you came in?"

  Brander pulled out his writing wallet. I saw her in Hamar but I do not know who she is.

  "Well, she knows you. Or so it seems."

  He shrugged casually to disguise his interest.

  Gulbrandsen glanced at Niels, who appeared as bemused as Brander felt. "That was Lady Regin Kildahl Skogen, Baroness of Hamar."

  Brander's knees buckled. That woman was Lady Kildahl? She was the beautiful fowler of Hamar? The coincidence shook his world for a moment and he dropped into a chair -- still warm from her bottom. Don't think about that!

  His hand wobbled a little as he wrote: Why was she here?

  Gulbrandsen was clearly enjoying the suspense and he handed out information like pennings to beggars. "She wants a divorce. The grounds are infidelity. But that isn't the most interesting aspect..."

  Brander narrowed his eyes and glared the man into speaking more quickly.

  "She says she took a lover..." Gulbrandsen's pale face ruddied and his eyes twinkled. "She says she bedded Lord Olaf Olsen."

  Niels' head tossed backward. His mouth stretched across both cheeks, his belly bounced and his eyes began to water. He slapped his thigh.

  Brander thought he might puke.

  I didn't -- I never--! He threw the gestures in wide angry arcs. How can she--?

  "We know you didn't Brand! That's why it's funny," Niels said.

  Not funny! he retorted.

  He pulled a clean sheet of paper and wrote in dark angular letters: I have built a reputation for discretion!

  Niels wiped a tear, a smile still spanning his face. "I understand, Brand..."

  Discretion means I do NOT bed my clients! Nor their wives!

  "Yes -- yes, of course." Corralling his mirth, Niels looked to Gulbrandsen. "What did you tell her?"

  "Only that I would look into her request. Though, truthfully, a divorce may not save her estate." His fingers drummed the top of his desk. He lifted them, drawing Brander's eyes back up to his. "Do you still want to pay for Skogen's entailments?"

  Brander glared at the solicitor.

  Yes. Yes I do. He fished the leather pouch from inside his tunic and dropped it in the desk: Count it.

  Gulbrandsen pitched a chagrined glance at Niels. He emptied the coins on his desk, and began to tally their worth. Niels clasped his shoulder and Brander turned a grim face to his cousin.

  I'm sorry, he motioned. You are right. It could be bad for business if her claim was made public.

  Brander nodded. He punched Niels in the arm and winked his begrudging forgiveness.

  Chapter Seven

  Christiania

  July 17, 1720

  Regin spooned soup through her lips, but had anyone asked, she could not have named the flavor. Her meeting this morning with the solicitor was not nearly as hopeful as she would have wished.

  While she knew that noblemen often took mistresses, it never occurred to her that should a wife object to that behavior and want to end the marriage, she wouldn't be allowed to do so. And then when she 'confessed' to infidelity of her own, she hadn't had time to realize that, of course, Thorlak would need to be the one to divorce her under that circumstance.

  "Lady? Would you care for some bread?" Marthe tore a chunk from the loaf and handed it to her.

  Regin accepted the bread without speaking and dipped it in her soup. Then she held it over the bowl, dripping. She stared at it, forgetting what she was supposed to do with it.

  Without cause, she suddenly missed her pappa and mamma.

  Her father took a chill three and a half years ago. It turned into a terrible fever and a rattle in his chest. For ten days, or perhaps it was more, she couldn't remember for certain, her mother sat by his bed. She bathed him with cool water or piled on extra blankets, held his hand, and talked to him ceaselessly in soft, intimate tones.

  He died anyway.

  Regin watched her mother fade away after that. First she lost weight. Then she lost color. Then she lost movement. And words. She was a silent shadow in her room, and it seemed that Regin could actually see through her.

  One morning, six months after her father's death, the shadow dissipated. Her mother lay in bed and her arms crossed over her chest as if she was holding someone close. Regin knew her father had finally come to take his beloved bride to Heaven.

  Her chest felt hollow, scooped out by the realization that Thorlak didn't love her that way. If he ever loved her at all.

  With the restraint of her parent's presence removed, his behavior began its slide in earnest. And now -- because of centuries of misbehavior by entitled noblemen -- she was unable to get free of him. Regin knew that he would never divorce her even if she had bedded another man. Or several other men, for that matter. Because if the marriage ended, Thorlak would lose his title and any illusion of wealth he might currently be stitching together.

  "I want to go home," she blurted.

  She yanked her gaze up to Marthe's. "I want to go home now. Tell Hauk. We'll ride as f
ar as far we are able today and sleep beside the road."

  The maid was surprised. "Don't you wish to wait and see what Mister Gulbrandsen says?"

  "He can't help me," Regin stated with sad certainty. "No one can help me."

  *****

  Brander and Niels entered an elegant building located in the elegant section of Christiania. Candles flamed along the walls and shimmered from wrought iron chandeliers above. Impeccably dressed servants offered the small assemblage of gentlemen akevitt, beer and wine. Platters of meat pies, smoked fish and pickled eggs were also passed. Brander smiled his thanks and helped himself.

  Niels had arranged for their invitation to the evening of gaming after they discovered that Thorlak was a regular attendee. He had not yet arrived, but Brander wasn't worried. Even if the man didn't appear, their participation -- and loss of substantial coin in the process -- would assure another invitation.

  Tonight Brander made no secret of his deafness. He only communicated with Niels in exaggerated hand motions, which Niels translated for the men present. Soon, they spoke to Niels about him, and didn't attempt to speak to him at all. And that was his plan.

  Tonight, his ability to read lips was his tool.

  That and the drab gray clothing. Because, as he often reminded Niels: once people find out I cannot hear, they forget I'm in the room.

  While indescribably painful as a child, it was indescribably useful as an adult.

  The group retired to an opulent room at the back of the second floor. A table with eight chairs was set with bottles of akevitt, pitchers of beer and crystal glasses. There were only six men present thus far, and they spread themselves around the polished wooden tabletop.

  Cards were dealt and wagers placed. Niels' role was to play honestly as much as he was able, losing only if he won too much. Early evening conversation was seldom of import, so Brander didn't bother reading lips; instead, he counted the cards. That skill ensured that he would win enough to stay solvent, but lose enough to keep the other gentlemen happy.

  Niels stood and said, "Pass over me for the next hand. Where's the privy?"

  Two of the men pointed and another dealt the cards. This was Brander's moment. Moving nothing but his eyes, he watched lips from behind his closely cupped cards. One fidgety man wondered how long Skogen might be.

  "Why? Does he owe you money?" asked a ruddy-faced gentleman before downing a glass of akevitt.

  "No... He was going to take me to meet someone later." The man's eyes shifted from his cards to the door several times.

  "What's her name?" another man asked. The table bounced with their collected mirth.

  Then Fidgety dropped his cards face down with a pout. "I'm out."

  Niels strolled in and regained his seat.

  Brander went back to counting cards.

  Half an hour later, all heads swiveled to the door. Skogen stumbled in looking rough. His hair hung in greasy strings and his clothes had not been cleaned in days. Brander struggled not to recoil at the stench and wondered how the other men tolerated it.

  Skogen took a seat across from Fidgety and was introduced to Niels and Brander, though of course they were not using their real names. After one round, Niels excused himself again, looking a bit uncomfortable.

  "I might have eaten something rank," he said and hurried from the room.

  Brander's eyes locked on Skogen.

  By the time Niels returned, Brander knew that Skogen and Fidgety would be leaving the game early. So he stood, gripped his midsection, and gestured to Niels.

  "What's he saying?" the ruddy man asked.

  "It seems he is having some distress as well. I am afraid we shall have to take our leave..."

  Brander pushed his cards to the center of the table, gathered up fewer coins than he began with, and staggered from the room. Once outside the building, he waited for Niels.

  "What did you learn?" Niels asked.

  Skogen is taking one of the men to meet someone. They are leaving the game early.

  "Do you think he means 'meet' like the last time"

  Brander nodded the possibility.

  When Skogen and Fidgety appeared, the cousins followed them. Again, Skogen met up with a stranger in the same arched doorway as the last time. Then he and Fidgety headed in the opposite direction of the mysterious man. This time, Brander and Niels both followed the cloaked stranger.

  When Niels followed him before, he lost the man on a narrow street near Saint Hallvard's, the medieval Franciscan Priory. Admittedly the priory was unlikely to house an opium dealer. But it was located in a clean and fairly wealthy part of Christiania. There was a very good possibility that a disgruntled servant from a nearby home sold the drug without his employer's knowledge.

  Or with his employer's knowledge, Brander mused. Perhaps a nobleman had fallen on hard times and might be trying to supplement his income.

  The dark-wrapped stranger kept to the walls and it was not possible to recognize him. Purple shadows and fog shrouded him. He moved so smoothly his speed was deceptive. As they neared the priory's neighborhood, the man turned a corner. Brander ran forward to follow him.

  But he wasn't there.

  He had disappeared on a narrow cobbled street, lined on either side by tall stone walls. With no gates. And no arches or doorways. No overhanging branches to yank himself over a wall. No cracks to hide in. The man had simply vanished in the dull arctic summer twilight.

  Lunde Boarding House

  Christiania

  July 18, 1720

  Brander was in an avalanche. The ground beneath him shook and he felt that he was falling. His eyes popped open to see Niels hovering over him and shaking him awake. He made a face, closed his eyes and rolled over. He buried his head under his pillow.

  Niels punched his ribs.

  He waved one hand: Go away.

  Niels lifted the pillow and smacked his head.

  Brander rolled over and glared at his cousin: What?

  "There has been another death. Or two, actually."

  Brander rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then he stretched; his ankles and feet exceeding the boundaries of his bed: Who?

  Niels shrugged. "Regent Bråthen sent a man and he requires our presence immediately."

  What time is it?

  Niels looked over his shoulder at the clock. "Half past six."

  Brander glowered: It's the middle of the night.

  "Even so, get your arse out of bed. Now." Niels left the room.

  Bråthen's man led Lord Olsen and his assistant to the inn where the dead men lay. It was the very same inn that Brander followed Skogen to before. A sick feeling churned in his belly. Could it be?

  And the unconscionable thought followed: was that a bad thing if it was?

  "Lord Olson!" Bråthen called to the men and waved them close. He turned sideways and Brander didn't know what else he might have said. So he followed Niels, knowing his cousin would tell him what he needed to know.

  When they topped the stairs and he saw which room was involved, Brander knew. He poked Niels. His cousin turned look at him, obviously curious.

  Brander mouthed: It's Skogen.

  Niels' head whipped around. Bråthen opened the door. Niels' shoulders slumped and he nodded.

  Brander didn't want to be right. And he hadn't had time to consider the impact of Skogen's death on his wife. The only fact he was certain of was that no new entailments should appear. He would need to investigate that -- quickly.

  The scene inside the room was terribly familiar, but not because two men were sprawled naked in the room, nor because one of the two dead men was Skogen.

  It was the way the corpses twisted as if in excruciating pain, the stench and stains of emptied bowels and bladders. Vacant eyes still open. Dried blood streaked from their mouths and noses. All echoed the dead man at the Valhalla Tavern.

  Brander motioned for permission to examine the corpses and Bråthen broke from his conversation with Lord Olsen -- Niels -- just long
enough to wave his consent. Brander approached the unknown man first. When he saw the man's face, his suspicion was confirmed.

  It was the fidgety man from yester eve's gaming.

  The faintest whiff of perfume tickled his nostrils and he assumed that sexual play was once again a portion of their planned debauchery. If he could find the whore, perhaps she might enlighten him as to the circumstances surrounding Skogen and his cohorts.

  He pushed his chin down and peered inside.

  The tell-tale brown coating on tongue and teeth signaled opium, as he fully expected. He sniffed the man's mouth. Then he sniffed again.

  None else betrayed its presence. The same as the first death.

  He knew of two common poisons that were odorless. One was arsenic, the poison that Gulbrandsen's brother was dosing him with. But arsenic was unpredictable in its speed; a lethal dose might take twelve hours or more to complete the job.

  Monkshood, on the other hand, worked more quickly. And it caused the sort of gut-wrenching pain and bleeding that the dead men seemed to experience as they expired.

  If his opinion was asked, Brander would have stayed with monkshood.

  As it happened, his opinion was asked.

  "Monkshood," Niels explained on his behalf. "That is our best solution."

  "And have you puzzled out the reason for the poisonings?" Bråthen asked.

  Brander locked eyes with Niels. They had indeed discussed this at length, but argued over the conclusion. Niels thought the deaths were random; that whoever was mixing poison with the opium -- a fact they did agree on -- had no particular victim in mind.

  But Brander was adamant that there was a pattern. A reason. Specific targets. He simply must figure them out. He cocked a chastising brow at his cousin.

  "No. Not yet," Niels said. He pressed his lips in a submissive line of silence.

  "If you men can solve these murders quickly, there will be a reward," the Regent dangled the words in front of Brander.