by Louise Allen
‘A bad business, if you have the right of it, my lord,’ the man observed.
His companion nodded. ‘That is very true, Sir James. His elder brother is a fellow magistrate which makes it all the worse. If he proves to be responsible for this, it will be painful to ask Sir George how he wants this handled.’
‘I would rather think you should ask the unfortunate young woman who has been falsely accused,’ Quinn said with a sharpness that had the magistrate staring at him.
‘When Mr Trevor here approached me as your attorney with this accusation and your novel suggestion for testing it, I did not ask what your concern with the case is, my lord,’ Sir James said. Lina forced herself not to shrink back. Not that there was anywhere to go—she was wedged between Gregor’s shoulder and the side of the carriage.
‘I am acting on behalf of Miss Shelley’s aunt. I am part-owner of The Blue Door.’
‘Indeed!’
‘An unusual investment, I agree,’ Quinn said. ‘But one that gave me an interest when it was obvious an injustice had been done.’
‘And where is the young woman at the moment, might I ask?’
‘I have every reason to believe she is in London,’ Quinn said readily. ‘Certainly that is where I last saw her.’
‘We are going into the City,’ Gregor remarked and Lina made herself breathe.
The carriage stopped and the driver got down and came to the door. ‘The other ’ackney’s stopped—what do you gents want me to do now?’
‘Wait here,’ Quinn said, passing something that clinked. ‘There’ll be more when we return and we may be a while.’ He turned back to his silent companions. ‘Now, very quietly, there are a lot of us to go falling over each other’s feet.’
They got out, staying in the shadow of the carriage. Peering around Quinn, Lina saw a figure descend from another hackney and walk off down an alleyway. Quinn followed, Gregor soft-footed at his back, the attorney and the magistrate behind them. Lina stayed on the magistrate’s heels; if she was out of his sight she might also be out of his mind, she thought, wondering just how perceptive he was.
The alley opened out into a narrow street. There was a public house on one corner, brightly lit and busy. A little further along the light reflected on three golden balls. ‘Pawnbroker,’ Quinn said with an air of satisfaction. Tolhurst was standing at the door and they could hear his knocking from where they stood.
There was only a faint glimmer from the shop, but the light wavered and intensified as someone within approached the door. It opened, there was a low-voiced conversation and then Tolhurst went inside.
Quinn waited until the light had vanished again before leading his four companions forwards over the greasy cobbles. ‘Locked,’ he murmured as he tried the handle. Gregor stooped to the lock. ‘I suggest you look elsewhere, Sir James,’ Quinn added.
‘I am sure he is merely checking it as a concerned passer-by,’ the magistrate whispered back. ‘And look, it is open. I feel it our duty to investigate.’
Gregor eased the door wide and went in, followed by Sir James and Mr Trevor. Quinn bent to Lina’s ear. ‘Stay behind me. When he finds himself cornered, he may be dangerous.’ She looked up and he kissed her suddenly, pulling her to him, his mouth fierce and possessive on hers.
When he released her his eyes held hers for a long moment. It was a look of possession, she recognised, the look of a warrior about to go into battle, fired up, needing to assert his ownership of his woman before the fight began. She found herself responding to it, her blood heating, her tension and fears swept up into that one focus of mouth on mouth, the primitive claiming.
They stared at each other, Quinn seeming as shaken as she was, before he gave himself a shake and followed the others to the back of the cluttered shop.
Lina stood for a moment, her hand pressed to her lips, everything—the shop, the danger, the closeness of a magistrate—all swept away by that one kiss. When she managed to regain her focus she saw that the others were grouped on either side of a door that stood slightly ajar. Light spilled from inside and the smell of someone’s supper perfumed the air with a rich aroma of onions.
‘…if it’s another of those bloody sapphires, you know what you can do with it, Tolhurst,’ a voice said. ‘I haven’t shifted the real one yet, need to get it to Amsterdam once the heat’s died down. And as for that paste ring—if you expect more than the guinea I gave you for it, think again. Best I can hope to do with it is sell it to some travelling theatre troop!’
‘This is real, I’m sure of it,’ Tolhurst said. ‘A diamond, for all that it’s an odd cut.’
‘Oriental,’ the other man said with a grunt. ‘Give it here.’ There was silence. Lina could hear several clocks ticking, the crackle of firewood. Something brushed her ankle and she started, reaching out for Quinn without conscious thought. He caught her hand and grinned as the battered tabby cat abandoned her and went to twine around his legs.
‘It’s a diamond, I’ll give you that. But it’s another flaming stone that’ll have to be recut before I can sell it safely. Why can’t you nick something simple for once?’
‘How much?’ Tolhurst demanded. The other man was muttering, apparently working the price out. ‘What? How much? I need more than that! I was taken by some damned sharp I mistook for a pigeon to the tune of eight hundred tonight and the bastard wants paying on the nail like some merchant. He’s no gentleman.’
Lina saw the flash of Quinn’s teeth as he grinned.
‘Another twenty-five then, and that’s your lot. And don’t bring me anything else until I’ve got those sapphires off my hands.’ There was the sound of a key grating in a lock. Quinn nodded to Gregor, let go of Lina’s hand and the two men shouldered through the door, pistols in their hands.
‘What the—’
‘You are under arrest on suspicion of the theft of the Tolhurst Sapphire and of a diamond ring belonging to Mr Vasiliev. I am Sir James Warren, magistrate. Do not attempt to resist.’
Squashed behind Mr Trevor, Lina could see the pawnbroker throwing up his hands, his face bitter with anger as he glared at Reginald Tolhurst. ‘You cack-handed idiot!’
Tolhurst looked around wildly then, to Lina’s amazement, sank down on a chair, buried his face in his hands and burst into sobs. ‘Where is the Tolhurst Sapphire?’ demanded Sir James.
The pawnbroker rummaged in his safe, which stood with the door swinging open, and came out with a small bag. He tipped it out into the magistrate’s hand and they all stared at the deep blue stone burning with cold fire in the palm of his hand.
‘And the ring?’ Quinn asked. The man produced a ring, its stone the exact replica of the unmounted one except, seeing them together, there seemed something less vivid about the stone in the ring to Lina’s untutored eye.
‘Who brought you these?’
‘He did—Reginald Tolhurst. Brought me the genuine article a month ago and I bought it in all good faith,’ the man said. The magistrate snorted. ‘Then he turns up with this paste version, saying he’d substituted it when he stole the real thing and now his father’s died and he daren’t have it found to be a fake. And the next thing I knows, the papers are full of the ruddy Tolhurst Sapphire.’
‘It did not occur to you that an innocent young woman was being accused of stealing something that was in your safe?’ Quinn’s voice was like ice.
‘Just some bawd, weren’t it?’ the pawnbroker said and the next moment was flat on his back on the rag rug in front of the fire.
‘My lord! We need him with his jaw unbroken to give evidence,’ Sir James said. He produced his card case, scribbled a note and passed it to Mr Trevor. ‘Perhaps you would be so good as to take the hackney to Bow Street and send me three Runners and a secure wagon. We will have this place searched.’
Trevor hurried out and Gregor hauled the pawnbroker to his feet and set about tying him to a chair. ‘What about this one?’ He jerked his thumb at Tolhurst who looked up, his red-rimmed eyes glassy with fear
.
‘I am hoping he is going to make a run for it.’ Quinn ran a finger down the barrel of his pistol.
‘We must take him to Sir George and see what he wants done,’ the magistrate said with a warning shake of his head.
‘That is not justice.’
‘It is the best way to avoid scandal. I imagine Sir George will make his brother’s life hell for this—stealing his father’s ring, replacing it with paste and then stealing the paste version from his father’s hand as he lay dying so he might not be discovered? Despicable.’
‘It could have been murder, if Miss Shelley had been hanged,’ Quinn said. ‘I know a man who trades with the British penal colony in New South Wales. I will tell Sir George Tolhurst that he can arrange passage there for his brother or I will make a scandal that will rock the Tolhursts to their foundations.’
Reginald burst into tears again. Lina found she could not stand it. This pitiable excuse for a man had almost been the death of her, had given her weeks of fear and nightmares; now he was revealed as a pathetic, greedy, selfish creature not even worth hating.
She pushed the door open and stumbled out of the stuffy little parlour into the crowded shop. She wanted to run away, away from here, away from the torture of seeing Quinn every day. She wanted to go back to the peace of Dreycott Park, but she would not even be able to go to church or the village shop without running the gauntlet of hostile villagers.
She wanted her aunt and Katy and the other girls, but she knew now that their world would never be one she could be happy in. She wanted to go home to Martinsdene and find her father had forgiven her and that Meg and Bella were there, too, but she was certain he never would and that there was no one there for her now.
Lina knew she wanted Quinn as a starving woman wanted bread—not because it tasted good but because her life depended on it. But she could not have him. He did not love her and her soul would wither between the brief interludes when he came home to be kind to her, to rub the salt in her wounds. He would find adventure and interest and other women on his travels and then he would come home to a world of scholarship women were not allowed to share.
If she told him how she felt about him, she was certain those intervals at home would be few and far between. He was free and wild and independent and he could not change for her. Nor, she realised as she stared blankly at a bad oil painting in the gloom, would she want him to. To love someone truly was to love them as they were, not want to change them.
‘Lina?’ It was Quinn. He moved like a cat through the dark cluttered space and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Thank you. You have probably saved my life,’ she said, turning so that she was against his chest. It was weak and self-indulgent, but she thought she could stand there, hold him, hope for his embrace and he would suspect nothing but that she was overcome with relief and gratitude. Which she was, but it was neither that made her shed silent tears into the linen of his shirt. ‘I am sorry I did not trust you with the truth at first. What will happen when that Runner, Inchbold, finds out about this? He will know you deceived him.’
‘I will talk to him, apologise. I hope he will understand that it was a matter of life and death. With the true culprit identified and Sir James involved, he will see there was little choice.’
It would not be easy for him, she knew. Lina rested her hot cheek against Quinn’s shirtfront and imagined this proud man having to confess that he had lied to an officer of the law. It touched his honour. As she thought it he said, ‘Just Langdown to deal with and we can get married.’
Protesting about marriage was pointless; he was implacable, she could sense it. ‘Why must you risk your life?’
‘To draw a line, to retrieve what I lost ten years ago,’ he said. ‘Will you accept that, Celina, and not seek to persuade me against what I have to do?’
She thought of moral blackmail, of asking him tremulously what she would do if he was killed and did not marry her. But her own sense of honour revolted against that. Live or die, she would not be his wife, and to suggest anything else was to lie to him.
‘Yes,’ Lina said. ‘I will not mention it again.’ But in her heart she knew what she had to do.
Chapter Twenty
‘Could Gregor take me to The Blue Door?’ Lina asked Quinn as the Runners piled into the pawnshop bringing light and noise with them. ‘I would like to be with my aunt for a while.’
‘Of course.’ He was distracted by questions Sir James was asking and not concentrating on her, she saw with relief. ‘Ah, there is Inchbold. Best you are out of the way before I speak to him.’
Gregor was enjoying himself, she could tell, and not best pleased to be sent off to fetch a hackney and take her to the brothel, but he put a good face on it.
‘Thank you,’ Lina said when they were settled on the musty seats. ‘You’ll be able to get back quickly, I am sure.’
He grunted. ‘It is interesting to see how your law and order works here. It is different in Constantinople.’
‘I am sure it is,’ Lina said with some feeling. We do not allow people to own slaves and flog them to death here, for a start. ‘Gregor, will you tell me when Quinn challenges Lord Langdown?’
‘Why? You want to stop him?’
‘I cannot stop him. I just wish to know.’
‘Very well.’ He shrugged. ‘Tomorrow, I think. There is a reception that is being given at the Society of Antiquaries for some ambassador or another who has written a book. They say Langdown will be there. If he is, then Quinn will challenge him.’
‘And when the challenge is issued, will you tell me where, and when?’ When he hesitated she added, ‘I will not make a scene or try to interfere.’
‘He will kill Langdown, there is no cause for worry.’ Gregor sounded amused, as if at feminine weakness.
‘Then he will have to flee the country,’ Lina said. ‘It is illegal to duel, let alone kill your man. Will you please try to stop him doing that, at least?’
‘I can try.’ Gregor still sounded amused. Lina wanted to box his ears.
‘Then please do so.’ The carriage drew up outside The Blue Door and Lina opened the door and jumped down before Gregor could help her. ‘Thank you, Gregor.’
She was still fuming over the idiocy of men—she could understand why they felt the need to avenge an insult to their honour, but not why they thought it enjoyable—when she reached Aunt Clara’s rooms.
Her preoccupation with Quinn vanished when she saw her aunt. ‘Oh, you look so well!’ She flew into her arms and hugged her, her turban toppling off. ‘Is it not wonderful that Makepeace has gone?’
‘Wonderful indeed.’ Clara hugged her back. ‘But what of the sapphire?’
Lina pulled her to the chaise and told her the night’s events in detail. ‘Sir James is going to speak to Sir George Tolhurst. Tomorrow it will be made known that I am innocent, but I do not know what explanation they will come up with to satisfy both the law and the Tolhursts.’
‘And then you will be free to marry Lord Dreycott,’ Clara said. Lina thought she detected a question in her aunt’s expression.
‘No. I will not wed him. Yes,’ she said as Clara opened her mouth to speak, ‘I told you I do love him, but he does not love me. Nothing has changed. And what kind of life would that be if I did wed him? Besides, it would be an unequal match, even though I am cleared of the theft. And then to add the fact that I have been living here—it is impossible.’
How calm and logical it all sounded, how strange that she could be explaining it so clearly while inside she was weeping with the misery of it. ‘Quinn is seeking to rejoin society, to base himself in London, even though I do not expect him to spend much time here. Marriage to me would only handicap him further.’
‘But if he loved you?’ Her aunt took her hand in hers and pressed it gently. ‘What then?’
‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,’ Lina said with a bitter laugh. ‘I would still be an impediment
as a wife. But there is no point in speaking about it, for he does not, and there’s an end to it. He likes me, I think. That is all.’
‘But he is determined to marry you,’ Clara pointed out.
‘He has spoken to you? I might have known. He feels responsible for me, just as he does Gregor, or an injured animal he rescued. He is a man for whom honour is everything and his honour must override my happiness, although I doubt I could ever get him to see it like that.’
‘So what will you do?’ At least her aunt did not seek to persuade her that Quinn was right, although she looked as sad as Lina felt.
‘I must get right away from him, or he will spend all his time and efforts attempting to dragoon me up the aisle. In six months’ time I may claim my legacy from old Lord Dreycott and then I can devote myself to finding my sisters, for surely, by then, Quinn will have realised that I cannot, and will not, marry him. But until then—will you lend me a little money? Just enough to find a respectable lodging away from London and a maid to give me countenance?’
‘Oh, my dear.’ Her aunt regarded her with exasperated affection. ‘He is such a fine man, one your mother would have been glad to see you wed to. But if you will not have him, then we must contrive. Now I no longer have to pay Makepeace I could give you his share every month and enough for travelling and establishing yourself. Where will you go?’
‘Norwich, I think,’ Lina said. ‘I saw a little of it when I was going through on the stage—it looked a pleasant, respectable place and large enough not to be noticed in.’
‘Then let me give you some money now. You can write and tell me when you are settled and we can arrange the rest with a local bank. It will be soon? I shall miss you.’
‘And I you. Thank you, Aunt. I will call tomorrow and say goodbye to the girls; perhaps I will know then.’
Quinn felt the familiar tightening in his gut and the sensation that every nerve in his body was alert for danger. He glanced around the crowd of gentlemen, talking quietly, greeting friends, drinking in moderation from the glasses being circulated by attentive footmen. Few places seemed more remote from a desert oasis where an ambush lay, or the back streets of Constantinople with footpads in the shadows. Yet he was braced for danger, for a fight. His right hand clenched, and he made himself relax it—there was no rapier hilt to hold. Not yet.
