Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

  At that thought, his teeth bared in a semblance of a smile. How absurd. He relaxed slightly. The notion of being worried about matching wits with a dowdy, on the shelf country miss showed how tightly wound he had let himself become. Perhaps Arthur had a point. It was best to finish things off quickly, especially given his cousin's unsteady frame of mind. But Arthur he could handle later,

  He glared into the flames of the fire. It was the girl he had to deal with right away, before she nosed any further into the matter. Investigate, indeed. What a ridiculous idea. But she could cause complications. It wouldn't do to have people begin to ask questions about the so called accidents. He began pacing again, slowly and deliberately as he fell into deep thought. As he turned, his boot came in contact with the fallen decanter and he kicked it aside, shattering the faceted glass. He smirked in satisfaction at the scattered shards. If the meddlesome chit wanted to get to the bottom of things, he would be only too happy to oblige her.

  Only it would be the bottom of a river or a ditch.

  His hand came up to stroke his jaw. Staring at the broken glass, he was beginning to put together the pieces of a new plan. Yes, he smiled to himself, it would work quite nicely — why, it was even more ingenious than any of the others. Not only would it take care of his immediate problem, it would throw that arrogant Earl of Branford in such disgrace, no respectable person would dare be seen in his presence. He rubbed his hands together in relish at the very thought of it. No question, it was brilliant.

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. It was only midnight. Why, he could begin putting the plan in motion right away — the man he needed to see was no doubt just beginning roust himself for his usual activities. Hammerton hurried from the room and barked an order for his carriage to be brought around immediately.

  Two nights later, at precisely the same hour, he waited impatiently inside a seedy little pub off a small alleyway in the East End. Though there was precious little chance of being recognized, Hammerton kept the collar of his greatcoat thrown up to shield his face and his hat pulled down low over his brow despite the fetid closeness of the dimly lit room. Finally, a slight man whose pointed features brought to mind those of a weasel sidled in through the smoky haze and slid into the chair opposite the earl. The new arrival darted furtive glances all around before pulling his own worn coat up round his ears.

  "Do you have it?" demanded Hammerton.

  "Aren't ye gonna offer me summfink to wet me whistle wid," whined the other man. His grimy hand came up to scratch at the side of his nose. "Yea, ‘corse I got it. I's a professional, isn't I?"

  Hammerton got up and returned with a full bottle and a single glass.

  "Weren't no trouble, t'all, gis like ye said," he went on. "They leaves the back door open, like. A baby could rob ‘em blind. Not that there's much worth taking."

  Hammerton's eyes narrowed as he watched the fellow take a noisy slurp from the tumbler of gin he'd just helped himself to. "I trust you remembered what I said. I want no appearance of anyone having entered the house.

  The man wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I follow me orders. You know that." He pulled some folded sheets of paper from his pocket. "These are wot yer after, right? Wot ye didn't tell me was that there ‘ud be so many bleeding pieces of paper wid writing on em. Bloody lucky fer ye that I kin read — I hope ye remembers that in my reward. Took me ferever ta find what ye asked fer."

  Hammerton glanced over the pages with a look of mounting satisfaction. "These will do."

  He pushed a leather purse towards the man. It disappeared from the sticky tabletop with astonishing speed. The second round of gin was finished nearly as fast.

  Hammerton was gone before the glass hit the table

  Alex straightened the folds of her gown as her aunt's maid finished arranging her hair, suddenly wishing she had something of a finer silk, cut a little more elegantly, perhaps even showing a bit of....

  She caught herself and her mouth quirked in a self-deprecating smile. Why, she was in danger of becoming the type of flighty female she abhorred, caring only how her hair was coiffed or whether her gowns were a la mode. She would be well glad when the Season was over and they could return to the country and her comfortable routine. Then she could throw herself into her work undisturbed, with none of the recent distractions of Society.

  Or would life seem sadly flat without the stimulation of the new friends she had made? She truly enjoyed the camaraderie and conversations with the other members of the Botanical Society. She could, of course, continue to correspond with them, but it would not be quite the same. And if she were truly honest with herself, she would miss the company of someone else. She had come to look forward to their verbal sparrings, to seeing the glint of understanding in his eyes in reaction to her observations rather than the usual blank or outraged expression. The fact that he never seemed shocked by her opinions or dismissed them out of hand because she was a female was something she would no doubt miss.

  She gave a small sigh.

  "Is something wrong, Miss Alex?" Her aunt's maid deftly twisted her hair into an artful mass of curls at the nape of her neck, then picked out a few ringlets to frame her face. "You look lovely tonight, if I say so myself."

  Even Alex had to admit the effect looked rather well — perhaps her hair wasn't quite as mousy or her eyes as unremarkable as she thought. But well was no match for the likes of voluptuous blondes or the other beautiful, socially polished ladies that Lord Branford obviously spent his nights with.

  "Thank you, Maggie," she replied absently. But her real thoughts were on how ridiculous she was being to dwell on the earl. As he himself had made perfectly clear, his affairs were none of her business. Most likely he sought out her conversation merely to relieve his boredom during the tedious balls and routs until it was time for... other activities. He certainly never gave an indication that he thought about her in any other light.

  Alex looked squarely in the mirror. She saw the sensible, practical person she had always seen. With another sigh, she cautioned herself not to suddenly fall prey to strong emotions — it would only lead to trouble.

  A slight frown then creased her lips. In fact, she had no idea why she had become so peevish a few nights ago just because some attractive lady had flirted with Branford. If the gossips were to be believed, that sort of thing happened with astonishing frequency. Of course she paid little attention to wagging tongues, but it was rather amusing to keep up on all the latest ondits. In any case, it was eminently clear that dwelling on the earl was dangerous to her equilibrium.

  she was determined to put the gentleman out of her thoughts.

  Maggie finished with the last of the pins and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Alex fought back the temptation to pull them all out, put on her spattered smock and retreat to the safety of her palette and paints. If only it could be that easy. She rose and, after thanking the older woman for her efforts, went downstairs.

  Lady Beckworth smiled as Alex looked into the drawing room. "I'm so grateful that you don't mind attending Lady Hopkinton's rout without me. You know how dreadfully put out she would be if neither of us put in an appearance. I promise you, I should never hear the end of it."

  "Do not trouble yourself," replied Alex. "Though I admit I would much rather spend the evening at home with my work, I shall endeavor to soothe Lady Hopkinton's feelings with profound expressions of regret from you."

  Lady Beckworth muffled an unladylike snort. "Oh dear, that is a scene I should very much like to witness. Do try to be tactful, my dear."

  Alex grinned. "She couldn't recognize sarcasm if I brushed it on with linseed oil. But never fear, I can be civilized if I apply myself." She reached down to plump the pillow behind her aunt's head. "I've given Cook a new recipe for an herb tisane that I came upon in one of Papa's books. It should help ease your sore throat and allow you to sleep through the night. And don't wait up for me. You need your rest."

  "Shall Justin put in an appearance?"

/>   "He doubts he will be free. Apparently he and Charles are engaged to escort Charles's cousins to the theatre. But don't fret about me. Mr. Simpson and his wife have kindly offered to bring me home in their carriage, so I'll have no need to keep John out half the night. I know his rheumatism is acting up. You may also tell Givens to retire at a decent hour. I will let myself in by the scullery door, just as Justin does."

  Lady Beckworth patted Alex's arm. "Do try to have a good time."

  "Oh, I shall. But I'm sure it will be a most uneventful evening.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Arthur Standish looked up from reading the small, flowing script covering a single sheet of cream-colored stationery. He looked puzzled.

  "Wherever did you manage to get this? I don't understand... "

  Hammerton took the paper carefully by one of the corners and slid it back into the drawer of his desk for the moment. "It doesn't signify where I got it. The person is a master at what he does. What matters is that even Miss Chilton would be hard pressed to say whether she had indeed penned it herself — I assure you, the handwriting and signature are perfect."

  The explanation didn't entirely banish the look of confusion from Standish's face and Hammerton had to rein in his mounting impatience. His cousin really was inordinately slow-witted not to realize what was being planned. Thank God he did not have to depend on him for anything other than blind obedience.

  His fingers drummed on the polished wood. "I will explain it fully in due time. But right now, we have other things to get in readiness. By the end of the evening, our problems with Miss Chilton will be over."

  There were at least some familiar faces in the crowded, overheated room. Though as capacious as any ballroom in London, the space felt cramped and confining due to Lady Hopkinton's sad lack of taste. The flowers were too garish and overpowering, filling the air with a cloying scent that only accentuated the heaviness of the thick damask drapes that blocked every window.

  The music seemed overloud as well, and Alex was grateful when Lady Cecelia Ashton asked if she would like to join her in fetching a glass of rattafia punch in one of the less crowded side rooms. They became engaged in a long conversation over the merits of a certain garden designer, and Alex was pleasantly surprised at how knowledgeable the diminutive lady was, as well as how pithy some of her comments were. And when the talk shifted to life in London and she ventured a few of her own frank opinions on the silliness of certain reigning ideas, it was more than gratifying to see an spark of understanding and amusement in the other woman's eyes. Why, thought Alex, here was one lady of the Ton with whom she could imagine forming a real friendship.

  There was a brief lull as Lady Ashton selected a small plate of canapés. When she spoke again, subject was changed once more. "You know, Sebastian told me he greatly enjoyed his visit to Kew Gardens with you."

  Alex made a small choking sound on her punch when she realized just who Lady Ashton was referring to.

  "He did?" she managed to reply, hoping that the heat she felt stealing over her was causing her face to flame.

  "Yes. In fact, I haven't seen him capable of enjoying himself so since — well, since before Jeremy was killed on the Peninsula. I take it you have heard of that?"

  Alex nodded.

  Lady Ashton's eyes narrowed. "Vicious rumors," she said quietly. "He affects to pay them no heed, but I know that inside.... He cared for Jeremy very much ." She let her voice trail off, an angry look darkening her porcelain features.

  Alex liked her even more for it.

  "In any case," continued Lady Ashton. "I think we have you to thank for the change. He is a dear friend... "

  Alex stiffened slightly.

  "Oh, not that," assured Lady Ashton with a knowing smile. "I am quite happy with my own husband. He and Sebastian have been close friends for an age."

  Alex once again felt quite flustered. "I... I can't imagine I have any influence over Lord Branford's moods."

  Lady Ashton regarded her shrewdly but remained silent. Alex felt her face flame even more under the scrutiny. She was saved from having to say anything further by the arrival of Lord Ashton.

  "My dear," he said, taking his wife firmly by the arm. "Your great aunt has sent me to fetch you to pay your respects — now! I know you have been avoided her all evening." He turned to smile at Alex. "I beg you will excuse us, Miss Chilton, but I am afraid that family duties call."

  "The old dragon calls, you mean," said Lady Ashton under her breath. She gave Alex a parting smile. "I look forward to meeting with you again, Miss Chilton. It has been a most interesting talk."

  Alex was more than grateful for the interruption. She most definitely did not want the conversation turning to Lord Branford, of all people, tonight. On that topic her feelings were not those she cared to discuss with anyone. How could she, when she wasn't even sure herself what they were?

  Drat the man!

  But she had promised to put him out of her mind tonight and she meant to do just that.

  She made her way back to the ballroom and headed towards a spot where she had last seen Mr. Simpson and some others of her acquaintance conversing. The dialog there would no doubt be a trifle more heated, but much less inflammatory to her own overwrought emotions.

  A liveried footman approached her, a silver tray full of champagne flutes balanced on one hand.

  "Miss Chilton?" he asked softly, as he stopped offered her a glass.

  "Yes?" Alex was mystified as to how her knew who she was.

  "A gentleman asked that I give you this, but said it was important that no one see," he said in a low voice as he discreetly pressed a note into her gloved hand along with the champagne. "He said to be very careful of what you do from here." With that, he melted back into the crowd.

  Alex stood motionless for a moment, then, with feigned nonchalance, strolled to a quiet nook, put down the glass and took a seat on a small settee, half hidden by a potted ficus tree. Placing her hands in her lap to hide the trembling of her fingers, she unfolded the note and quickly scanned its contents.

  If you wish to know the reason for the attacks on your

  brother, leave at once and take a hansom cab to St. Giles

  Lane.. Turn left, and walk down to the river.

  I dare not say more or contact you again. Do not

  delay — his fate is in your hands.

  There was no signature.

  Alex's face paled. She stuffed the paper into her glove and stood up, her mind racing. She beckoned to another servant serving champagne and sent him towards Mr. Simpson with instructions to inform him that she was returning home early with an indisposition and would not need a ride. Then, with a quick glance left and right, she slipped out of the main room. Her exit didn't attract the least attention and she hurried down a long corridor, past the ladies withdrawing room, to where a side staircase lead down to the main entrance of the townhouse. It was highly unlikely, she thought, that Lady Hopkinton or any of the guests would even notice she had departed early.

  A cold mist rose up from the river, obscuring the sooty brick warehouses and splintered docks in swirling tendrils of fog. Sounds were muffled in the dampness — the creaking of the timbers in the ebbing tide, the lapping of the brackish water against the embankment and the pacing of booted feet on a dirt path.

  "What time is it?" Standish halted by the side of a carriage, which had been temporarily stripped of all distinguishing crests. The horses snorted and whisked their tails in response to the creeping chillness in the air. He pulled the thick black scarf wound around his face even higher, so that only the eyes were visible, and peered into the unlit interior.

  "Precisely five minutes later than when you last inquired," came a voice from the impenetrable darkness. "She will not be here for at least another hour. I suggest you climb inside before you exhaust yourself with such a pointless display of nerves."

  Standish swore under his breath. With one last, jerky look around at the swirls of grey and the overcast sky h
e got in and threw himself onto the seat opposite his cousin. A spot of orange glowed for a moment, then was followed by a cloud of smoke, thicker and more choking than the air outside. Standish coughed and waved his hand several times in front of his nose to punctuate his distaste. Hammerton ignored him and continued to puff away in a nonchalant manner..

  Standish began toying with the pistol in his hand. "It's one thing to deal with another man. I do not fancy the idea of having to shoot a female."