A Perfect Gentleman

by Barbara Metzger

  “Some of us are trying to catch a killer, not the eye of every damsel in Town. I consider Sir John a lucky dog to have Miss Kane’s company tonight, a reward he richly deserves.”

  Stony wondered how much the reward money was influencing Lattimer’s zeal. He read a posted handbill outside the door at Bow Street that named an astronomical price for the murderer’s apprehension. Some of the money was Ellianne’s, he knew, but pounds had poured in from other concerned citizens, the government, the slain maidservant’s employer, the murdered actress’s friends. A group of Covent Garden doves had donated their pence to make the streets safer for their sisters. Now the reward was nearly a king’s ransom. Lattimer would go without a few more hours of sleep to find the stiletto wielder. He would not take the time to help guard Miss Kane.

  Stony was not reassured by the Runner’s opinion of Sir John Thomasford. He still felt Aunt Lally’s shivers up his spine, and not from the damp, drizzly day. His friend Captain Brisbane had always said that a soldier’s best defense was the inner voice of instinct. Stony’s intuition was yelling, “Danger! Danger!” in his ear.

  So he rode back to Sloane Street early that evening and waited in the saddle, in the shadows and the rain, huddled in his caped riding coat. Dusk fell late this time of year, but there were enough clouds and trees between houses to offer some concealment, if not much protection from the cold drops that ran off his beaver hat and down his neck. With every drip he asked himself what the devil he was doing here.

  He merely wished to make sure, Stony answered himself, that Sir John did not find some excuse to leave Ellianne’s maid behind. Who knew what a knave could do in a moving carriage? Stony did, and intended to make certain Ellianne never found out, at least not with the carrion crow.

  Eventually the gray-clad maid got into a modest coach, all right and tight. So did Miss Kane, wearing her green cloak and a black ruched bonnet trimmed with sprigs of green silk ivy that Stony had never seen before. She wore sensible half-boots, he noted as she stepped up into the carriage, showing trim ankles. She handed her umbrella to Sir John to fold for her before she took her seat.

  She was smiling, Stony could see from his position, and he felt like a fool. A jealous fool, besides. He’d go home, have a hot bath, then take Gwen to a pleasant dinner at the Pulteney, as he’d arranged. That was likely another wasted effort, but at least the food was good.

  The problem was, Sir John’s coach headed east on Sloane Street. The hall where the medical lecture was to be given was west of Sloane Street. He stared after the black carriage, feeling the shiver down his spine turn into a sharp pain, as if someone held a knife to his back. Or else he’d been out in the rain too long, sitting too stiffly on his horse.

  Home, a hot bath, and a good meal… or a dismal wet ride following the coach on another fool’s errand? Hmm.

  *

  Ellianne was surprised that the coach did not turn around, too.

  When she asked if the driver had the address wrong, Sir John reached across the carriage and placed his gloved hand over hers. “My dear Miss Kane, I fear I have ill tidings for you. I wanted to wait to tell you until we were closer to our destination, so that you had less time to fret.”

  “Oh, heavens, my sister?”

  “I cannot be certain, of course, without your identification. But this latest victim does have green eyes and light eyelashes, like yours. I knew you would not want to wait until tomorrow, and I could not let you read about this in the newspapers, or sit through a lecture, not knowing.”

  “Of course not. Thank you. That was very kind.”

  Ellianne wondered why Mr. Lattimer or another Bow Street minion had not come to tell her. She also wondered why she did not feel more distraught, as if she had accepted that Isabelle was lost to her forever. She only wished that Stony were with her instead of this gentleman who seemed more affected by the newest murder than ever.

  He was dressed correctly in evening wear, bathed and shaved, but his clothing hung on his increasingly thinner frame. His neckcloth was badly creased, and his hair was hanging in damp, greasy locks from the rain. His lips were thinner, the creases on his forehead were deeper, but his brown eyes were still glimmering, as if with a fever. The poor man was obviously distraught that he had not been able to prevent yet another killing. Ellianne let her hand rest under his a moment longer before moving it away.

  On the way to the morgue, Ellianne made no attempt at polite conversation, and Sir John respected her silence. She was trying not to think about the latest murder victim, but found herself recalling Isabelle as a toddler, red hair like a halo as she held her hands out to be picked up by her older sister. No, that was too painful. She would have years to grieve, to take out each cherished memory in turn. She would not think about Isabelle, and the dead girl would not be Isabelle.

  Ellianne thought about Stony instead, and how sincere his concern for her had been. He did care for her, undeniably, and maybe that was enough. A great many successful marriages were based on far less. He was to call in the morning, and Ellianne was determined to discover his true feelings, even if she had to hit the clunch over the head with her reticule as she had done to Blanchard. Not that she would clobber Stony with the purse she carried tonight. After his visit, she’d decided to carry her larger reticule this evening, so she could carry the small pistol. She held the bag close to her now, as if it could protect her from bad news. At least it could keep her fingers from trembling, as Sir John’s hand on hers had not.

  The coroner’s office was nearly deserted at this time of night. Only one clerk remained at his desk, writing reports by an oil lamp. He stood when Ellianne passed by and silently bowed his head toward Sir John before getting back to his work. Otherwise the place was as quiet as the tomb it was.

  Ellianne’s maid was wide-eyed and quaking, clutching the umbrella.

  “Perhaps your maid would feel better waiting above stairs?” Sir John suggested. “Jenkins can look after her.”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Kane, please. I don’t want to see no dead bodies! Especially none what’s been murdered.”

  Ellianne agreed, and Sir John seated the girl at an empty desk near the door. Then he took up a lantern and led Ellianne to the stone steps that went down to the bowels of the building and the vast, frigid chamber that was the morgue itself.

  Ellianne pulled her cloak more tightly around her and clutched her reticule to her chest for warmth and comfort. She followed Sir John across the expanse, their footsteps echoing in the high-ceilinged room. Wall lamps were left burning, but she was glad for the lantern, to dispel some of the shadows.

  Sir John guided her toward another table, another sheeted form. Ellianne was certain he could hear her teeth chattering, but Sir John did not seem to notice the cold or the gloom or her misery. He was intent on the dead woman and what secrets she could tell.

  “You’ll see that the modus operandi is the same. The method, that is. The blade was of similar length and width, if not identical. We’ll know better tomorrow, after further examination.”

  Ellianne wanted to shout for him to stop, that she did not want to know the terrible details, just if the woman was her sister or not. She wanted to tell him to pull the sheet down now, this instant, so she would have the dreadful anticipation over, one way or the other. She could face the truth, but not the uncertainty, not the waiting.

  Just when Ellianne was about to reach for a corner of the sheet, Sir John stopped his monologue about the barbering done to the woman. Then he raised the covering from the woman’s face.

  She was not Isabelle. Ellianne felt her knees grow weak in relief. Then she grew confused. “This woman is far older than my sister. She appears to be closer to forty than to twenty, and her face is round. She has a dark complexion, and a mole on her chin. How could you have thought this female might be my sister?” Ellianne grew angry next. “You could not have believed she was Isabelle, not for a moment. Bringing me here, telling me about her, was cruel, Sir John, and unworthy
of you.”

  “No, no. Never that, dear lady, never cruel. I thought I saw something similar in her looks. I needed your verification. The green eyes, you see.” He reached out to open one of the woman’s lids, but Ellianne stopped him.

  “No, I have seen enough. This is not my sister. I wish to leave.”

  “Of course, of course. In a minute. I must fetch some papers from my office before we go.” He indicated a closed door to the side of the room. “And I think you could use some wine. This has been a blow to your nerves, for which I humbly apologize. And the cold, of course. Please, let me pour you a small glass of sherry, or Madeira if you prefer. I think, yes, I think I need a drop of spirits myself.”

  Ellianne’s knees still felt weak, and the chill was indeed seeping up through her feet and into her bones. She could use a restorative. Sir John looked so abjectly crestfallen that she agreed. Perhaps a drink would put some color back in his complexion before someone mistook him for one of his corpses.

  She waited at the door to the office while he lit a lamp, then pulled open a drawer on his desk to find two wineglasses. A decanter already rested on the dark wood surface. As Ellianne walked into the small room she noticed that he kept his desk in perfect order, unlike Jenkins, upstairs. She set her reticule down on a chair near the door and came closer, to accept the glass he was filling. She also noticed that, while Sir John seemed to have developed a tic in one of his eyes, his hand was perfectly steady.

  A steady hand? Wasn’t that what they’d said about the killer? Ellianne looked back at her purse, then laughed at her own skittishness. Of course his hand was steady. He was trained in surgery. It did not matter that his patients could not complain if his hand slipped, she told herself, smiling at the thought.

  “Ah, I can see that you are recovered already. What an admirable trait in a lady, such composure, such emotional control.”

  He had not seen her with Stony, Ellianne reflected, still smiling at the memory.

  Encouraged, Sir John went on: “In fact, I find much that is admirable in you, dear lady. Your intelligence, your steadfast character, your lack of the appalling levity so common among young women. And your interest in those less fortunate, of course, your consideration—”

  “Stop, please do. You will turn my head with your praise.” She drank some of her wine quickly, hoping to end this conversation.

  “Ah, and modesty. I forgot modesty, another fine trait in a woman. I can see I embarrass you with my compliments, but they are true ones. I would not have spoken so precipitously, but for fear that you might leave Town after the unfortunate gossip.”

  “Yes, I was planning to leave tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I make arrangements with my solicitor about continuing the search for my sister.” She set her half-empty glass down on the desk, beside the decanter. “So you must see I have a great deal to do to get ready.”

  He ignored her hint, reaching out and grasping her hand tightly. “Then I must speak tonight. I realize that I cannot match you in fortune. Who could? But I am not a poor man by any means, and my knighthood is as good as your father’s. I have been led to believe I might expect a baronetcy eventually. Who knows after that? My birth is not despicable, and my—”

  Ellianne tried to pull her hand back but he would not release it. “Please do not go on, Sir John.”

  “I must.” To Ellianne’s dismay, he dropped to his knees, still clutching her fingers, almost painfully. “I must, for how else am I to convince you that I am worthy of your regard? Worthy of your hand in marriage? My dear Miss Kane, I knew the minute I saw you that we were destined to spend eternity together. Do make me the happiest of men and agree to be my wife.”

  “I…I cannot, sir. Please get up.” She tugged on his hand, which now felt like a vise around hers. All she could think of was that Stony was right again. She should never have agreed to meet with Sir John. She took a deep breath and said, “You do me great honor, and I am certain any other female would be thrilled to accept your honorable offer. I, however, have determined to remain unwed.”

  “You cannot! That is against the natural order of things, an abomination.”

  “Surely it is my decision, no sin against humanity.” She tried to make light of the situation: “I am certain the good Lord will forgive me for not being fruitful and multiplying, but the world has enough redheads.”

  He did not find any humor in her words, but he did get to his feet, still clutching her hand. “No, you have to marry me! I planned it all.”

  Now she was beginning to grow annoyed, both at his insistence and at his continued refusal to release her. “I do not have to do anything, sir, but go home to finish my packing. You had no right to make any plans without consulting me, so I do not feel responsible for your disappointment.”

  “But you smiled at me. You had Lady Wellstone invite me to the dinner in your honor. You accepted my invitations!”

  “Your invitations to lectures, not any proposals of marriage. I was being polite, nothing more. Now cease this foolishness before we both say things we shall regret.”

  “No! You are mine!” He pulled her toward him, almost jerking her off her feet with a strength that surprised her, and frightened her a bit, Ellianne had to admit. He kissed her, if pushing one’s lips against another’s could be considered a kiss, which she doubted. His lips were dry, chapped, harsh, hurtful against hers, forcing her lips against her teeth. She could taste blood on her tongue. This was an assault, not an embrace, and she would not permit it, no matter how sorry she felt for the misguided man. She pushed against him, and he released her, panting heavily.

  “You see? You are mine!”

  “I see nothing of the sort.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her glove. Then, when he would have reached for her again, she picked up her wineglass and dashed its contents in his face.

  “You bitch!” he screamed, scrubbing at the liquid dripping into his eyes.

  Ellianne took her chance to flee. She was inches from the door—and her reticule—when he grabbed her from behind. He pressed her back against his bony chest, one wiry arm clamped across her waist, pinning her arms there as he dragged her away from the door, toward the desk, with surprising strength for one so thin. Her kicks availed nothing but a tighter squeeze, so she could hardly breathe. Then his other arm was at her throat, holding a long, gleaming knife. A stiletto. Its point was pressed against her neck so tightly Ellianne dared not struggle.

  “You?” She gasped.

  He laughed, or it might have been a snarl. “Of course. Who else could ensure the crimes were never solved?”

  “If you hurt me, they will know. My maid, Jenkins. They saw us. You cannot hope to escape.”

  He made that low sound again. “Do you think I am so stupid?” He dragged her around until she faced another door that she had not noticed. “Another exit. I have only to kill you, run outside shouting that the killer was waiting for us here, that he was getting away down the street. Or I could keep going. We are close to the docks, you know. I have a ship there, a yacht, but you could not know that. No one does. I have been careful, using a different name to hire a crew. I was going to take you away with me, a joyous bridal sail. Now I see that will not do, for you are not the woman I thought you to be. I could go, yes, I could be at sea before they discovered your body.”

  “You are mad!” Ellianne said, which was not, she instantly realized, a wise thing to say to a maniac with a knife to one’s throat.

  He did not seem to take offense. “Madness is a relative term. Why, once we were wed, I could have had you declared insane and placed in an asylum for the rest of your life. Then the money would have all been mine. But I need to think.” He prodded her bare throat with the knife point, to keep her silent.

  Ellianne could not imagine how his irrational plotting could benefit her in any way, so she spoke: “What if I gave you the money? I could give you a draft on my bank.”

  “And have the magistrates waiting for me to cash it? You would t
ell them as soon as I set you free.”

  “No, I swear I would not!”

  “You would let a criminal go free, with your fortune, to boot?” He shook her, the blade drawing blood she could feel trickling down her neck. She was too numb with fear to feel any pain. “I am not a fool!”

  “Of course you are no fool.” She was, and was going to pay for it with her life unless she could offer him an alternative. “You were knighted for your brilliance, after all. But surely there is some way for you to have the money and me to live.”

  “Both! I almost had both!” he said, half crying. “Now I cannot trust you, even if you promise to wed me.”

  Which had been Ellianne’s next offer.

  “No, you have to die.”

  Which was not the option Ellianne would have picked.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Before Sir John could act, Ellianne tried to distract him. Surely her maid would notice and come investigate if they were gone so long. If she were not brave enough to come down, she might send Jenkins if enough time passed.

  It already seemed like hours to Ellianne.

  “What about the women?” she asked, stalling for time. “The other women. Why did you…?”

  “The first was an accident. The rest were your fault. Yes, your fault.”

  “How could I be responsible? I did not even know their names! I never saw them before they arrived here.”

  “But I wanted you to come back. You were so interested and so polite. I had to keep you interested in them, in me.”

  “You killed four—no, five—women to bring me here to look at them, in case one was my sister?” Ellianne had never known such madness, had no idea that such depravity existed, or how to deal with it.

  Sir John nodded, and Ellianne could feel the motion against the back of her head, but the knife did not waver. “I knew from the very first, you see, that we were well suited. Until you…”