by Candace Camp
“Took you across the rooftops, did she?” Wells grinned. “There’s none better than Dezzy up there.”
“Who were these men?” Brock asked.
“I don’t know,” Tom admitted. “I guess they must have been Falk’s crew, though why he would be so violent about it, I don’t know. Frankly, it seemed to me that they were more intent on harming us than trying to get something from us. More accurately, I think they wanted to harm Desiree. When they first attacked us, they yelled, ‘Get her,’ not ‘get them.’ And later, when they spotted us, they yelled, ‘There she is.’ I think it was Desiree they wanted, and I was just in their way.”
Desiree’s brothers turned frowning gazes on her. She grimaced at Tom. “You were in more danger than I. They just wanted to kidnap me and make me give them the will. They wouldn’t have had any qualms about killing you.”
“But why take you to the East End?” Wells pointed out. “Surely they didn’t think you carried the thing around with you. It seems more reasonable to attack you here, as they did before.”
“Well, they weren’t very successful before, were they? They realized it would take more men, especially with Tom escorting me back and forth to the club. And three men attacking people is less likely to get noticed there than in Knightsbridge.”
“That makes sense,” Wells said thoughtfully. “Or they might have realized that if they held you hostage, Brock and I would give them the will.”
“If we had it,” Brock interjected dryly. “What I want to know is who in the world were the men who came to your rescue?”
“I have even less understanding of that,” Tom told him. “I suppose they could have belonged to some rival gang, continual enemies who seized the opportunity to take them on.”
“Falk certainly has plenty of enemies,” Brock commented. “Still, it seems a bit of a coincidence.”
“The only people who have evinced interest in this will are Falk, who hired Desiree, and Gregory Moreland,” Wells said.
“Except we assumed that Gregory hired Falk to begin with. I can stretch my belief to say that perhaps Gregory was so eager to find it that he hired both Falk and another set of men,” Desiree said. “But why would they try to stop Falk’s gang, or vice versa?”
“But who else would have any interest in it?” Wells asked.
“The problem is, we can’t find that out without knowing what’s in the will,” Tom said. “Alastair could have left a bequest to almost anyone, and that person could want the will to be probated.”
“I suppose,” Brock said. “Though it seems odd that some bequest would be so important. Of course, it seems odd, too, that Gregory is so insistent on finding it. After all, he’s the legitimate heir. I can’t imagine that Alistair would have left such a large bequest to anyone else that it would have much effect on Gregory’s inheritance.”
“What if he’s not the legitimate heir?” Tom asked, and everyone turned to him. “What if Alistair married your mother in secret before he married Lady Tabitha? Making you and Desiree the legitimate heirs. That would certainly be enough reason for Gregory to want to destroy the will.”
“Sounds like a novel,” Wells said. “Besides, I don’t see how that could be true. Gregory is older than we are, isn’t he?”
“You’re right,” Tom agreed. “I looked him up when we first started on this, and Gregory is thirty-three years old.”
“So just a year younger than I,” Brock said. “I was four or five when Lord Moreland moved us into that house. Alistair would have already been married to Gregory’s mother for a few years.”
“Where the devil is this will?” Wells asked. “Why does everyone think you have it?”
“Because I lied to that man who attacked me. I told him I had it because I was trying to get him to move so I could run,” Desiree explained.
“So it went astray somewhere?”
“Apparently. It hasn’t shown up at the office or at Broughton House,” Tom told them.
“Perhaps I ought to have a conversation with Falk,” Wells said, his blue eyes icy.
“Trust me, that is exactly what I intend to do as soon as I leave here,” Tom assured him grimly.
Wells regarded him for a moment, then nodded to Tom. “Very well.”
Tom gave the other man a little nod in return, feeling as if he had been handed something significant, though he wasn’t exactly sure what.
“I’m going with you,” Desiree declared.
“Naturally you want to walk into the lion’s den,” Brock grumbled.
It was on the tip of Tom’s tongue to tell Desiree it was too dangerous, but after one glance at the glower Desiree sent her older brother, Tom wisely held back the words. “Of course. We’ll take care of Falk together.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IN THE HOPES that they would better blend into Falk’s neighborhood, Desiree changed into one of her simpler, looser garments and sturdy walking boots and managed to dig up some older, rougher clothes of Brock’s for Tom to wear. Tom was leery of taking an elegant town carriage and matched pair of grays into the Whitechapel area, but Desiree pointed out that they would be unlikely to find a hackney willing to take them there, let alone hang about waiting for them to return. Besides, their experience last night had given Desiree a healthy distrust of any conveyance but her own.
Merriwell let them out well before they reached Falk’s headquarters. The streets were becoming too narrow to navigate successfully and the vehicle was too tempting a target. Desiree arranged to meet the carriage later, and she and Tom set off through the crowded, twisting streets.
Finally, Desiree stopped and nodded at a building ahead of them, where a set of outside stairs curled up to the second floor. “That’s where Falk’s headquarters are now. See the man hanging about at the bottom of the stairs? That’s one of Falk’s men.”
They walked up the street and turned toward the staircase. The man lounging beside it stepped in front of them. “Stop right there, mate. You can’t—”
Tom grabbed the other man’s arm, twisted it up behind his back and shoved the guard aside. He charged up the stairs, Desiree right after him. Below them, the big man bellowed. “’Ere! You can’t go in there!”
He ran up the stairs after them. Tom whirled and punched him in the mouth. The man fell and tumbled down several steps. Behind him, Desiree opened the door, and they darted inside. Desiree slammed the door and locked it behind them.
“Hey!” Falk jumped up from his chair behind the desk. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“This.” Tom grabbed the other man by his lapels and slammed him back into the wall. “Stop sending men after Desiree! The next time your men show up, I’m going to meet them with a gun.” He pulled Falk back slightly and slammed him into the wall again. “Then I’m coming after you! Am I clear?”
Tom released Falk and took a step back. Falk straightened his jacket with a jerk.
“Bloody hell! What is the matter with you?” Falk turned to Desiree. “I didn’t send anybody to attack you! Why would I do that?” He shrugged, turning his hands palm up in a gesture of innocence.
“Are you trying to tell me that wasn’t your man who tried to steal the box from us?” Desiree crossed her arms.
“Oh, that.” Falk shrugged. “Bert’s a fool. The envelope wouldn’t have been in your mother’s old house, now would it?”
“I don’t have your stupid envelope!” Desiree exclaimed. “I told you. I didn’t find it. I didn’t steal it.”
“Then who does?” Falk shot back.
“I don’t know. But it isn’t me.”
“Well.” Falk studied her. “Then what the hell are you looking for?”
“That is none of your business,” Desiree retorted.
A loud banging began on the door, accompanied by loud shouts to open up.
“Look.” Tom moved in closer, h
is face fierce. “I don’t give a damn about this bloody envelope. I’m telling you—don’t come near Desiree again. You hurt her, and I will end you.”
“Hurt her!” Falk widened his eyes innocently. “I wouldn’t hurt my little Dezzy.”
“No? Sending some ruffian with a knife isn’t hurting her?” Tom snapped.
Falk gaped at him. “What? What knife?” He looked toward Desiree. “What’s he talking about? I never did that.”
“I guess you didn’t kidnap us last night and chase us all over the docks, either.”
“Chase you! Hell!” Falk snorted. “Those were my men that saved your hides last night!”
“You expect me to—” Tom started, but Desiree stepped forward, putting a hand on his arm.
“Wait.” She stared intently at Falk. “That wasn’t your man who attacked me in my studio?”
“I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about,” Falk shot back. “Yes, I had you followed. I knew you two were up to something. And you ought to be glad I did, or my men wouldn’t have been there last night. But I never sent a man to attack you. What would be the point in that?”
Tom glanced at Desiree and she gave him a nod.
“Really?” Tom asked her. “You believe him?”
“Yes, I think I do. Somebody did help us last night.”
“Then who the devil is after you?” Tom asked Desiree. Ignoring the continued pounding on the door, he swung toward Falk. “Why are you looking for this will?”
“Somebody paid me, what d’you think? I didn’t even know the bloody thing was a will.” He addressed himself to Desiree and said, “I told you everything I know about it. A document from this lawyer, name of Blackstock, in the Moreland office. I don’t know anything else.”
“Who hired you?” Desiree asked.
“I can’t go giving out names like that!” Falk protested. “I have a reputation!”
“The only reputation you have is for dirty dealings. Give me the name.” Tom stared at him flatly. “I would welcome any opportunity to pay you back, so if I were you, I’d start talking.”
Falk sighed theatrically. “Oh, very well. Lloyd Paxton hired me.”
Falk’s answer was so far from anything Desiree had expected that it took a moment for his words to sink in. “Paxton? What does Paxton have to do with it?”
“And why the hell would Lloyd Paxton come to you?” Tom added.
“Oh, old Pax and I go way back,” Falk said with a sly smile. “I knew ’em both, him and his noble friend. Your da was more of a stickler, Dez, but Pax always liked his fun. Hadn’t seen the man in an age before this. They say Pax stopped his gambling and whoring.” He shrugged. “More’s the pity.”
“Why does Paxton want Alistair Moreland’s will?” Tom asked.
Falk shrugged. “I don’t ask my customers why. I just ask how much they’re willing to pay to get it.”
“Of course you do,” Tom said in disgust.
Desiree studied Falk for a moment. “What are you not telling us?” He was a difficult man to read. Lies and subterfuge were so much a part of his reality that they didn’t stand out; it was like finding something in the dark. Still, she was certain that he was concealing something; the glee he took in such things was palpable.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know something else,” Desiree insisted. “What is it?”
“I know lots of things,” Falk said smugly. “But it takes money to find out.”
“I don’t know,” Tom retorted, grasping the other man’s shirt front in one hand, his other hand doubling into a fist. “I think it might just take a few bruises.” He turned to Desiree. “What do you think?”
“He’s not worth the effort,” Desiree said. “I want to talk to Lloyd Paxton.”
Outside the door, there was a sudden silence. Falk gave them a wicked smile. “One thing you didn’t plan on—there’s a spare key to the office. Don’t worry, Desiree, like I said, I wouldn’t hurt you.” His malicious gaze went to Tom. “Now, Tom Quick is a different matter.”
Desiree’s senses were fully open, and she had already registered that the danger outside the door was growing. She cast her gaze all around the walls. There would be another way out; Falk always had one. And there it was—a thin line of light on the wall to their right. A door-shaped line of light. She ran to the low table that stood in front of it and yanked it back. As she suspected, it was fastened to the wall, and as she pulled the table, a section of the wall opened with it. As Falk stared at her with a stunned look on his face, Tom joined her. Desiree flashed her former boss a smile. “Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t find your getaway door.”
Desiree closed the slender section of wall after them just as the outer door crashed open. Tom had already lit a match, and they went down the stairs in its feeble light. At the bottom, a section of wooden wall opened beneath Tom’s push and they emerged into an alleyway so narrow that Tom’s shoulders brushed it on either side as they ran. The corridor ended at another lane, and they turned, walking quickly in the opposite direction from Falk’s office.
Desiree took a complicated route back to their carriage, but they saw no sign of any pursuers. When Tom expressed surprise, Desiree said, “Falk might not even tell them where we went. I’m sure he doesn’t want anyone to know his secret entrance.”
Tom laughed. “How did you know it was there?”
“Falk always has a back door,” she replied. “I could see that something about that wall was at odds with the rest of it. The wall looked smooth, but in reality, there was a crack there, a door-shaped crack. Its ‘truth’ didn’t match its appearance. The truth looks sharp and bright to me. It was like a line of light outlined the door in my mind. It’s very like the way I ‘see’ that a person’s words aren’t in line with reality.”
“You actually saw the crack in the wall?”
“Not in the same way I’m seeing you. I see it in my mind. If I asked you to think of someone—the duchess, say—you could picture her in your head even though you couldn’t physically see her. That’s how I saw the hidden door.”
“What about what you did last night? How did you know that the wall wouldn’t collapse or where we should climb?”
How was she to explain her odd ability to Tom? He had accepted her skill at detecting lies and dangers from people. But communing with the world around her? She didn’t understand it herself. “I cast out my senses, looking for the possibilities of escape, the places where an abnormality can help me or hurt me. If something is useful to me, a good possibility, I see light on it. That’s what I got from that wall we walked across. But if it’s a negative possibility, a danger, it’s dark, not dark like the nighttime, but more like a void. When we jumped that street, I knew we could do it because I could see the line of light stretching across it.”
To her relief, Tom didn’t look unbelieving; he merely nodded thoughtfully, as if filing away the knowledge. He was quiet the rest of the way to their carriage at the arranged meeting place, but after they settled into their seats, Tom asked, “What is it that you think Falk knows?”
Desiree shook her head. “I’m not sure. But I am certain there was something he wasn’t telling us. He’s hoping we’ll pay him to find out. He might know something important about my parents’ leaving. Both Mrs. McGee and Pax said Falk hung around my mother’s house a great deal. He could have overheard or seen something.”
“Hopefully we’ll get some answers out of Paxton,” Tom said. “This puts him right back into the list of suspects.”
“Yes. I didn’t understand that flash of something being ‘off’ with him when we first met him, then changing so quickly. But I realize now that his reaction wasn’t to me or my situation. It was when you introduced yourself. Your name, the agency’s name, alarmed him. But that went away when he realized we were there about an en
tirely different matter.”
“I’m not so sure that your father’s name is a different matter. Paxton and Gregory are both looking for what is presumably a will written by your father. You’re looking for him. Maybe you were right, and he is back in England.”
“Writing wills and spying on me?”
“It makes no sense,” Tom agreed. “But maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do. Make sense of it.”
The carriage rolled up in front of Paxton’s house, and as they disembarked, they saw Lloyd Paxton coming out his front door. He stopped when he saw them, saying, “You again?”
“Yes, we have a few more questions. It shouldn’t take long,” Desiree told him.
Paxton hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh and said, “Come in, then.” He led them into the house but remained standing. “I can’t stay long. I have an appointment later this morning.”
“It will be quick if you tell us why you want Alistair Moreland’s will.”
Desiree saw the same panicked shift in Paxton that had been there briefly before, but this time it clung to him, blurring and darkening the edges of his being. “How could you—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We just talked to Falk,” Tom told him. “So we know you hired him to break into our office to take that envelope. You needn’t worry that you’re going to be involved in a theft or any other scandal. We just want to understand why Miss Malone has been caught up in it.”
“I say, young man, this is a damned impertinence. It’s none of your business,” Paxton blustered, but he could not maintain his belligerence, and he sagged, resignation in his face. “But I suppose it will be common news anyway if the will goes into probate. Alistair apparently wrote a new will before he went away, and he left it with his lawyer. I knew he had planned to, but I wasn’t sure he’d gotten around to it before he took off.”
“What was in it?” Desiree asked gently. There was such a look of defeat on his face that she could not help but feel some sympathy for the man.
“Alistair was supposed to leave me a piece of property. I was in something of a bind, you see. Gambling debts, so of course I had to pay—gentleman’s honor and all that. Alistair bought some land from me because I needed the money. The place had been in my family for years, so it was a bit hard to let go of it, but I had nothing else that was worth enough money. Alistair was such a decent chap that he said he would leave the property to me when he died so that it would come back to my family.”
