by Amanda Quick
Arthur watched the windows on the floor above the door that Roland had just entered. There was no sign of lantern light. Roland must have gone to a room at the back of the building.
He would learn nothing standing about in this doorway, he concluded. He lit his own lantern, turned the light down very low, and moved out of the shadows. He crossed the tiny street and tried the door through which Roland had disappeared.
It opened easily.
The dim light of the lantern revealed the stairs that led to the floor above the shops. Arthur removed the pistol from the pocket of his coat.
He went up the stairs cautiously, watching for any unexpected shadows on the landing. Nothing moved in the darkness.
At the top of the steps he found himself in an unlit corridor. There were two doors. A slender edge of light showed beneath one of them.
He set the lantern down so that the weak glare lit the floor but did not throw him into strong silhouette. No sense making a perfect target of himself, he thought.
He went to the door and tried the knob with his left hand. It turned easily in his fingers. Whatever he was about here, Roland did not seem to be concerned that someone might walk in on him with a pistol. Then again, perhaps he simply did not intend to stay very long and wished to be able to leave quickly without having to fumble for a key.
Arthur listened intently for a moment. There was no conversation inside the room. He could hear only one person, presumably Roland, moving around inside.
A drawer opened and closed. A moment later there was a squeak. The rusty hinges of a wardrobe?
When he heard a lengthy scraping sound he used the noise as cover to open the door.
He found himself looking into a small chamber furnished with a bed, a wardrobe and an old washstand. Roland was crouched on the bare wooden floorboards, searching under the bed. He did not hear Arthur enter the room.
“Good evening, Burnley.”
“What?” Roland jerked around, staggering to his feet. He stared. “St. Merryn. So it’s true.” Anguish leaped in his eyes. It was washed away an instant later by a searing anger. “You did force her into your bed. Bastard.”
He launched himself toward Arthur in a reckless fury, both hands outstretched. Either he had not noticed the pistol or he was too enraged to care about the threat it posed.
Arthur moved swiftly out of the doorway and into the hall. He sidestepped and stuck out one booted foot. Roland’s momentum carried him forward with such energy and speed that he could not halt his rush.
He stumbled over Arthur’s boot and flailed desperately in a vain attempt to catch his balance. He did not fall to the floor but he wheeled and collided with the wall on the opposite side of the hall.
Jolted, he steadied himself with both hands. “Damn you to Hell, St. Merryn.”
“I suggest we discuss this like sane gentlemen, not a couple of wild hotheads,” Arthur said quietly.
“How dare you call yourself a gentleman, sir, after the wicked thing you have done?”
Arthur slowly lowered the pistol. For the first time Roland appeared to notice the weapon. Frowning, he followed the motion with his eyes.
“What, precisely, am I supposed to have done that is so evil?” Arthur asked.
“You know the nature of your crime very well. It is monstrous.”
“Describe it to me.”
“You forced my sweet Juliana to give herself to you in exchange for your promise to pay off my gaming debts. Do not deny it.”
“Actually, I am going to deny it.” Arthur used the tip of the pistol to motion Roland back into the room. “Every damn word.” He glanced toward the dark stairs. “Come inside. I do not want to conduct this conversation out in the corridor.”
“Do you plan to murder me, then? Is that the final step in your scheme of revenge?”
“No, I am not going to kill you. Come back in here. Now.”
Roland glanced warily at the pistol. Reluctantly he peeled himself away from the wall and edged into the room.
“You never loved her, St. Merryn, admit it. But you wanted her, did you not? You were furious when she ran off with me, so you concocted a cold-blooded vengeance. You bided your time. You waited until you saw that I was in dun territory and then you sent Juliana word that you would cover my debts if she would agree to surrender herself to you.”
“Who told you this strange tale, Burnley?”
“A friend.”
“You know what they say: with friends of that sort, you do not need any enemies.” Arthur put the pistol back into his pocket and surveyed the chamber. “I presume you came here tonight because you expected to find Juliana with me in that bed?”
Roland flinched. His mouth thinned. “I received a message while I was playing hazard. It said that if I came to this address immediately, I would find proof of your crime here.”
“How was the message delivered?”
“A street boy handed it to the porter at the club.”
“Interesting.” Arthur crossed the room to the wardrobe and examined the empty interior. “And did you find proof that I blackmailed your wife into bed?”
“I had not finished searching the room when you arrived.” Roland clenched his hands into fists. “But the fact that you are here would certainly indicate that you are familiar with this room.”
“I had just reached the same conclusion about you,” Arthur said.
He turned away from the wardrobe and went to the washstand. Methodically he opened and closed the drawers.
“What are you doing?” Roland demanded.
“Looking for whatever it is you were supposed to discover in this room.” He opened the last drawer and saw a black velvet sack closed with a leather cord inside. A chill of understanding crept through him. “Then again, maybe I was the one who was meant to make a discovery here tonight.”
Arthur untied the thong and turned the black velvet bag upside down. Two objects bound in linen fell into his palm.
He set the items on the washstand and unwrapped both in turn.
He and Roland studied the two beautifully enameled snuffboxes. Each was decorated with a miniature scene of an alchemist at work. Each lid was set with a large, faceted red stone.
Roland moved closer, scowling. “Snuffboxes? What are they doing here?”
Arthur watched the lantern light dance on the gleaming boxes in his hand. “It appears that we were both meant to play the parts of fools tonight. We very nearly succeeded in our roles.”
“What are you talking about?”
Arthur carefully replaced the snuffboxes inside the velvet bag. “I believe that someone intended for me to kill you tonight, Burnley. Or, at the very least, have you taken up on charges of murder.”
The carriage rumbled into motion before Arthur had got the door closed. Elenora restrained herself until both men were settled on the seat across from her. She tried to read their faces in the shadows.
“What is going on here?” she asked, trying to ignore the anxiety coursing through her veins.
“Allow me to introduce you to Roland Burnley.” Arthur shut the door and pulled down the shades to cover the windows. “Burnley, my fiancée, Miss Elenora Lodge.”
Roland, slouched uneasily in the corner, slanted him an uncertain glance and then eyed Elenora. She saw both disapproval and curiosity in his gaze.
Roland had heard the rumors that were circulating in the clubs about her, she thought, and did not know what to make of this business. Obviously he wondered if he was being introduced to a respectable lady or a courtesan. Such a situation was bound to plunge any properly bred gentleman into a quandary.
She gave him her warmest smile and extended her hand toward him with cool expectation. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Roland hesitated, but confronted with a lady’s gloved fingers and a formal introduction, his early training in manners took over.
“Miss Lodge.” He inclined his head over her hand in perfunctory acknowledgment.
; He dropped her fingers almost immediately, but not before Elenora had taken the measure of his grip. She looked at Arthur.
“He is not the one you are searching for, sir,” she said quietly.
“I came to the same conclusion myself, a short time ago.” Arthur tossed a black velvet sack lightly into her lap and turned up one of the carriage lamps “But it would appear someone intended for me to believe otherwise. Take a look.”
She felt the weight and shapes of the objects inside. “Never say you found the snuffboxes?”
“Yes.”
“Good heavens.” Quickly she loosened the cord and removed the small objects wrapped in cloth. She uncovered the first one and held the object up to the carriage lamp. The light gleamed on the enamel decorations and sparkled on the large red stone in the lid. “What can this mean?”
“I have been asking St. Merryn just that question for the past several minutes,” Roland grumbled. “He has not yet seen fit to respond.”
“It is a complicated tale, sir,” Elenora assured him. “I’m certain St. Merryn will explain things to you now that you are both safe.”
Arthur shifted slightly and stretched out one leg. “The long and the short of it, Burnley, is that I am hunting the villain who murdered my great-uncle and at least two other men.”
Roland stared. “What the devil?”
“I was led to believe that the killer is a frequent patron of the Green Lyon, so Miss Lodge and I kept watch tonight. Imagine my astonishment when I noticed you leaving the club and walking off alone down a dark street.”
“I told you, I had reason to think that—” Roland stopped in mid-sentence and glanced at Elenora. He flushed a dark red.
Arthur looked at Elenora. “Someone told him that his wife had betrayed him with me, and that if he went to a certain address, he would find proof.”
Elenora was shocked. “What monstrous nonsense.”
Arthur shrugged.
She rounded on Roland. “Allow me to tell you, sir, that St. Merryn is a gentleman possessed of the most elevated notions of honor and the most refined sense of integrity. If you knew anything about him at all, you would know that it is inconceivable that he would have seduced your wife.”
Roland shot Arthur a ferocious glare. “I’m not so sure of that.”
Amusement gleamed in Arthur’s eyes, but he said nothing.
“Well, I am certain of it, sir,” Elenora declared. “And if you continue to believe such rubbish, you are worse than a fool. Furthermore, I must tell you that you do your wife an equally great wrong by allowing yourself to think for even one moment that she would betray you.”
“You know nothing about this matter,” Roland muttered. But he was starting to look somewhat hunted.
“You are mistaken in that regard as well,” Elenora informed him. “I have had the privilege of making Mrs. Burnley’s acquaintance. It was obvious to me that she loves you deeply and would never do anything to hurt you.”
Uncertainty and confusion tightened Roland’s features. “You’ve met Juliana? I do not understand. How did that come about?”
“That is neither here nor there at the moment. Suffice it to say that I have complete faith in the depth of her feelings toward you, even if you do not. I have even greater faith in St. Merryn’s honor.” She turned back to Arthur. “Pray continue with your tale, sir.”
Arthur inclined his head. “It is clear that the villain arranged for me to see Burnley here this evening, assumed that I would follow him, discover him with the snuffboxes and leap to the conclusion that he is the man that I have been hunting. He no doubt intended the entire affair as a distraction to put me off the scent.”
“Yes, of course,” Elenora said slowly. “Whoever he is, he obviously knows that you and Mr. Burnley are not on the best of terms. He was certain that each of you would believe the worst of each other.”
“Huh.” Roland seemed to withdraw even farther into his corner.
Arthur exhaled heavily.
Elenora bestowed a bracing smile on both men. “The villain misread the pair of you rather badly, did he not? Then again, how could he be expected to comprehend that you were each far too insightful and intelligent to make such a dreadful mistake about each other’s intentions? He no doubt judged you both by how he himself would have reacted in such a situation.”
“Mmm.” Arthur was evidently bored by the conversation.
Roland grunted and examined the tips of his boots.
Elenora looked into the faces of both men and felt a disturbing prickle in her palms. In that moment she knew that whatever had transpired between Arthur and Roland a short time before, it had been a very near thing.
“Well, then, that’s over and done,” she continued, determined to dispel the grim mood. “We have a good many questions to ask you, Mr. Burnley. I hope you don’t mind?”
“What questions?” he asked, looking wary.
Arthur studied Roland. “Let us begin with you telling us everything you can about the man who suggested that you go to that room tonight.”
Roland crossed his arms. “There is not much to tell. I made his acquaintance a few days ago over a hand of cards. I won several hundred pounds from him that first night. Unfortunately, I lost the whole of that amount and more in the following days.”
“Was he the one who suggested that you visit the Green Lyon?” Elenora asked.
Roland’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“What was his name?” she pressed.
“Stone.”
“Describe him,” Arthur said.
Roland spread his hands. “Slender. Blue eyes. His hair is medium brown in color. He is about my height. Good features.”
“What of his age?” Elenora asked.
“In the same vicinity as my own. That was one of the reasons we got on so well, I suppose. That and the fact that he seemed to comprehend the difficulties of my financial situation.”
Elenora tightened her hold on the velvet bag in her lap. “Did he tell you anything about himself?”
“Very little.” Roland paused as though trying to summon up the memories. “Mostly we talked about how my present financial problems had all been created by—” He stopped abruptly and shot Arthur a quick, annoyed look.
“He encouraged you to blame me for your difficulties?” Arthur asked dryly.
Roland went back to examining his boots.
Elenora nodded reassuringly. “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Burnley. Your financial problems will soon be behind you. St. Merryn plans to invite you to participate in one of his new investment ventures.”
Roland jerked upright. “What’s this? What are you talking about?”
Arthur gave Elenora an impatient look. She pretended not to notice.
“You and St. Merryn can discuss the matter of your finances later, Mr. Burnley. For the moment we must stick with the subject of this man who took you to the Green Lyon to gamble. Please try to recall anything that he might have said about himself that seemed unusual or interesting.”
Roland was torn, clearly wanting to pursue the topic of investments. But he subsided.
“There really is not much else that I can tell you,” he said. “We shared a few bottles of claret and played some cards.” He paused. “Well, there was one thing. I got the impression that he was very interested in natural philosophy and matters of science.”
Elenora caught her breath.
“What did he say about his interest in science?” Arthur asked.
“I cannot recall precisely.” Roland frowned. “The subject arose after a game of hazard. I had lost a rather large sum. Stone bought a bottle of claret to console me. We drank for a while, talking of various matters. And then he asked me if I knew that England had lost its second Newton several years ago before the man could demonstrate his genius to the world.”
Elenora’s mouth went dry. She looked at Arthur and saw the dark glitter of comprehension in his eyes.
“That reminds me of the question that we
neglected to ask Lady Wilmington,” she said. “Not that it is at all likely that she would have told us the truth, of course.”
33
I’m not at all certain that this is the right step to take, sir.” Elenora adjusted her shawl and looked up at the darkened windows of the townhouse. “It is two o’clock in the morning. Perhaps we should have gone home and considered more carefully before coming here.”
“I have no intention of waiting until a more polite hour to speak with Lady Wilmington,” Arthur said.
He raised the heavy brass knocker for the third time and let it drop. Elenora winced as the clang reverberated loudly in the silence.
A short time before, they had dropped Roland off at his club, giving him instructions to keep silent about what had occurred that evening. Arthur had then ordered the carriage driven directly to Lady Wilmington’s address.
Footsteps sounded at last in the hallway. A few seconds later the door opened warily. A sleepy-eyed maid dressed in a cap and a thin wrapper gazed out at them. She held a candle in one hand.
“What’s this all about? Ye must have the wrong house, sir.”
“This is the right house.” Arthur shouldered his way through the opening. “Summon Lady Wilmington immediately. Tell her this is a matter of great urgency. Life or death.”
“Life or death?” The maid stood back, her face scrunching in horror.
Elenora took advantage of the woman’s startled nerves to nip through the doorway behind Arthur. She smiled calmly.
“Go and tell Lady Wilmington that St. Merryn and his fiancée are here,” she said firmly. “I’m sure she will see us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The clear instructions seemed to steady the maid’s jangled nerves. She lit another candle on the hall table and then hastened up the stairs.
A short time later she hurried back down.
“Her ladyship says to tell ye that she’ll join ye in the study in a moment.”
