Like heart’s blood.
They were taken down a hallway, to a room. The man knocked. A male voice responded. “Come in.”
The door was opened, and Charles was shocked, nearly unto death, when he found that they were facing the Duke of Tiverwell. He was sitting behind a very large and empty wooden desk. Compared to the rest of the building, this office was spare. All of the furniture was expensive, large and heavy.
Lord Dunsmore took off his disguise. “I’d pretend that I’m French, but I think you know who I am.”
“I do,” the Duke looked at Charles, “I’ve never seen your valet before.”
“And you will never see him again,” Lord Dunsmore replied, turning His Grace’s attention away from Charles. “He’s here for my own personal protection. You can’t be too careful these days.” He patted Charles on the shoulder.
“Quite right,” the Duke replied. “What with gentlemen being murdered in the streets.” He sighed, as if it was an imposition. “What are you looking for, Dunsmore?”
“I was wondering what it was that you procure for the Millgate Club members, Your Grace?”
“Is there something that you need, My Lord?” His Grace replied, smoothly deflecting.
“Information. As you know, I’m a private investigator. I’m willing to pay for it, but it must be the truth, Your Grace.”
“I don’t need money to give the truth. If I may ask, who are you working for?” the Duke wanted to know.
“I’m trying to solve the murders,” Lord Dunsmore replied. “I’m doing it because I believe in safety for the gentlemen of the ton.”
Charles felt like he was observing a game of chess, played by two master players. He stood silently by, listening and absorbing everything that was being said—and being left unsaid.
“I would never,” the Duke replied. “I’m merely a procurer of items which may or may not be tricky for someone to get.”
“For example?”
“Silks, champagne, caviar—I can get them moved without tax.”
“How do you do that?”
“I smuggle them in secretly,” the Duke replied. “I run them through the river up by Tiverwell Manor. Then, I bring them to London.”
“This makes you a lot of money, then?”
“Yes,” the Duke replied. “As you can imagine, I want to provide for my only child.”
“So, if I wanted to have you send me a case of French champagne, without the duties?” Lord Dunsmore asked.
“I would have it to you next week,” His Grace replied.
“How much?”
The Duke wrote an amount on a bit of paper, and handed it to Lord Dunsmore, who looked at it, slipping it into the inside pocket of his coat.
“Have the money sent to me by tomorrow at ten o’clock. I will make all of the arrangements done forthwith.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“If you change your mind, just do not send the funds,” the Duke said.
“You will receive the funds forthwith, Your Grace,” Lord Dunsmore replied.
Lord Dunsmore and Charles both exited, making their way back out of the building. They returned to the carriage in silence. Once the door was closed and the carriage was on its way back to Charles’s offices, they spoke.
“Why did you remove your disguise?” Charles asked.
“It made His Grace let his guard down,” Lord Dunsmore explained. “However, the test will come as to whether a murderer comes to get me as a result of my dealings with His Grace, Mr. Bones.”
“You’re putting yourself in danger? Why?” Charles removed the cotton from his mouth. It was unpleasantly damp. He stuffed it into his pocket.
“It’s necessary,” Lord Dunsmore replied. “I’m very skilled in the Japanese martial art of kenpo, after all. I’m sure one assassin would have a hard go of it.”
“If not him, then who could it be?” Charles pointed out. They didn’t have any other leads. Neither did the constables, unless they were going to persist in pointing the blame at Charles. The thought made him extremely nervous.
“At this point, your guess is as good as mine,” Dunsmore replied. “If it’s not him, then we need to start looking at the case from a different angle. There’s something that we’ve overlooked, Mr. Conolly.”
Charles nodded his agreement. There was something that they had overlooked—someone else, who had remained undiscovered, by either the private detective or the proper authorities. The murderer—the true murderer, for he didn’t believe the Duke capable of murdering other gentlemen—was still out there, hiding in plain sight.
The Murderer lurked in the shadows. Dressed in the warm dark cloak, purchased through the sale of certain stolen articles— the winter chill did not touch Nemesis. The Duke of Longmire has been the most difficult to get on his own, thus far. However, he had his faults, ones which Nemesis could not overlook.
Just like the Viscount of Drysdale, the Duke of Longmire planned to persist in his sins after his marriage. He had told Nemesis as much, himself. He’d been drunk—crowing proudly of his successful acquisition of the Lady Arabella’s hand in marriage. How he planned to live as he was used. That was something that Nemesis couldn’t let stand.
He’ll never change, so the cycle must be broken, so that others may learn from his mistakes.
The Duke of Longmire was never alone, except when he went to the brothel. The murderer waited outside, while the Duke had a few drinks at the Millgate Club. At about ten of the clock, he left the club via the side door, slipping out so that his valet doesn’t even know that he’s gone.
Nemesis watched him walk down the street. He was not very far into his cups, but enough that he had a bit of a swagger to his stride—that boldness that comes from too much drink.
The murderer took one of the back doors into the brothel. Nemesis knew the inside of the place well enough. Waiting in a darkened corner, Nemesis waited until His Grace went up along with his chosen lady of the night.
He wouldn’t be alone, but his chosen lady was named Millie, a blonde-haired angel whose face and body were her only attractions. She was one of the brothel’s more featherbrained employees.
Nemesis opened the door as quietly as possible. The woman didn’t see the Murderer, who knocked her over the head, so she crumpled on the floor in a heap.
The Duke turned, smiling when he saw Nemesis. “What are you doing in here?”
The Murderer stepped forward, covering their mouth with a gloved hand. “Shhhhh,” the murderer said, smirking. The Duke smiled, thinking that this was a joke.
Nemesis stepped closer, pulling out the knife. The murderer swiped the blade across the Duke’s throat. He didn’t even see it coming. His eyes widened, his hand going up to his throat. Blood gushed through his fingers. He fell to his knees, then onto his hands. Nemesis grabbed a fistful of his hair, bringing his face up.
“I found you anyway, Your Grace,” Nemesis taunted, watching as the light went out of his eyes.
The girl would wake, so Nemesis tied her up, placing a handkerchief in her mouth. No one would bother them for hours. And, when they were discovered, Millie wouldn’t be blamed for the Duke’s murder.
Nemesis wanted credit, after all. Killing four gentlemen was hard work, which took planning and cunning—two things little Millie wasn’t able to do. She would be pathetic, climbing the scaffolding in tears.
Nemesis emptied the Duke’s pockets. Inside his front breast pocket, there was a sparkly, golden ring—a large emerald, set within a wreath of diamonds. No doubt for the Lady Arabella’s precious finger.
Now, Lady Arabella will be safe.
The murderer slipped the ring into a pocket. Nemesis took Charles Conolly’s date book out of another pocket, dropping it haphazardly on the floor, so that it landed open facedown beside the Duke—as though it had been dropped by accident.
Nemesis left, creeping down the hallway. All of the doors were closed, the sounds of debauchery coming from within. The rush of a suc
cessful kill filled Nemesis’s veins like quicksilver, mixed with something strong—opium. Outside, the dark streets swallowed Nemesis whole.
Arabella was sitting in the withdrawing room with the Duchess. She was trying to read her book, but she had been rereading the same sentence, over and over.
Her mind was full of her impending problem. Namely, the Duke of Longmire’s expected reappearance. She wanted to continue to deny him. But her father had threatened Charles. She had never thought him dangerous. These days, it was hard to say for sure.
“Arabella,” her mother said, causing her to look up. The Duchess was working on another needlepoint. She always kept up a steady stream of them. She would give them away as gifts, since both Tiverwell Manor and their townhome were already decorated in what could only be considered quite a lot of them.
“Yes, Mamma?” Arabella asked.
“Tomorrow is the day that the Duke of Longmire returns,” she said.
“I recall,” she replied with a sigh. Her father wouldn’t allow her to forget. After his remarks the day before, she was in a flutter of fear.
“Have you made up your mind as to what your answer will be?” the Duchess asked.
Arabella sighed, shaking her head. She closed her book and set it aside on one of the tables. “I want to say no,” she admitted. “But Pappa seems so set on having me marry him. They’re both going to persist, wearing me down until I say yes.”
“If you’re really so set on not having him,” her mother said. “Then I could try talking sense into your father.”
“Would that change anything?” Arabella asked. “I feel like all of this disagreement is destroying the close bond that we used to share. I feel like a stranger to my own father.”
“I’ve noticed that he’s been angry of late,” her mother replied. “It’s all of these murders. I believe it’s changing him. Not for the better. I think he’s afraid, more than anything.”
Arabella reached out squeezing her mother’s hand. “I appreciate what you’re saying.”
“I just want you to be happy and taken care of,” her mother said.
“I want that, too,” Arabella said. She did. She knew that the only way she could have both was with Charles.
Her mother was frowning. “Do you truly believe that Mr. Conolly could keep you comfortable?” she asked, delicately.
“You know, I truly do,” Arabella replied. “I mean, he works for the gentlemen of the ton. How could he possibly be poor?”
Her mother inhaled, then exhaled, nodding. She was opening her mouth to say something when they were interrupted by the door flying open.
“I’m sorry Your Grace—” Mr. Blankley said. The rest of what he was apologizing for was cut off as Lady Linton and Lady Emily both burst into the room in a brightly-colored cloud of silk, ribbons, and wide-eyed upset.
“Your Grace! My Lady! Have you heard?” Lady Linton demanded.
“Have you heard the news?” Lady Emily asked, finishing her mother’s sentence.
“Goodness, no,” the Duchess said. “Whatever is the matter?”
“The Duke of Longmire has been found murdered,” Lady Linton said. Arabella had never been speechless in her entire life, but she was then.
She just sat there, her mouth hanging open. She certainly hadn’t wanted to marry the Duke, but she hadn’t wished a violent death upon him. The sudden change had her head spinning.
“When?” It was the only thing that she could think to say.
“He was found this morning,” Lady Emily said, then whispered. “He was found with his throat slit in a brothel.”
Arabella’s mouth fell open again. Her mind went blank.
“Mr. Blankley,” the Duchess called out. “Please bring some tea and brandy. We’ve all had a shock.” She grabbed Arabella’s hand. “Darling? Are you all right?”
“I think I’m feeling faint,” Arabella murmured. She was experiencing a myriad of emotions. She wasn’t quite sure which was which.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Charles was in his office, when Constable Mills arrived. He was smiling smugly. Charles had already heard the news, and had called for Lord Dunsmore, as well as his friend, Alistair Morton. He had a hunch that he was about to be blamed, and he wanted someone skilled in criminal defense in his corner.
“We’ve found your date book, sir,” the Constable said, placing it on his desk.
Charles stared at the familiar book, which had his name embossed on the leather of the cover. He recalled purchasing it, ordering his name placed there. He’d been proud of the purchase.
“At the scene of the Duke of Longmire’s murder,” Charles said bitterly, finishing the thought. It was just as he’d expected. “Just like I told you that you would. The murderer wants to frame me.” He was terrified, but he wasn’t about to show Constable Mills. He folded his hands in his lap, staring back at the constable.
“Don’t say anything more, Charles,” Alistair said, letting himself in. “They’re looking to close the investigation. However, London is in an uproar over the deaths of four gentlemen, and if the correct murderer is not caught, Constable Mills will be in a lot of trouble.”
“I see what’s going on here,” Constable Mills said. “I’ve got my eye on you, Mr. Conolly.”
“We can see that,” Alistair said coolly. “However, Mr. Conolly has an alibi for last night.”
“Does he?” Constable Mills raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze back toward Charles.
“I do,” Charles replied, glad that he had decided to go out drinking with the other barristers. He hadn’t gone, recently. Alistair and Arthur had persuaded him at the last minute.
“He was out all night with us,” Alistair said. “I can give you the names and contact information for all nine of us barristers who go out for a pint every week.”
The Constable’s eyes widened as he looked at Alistair in dismay. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Morton.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to just take my word for it,” Alistair said, clearly pleased.
Lord Dunsmore burst into the room. “Constable! I thought I’d find you here.”
“You summoned Dunsmore?” Constable Mills asked, disappointed. He looked in between Charles and Alistair, clearly unsure which of them was to blame for the private detective’s appearance.
“I did,” Charles admitted freely. “Although it sounds as though he didn’t receive my missive at his home.”
“I was at the crime scene,” Lord Dunsmore replied, looking at the constable curiously. “It was a hunch that I had that led me here, fortuitously. Are you planning on charging Mr. Conolly?”
“No,” Constable Mills replied. “I’ve got what I needed—that is, Mr. Conolly’s alibi. I’ll be on my way out.”
The three of them were silent, as they waited for the constable to leave. The door closed, and then both Alistair and Lord Dunsmore turned to Charles.
“I’m taking you to my estate in the country,” Lord Dunsmore said.
“You need an alibi at all times,” Alistair added.
“I’m not leaving London,” Charles replied, shaking his head. He would look guilty if he left town. Not to mention, if the murders stopped as soon as he was out of London, then he would look guilty as sin.
“It’s no longer safe for you here,” Lord Dunsmore stated.
“He’s right,” Alistair added.
“I promised Lady Arabella that I would remain nearby,” he said. “I cannot abandon her. Not at this time.” No one and nothing could get him to leave. Unless Arabella herself was going. Then, and only then would he go.
Alistair and Lord Dunsmore shared a look.
“I won’t run and hide,” Charles said. “I’ll just make myself very visible.”
“Very well. Then we will make you very visible,” Lord Dunsmore said. “Have you any invitations?”
“A few,” Charles replied.
“Then you’re going to all of them,” Alistair said. “Make sure that you are seen, a
nd for long periods of time.”
“I will go with you,” Lord Dunsmore added. “To provide you with an alibi.”
“If it’s not the Duke of Tiverwell, then who could it be?” Charles asked, giving voice to his concerns. He and Lord Dunsmore had been discussing it, the last time they’d spoken. They’d come up with no possible leads.
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