As expected, Denbigh had no reply, no final salvo, no menacing shout as Jack strode down the corridor and turned the corner to leave the building. All that met his threat was stunned silence and the whiff of cowards shaking in their boots.
Jack didn’t even care about that for more than five seconds. The moment his feet hit the pavement in front of The Tower Club, he took off at a brisk pace, heading for Scotland Yard. Sir Edmund might have taken all of his cases away from him, but he wasn’t dolt enough to shut him down when he had a solid lead on Denbigh’s guilt at last.
Chapter 16
“It’s not your concern, my lord,” Sir Edmund told Jack in clipped tones half an hour later.
Jack gaped at the man. “But Denbigh as much as admitted to planning an attack involving explosives.”
Sir Edmund stared implacably back at him from behind his desk, his face a mask of derision. “Investigations are no longer your duty, Lord Clerkenwell,” he said, spitting out Jack’s ridiculous title as though a fly had flown into his mouth.
“Then what exactly are my duties, sir?” Jack asked, bracing his hands on the edge of Sir Edmund’s desk and leaning toward him. His title might have been a joke, but if he could use it to pull rank on Sir Edmund so that he could get real work done, then he would. “I have yet to see a description of my job in my new position or any sort of assignment as to what my duties are.”
“You have no duties, my lord,” Sir Edmund went on, making no secret of his opinion on Jack, his new position, and the strings that had been pulled to get him there. “Your duty is to sit in Lord Malcolm Campbell’s pocket and do whatever the bloody hell he wants you to, now that you’re married to his daughter.”
Jack huffed in frustration and pushed away from the desk. There was no point in correcting Sir Edmund and reminding him Bianca wasn’t Lord Malcolm’s daughter per se. The sneer in Sir Edmund’s voice was enough to communicate just how low the man thought Jack was for dishonoring a noblewoman for his own gain. There was no point in expressing how much he loved Bianca. There was no point in anything.
“So you won’t lend me the resources to prevent what very well could be a bloody and destructive attack.” It wasn’t truly a question.
“I won’t give you the resources,” Sir Edmund said, “but I demand you share what you know with Poole. Poole is a Chief Inspector now, and he is the one who has full power to handle this investigation.”
Jack pushed a hand through his hair, glancing sideways at Sir Edmund. The man’s order was clear—hand over everything to Martin Poole, wipe his hands, and trundle back off to The Tower Club to chortle with Rupert and his friends over brandy and cards.
“Yes, sir,” Jack grumbled through clenched teeth, writhing with resentment.
He didn’t take any further leave of Sir Edmund before stomping out of the man’s office and into the quiet halls, where the upper echelon of Scotland Yard had their offices, tucked away and safe from any hint of real work whatsoever. He marched right past the barely-touched office he’d been given and on to the grand staircase in the center of the building.
He made his way sullenly through the building to his old office, to the place where real work and real good was done. The men that had looked to him for command as little as a fortnight ago glanced up from their desks, following his progress across the office with their eyes, breath held. Jack acknowledged a few of them who dared to meet his eyes with a nod, but stayed firmly on his path, striding into the back hall and along to what was now Poole’s office.
But the office was empty. Jack walked inside and glanced around, as if Poole could be hiding behind his desk or in a corner. The coat stand was empty, though. Poole was out.
“Can I help you—oh!” Jack whipped around as Smiley stepped into the room. The young man’s face instantly lit with delight and adoration. “Sir. My lord.” He sketched an awkward bow. “It’s you.”
“Smiley.” Jack nodded, continuing to glance around the room, searching for any indication that Poole already knew about the attack and was doing something about it. “Any idea where Poole is?”
“He’s out on an investigation,” Smiley said, rushing all the way into the room and looking like he would take Jack’s coat or shine his shoes or serve him tea.
Jack waved away the sudden burst of attention, saying, “Which investigation?”
Smiley tilted his head to the side in thought for a moment. “I believe it had to do with opium being smuggled in from the orient, sir, my lord.”
Jack frowned. “What about the Denbigh case? Lord O’Shea’s attack?”
Smiley shook his head, his shoulders drooping. “Sir Edmund told him the opium shipment was far more important and that the Denbigh investigation should be handed off to junior officers.”
“Bloody hell,” Jack muttered, shoving a hand through his hair once more. He would look like a disheveled fool if he kept that up. Junior officers weren’t the same thing as killing the case, but without experience, without contacts in the field, it would take five times as long to find answers. He wasn’t willing to wait. He couldn’t do that to Fergus and he couldn’t do that to whoever Denbigh’s planned victims were.
Fergus. Something clicked at the back of Jack’s mind. Fergus had flat-out told him to take up the investigation himself, no matter what the authorities above him said. A wicked smile spread across Jack’s tight mouth. Fergus was right. The only way to tackle Denbigh was to do it himself. And why not? He was Assistant bloody Commissioner, after all. Who would stop him?
“Thank you, Smiley,” he said, marching around the desk and searching for a scrap piece of paper and a pen. “I’m just going to leave a note for Poole saying I was here and be on my way. Although I’d like to talk to you about something soon. I might have a job for you.”
“Anything, sir,” Smiley said, lighting up with excitement.
“Meet me at The Watchman pub this evening,” Jack said.
He found what he needed and jotted down a few, hasty words, not because he had any intention of consulting Poole on what was decidedly still his investigation—Poole had too many cases of his own in need of complete attention and focus and it would have been a crime on its own to pull him away from his work—but so that if it came to it, he would have proof for Sir Edmund that he had tried in some small way to follow his orders and consult Poole.
Once the note was done, he left it on the desk and strode out of the office, nodding to Smiley as he went. If he wasn’t going to be granted access to Scotland Yard’s resources to figure out what exactly Denbigh was up to and to bring him to justice, he would have to use his own. That would mean a complete change of clothes and identity if he was going to get any of his old contacts in the London underworld to talk to him. So off he went to St. John’s Wood and the place he called home for now.
“Jack! I have to talk to you,” Bianca greeted him the moment he stepped through the door, flying at him in a rush. She wore her coat and one mitten, as though she’d just returned home and hadn’t even taken off her winter things yet. “I’ve just discovered the most alarming thing.”
Jack caught her as she reached him, his heart racing. “So have I,” he said.
The spark in her eyes coupled with her unusually serious expression told him that her news wasn’t frivolous or trivial. Sure enough, she burst out with, “Lord Denbigh really did purchase that house in Kensington. I attended a tea party there the day—” She stopped suddenly, shaking away whatever thought had come to her, then rushed on. “What I forgot to tell you in the muddle of our engagement is that I saw Brickman sniffing around the garden that day and I followed him to a building on Kensington High Street.”
“The one with the bookshop?” Nanette asked, coming out of the kitchen as she wiped her hands on her apron.
Jack was only mildly surprised to see her. He glanced from her to Bianca, who still gripped his forearms. “You followed Brickman? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Bianca let go and stepped back, fixing hi
m with a flat look. “That day took an entirely different turn. I was distracted.”
He couldn’t fault her for that, even if the information was invaluable. “Did he see you? Were you followed?”
“No.” Bianca shook her head.
Nanette stepped closer to them, letting her apron drop. “Kensington High Street,” she repeated. “Above the bookshop.”
Jack and Bianca both turned to her.
“Do you know the place?” Bianca asked.
“Yeah, I know it,” Nanette said with a wary look. “That’s Brickman’s place, all right. He had some of us girls go over there for a party, as he called it. He paid up an’ all, but that were not the sort of party I’ve ever go to again.”
Jack peeked at Bianca, who had blanched and held a hand to her mouth, then said, “I overheard Denbigh planning an attack using the explosives Brickman acquired.”
“Yes,” Bianca said, instantly recovering from her shock. “He’s going to attack the house he just purchased on the day the election results are announced. Lady Claudia is hosting a May Flowers party there.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open. He’d been working for weeks to figure out what Denbigh and Brickman’s plans were for the explosives and Bianca had managed to find everything out in one afternoon?
“How do you know?” he asked, frowning.
“I went to Cece’s house,” Bianca said. “She was there with Henrietta, talking about the event. They didn’t say anything for certain, but I put two and two together, and it seems so clear to me.”
He loved her. It was the oddest possible time to reach that conclusion. After the madness of the last few weeks, their lives being turned upside down, the surprise of the baby and the marriage and every carpet they stood on being ripped out from under their feet, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. Not just because she was beautiful and high-born, but because she was clever and fearless, and because she thought like an investigator.
“Right,” he said, unbuttoning and shrugging out of his coat at last as he crossed the room, heading for the bedroom. “We have to move fast. The only way Sir Edmund is going to divert the force necessary to put a stop to this is if we present him with undisputable proof that an attack is imminent.”
He tossed his coat over a chair and started stripping off his overly fine and restrictive clothing, marching toward the closet in the bedroom where his plain clothes were stored.
“Can we stop the attack if we find the proof we need?” Bianca asked, following him.
Nanette hovered in the background, looking on but not interfering.
Jack tossed his jacket and waistcoat aside, throwing a plain, brown jacket on in their place. “We need to find the explosives,” he said, his mind working. “Sir Edmund isn’t going to budge unless we find those first. Without the explosives, all we have is rumors.”
“But you heard Denbigh admit to planning something,” Bianca said, picking up his discarded clothes as he changed. “Everything points to an attack at the Kensington house the day the election results are announced.”
Jack shook his head, sitting on the bed long enough to pull off his shoes and then to change trousers to something simpler and more serviceable. “Rumors,” he said. “All the rumors in the world aren’t enough to push Scotland Yard into action. Yes, it’s obvious what’s going to happen, but without solid proof, Denbigh could deny everything. And if a nob denies something, he’ll be believed.”
Bianca broke into a sly grin. “Aren’t you glad you’re a nob now, then?”
He couldn’t help but answer her cheeky question with a grin. That was the Bianca he knew, the Bianca he’d fallen in love with. The mischievous glint was back in her eye. The daring tilt of her chin had returned. The weary, hurt, lost woman she’d been since discovering she was pregnant and since their lives had been changed was gone. For one glorious moment, Jack considered abandoning the whole, pressing investigation and tossing her on the bed to make love to her like he hadn’t in weeks.
There would be time for all that later, once Denbigh was arrested.
“We still have to uncover solid proof that Denbigh is the mastermind behind this attack and behind the attack on Fergus,” he said, standing and heading back to the flat’s main room. “He’s been far too clever about laying the blame on others so far. Stopping the explosion is one thing, but I’d bet anything he’s worked out a way to have all the blame fall on Brickman if things go pear-shaped.”
“That won’t do us any good,” Bianca said, following him. She stopped and asked, “So what are you planning?”
“I’m going to Kensington High Street to search for the explosives,” Jack said.
Excitement lit Bianca’s expression. “Not without me you aren’t.”
Jack winced. He should have known Bianca wouldn’t sit quietly at home. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Kensington High Street is too dangerous?” she asked indignantly, crossing her arms.
He let out a breath and let his shoulders drop. “You know what I mean. Besides, you’d stick out like a sore thumb dressed like that, poking around in mews and cellars.” He nodded to her elegant tea dress.
“Then I’ll change,” she said.
“Into what?”
“She can borrow my clothes,” Nanette spoke up from the side of the room, looking as though she was watching a circus act. “We’re about the same size.”
“Yes.” Bianca skipped across the room to Nanette, sizing her up. “We are about the same size. Give me one moment to change and I’ll go with you.”
She and Nanette dashed back into the bedroom. Jack shook his head, praying for patience. He should have demanded Bianca stay put. He should have insisted on investigating on his own. But Bianca had a keen eye for details. She’d followed Brickman and knew the house Denbigh had purchased. And experience had taught him that women were some of the keenest investigators and contacts he could have asked for. They were better able to wheedle information out of men when it was needed, although he’d rather die than let Bianca go after information the way Nanette did.
“How do I look?” Bianca asked a few minutes later, as she and Nanette came out of the bedroom. Bianca paraded toward Jack as though dressed in the latest Paris fashion, even though she looked as middle-class as could be.
“More importantly, how do I look?” Nanette swept into the room in Bianca’s tea dress, wearing a huge grin. “Think I’m ready for tea with her majesty?”
Jack laughed at both women. “Clothes don’t make the man or the woman,” he said, reaching for Bianca’s hand and nudging her toward the door. “But you both look like you’re enjoying yourselves.”
He made a note to have the two dress up again for some fun, but only after everything was settled and Denbigh was brought to justice.
It would have been far easier to ride Tiger to Kensington, but riding with Bianca would have drawn far more attention than they needed. Instead, Jack hailed a cab to take them discreetly across the city.
“We should start at Denbigh’s new house,” Bianca said, as though she were the one running the investigation. “I know I could find the place again if I started there, and we might have an opportunity to look around that house as well.”
“Good thinking,” Jack agreed.
Their clothing served them well when they reached Kensington. They looked like any number of dozens of other tradesmen traversing the street, keeping the world of the rich and titled running while the nobs went about their business.
“I’ve never noticed how members of the aristocracy simply don’t look at tradesmen before,” Bianca said as they made their way from the end of the street, where the cab had let them off, toward Denbigh’s new house. The intention was simply to walk by, drawing as little notice as possible. “It’s disconcerting to realize how many people have been invisible to me.”
“Being invisible has its uses,” Jack said.
He said no more as they reached Denbigh’s new house, slowing their steps. The
house seemed empty, as if suspended between two owners.
“Oh. My lace,” Bianca said right in front of the closed gate at the front of the property. “Dear me.”
Her tone was as false as could be, but Jack couldn’t help but grin as she bent over and pretended to be fiddling with her shoe. “You all right there?” he asked, playing along.
“Just give me a moment.”
As she untied her shoe and did it back up again, Jack looked around. The house was definitely empty. The drapes had been removed from the windows, allowing him to see straight inside to hollow rooms. There were signs of activity, though. Workers were repapering one of the rooms without drapes. The garden hadn’t been tended in some time, but that only meant trails were visible in the overgrown grass, indicating movement in and out of the house.
“I don’t suppose we could poke around inside,” Bianca whispered, still bent over her shoe. “If we could find the explosives today it would save time.”
Jack nodded, but was stopped from saying more as a workman opened one of the windows on the first floor. He grabbed his opportunity.
“You there,” he called up to the man. “How much do you charge for a job? My wife and I have just bought a house and it’s in need of work.”
The workman smiled. “Depends on the job,” he called down. “A couple quid per room for the basics, more if it’s harder work.”
“Do you have a card?” Jack asked.
“I do indeed, sir. Hold on.”
The man pulled his head back into the house, leaving Jack and Bianca to wait.
“The explosives aren’t here,” he said, certain beyond doubt.
“How do you know?” Bianca asked with a frown, straightening at last.
Jack nodded at the house. “The workmen are contracted. They aren’t in Denbigh’s employ. They’re likely crawling all over the place, making renovations. Denbigh would have to be daft to store a bloody great lot of explosives in a house with workmen swarming over it.”
It’s Only a Scandal if You’re Caught Page 18
