Big Bobby cried, “Goddamnit, Sal, that was my favorite ’at!”
He bent to pick his headwear up from the ground. Harry’s brows inched up at the sight of the precise hole punched through it.
Sal tucked a small, pearl-handled pistol back into the folds of her skirts. “Ought to know be’er than to shit where you sup. If I see that bony ’ide o’ yours again, I’ll blow a ’ole through it too. Now give the ticker back to the toff, and be quick ’bout it.”
Jamming on his holey hat, Big Bobby did as he was told before skulking out.
“Perfect aim, as usual,” Tessa said.
Sal preened. “No be’er than yours with those pretty daggers.”
The mutual admiration society was interrupted by the emergence of a young man through the velvet curtain behind the counter.
“Bloody ’ell,” he said, yawning widely, “can’t a chap get some shut-eye around ’ere?”
“Alfredkins!” All of the hardness melted from Sal’s features. She rushed over to the newcomer, cooing, “Sorry we disturbed you, love, but Tessa’s ’ere.”
“Can see that, my peepers ain’t faulty. But who’s the four-eyes?” Alfred Doolittle ambled up to Harry and gave him a once-over.
Harry returned the favor. Up close, Doolittle was older than he’d first appeared; he was probably near Harry’s age, those years softened by an angelic boyishness. Slight and bran-faced, Doolittle had a mop of brown hair and large, wide-spaced eyes.
“Name’s Sam Bennett,” Harry said evenly. “I was hired on by Mr. Black to protect Miss Todd.”
“Ain’t shook this one loose yet, eh?” Doolittle addressed Tessa.
“Hello to you, too,” she said smartly. “And I have no intention of shaking Bennett loose. In fact, we came because we need your help.”
“’Ain’t ’eard that before,” Doolittle muttered. “All right, to the office, the pair o’ you.” Turning to his lover, he said, “Keep watch, Sal, and don’t ’esitate to put that talent o’ yours to use.”
“Which talent, Alfredkins?” Sal purred, running her fingers through his hair.
“With the pistol, you tart.” Doolittle gave her bottom an indiscreet squeeze, and Sal giggled. “Your other talents’ll keep ’til bedtime.”
A moment later, all business, Doolittle crooked his finger at Harry and Tessa, and they followed him through the curtain.
His office turned out to be a surprisingly well-appointed room at the back of the shop. The furnishings were of high quality, though mismatched. There was an oak desk, a half-moon rosewood table, and a zebrawood curio cabinet crammed to the gills. Peering inside the last, Harry saw a familiar-looking pig bladder device; he narrowed his eyes at Tessa, who just gave him a cheeky grin and tugged him over to a chintz settee.
Doolittle took the leather wingchair by the fire.
“State your business,” he said as grandly as any lord of the manor.
“First of all, I want to return these.” Tessa opened the large knitting bag she’d brought with her, and Swift Nick’s head popped up. In his mouth was yet another familiar item: the pack of naughty cards Tessa had used to fleece Dewey O’Toole.
“If it ain’t the furry bandit,” Doolittle drawled.
The ferret relinquished the deck to Tessa and, grinning, vanished back into the bag.
Tessa set the cards on the coffee table, next to a chess set missing several pieces. “Thank you for lending them to me.”
“Come in ’andy, did they?” Doolittle said easily. “’Eard about the bull and cow at Stunning Joe Banks’ establishment.”
During his tenure in the Black household, Harry’s vocabulary of rhyming slang had grown considerably. Thus, he knew that “bull and cow” meant a row.
“Let’s just say the cards provided the necessary distraction,” Tessa said.
Seeing the conspiratorial smile that passed between her and their host, Harry frowned. “How, precisely, do you know one another?”
“Known Tessie since she was a poppet with eyes bigger than ’er ’ead,” Doolittle said.
“Alfred and I met at The Underworld when I caught him stealing,” Tessa added fondly.
“Worked for the previous owner o’ the club, see, cove by the name o’ Hunt.”
Harry jolted. The prior owner of The Underworld was Gavin Hunt, and Hunt’s wife Persephone happened to be as thick as thieves with Harry’s sister-in-law, Marianne. The Hunts and Kents were friends, and, before he’d left for Cambridge, Harry had spent no little time in the company of the Hunt family. The fact that this Alfred Doolittle had a connection to them as well made him wary.
Yet he didn’t think he’d met Doolittle before. Nor did the other evince any sign of recognition as he palavered on.
“Now Hunt didn’t mind my borrowing a pair o’ candlesticks now and again, so ’ow was I to know that the rules were changed under new management?” Doolittle’s tone was utterly reasonable, his expression as innocent as a babe’s. “Turns out, Tessie’s pa don’t take lightly to a bit o’ skimming. ’Is ’ounds caught my scent, so I took cover in one o’ the wenching rooms. Imagine my surprise to find it already occupied by this wee chick. And my further surprise when she didn’t make a peep when the guards arrived and asked if she saw anyone come in. Not a single peep, even though she saw me dive under the bed not a minute earlier—”
“And we’ve been friends ever since,” Tessa finished.
“Ah,” Harry said as if it were perfectly normal for a girl to befriend a thief. But that was his sprite: her loyalty was unfaltering. It was a trait apparently shared by Doolittle, for he looked at her with undisguised—and, fortunately for him, brotherly—affection.
“Right, then. What do you need your ol’ chum Alfred for this time?” Doolittle said.
Tessa glanced at Harry, who nodded. He trusted her judgement.
Moreover, they needed all the help they could get.
The connection between Inspector Davies and Black’s would-be assassin Loach had been too glaring for Harry to ignore. Not knowing who to trust, he’d asked Ambrose to make discreet enquiries into the activities of Inspector Davies. Yet this added another burden to his brother, who was already looking into De Witt’s financials and had his own cases to investigate.
Furthermore, Harry’s gut told him that the meeting at Nightingale’s had been a portent of bad things to come. Black had thrown down the gauntlet; anything could happen in the next sennight. It was imperative that they hunt down the villain before the bastard struck again.
Enter Tessa’s plan involving Doolittle.
After she finished summarizing the details of the hellfire, she said imploringly, “No one knows the streets like you do, Alfred. Since Bennett and I cannot keep watch on De Witt on our own, we need your help. You’re to tail him only, mind, and keep a safe distance while you’re doing it.”
Doolittle, who’d remained quiet throughout, scratched his ear. “Why don’t you tell your grandfather ’bout this?”
“You know how Grandpapa is: he never wants me involved, nor does he take me seriously,” she said darkly. “And, in this case, we have no proof of De Witt’s wrong doing. Any scientist could have a laboratory in his house. But if we trail him to the factory where the explosive is being produced, then,”—she snapped her fingers—“we’ve got him. Then Grandpapa will have to believe me. And only then will we be able to put an end to this menace on our streets.”
Doolittle’s sigh was that of a man who knew Tessa well. “Made up your mind, ’ave you?”
Her vigorous nod caused her bonnet to shed a violet onto the carpet.
“Give us the cove’s address,” Doolittle muttered.
“Thank you, Alfred.” Tessa beamed at him.
“The two nights I followed De Witt,” Harry said, “he left his townhouse at nine in the evening. After making an appearance at a society affair, he headed to a club. Crockford’s in St. James.”
“Crockford’s, eh?” Doolittle whistled. “Play there gets steep.”
/>
Which was precisely why Harry wanted to know more about De Witt’s financial situation. Was he in debt? Was money motivating him to produce and sell hellfire to the underworld?
“Both times, he didn’t leave the club until dawn.” Harry paused. “From what I know of De Witt, he is a man of habit, so tailing him will likely involve late nights.”
“Late nights ain’t the problem.” Doolittle stretched his arms, yawning. “It’s the days stuck in this ’ere shop. A chap gets rusty from too much respectability.”
If running a fence was respectable, Harry wondered what Doolittle considered disreputable…and decided he didn’t want to know.
At that instant, a blast came from the front of the shop.
“Zounds.” Tessa’s eyes widened. “Should we go help?”
“Nah. If it were Monday,”—Doolittle exchanged a significant glance with Tessa, making Harry wonder about the “wife” on that day of the week—“my arse would be catapulting from this ’ere chair, but it being Wednesday means all I got to do is nuffin’.” He yawned again. “Come to fink o’ it, I might catch a few winks.”
“We won’t keep you.” Tessa rose, and Harry followed suit. “We’ll hear from you soon?”
“Long as I ’aven’t lost my touch.” Doolittle wriggled his fingers and waved them off.
25
Two nights later, Tessa sat before the vanity as Lizzie put the final touches on her hair. Madame Rousseau, the modiste, had suggested trying a new, softer coiffure to go with the costume, one that she claimed was all the rage. Mavis had arrived to supervise Tessa’s toilette, and she reclined on the adjacent chaise longue, a blanket tucked over her slight form.
Mama hadn’t recovered completely from her last episode. In the mirror, Tessa saw the other’s pale lips, the skin on her cheeks so translucent that a tracery of blue veins showed through.
Tessa bit her lip. “You really didn’t need to come, Mama.”
“Of course I did. My condition prevents me from accompanying you to the masquerade,” Mama said, “but I refuse to miss this part as well. A girl needs her mama to be present for her grand entrée.”
“This isn’t my first foray into the ton.”
Tessa felt obliged to point it out. During the years at Southbridge’s, she’d blundered through her share of such events, and she didn’t want her mama’s hopes to be raised…only to be crushed if she once again failed to be a success.
She, herself, had larger game to hunt. The De Witts might be in attendance tonight. Although she’d given Bennett her promise not to approach them, she could monitor them surreptitiously if the occasion permitted.
“Things are different now,” Mama said. “With the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville at your beck and call, doors will be opened for you.”
“His Grace is hardly at my beck and call.”
“Ransom is dazzled by you.”
Tessa let out a huff of amusement. Because of Mavis’ physical frailty, people often overlooked the fact that she had steel at her core. She was a Black, after all. Her strength of will showed itself frequently when it came to her stepdaughter: it seemed nothing could put a dent in her optimism about Tessa’s future.
Tessa turned in her chair to face her stepmama, earning her a grunt from Lizzie.
“Hold still, Miss Tessa. I ain’t done.”
“Sorry, Lizzie.” To her mother, she said, “It isn’t me he’s dazzled by: it’s the dowry Grandpapa has promised him. He admitted as much during our turn in Baroness von Friesing’s garden.”
“He did?” Distaste thinned Mama’s mouth. “That’s not very gentlemanly of him, is it?”
“I prefer honesty to flattery.”
“Nonetheless, a fellow ought to show proper respect for the lady he is courting. I shall speak to Father about it.”
“Please don’t, Mama.” The last thing she needed was her grandfather pressuring Ransom into a pretense of romance. “Such niceties are unnecessary, I assure you.”
“Every lady deserves niceties,” Mama said primly. “Especially during the courtship.”
Before Tessa could argue, Lizzie said, “That’s that, I think. Have a look.”
Tessa turned back toward the looking glass. She swung her head this way and that, admiring Lizzie’s handiwork. The maid had plaited several sections of her hair, arranging the dark braids to lie softly against her ears before twisting into an elegant coil at the back of her head. Her only hair ornament was a headband from which sprouted a pair of small, furry, triangular ears. The ears were made of cream-colored ermine and matched the trim on Tessa’s gown.
“Come here, dear,” Mama said, “so I can have a better look.”
Lizzie left, and Tessa went to sit on the chaise longue.
After a thorough inspection, her mama declared, “You are a diamond of the first water. Mark my words: Ransom will propose before the night is out.”
Crikey, that was the last thing Tessa wanted. With prickling unease, she realized that she would have to find some way to discourage Ransom whilst appearing to her family that she was going along with the courtship. Not an easy balance to strike.
If only I could tell Mama and Grandpapa the truth: Bennett is the only man for me.
She slid a glance at Mama, who was happily exclaiming over the costume’s merits, and wondered how the other would react. Could her parent understand marrying for love rather than practical reasons?
On impulse, she said, “How did you know you wanted to marry my father?”
Mama blinked. “Well, he asked me. Or, rather, he asked Father for my hand. I had been recently widowed, and your father seemed like a nice man.”
“Were you…in love with him?”
“I don’t suppose I was.” Mama gave a slight shrug. “Love is not a requirement for marriage.”
Although Tessa was aware of the state of affairs between her parents, she couldn’t help but press, “Didn’t you want to love your husband?”
“I loved my first husband. Loving once was enough.” Mama’s lips pressed tightly.
The other did not discuss her first marriage…out of grief, Tessa assumed. From the rumors she’d heard, Warren Kingsley had been an inordinately robust and handsome man, one who’d died far too young in a boating accident. Poor fellow had been found floating in the Thames, hardly recognizable after dining with the fishes.
“Why this talk of love, Tessa? Are you in love with Ransom?”
“No.” Faced with Mama’s shrewd eyes, Tessa was glad she didn’t have to lie. “And that’s the problem. I want to love my husband.”
An amused sound rustled from Mama’s throat. “Heavens, what a romantic you are turning out to be. You’re almost as bad as Father. But take it from me,” she said with crisp pragmatism, “it is better not to burden a marriage with love. Tolerance and affection are more peaceful goals.”
Before she could reply, a fist pounded on the door.
“Tessie, you ready yet?” her grandfather’s voice bellowed. “At this rate, I ain’t going to live long enough to see this ‘secret’ costume o’ yours.”
“Let him in,” Mama advised, “before he breaks down the door.”
Tessa hurried to comply, and her heart flip-flopped as Bennett entered behind Grandpapa. Since she couldn’t very well have a bodyguard by her side at the ball, Bennett was to pose as Baron von Friesing’s footman. The plan was for him to keep a low profile and a watch on things.
To that end, he was dressed in formal livery, the stark black and white garb fitting his tall, muscular frame to perfection. He was the epitome of virile grace, the snowy folds of his cravat emphasizing his clean-cut handsomeness. The gleam behind his wire frames caused her insides to flush with heat.
“Let’s ’ave a look at you.” Dressed in an emerald silk banyan, a matching tasseled cap on his head, Grandfather made a twirling motion with his finger.
Tessa did an obedient spin. Made of champagne-colored velvet, the gown was cut à la mode: the neckline was low and off
the shoulders, the bodice fitted, the skirts full. Ermine trimmed the décolletage and elaborate sleeves, and fur had also been sewn to the back of the dress to resemble a short tail.
She thought the costume was beautifully made. There was only one potential problem.
“Ain’t you a pretty kitty?” Grandpapa said with approval.
Drat. When Mama had first seen the costume, she’d also assumed Tessa was dressed up as a cat. Which meant that Tessa’s clever idea was missing the mark entirely.
Why, she thought sulkily, would anyone think I’d go as something as mundane as a cat? And then take such lengths to keep my costume secret?
“I don’t think Miss Todd is a cat, sir.” Bennett’s deep voice held a hint of humor.
“With those ears, fur, and a tail, what else would she be?” Grandpapa demanded.
Bennett’s eyes smiled at her. “I believe she is a ferret. Her favorite animal.”
And that is why I love him. No one had ever understood her like Bennett did.
She beamed at him, and his lips twitched.
Her grandfather glowered at her. “God’s teeth, Tessie, you could ’ave chosen any animal you wanted, and you’re going to a duke’s ball dressed as a bloody rodent?”
She glowered right back. “First of all, ferrets aren’t rodents—”
“That’s enough,” Mavis called from the chaise. “Tessa, we don’t require a lecture on ferrets. Father, everyone will mistake her for a cat, so don’t worry about it.”
Grandfather snorted; Tessa rolled her eyes.
After a moment, he said with a grunt, “Your costume’s missing something.”
“Obviously. Since only Bennett recognized that I’m a ferret.”
Grandpapa raised his gaze heavenward before reaching into the pocket of his banyan and pulling out a small velvet box. “Been waiting for the right time to give you this. Belonged to your grandmama, one o’ ’er most prized possessions. She would ’ave wanted you to ’ave it.”
Tessa dropped any pretense of being miffed as she reverently took the box from Grandpapa. Even though she’d never met her grandmother, she’d heard countless tales of the other’s beauty, courage, and virtue. Althea Bourdelain Black was the stuff of legend.
The Duke Identity: Game of Dukes, Book 1 Page 21
