Hyacinth, page 8
“Lovemaking? Sinful explorations? Erotic endeavors?” he supplied in a quiet, heated whisper.
Heaven help her, but she wanted him again. She wanted his hands, his mouth, she wanted him to take her fully and make her his. And if he’d offered to do so right there on the breakfast table, she likely would not have protested. “You’re not really being helpful,” she replied, noting that her voice sounded breathless and not at all discouraging.
“I like seeing you blush,” he answered wickedly. “And recalling how your skin flushed the same when I held you in my arms last night.”
“For someone who doesn’t wish to take unnecessary risks,” Hyacinth pointed out, “you’re being very bold this morning.”
“There is no one else here to see,” he said. “All the servants are in the hall and you and I are alone… as alone as we can be during daylight hours in this house.”
She needed to change the subject. Or she would do something reckless, foolish and likely irrevocable. “In that case,” Hyacinth said, sipping her tea, “there are other things we should speak of. What do you mean to do about Mrs. Lee and William?”
Ian sat back, pushing his plate away as if the very mention of them had spoiled his appetite. “I will ask them to leave, but first I will require more proof. It isn’t just sending them away… if I am to ever be free of this, I need them to admit that Annabel is dead, and that she is so by her own doing and not mine.”
“Then we will get proof,” she said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”
Ian looked up at her then and his expression hardened. “I will get proof. I will do it, Hyacinth, not we. You will stay away from them as much as possible. You said yourself that you thought he had struck his mother. Any man who would do such a thing is not one to be trifled with, Hyacinth. Swear to me that you will not go near them!”
“Ian—”
He leaned in until they were nearly nose to nose. “I will pack you into a carriage and send you away, though it is the last thing I want to do. I will not risk something happening to you… I will not have another woman’s death on my conscience!”
“You did not kill Annabel,” she protested. He was being impossible about the entire thing.
“No, I didn’t. But I didn’t save her either. Whatever happens with Mrs. Lee and William, I do share some of the blame for her demise,” he admitted. “I can live with that. But if I failed you in the same way, Hyacinth, I could not bear it. So I would have your promise.”
“I don’t want to promise you that,” she said. “I want to help you.”
“Then let me keep you safe,” he urged her. “I beg of you, Hyacinth, step away from this and let me deal with it now.”
He was being unreasonable and she knew that no matter what she said, he would not relent. “Fine. I promise not to go near them.” It was intentionally vague, and gave her significant room to maneuver so long as she was careful.
He eyed her suspiciously. “That was much less argument than I expected.”
“I don’t want to argue with you… but you have to promise me something now.”
“What?” he asked.
“That tonight, you will come to room and that we will do all the things that we did not do last night,” she said. “I don’t care about the risk. It’s worth it to me.”
“Hyacinth—”
“You mean to petition the House of Lords, do you not?” she demanded.
“I do. In fact, I’ve received a notice from my solicitor. He’s meeting me at the inn in the village. His letter didn’t go into detail, but he indicated he has some news for me. I didn’t want to bring him here and risk being overheard,” he admitted.
“How long will you be gone?”
He sighed again. “I should return by late afternoon, if not, not long after. Assuming this isn’t something that would require my immediate attention elsewhere.”
“Please be careful,” Hyacinth said. “I cannot help but feel the closer you become to freeing yourself from their influence, the more dangerous they will become.”
“You will do the same,” he said as he rose from his chair. “If I hope to return by this afternoon, then I should go now. If I should have to go on ahead to another destination, I will send word.”
“And a marker for the debt you owe me?” she asked, rather boldly. “After all, you have promised.”
“I have, indeed,” he said, his gaze scorching as it traveled over her once more. “And I am most eager to pay that debt.”
He moved past her, his hand touching her shoulder briefly. It was all they dared when they could be easily observed. But her skin burned in the wake of his touch and she ached to call him back as he left the room. But, she reminded herself, it was an opportunity, and for it to work, she would need Lady Arabella’s assistance. Finishing her breakfast quickly, she climbed the stairs with every intention of waking the older woman up.
But as she reached Lady Arabella’s room, she heard voices inside. Knocking softly, she entered and found both Lady Arabella and Lady Phyllida deep in conversation. When they saw her, they broke apart guiltily.
“We weren’t doing anything,” Lady Arabella said.
“You can stop matchmaking,” Hyacinth said.
“Do you truly have no interest in one another?” Lady Arabella demanded.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “You can stop matchmaking because you’ve succeeded. Lord Dumbarton is on his way to Carlisle to confer with his solicitor. And I have very urgent matters to discuss… I need your help, Lady Arabella.”
The older woman’s eyes widened almost comically. “I do feel I have helped you quite enough if the match was successful.”
“Not entirely successful… there is the little matter of Lord Dumbarton’s missing and presumed dead wife,” Hyacinth pointed out. “And that is what I need help with. I need to search Mrs. Lee’s and William’s rooms… and for that I need you to get them out of the house.”
“How on earth are we to do that?” Lady Phyllida demanded. “They cannot abide any of us. Why would they ever consent to spend time in our company?”
“Because we will tell them that Lord Dumbarton has taken Hyacinth and means to elope to Gretna Green with her,” Lady Arabella said. “It should certainly spur them to action.”
“You are ingenious… wicked but ingenious,” Hyacinth remarked. “I’ll even write a note for you to show them!”
“Now who is wickedly ingenious?” Lady Arabella asked with a cackle.
Chapter Twelve
Ian entered the taproom of the small inn and peered into the dimly-lit corners. He found his solicitor near the back of the room, standing at the entrance to the inn’s only private parlor. He could see another man sitting inside it, his back to the taproom as if he did not wish to be recognized. Frowning, Ian walked toward them and was ushered inside. As his solicitor closed the door, the little man spoke, “My lord, I have excellent news… or rather my associate does. I hired a private inquiry agent to see what could be discovered about your late wife, your mother-in-law and your brother-in-law. Mr. Ettinger has uncovered a wealth of very damning information.”
“Such as?” Ian demanded.
The other man turned then, revealing a face that was craggy and scarred. He looked more like a criminal than an investigator. “For starters, your lordship, you’re not legally married. Your wife’s name is Annabel Lee… but that is her given name and her middle name. Her surname, before she and her relatives chose to divest themselves of it, was Ogden. Does that ring any bells?” He spoke well enough, though there was a hint of the rookeries in it.
“None that I’m aware of, Mr. Ettinger,” Ian answered. “So Annabel lied on the registry?”
“She did, indeed, just as she did to her husband before you… a once-wealthy merchant in Liverpool by the name of Carstairs.”
“Once-wealthy?” Ian asked. “I’m assuming that the Ogdens had something to do with his turn of fortune?”
“That’s the way of it with them,” Ettinger said with a soft laugh. “They all descended upon him like locusts. Charged up accounts all over town, gambled and used his name on the markers. They broke the man and then fled into the night. He wasn’t the first, either. But you, my lord, you’ve been the last. And that tells me the girl is truly gone.”
“Well, I didn’t kill her,” Ian protested.
“Never said you did,” Ettinger said and turned back toward the fire, heedless of his rudeness.
“Quite right, my lord, they fleeced him good, and then vacated. He died not long after, taking his own life,” the solicitor added. “They bled him dry paying debts… but not all of them were debts. Some were false and the money filtered into an account to draw interest and finance their next scheme. They’ve amassed a small fortune doing so.”
“That makes no sense. Hyacinth overheard William warning Mrs. Lee—Mrs. Ogden, I should say—about the money lenders and what would happen to them if they went back to London.”
“They’re mixed up in the underworld, my lord, but not because they owe money to them. It’s something far worse than that,” the solicitor offered, clearly hedging and unwilling to give voice to what he meant to say.
Ian was struggling to wrap his head around so many things. “If that’s true, and they’re in deep with underworld players from London, why was Annabel so keen to go there?”
Ettinger turned back to him then. “When she was in London, looking for another mark—that would be you, my lord—she met someone else, too. Someone she took quite a liking to and who took an equal liking to her. The Hound of Whitehall. He’s a notorious gangster. Not just part of the London Underworld. He is the London Underworld.”
“And when she returned to London after we were married, she resumed the affair?” Ian asked. It had wounded his pride at the time, but not his heart. His infatuation with Annabel had long since ended by then.
“Aye, she did. And it was a point of bitterness between her and William,” Ettinger explained.
“Why is that precisely?”
Mr. Mumson, the solicitor, interjected then, “There are many reasons, my lord. Her emotional involvement with a powerful and well-connected individual threatened the scam they had been running for so many years… and that had been the primary avenue of support for the three of them.”
Christ, it got more convoluted with every bit of information revealed. “So what now?”
“Now, the Hound wants to know what happened to the woman he loved. I didn’t find your Mr. Mumson by accident, my lord. I was sent here to get at the truth by the Hound himself and I have,” Ettinger replied.
“And what is that truth, Mr. Ettinger?”
The solicitor cleared his throat. “About that… did you know that William was here when Annabel vanished?”
“They didn’t arrive until months after,” Ian insisted. “Trust me, the day is well marked in my memory.”
“They didn’t, my lord,” Ettinger chimed in. “But he did. I found the carriage he hired to bring him up… same one what took him back to London afterward. See the thing is, Annabel was cutting him off. Him and her mother. She had sent them a letter that she meant to leave you and take up with the Hound and he was having none of it.”
“You think William had something to do with her death,” Ian surmised.
“I know he did, my lord. When he got back into the carriage to go back to London, the driver said he was a white as a sheet and kept muttering under his breath that he hadn’t meant to do it. Kept at it. Cried and wept like a babe. They fought, argued bitterly… because he wanted to work for the Hound. He wanted to be cut in on the gaming hells and brothels and she refused him.”
“This all sounds like conjecture,” Ian pointed out.
“It is. Unless we can get him to confess,” Ettinger replied.
“And who will he confess to?”
Ettinger grinned at that. “I’m here on a private inquiry matter, my lord. But I’m still a Bow Street Runner by trade. If I hear his confession, it’s as good as if he says it in the court of law. I’ve likely got enough evidence to take him in for it anyway… but I’m not here to please the courts. I’m here on the behalf of someone else.”
“The Hound,” Ian stated. It wasn’t a question. “What is your relationship with this man, Mr. Ettinger, when he is clearly on one side of the law and you are supposed to be on the other?”
“We go back a long time. And in this instance, we’re on the same side. Bringing in a confidence man and a murderer. Doesn’t matter who asked me to do it, now does it?” Ettinger asked.
“No, it does not. But if the William is the murderer,” Ian said and rose to his feet, “he’s alone in the house with Hyacinth, my mother and Lady Arabella.”
“I’ve a carriage outside,” Mumson said.
“I’ll go ahead on horseback. The two of you come as quickly as possible,” Ian said and immediately turned to leave. He had a terrible, sinking feeling and he needed to get to her at once.
Chapter Thirteen
Hyacinth slipped into Mrs. Lee’s chamber first. Peg had shown her how to open the secret panels. Easing into the woman’s room, she rifled through things quickly. Other than a secret stash of gin, she found nothing of note. The suite she shared with her son, their chambers separated by a sitting room, was proving a terrible disappointment. Every drawer and cabinet that was searched left her with nothing.
Finally, she reached William’s chamber. Opening the door, she stepped inside. The room was clean enough. The maids would certainly have seen to that. But she still felt as if the space was somehow tainted. By his presence.
Hyacinth went to the wardrobe. She found meticulously folded shirts, underclothes and breeches. There was no gossamer gown and auburn wig. But then he would be smarter than that, she thought. Another armoire rendered waistcoats and frock coats that were beginning to show their wear. His boots and slippers were lined up along the bottom. Hyacinth looked at them and frowned. Stepping back, she eyed the door and then noted that there was a sort of box built into the bottom of that armoire. With both doors opened wide, she knelt in front of it and tapped. It was hollow. A false bottom.
Reaching underneath the heavy piece of furniture, she felt around. For a moment, she feared she’d find naught but dust, but then there it was. A small latch. With her thumb, she flicked it free and the front panel of the box fell forward. A confection of sheer white fabric fell out, spilling onto the floor. Lifting the garment, Hyacinth reached in and pulled out the wig. It wasn’t the quality she expected, but then he hadn’t needed it to fool them at close range. He was only ever seen in the getup from a distance. Recalling the graceful way he moved, the remarkably smooth cheeks and almost effete bone structure, it was no wonder he’d been able to pass easily as the ghost of his sister. But how heartless could he be to disguise himself as her and torment others with her image?
Carefully replacing both items, she closed the box back, eased the wardrobe doors closed and retreated into the sitting room. She had just made it into Mrs. Lee’s chamber when the door opened and William entered the sitting room, Mrs. Lee right on his heels.
Hyacinth’s breath caught as she stared through the crack in the door. They should have been long gone. Were Lady Arabella and Lady Phyllida all right? What had happened to the plan to pursue them north to Gretna Green?
“He cannot marry her, Mother,” William insisted. “He’d still have to petition the House to declare Annabel dead.”
Mrs. Lee was pacing nervously. “We don’t know that. Certainly it would not be a legal marriage, but if he’s moving on—if he’s ready to put Annabel behind him so firmly—our hold on him has slipped and we are in danger of discovery. We’re certainly in danger of being cut off. You think he’ll continue paying our debts, now? No, William. It’s all lost and we should cut and run while we can!”
He slammed his fist down onto the table. It took all that Hyacinth had within her not to jump or scream. But she knew she had to get away. Easing back from the door, she knew she’d never be able to open the panel and slip quietly inside the secret passage. But if she could get under the bed, then perhaps she could remain hidden until they left the room again. Crouching as silently as possible, careful to make no noise at all, she knelt down on the far side of the bed and had just managed to crawl under it when Mrs. Lee came in sobbing. William was right behind her.
“We are not cutting and running now! We’ll get rid of the girl and the meddling old women. He only needs a few more encounters with the ghost of his late wife to be made completely malleable. He already thinks he’s mad!”
“What if he doesn’t change his will? What if he leaves us nothing?” Mrs. Lee asked.
“We don’t have Annabel anymore to fetch us another aging fool to be blinded by her pretty face while we filch his last sovereign,” the young man snapped. “Don’t you understand, Mother? This is our last chance for enough money to never have to do this again!”
“There are other ways. You are such a handsome boy. And there are many lonely widows who would be easily swayed to your side. And as their husband, you could do whatever you like. Enough laudanum and any woman is ready for Bedlam! We can make it work without her, my sweet boy,” Mrs. Lee cajoled.
He sneered at her then. “You weren’t content just turning your daughter into a whore? Now you would have me be one as well? No, Mother! I will not do it. We will get Lord Dumbarton to change the will. If he will not, we will change it for him! But those women have to go.”
“How?”
“Lady Arabella is so old, no one would question it if her heart simply gave out. You can concoct one of your herbal mixtures to take care of that,” William ordered. “Lady Phyllida isn’t such a problem really. Without Arabella’s interference, she’s too bloody stupid to make much trouble. It’s the young one. Hyacinth. Another drowning? A fall from the cliffs?”
