Lady gambit, p.25
Lady Gambit, page 25
“This place is the devil’s haunt,” she uttered.
“You should have stayed at the Pulteney,” came the ghostly whispers of a masculine voice from somewhere deep in the gloom. “They have a better clientele.”
Her heart stopped for a beat or more.
Someone was in her room.
Yet she had sat watching the door for hours.
“W-who’s there?”
“A faceless man has no name, Caterina.”
The pulse of fear in her throat became a pounding drum. She squinted, gazing into the far corner of the room. Perhaps her addled mind was playing tricks because it looked like the wall was opening up and a demon was climbing out of the eaves.
She might have darted for the door, but Gerald Bertram rose before her, wearing a wicked grin and brandishing a pistol.
She gulped, unable to move or form a word.
“It’s been many years since I hid in this room.” He prowled towards her, the dim candlelight casting ominous shadows over his face. “Your mother thought she had escaped me. Though I admit, I was convinced you were here with her.” He breathed a strange sigh. “She died because she refused to tell me where you were.”
Anger rose like a tempest inside her. “You would have killed my mother either way. Had I agreed to carry the basket onto the Queen’s barge, you would have killed us all when the deed was done.”
Mr Bertram came to a halt at the end of the bed. “I cannot argue with that. Once I’m done here, I shall have no choice but to dispose of the men you’ve trusted. Starting with a terrible fire at Fortune’s Den. When Flynn dies in a blaze at the Old Swan, London will mourn the loss of one of its oldest taverns.”
The thought of losing everyone she loved might have cleaved her soul in two. But this fiend thought he was clever. He was not, or he would know of Dorian’s Mile End abode.
Emboldened and keen to wipe the smirk from his face, she said, “Vengeance has been your constant companion all these years. It’s been mine, too, though I’ve been blissfully unaware of it until now. Still, you’ve underestimated my family. You won’t escape this place alive. And if you do, know I’ve written to Thomas Erskine of the King’s Counsel, informing him of your plot to kill the King’s mother during the Jubilee.”
Unperturbed by the threat, Mr Bertram laughed.
“Who am I?” he said. “No one.”
Those words had echoed in her mind many times over the years. No matter how hard she tried, the answer never came to her. Yet now, it was like a locked door in the corridor had creaked slowly open, inviting her to peer inside.
“I can disappear into the mist, and no one will ever find me.” He stroked his thick side whiskers. “You’d be surprised how different a man looks when he’s clean-shaven, not that you will need to concern yourself with that thought again. Once Meldrum knocks on that door, you’ll both meet your maker.”
Though the threat left every muscle in her body stiff, she had to edge closer to the nightstand and retrieve her pistol.
If only there was a way to unsettle Mr Bertram.
When your life’s on the line, you remember what I told you.
Mrs Haggert’s comment seemed pertinent now.
Oddly, she didn’t have to look beyond the door in the corridor to know what secrets lay inside the room.
“You’re Samuel Stern. You’re wanted in connection with other murders.” So many confusing names and facts filled her head, but she was compelled to reveal them. “You killed the Comte de Croze and his wife on British soil two years before the Jubilee. Their servant was hanged for the crime.”
All colour drained from the man’s face.
The slight tremor in his hand said she had hit the mark.
“It was thought Napoleon ordered their execution.” How she knew proved baffling, but the information poured from her mouth like water from a fountain. “They were killed with an unusual dagger you purchased from Mason & Sons on Ludgate Hill. Indeed, your sister lives in Warwick Square, a short distance from here.”
The man’s temper erupted. “So you were there that night, listening at the door like a filthy little mouse.”
She had no memory of the event, only a list of facts she’d been conditioned to repeat when necessary. “I remember everything,” she lied. “If you kill me, your sister will be arrested.”
Mr Bertram dragged his hand down his face.
His breath turned raspy.
But a sudden knock on the door made him firm his grip on his weapon. “Ask who it is,” he whispered through gritted teeth.
“Who is it?” she called.
“I’ve brought the extra blanket you wanted,” came a woman’s apologetic voice. “I’d have come sooner, but I’ve only just been told.”
“Leave it outside,” she said, per Mr Bertram’s mouthed instructions. She didn’t recall asking for a blanket, but perhaps Dorian knew Mr Bertram was lurking in her room.
“I ain’t leaving it out here for some bugger to steal.” The woman persisted in knocking again. “How long does it take to open the door?”
Mr Bertram moved to the window and peered around the shabby curtain. Whatever he saw must have instilled confidence in him because he gestured for her to open the door.
Say nothing, he mouthed. Or I’ll shoot you where you stand.
Delphine nodded. This was her one chance to escape.
Mr Bertram cocked the hammer and aimed the pistol at her head. “I’m an excellent shot,” he muttered.
Shaking to the tips of her toes, she opened the door ajar and glanced at the woman standing on the dim landing. “I’ll take the blanket.”
“I have to place it on the bed. Some buggers ask for extra bedding and filch it away with their luggage.” There was something familiar about the large eyes peering out from beneath the white cap. “I’ll only be a minute, ducky.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you in,” she said, though mouthed, Help!
“I’ll be in the workhouse if I can’t keep this job. Move aside.”
When the woman pushed open the door, Delphine realised it was Mrs Haggert. She knew by the woman’s determined chin and the slight limp as she dragged her left leg.
Mr Bertram hid the pistol behind his back. “Be quick, woman.”
Mrs Haggert winked at him. “I understand, sir. Happen you want the lady all to yourself. I’ll just sort out the blanket and be on my way.”
While Delphine held her breath, and Mr Bertram stood with murderous intent in his evil eyes, Mrs Haggert hummed a little ditty before shaking out the blanket.
Of course, she stumbled a little during the action and whipped Mr Bertram in the eye with one rough corner.
“Stupid witch!”
Mrs Haggert hurried over but offered no words to atone for her mistake. She pulled a blade from her pocket and drove it deep into Mr Bertram’s chest.
“That’s for Sofia,” she snarled as the pistol fell from Mr Bertram’s hand and the chill of death chased over his face. She twisted the knife, ignoring the man’s shrill scream. “And that’s for trying to hurt Caterina.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dorian sat at a table in the Belle Sauvage’s sombre taproom, answering the magistrate’s questions. All guests were confined to their rooms while the coroner examined Bertram’s body and his men sketched the wound that had finished the devil off for good.
Mrs Haggert had been taken to Bow Street.
Lord Meldrum bumbled his way through his interview. The fool admitted to freeing Nora and giving her a pistol. He shocked them by revealing Bertie had hired the thugs to kidnap Delphine. “Bertie never meant for them to shoot Theodore Chance. It was supposed to be a way of helping to clear my debts.”
Judging by the thunderous look on Aaron’s face, it was a good job Bertram was dead. Meldrum would need to flee the country or Aaron would hunt him down and make him pay.
“Do you understand how incredulous the tale sounds?” Sir Malcolm Langley asked Dorian while the constable beside him took notes.
“All events can be corroborated.” He had named Miss Lovelace and Miss Darrow as witnesses. They already had Nora and Powell in custody. And two constables had fetched Bertram’s sister from her home in Warwick Square, hoping she could identify the body.
“By Jove, when the King hears about this, you’ll all be knighted.”
A shiver of dread ran down Dorian’s spine. A title was the last thing he wanted. “I don’t need a knighthood. I need to know we’ve been exonerated. That none of us will hang for murder.”
Daventry returned with a man no one knew. The tall, elegant fellow spoke privately with the magistrate, and as quick as a wink, the constables left with Lord Meldrum in tow.
Daventry drew Dorian to a dim corner of the room. “We’re all free to leave, though speak of this to no one. The King fears the news may bring public unrest. The monarchy cannot afford to look weak.”
“I pray no charges will be brought against Mrs Haggert.”
The woman had appeared in their darkest hour with a plan Dorian felt sure would work. He had stood a few feet away on the gallery, his heart lodged in his throat, waiting to charge inside when Mrs Haggert gave the signal.
Daventry glanced around the taproom before saying, “Mrs Haggert parades as a vigilante but is part of a secret government organisation. None of her boys were hanged. It’s a ruse. They’re being trained to work as spies abroad. Though we’re not permitted to discuss that either.”
“That explains how she happened to be here tonight. She has eyes and ears everywhere.” It also explained how she managed to avoid prosecution as the leader of a pick-pocketing gang. “Although nothing surprises me after the hell we’ve been through.”
Daventry laughed, but something akin to pride passed over his face. “I always knew you would succeed.” His gaze drifted to Delphine, who sat drinking ale in a booth with her brothers. “However painful, Miss Chance deserved to know the truth. My wife will be glad to know you earned your fee.”
Dorian had almost forgotten he’d been paid to help Delphine. While solving the case, he’d earned something more precious than gold. “Based on what I know now, I would have offered my services for free.”
Daventry grinned. “I shall tell my wife to expect a refund.”
“Tell your wife I owe her a debt that can never be repaid.”
Daventry gave him a brotherly pat on the back. “Miss Chance hasn’t taken her eyes off you since we began talking. After all she’s been through, I suggest you take her home. Meet me at Bow Street at noon tomorrow, and we’ll help Sir Malcolm with his reports.”
Within seconds of Daventry departing, Delphine darted from the booth and hurried past the empty tables, heading in Dorian’s direction.
He’d not held her since he’d burst into the bedchamber and found Bertram dead on the floor. Perhaps that’s why they were running towards each other now.
She threw herself into his embrace. “Dorian.”
He lifted her off the floor, wrapping his arms around her so tightly he feared he’d squeeze the breath from her lungs. “You’re safe now.”
Love filled his heart.
He closed his eyes and inhaled the lilac scent of her hair. He let the heat of her body warm him. Beautiful dreams of their future flitted through his mind, as soothing as a summer breeze.
“I don’t want to be without you,” she uttered against his neck.
They’d come so close to losing everything.
No doubt the same thought plagued Delphine, too.
“I’ll never leave you again. You’re my love, my life, my everything.”
As she drew back, their gazes locked with a power that defied the heavens. “I love you. My life is with you now.” A smile touched her lips as she brushed his hair from his brow. “Take me home.”
“To Fortune’s Den?” He’d have to fight Aaron again because he wasn’t letting her out of his sight, not even for a second.
Her hand came to rest gently on his bristled jaw. “Home is wherever you are. Home is where you decide to sleep tonight. Take me there.”
His heart constricted.
“Home is Mile End. It’s where we’ll spend our married life and raise our children. Tonight, I’ll take you to the Old Swan.” It was but half a mile to Long Lane, and they were desperate to be alone. “We can continue that deep, meaningful conversation we started earlier.”
She flashed a coy grin. “I doubt we’ll reach a quick conclusion.”
“We’ll still be conversing madly when the first rays of dawn breach the horizon.”
She kissed him tenderly on the lips. “There’s one important factor you’ve neglected to mention, Mr Flynn.”
He knew she spoke of marriage. “I thought I might propose in Miss Darrow’s yard. It’s where you swept into my life in a swathe of gold silk and teased me with talk of your undergarments.”
“If only you’d known what a terrible burden I would be.”
“Yes, I’d have doubled my fee.” He kissed her quickly and patted her discreetly on the bottom. “Say goodbye to your brothers. I’ll not have them bursting into the Old Swan and dragging me to the fighting pit.” He sensed the men enjoyed brawling amongst themselves. If he married Delphine, he’d have to join the ranks and become a rogue. “Tell Aaron I’ll visit him tomorrow to discuss our plans.”
She giggled as she left him.
The sight brought a rush of relief. Then he turned and saw his father sitting at an oak table in a darkened corner of the old taproom, and his good mood soured.
Steeling himself—the last thing he wanted was an argument—he approached the man he tried hard to despise. “I thought you’d left two hours ago.”
The earl looked up through weary eyes. “You may have been arrested. I’ll not sit by and watch them throw my son in gaol.”
“A traitor is dead. I’m more likely to get an invitation to the palace than suffer the walk to the gallows.”
“Still, someone needed to be here for you.”
An awkward silence ensued.
The earl stared into his tankard.
“I’m thirty years old,” Dorian said, keeping his frustration at bay. “You sired me, but you don’t own me. As your illegitimate son, I will never belong to the aristocracy. The sooner you accept it, the better. Marrying Miss Montague won’t change the nature of my birth.”
“No.” His father glanced at Delphine standing at her brothers’ table, laughing at something Aramis said. “You love her. It’s plain to see. I pray it lasts. There’s nothing worse than knowing you’ve failed someone dear to you.”
He might pity the man, but his pity dried up years ago, along with his tears and the wounds on his back. “I’ll do everything I can to love her as she deserves.”
“Then I wish you luck. It’s evident you belong with these people.”
These people? He didn’t remind his father that Daventry was the bastard son of a duke. He didn’t mention the Chance brothers were nephews to the current Earl of Berridge.
Relationships shouldn’t be this difficult.
His father could change it all with a simple word or gesture.
“You mean to marry her, then?” His father nodded to Delphine.
“At the first opportunity.”
“I see.” The earl tossed back the contents of his tankard and slammed the vessel on the table as he stood. “If you require help with a special licence, I can write to the archbishop.”
Dorian stared, a little shocked his father had offered an olive branch. “I’d be grateful for your assistance.”
“You have it. I’ll deliver the letter personally.”
His father rounded the table. He didn’t bid Dorian farewell or pat his arm affectionately. “You proved what sort of man you are today. You put us idle men to shame.” And with those parting words, he left.
Evidently, it was to be a night of surprises.
Though Dorian spent the short journey to Long Lane locked in a passionate clinch with Delphine, the landlord of the Old Swan scuppered any plans to race upstairs and tear off their clothes.
“Mr Flynn!” Simpson rounded the counter in the empty tavern, drying his hands on a cloth. “That gent was here again. He waited for three hours but had to leave London tonight.”
“Oh?” he said, wondering if they would ever get a minute’s peace.
“He left this.” Simpson drew a sealed letter from his apron pocket and gave it to Dorian. “The poor devil has gone back to Winchester but said all the details are in the note.”
“Winchester?” Dorian examined the paper and scanned the wax seal. “Did he mention the nature of his business?”
“No, he just said you were a beneficiary.”
A beneficiary?
It did not take Aristotle’s logic to solve the puzzle.
He thanked Simpson, clasped Delphine’s hand and led her upstairs to his bedchamber. He locked the door, lit the lamp and closed the curtains.
“It’s chilly in here.” He turned to find her studying him intently.
“I’m sure we’ll be warm soon.” She glanced at the letter he’d placed on the nightstand. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Tomorrow.” He reached for her hands and drew them to his lips in turn. He wanted to make love and discuss marriage, not deal with a flurry of old emotions. “I don’t want to think about anything but us and our future.”
Amusement danced in her eyes. “When we make love tonight, it will be a new beginning. A time to focus on ourselves. To make happiness our priority. Let’s deal with any unanswered questions now.”
It wasn’t the letter that bothered him so much as the need to tell her about her grandfather. But she was right.
He reached for the letter and tore open the seal. A quick read revealed a pleasant surprise. “Good Lord.”
She touched his chest. “I trust it’s good news.”
“Do you remember I mentioned my old tutor? Mr Brown taught Classical Studies. We read philosophy and played chess together on the occasions I was left at school.”
“I remember. You credit him with your love of Aristotle. Did he leave you his library?”
