Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (12 page)

Redford coolly raised a brow. “And what ends might those be?”

“You know exactly what I mean!”

Redford opened his hands wide as if to show his lack of deceit. “I can see, Lord Russell, that Lady Janus has a champion in you.”

“Young Russell is quite reliable in his regard,” Lillian supplied, wishing that Russell were not so fervent but appreciating his consideration nonetheless. “He and his father have been more than kind during this ordeal.”

“Then I leave you in good hands.” He bowed. “I will try to report back to you within the next few days, Lady Janus. If you need to speak with me sooner, please send word to my office, or to Tipton’s Tavern on Kenbridge Lane. Someone is always at the tavern to hold messages for me, and I frequently check by.” He nodded in farewell. “Lord Russell.”

Swiftly Nick strode from the room.

Lillian turned to Russell. “How dare you jump on him like that? That’s the man who is going to set your brother free!”

“He was clutching your hand!”

“Which you do on many occasions, but I have yet to brand you as a libertine.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t be a Holy Willy, it does not become you.”

Russell’s pallid cheeks tinged, and a look of guilt flashed across his face. “Still,” he insisted, pointing to the table. “You actually ate with the man.”

“So what?” she cried. “Is breaking bread suddenly a crime?”

“He is in service. It is unseemly.”

“Stop being such a snob. He is retained by me, but he is far from in service.” Suddenly the stupidity of this argument hit home. “If I want Hicks or Gillman or anyone else to sit at my table, that is my prerogative. I need not explain myself to you.”

His mouth worked. “But, but, it’s not right….”

Rubbing her temples, she scowled. “I have a headache now, Russell. If you will excuse me, I am going to lie down.”

Hicks hovered in the open doorway. “Please see Lord Russell out, Hicks. And I am not accepting visitors.”

“My lady?”

“Yes, Hicks?”

“Mr. Redford asked that I post additional footmen at the front and rear entries. Shall I do so?”

“As I said, all of the staff is to do his bidding to the fullest. We are in his hands for the moment.” She left the room and headed up the stairs.

Despite her headache, Lillian felt suddenly better than she had since the onslaught of this dastardly affair. Redford was taking command of the situation. She could not help but feel reassured.

“H
e is a dastard of the first order, I tell you!” Russell Mayburn insisted later that afternoon at his club.

“Lower your voice, Mayburn,” Kane chided, irritated by the intrusion. Reading the afternoon paper was a sacred pastime, something the young clod seemed unable to appreciate. Kane wished that he could simply send Mayburn off with a slight and be done with him. But he needed the gent, so snapping the newspaper wider to give a hint would just have to do.

“He grabbed her hand and was exceptionally familiar.” Mayburn pushed aside the broadsheet and peered far too closely for tolerability’s sake into Kane’s face. “On my honor, his intentions are foul.”

Disgusted, Kane shoved the idiot back into his chair. “Stop making a fool of yourself over the slut.”

Mayburn rebounded. “She is not a slut!”

“Lower your voice.” He noted the heads turning toward them and realized that he would actually have to deal with the whelp. He folded the paper and tucked it under his leg. No one was going to read it before he did. “You just said that she was allowing him to molest her.”

“He was doing no such thing!”

“Then what are you getting in such a snit about?”

“The man is toying with her affections.” The buck’s lips curled into a frown, reminding Kane of a petulant adolescent.

“I hate children, so stop acting like one, Mayburn.”

“But she said that he was an investigator come to free Dillon.”

Kane did not give a fig about Lillian’s affections. But he did care about this new turn. “What was his name again?”

“Redford.”

Bullocks.
He rubbed his chin. “This will not suit.”

“Well, what can we do about it? He is working on the matter and supposedly has some questions for me. I don’t know why.” Mayburn’s eyes widened. “Do you think that he suspects something?”

“Don’t be a nincompoop.” As if the man could stop himself. “They know nothing.”

Mayburn’s shoulders sagged. “Of course. So what shall we do? We cannot have him hanging about. The man is trouble.”

“Lillian hired him. She will just have to fire him.”

“She’s given Redford leave to order the servants about. She seems quite set on him. And you know Lillian, when she makes up her mind about something, it sticks.”

Kane knew no such thing. “Well, we just have to change her mind for her then.”

“How?”

“If she is threatened, she retreats. Always has.”

“You threatened her?”

Kane showed a placating smile. “When
others
threatened her, she usually ran. I saw it when I watched her play as a child. Patterns from youth often repeat in later age.”

“I do not countenance frightening her. It seems so…bullyish.” The greenhorn quivered like a girl.

“Ah, but my dear boy, who do you think that she will run to if she is upset?” Kane allowed a grin to lift his lips.

“Who?”

“Her stalwart friend. The man who has been faithfully visiting her every day….”

Awareness lighted the idiot’s gaze. “Me?”

“Yes. It is a double objective. Scaring Lillian is only a simple means to an end. Redford will be out of the picture and you more firmly set in it.”

Mayburn frowned. “But it seems so…aggressive.”

“We will not truly harm her. We
must
not harm my dear child.” If Lillian died, then the trust funds passed on to charitable causes, and unfortunately Kane was not listed among them. That was the only fact keeping her alive these past two years.

Mayburn inched forward in his seat. “So what should we do?”

“She needs to be frightened enough to toss Redford out on his ear.”

“Should we send her a letter?”

“Child’s play. You must be serious if you wish to see the matter properly done.”

Mayburn stiffened. Then his eyes slid about the room. “Everything that you have said has come true, sir,” he whispered. “But there is something important that we have not yet discussed.”

Kane had been waiting for the cabbage-head to figure it out. “Lady Langham’s demise?”

Relief flashed across his features. “Yes.”

“Terrible tragedy that one, and poor Langham is wrapped up in grief over it. The poor sod had no idea what would happen when his fury finally overtook him.”

“What?”

Kane could just see the clouds forming in the lad’s dull gaze. “He had confessed his anger to me, you see. His wife was having an affair, and he was distraught about the whole thing. But he loved her truly, and his distress was more than any man could possibly bear. You know about deeply committed love, don’t you?”

Mayburn blinked, as if surprised he had been asked. Then his brow puckered. “I do,” he whispered, nodding sagely.

“Hence, poor Langham’s anger overcame him. But he is so repentant that the archbishop of Canterbury, if he knew, would be the first to forgive him. The man’s practically beside himself with remorse. The only good thing to come from the wretched situation is helping Lillian.”

Mayburn’s mouth opened and then closed as he scratched his head.

Kane rushed on before the stupid sod’s mind might actually recognize the fabrication for what it was. “Thank heavens you had the foresight to deliver your brother’s personal items to me. Now we
can save poor Langham and see about freeing Lillian from Beaumont’s damaging influence.”

The clod blinked, bewildered.

“So at the end of the day, you will have your Lillian, she will be free of your brother’s evil clutches, and I will finally have the funds that were mistakenly granted to her. Lillian will have no need for the money, as she will have yours. So you can sign those papers I gave you. Then the real Marquis of Beaumont takes his rightful place.”

“Me,” he breathed, grasping the only point he was meant to.

“And soon you will be the Duke of Greayston.”

“Russell Mayburn, the Duke of Greayston…” He puffed out his chest like a rooster.

“God willing. And all of that property, all of that money goes to you. Lillian will
hardly
need the funds that are my due.”

Mayburn’s mouth opened, then closed, and then opened. “Yes, I suppose it is only right for good to come from evil.”

“Exactly. Now we just need to ensure that Redford does not discover poor Langham’s part. The man is devastated, no use torturing him further. So here is what you will do….”

Spotting Dr. Winner sitting at a table in the corner of Tipton’s Tavern, Nick wove through the crowd. The scent of beer, sweaty bodies and mutton filled the air. It was the dinner hour, and the crowd was thick, as was usual for this time of evening.

The barkeeper, Joe, regularly had his wife cook
the dinner, and Winifred scratched up the best mutton stew in town.

It had been three days since Nick had last seen the good doctor. Three days since he had had his dramatic turnaround and assumed Beaumont’s case. It felt like a mere few hours, though, and time was running short. But Nick knew that he worked better when his eyes weren’t burning with tiredness and his belly wasn’t crying out for sustenance. His usual Thursday evening visit with Winner was the perfect excuse for a lift.

He sat down with a grunt, setting his walking stick against his chair. One never knew when a cane might come in handy in a raucous bar. “Sorry I’m late. I am dog tired.”

“You’re too young for griping, Nick,” Winner reproved. “You need at least another ten years on you before you’re entitled to grouse like an old man.”

Nick rubbed his weary eyes. “Long nights turning into long days.”

Winner sat up. “Miss Figbottom turned out to be more than just a retainer? It’s been three days and you have not bothered to come by and tell me. How dare you, Nick? But I can forgive if you make me forget. I want details, man. Down to the last sway of those wicked hips!” He waved to the serving girl. “Ursula, bring the beer!”

Nick almost groaned from his loose tongue. “Miss Figbottom changed her mind about hiring me. I’m working for Beaumont now.”

“Beaumont!” Winner cried, aghast. “The man’s positively drenched in blood.”

“Things are not always as they appear.” Nick had certainly learned that lesson well.

“But the papers—”

“Do you trust me to do the right thing, sir?”

Eyeing him, Winner leaned back. Slowly, a smile broke out on his face. “Oh, but this is going to be good. I can’t wait to see Dagwood fall flat on his overambitious arse.”

“Don’t go betting against the odds yet, sir. Knowing something and proving it are worlds apart.”

Flashing a saucy grin, Ursula ambled over. The young barmaid slapped a tankard down before each man, and froth dripped in rivulets down the sides, splashing onto the table. She was a plump maid with buxom breasts and what Mabel would have called “first-rate birthing hips.”

Ursula sent Nick a wink and nodded to Winner. “How ya farin’, Redford?”

“Fine, thanks.” Shifting his eyes away, he sipped his beer. Ursula did not need any encouragement. To Joe’s disappointment, his daughter was one to fish in the closest pond.

“Hey, Doc, can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Ursula.”

“I’ve had this rash, see? For like a month.” She shoved a fistful of snarled brown hair behind her ear, exposing a bright red spot on her cheek. “And it itches.”

From the wooden bar, Joe yelled, “Stop chatting, Ursula, and get back in the kitchen!”

Adjusting the platter on her hip, she turned, shouting, “As if you never chat up the customers!”

“Ursula!” the barman warned, laying his palms on the bar.

Looking back at the men, she rolled her eyes.
“The man’s more of a pain in the arse than ’e’s worth. If ’e weren’t my pap, I might just quit. Still, I get to meet some mighty fine fellas here.” She leaned her elbow on the table so that her loose blouse gaped open, giving Nick a generous view. “I can slip free around midnight, Redford. If yer interested.”

Nick veered his gaze from the sight of her lush white breasts as suddenly a slighter figure with peaches-and-cream complexion came to mind. He cleared his throat. “I have a previous appointment.”

“Give Basilicum a try, Ursula,” Dr. Winner suggested quickly. “That rash should clear up before you know it.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Joe approached, anger exacerbating his limp. “Next time I ask ya to come over, Ursula, ya come. Yer mother’s working like a horse and the food is getting cold.” Grabbing Ursula’s arm, he pushed her toward the kitchen. “Now go!”

Rubbing a hand across his bald head, Joe snorted. “Young ’uns these days make you just want to tear your hair out. Winifred thinks she’s going to marry off the lass. The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.” He tossed a folded note onto the scratched table. “This came for you a couple of hours ago, Nick. T’was a footman named Gillman. In Lady Janus’s service.”

“Thanks, Joe. And thanks for getting his name.”

Nick reached for his purse, but Joe waved him away. “It’s on yer bill, don’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

Nick slowly unfolded the foolscap. The script
flowed with elegant curves, reminding him of its author.

“What’s wrong?” Winner asked. “You look as if you’ve already eaten Winifred’s mutton, and I know you haven’t even ordered yet.”

“I love Winifred’s mutton,” Nick replied distractedly. He felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. He usually did a better job keeping in contact with his clients, but Lady Janus did not need him, not really, and his efforts were better targeted elsewhere. The lovely lady was smart enough to take precautions for her safety, and she had done well enough without him before now. Moreover, even with Beaumont out of
the picture, Russell Mayburn was hanging about. Nick was busy with a time-sensitive murder investigation, for heaven’s sake.

But the flimsy excuses rang hollow in his mind. He considered the last few days and recognized that despite her frequently invading his thoughts, Nick had been avoiding Lady Janus.

Slowly, he realized that he was afraid of becoming diverted by her. The lady was too exquisite by far, and her character seemed to grow in his estimation with each moment that he spent in her presence. A dangerous combination for the man who had sworn never to touch her.

Still, he should have checked in on her just the same. He was one of the few people aware of the menace against her. The idea of a threat to her tickled at his conscience. He reread the note.

“‘I will be visiting with my dear friend Lady Rece, as we are wont to do,’” he murmured under his breath. Why did that bother him?
Because if she did it on a regular basis, then others might expect her to be there.

He stood. “I think I’d better go check on this.”

“Where are you off to, if I may ask?”

Classic Winner, curious as a cat. But where was the harm? “Litchfield Park.”

“Don’t take a hackney. You’re better off on foot this time of day. Take Northland. And do you have an umbrella? It looked like rain.”

Nick brandished his cane. “This will have to do.” Nick threaded his way through the customers, heading out the door.

Through her thin muslin skirts, the stone bench in the gazebo was cold under Lillian’s bottom. She
pulled her silk spencer more tightly around her neck, hoping to ward off the evening’s chill. The outer garment was probably filthy by now. What had she been thinking, putting on a thin white silk spencer for her meeting with Lady Rece in the park?
Was I trying to appear chaste?
she wondered, annoyed with herself. Hard to do when the eggshell muslin gown she wore underneath hugged her every curve. She did not fool herself; she had dressed on the slim possibility that Redford might show.