The Black Widow (21 page)

He wished he could hear what Miss Prestwich was saying. No doubt she was busily enumerating all his various and assorted shortcomings for his uncle’s edification.

“To begin with, not everyone is a good enough shot to hit a moving target in the dark. Second, since the murderer might be expected to want to escape with his own life, he would not risk attempting to shoot you when you are accompanied by men who could chase him down.”

“You are making it sound as if I am safe on the streets of London as I would be if I were back in my own stables in Devon,” Demetrius commented, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“Offhand, I would say that the sister has not yet been able to find a replacement for Black Jack, because if she had, another attempt to send you to meet your maker would surely have been made by now.’’

Tearing his eyes away from Miss Meribe Prestwich, Demetrius glanced around the room and discovered Miss Hester Prestwich was staring intently at him. As soon as his eyes met hers, she quickly looked away, but it was too late; he had already noticed her look of fear.

“There is one thing more you should consider,” Hennessey said softly in his ear. “There is a good possibility that the sister has an accomplice. I don’t mean someone she has hired, but someone from our own class. I find it difficult to believe Miss Hester dealt with Black Jack without using an intermediary, nor do I think she would have gone with her maid into a shop to purchase the bonbons or the poison. Therefore, if you wish to expose her, you will have to discover who among these illustrious gentleman has been aiding and abetting her.’’

“What is the point of worrying about it if Miss Meribe will not even let me speak with her?”

“She will get over being miffed. She does not strike me as the type of female who can hold a grudge. And as you have pointed out, it would be criminal to allow the sister to profit from her misdeeds.”

Demetrius was about ready to say the devil take Sir John Prestwich’s money, all he wanted to do was marry Miss Meribe Prestwich and take her back to Devon and let her grub around in his gardens to her heart’s content. He had enough money for both of them—she did not need to bring her father’s fortune as a dowry.

But something in Demetrius rankled at the thought of the sister profiting from her wicked deeds.

At long last Uncle Humphrey finished his conversation with the young lady in question and escorted her back to her relatives. Then he casually strolled over in their direction, stopping to chat with friends along the way. Demetrius doubted that his attempt to look casual was fooling anyone in the room.

Casting furtive looks to the right and to the left, Uncle Humphrey sidled up to them. “Meet me outside in half an hour,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Then, still nodding and smiling to his acquaintances, he moved on.

* * * *

“She is not mad at you for jilting her, don’t you know,” Uncle Humphrey said as soon as the three conspirators met on the street outside Almack’s. “Thing is, she went to see you this afternoon, but you were not home, and your mother ordered McDougal to refuse her admittance.”

Walking along in the direction of Grosvenor Square, Demetrius caught sight of a figure half hidden in the shadows and his muscles tensed up. But then with relief he recognized Mulrooney. Doubtless Malone was also lurking about nearby.

“Even that did not upset Miss Prestwich overmuch, because she understands about eccentric relatives, as well she might, living with that aunt of hers. I will admit my own sister is also given to mad starts, but I suppose in this instance one must make allowances for the fact that she is quite beside herself with worry about young Collier, don’t you know.’’

Distracted as he was by the thought of a possible assassin waiting somewhere in the darkness, Demetrius did not immediately grasp the import of what Humphrey was saying. When his uncle’s words finally sank in, Demetrius caught him by the arm.

“Wait a minute—if Miss Prestwich is not angry with me because of the retraction, then why will she still not speak to me?”

“Because of Collier, of course. Your mother accused Miss Prestwich of recklessly endangering your brother’s life by associating with you. The fatal curse, don’t you know.’’

“Blast it all! I made sure I had finally persuaded Miss Prestwich that there is no curse and that there never has been any curse,” Demetrius said harshly.

“To be sure,” his uncle replied mildly. “But it doesn’t make a ha’porth of difference as far as the results. Whether it’s a curse or a murderous sister, you’ll have to admit it’s dangerous to be around Miss Prestwich.”

“Bah!” was all Demetrius could think of to say. As much as he might wish it otherwise, what his uncle was saying made sense. “So what is your opinion, Hennessey? You have been uncommonly quiet this far.’’

“I was just thinking that meddling in other people’s affairs can be risky.’’

“Et tu, Brutus?” Demetrius asked, feeling very much older than when he had gotten out of bed that morning.

“What’s this?” Uncle Humphrey asked. “Have you taken to spouting Latin, Nephew? If that’s your pleasure, then here is where we will part company, for if there is one thing I will not tolerate, it is listening to folks jawing on in a heathen language. Speak in English or hold your tongue, that’s what I say.”

“It appears,” Demetrius explained, “that Mr. Hennessey here has also been meddling in my affairs.”

“Playing the role of deus ex machina, as it were,” Hennessey said impudently.

“Blast it all, now he’s started it too! Did you not listen to what I just said?” Uncle Humphrey’s voice had risen almost to a shout. “Not one word of Latin! Do I make myself clear?’’

“Quite clear, Uncle,” Demetrius said. “Now, if you would also be a little more clear about what you have been up to, Hennessey?”

“Well, it was nothing much. I merely mentioned to your brother that there was to be a bout of fisticuffs in a little village near Reading yesterday,” the Irishman said.

“And you said nothing about this to me when you knew I was worried about Collier? You let me waste hours searching all over London for him?” Demetrius could not keep all the anger out of his voice, but he did manage to maintain a reasonable degree of control until a sudden suspicion struck him. “Wait—when did you mention this pugilism match?”

“Right after I pointed out to him that it was not necessary for you to marry Miss Prestwich, so long as the murderer thought you were going to,” Hennessey replied. Then, holding up his hands in mock surrender, he quickly added, “No, no, you must not strike me! Remember Malone and Mulrooney—in a fight between us, their loyalty would be to me.’’

“Ah, but you forget,” Demetrius could not resist saying, “that I have my uncle on my side, and he carries a lethal cane.”

There was a moment of stunned silence; then Humphrey objected, “Now, see here, Nephew, don’t expect me to slash up this rogue, for I tell you flat out, I will not do it, even though he is an insolent Irishman too full of blarney for his own good. Why, if I was to start cutting up people right and left, first thing you know, all the young bucks would be calling me out to test their mettle. No, I will not oblige you in this matter, and do not think you can persuade me, for you will find my mind is quite made up.”

Hennessey and Demetrius both burst out laughing. “Relax, Uncle,” Demetrius said, clapping the older man on the back. “I was only jesting.”

“Well, I must say this is a strange time to be making a joke,” Humphrey said indignantly.

“When things are looking blackest, what else is there to do?” Demetrius replied. “My brother has vanished, my mother is prostrate with anxiety, I have threatened her shamelessly, my best friend has just brazenly confessed to meddling, the woman I wish to marry will not even speak to me, and to top it all off, someone is undoubtedly at this very moment plotting ways to kill me. Pray, what can I do but laugh?”

“I could use a stiff drink,” Humphrey muttered. “Do you still have any of that port your father laid down in ‘87?”

“I imagine McDougal can find a bottle or two. It is not my favorite tipple, so I have not made vast inroads into it,” Demetrius replied.

“No, no, you cannot refer to such magnificent port as ‘tipple,’” Humphrey objected. “Disrespectful, don’t you know. One must treat such a blessing from the gods with the honor it deserves, don’t you agree, Hennessey?”

“To my great regret, I have never had the pleasure of sampling any ‘87 port,” the Irishman replied.

“Never tasted it? But that is shocking! I had not realized Ireland was so uncivilized! You must come in and sample a glass. Demetrius will not object,” Humphrey said with assurance. “I will say this for the lad, he’ll never offer you inferior champagne or that disgusting swill they serve at Almack’s.”

Demetrius was about to offer his uncle an entire case of the aforementioned port, when about thirty yards ahead and a little to the right a shadow separated itself from the deeper darkness. Just as he was beginning to realize the import of what he was seeing, a pistol shot rang out.

Instinctively he started toward the assailant, but before Demetrius could take even two steps, his friend and his uncle threw themselves on him and bore him to the ground. As he fell, a second shot whistled over his head, and the two Irish grooms lumbered past the three of them where they lay on the pavement. Strong they might be, but unfortunately they were not notably fleet of foot.

A horse’s hooves clattered away down the street, which made it even more unlikely that Malone and Mulrooney could catch up with the miscreant.

“Are you hurt, my dear boy?” Uncle Humphrey’s voice boomed out right beside Demetrius’s ear.

If Demetrius could have moved, he would have winced, but with both Hennessey and Humphrey lying on him, he could barely wiggle a finger.

“I am ... in danger ... of expiring ... on the spot,” he labored to say. “If ... you both ... do not ... get off me ... I fear my chest ... will be quite ... crushed.”

Immediately and with profuse apologies his companions rolled off him and stood up. The relief was enormous, and it took Demetrius only a few moments to catch his breath and then get to his feet. Solicitously Uncle Humphrey began to brush off Demetrius’s jacket.

“Never mind, Uncle, I fear this garment is now fit only for the dustbin,” Demetrius said.

“Well, at least I was half right,” Hennessey said cheerfully, walking back a few paces to pick up their hats and Humphrey’s cane.

“How is that?” Demetrius asked.

“Very few people are good enough shots to hit a moving target in the dark. Too bad I did not also consider the possibility that the assassin might think to provide himself with a horse.”

Hennessey held out his hat and Demetrius took it and clapped it on his head.

A few minutes later the two Irish grooms returned. Handing Demetrius an antique silver-chased dueling pistol, Mulrooney said, “It appears that the assassin dropped one of his pistols. I found this lying on the pavement.”

“I think, Hennessey,” Demetrius said after inspecting it in the light of a street lamp, “that you are undoubtedly correct in assuming that Miss Hester Prestwich has a gentleman accomplice. This is not the kind of weapon used by most residents of Soho.”

“It is a shame we cannot simply search anyone we suspect, in order to see if he is carrying the mate to this pistol. Of course, there is a chance that some gunsmith might be able to identify it,” Humphrey suggested,

“It is possible, but considering its apparent age, it is not likely,” Demetrius replied. “In any event, I think we had better come up with a plan that has a higher chance of success.”

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Prestwich residence, and Meribe sighed with relief. As soon as the door was opened and the steps let down, her sister climbed out and hurried into the house without a backward glance. Meribe, however, waited to see if her aunt required any assistance.

Descending from the carriage and taking Meribe’s proffered arm, Aunt Phillipa said petulantly, “I wish someone would tell me what is going on. Hester did not utter a single word all the way home, which, although it was quite restful for me, is very much out of character for her. And as for you, young lady, you spent the evening popping in and out of the ladies’ room like a veritable jack-in-the-box. The only thing I can conclude from your behavior is that both of you are coming down with something quite dreadful, which is sure to spoil what little pleasure I am able to find in London these days.”

Smucker opened the door for them and took Aunt Phillipa’s cloak, but Meribe indicated that she wished to keep hers for the moment.

“I can only hope,” her aunt continued, “that whatever you are sickening with, it does not involve spots. I cannot abide watching people scratch themselves. It is so very vulgar.” With these parting words Aunt Phillipa ascended the stairs and passed from view.

Left alone at last, Meribe wandered out into the garden. Only a few short weeks ago she had thought she could not be more unhappy than she was. Now she knew differently.

Only twenty-four hours had passed since she had last spoken with Lord Thorverton, but it seemed more like an eternity. Over the course of the last few weeks they had been so preoccupied with solving the mystery of who was permanently disposing of her suitors that Meribe had not noticed how she had little by little become accustomed to being with Lord Thorverton every day—relying on him for advice, turning to him for comfort.

Even when she was not with him, her thoughts were centered on him. No matter what she might be doing, she was invariably anticipating their next meeting—planning what she would say to him, wondering what news he might have for her. But mostly just wanting to be near him.

Especially when things went wrong—and they seemed to be going wrong with increasing frequency—she needed him and only him. His strength supported her and gave her the courage to face the unavoidable and the determination to deal with the unthinkable.

Looking back on her life before she had met him, she realized now how empty her days had been. And looking ahead?