Page 21 of Garden of Lies

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She hoped the veil concealed her blush.

“Yes, of course,” she said briskly. “Thank you... Slater.”

There was a short pause. Belatedly it dawned on her that he was waiting for her to say something.

“Please call me Ursula,” she added.

“Thank you, Ursula.” He inclined his head. “I shall call for you at seven-thirty tomorrow evening. Is that agreeable?”

She thought about that for a few uncertain seconds. When one considered the matter closely it was obvious that being alone in the carriage with Slater at night would be no different from being alone with him now, during the day. But for some reason the prospect unnerved her a little. She reminded herself that theirs was a partnership.

She smiled, satisfied with her logic. “I will be waiting.”

It was, she thought, a great pity that every gown in her wardrobe with the exception of her house dresses was black.

TEN

Shortly before midnight Slater sat in the shadows of a hansom and watched the front door of the exclusive gentlemen’s club. The cab’s lights were turned down low so as not to draw attention. In the fog the streetlamps that marked the steps that led up to the front door of the club were no more than luminous spheres of ghostly energy.

He could have gone up the steps and been admitted to the club. He was a member, thanks to his father’s status and power, but he had not exercised his privileges since his return to London. It was Brice Torrence’s favorite retreat. It seemed best that he and Torrence did not find themselves in the same room. Brice evidently felt the same way. Whether by luck or by design, in the two months since Slater had returned to London he and Brice had managed to avoid chance encounters.

The only reason he was here tonight, waiting in the mist-bound shadows, was because the club happened to be one of Fulbrook’s favorite haunts.

The hansom squeaked a bit when Griffith shifted his weight on the driver’s perch above and behind the cab. He spoke through the opening in the top.

“His lordship’s been in there a good long while now.”

“Are you bored, Griffith?”

“When you told me that you wanted to play detective tonight I thought it would be a bit more exciting.”

“So did I,” Slater admitted. “Blame Fulbrook. It appears he lives a rather conventional life.”

“Do you really think he might have murdered Mrs. Kern’s secretary?”

“I have no idea. But Mrs. Kern won’t be convinced that her employee was not murdered until we find the truth. At the moment she suspects that the killer might be connected to the Fulbrook household so I thought it might be useful to gain some idea of Fulbrook’s habits.”

“He’ll probably follow the same pattern as the rest of his sort. Spend a few hours at his club playing cards and drinking and then go off to visit his mistress or a whorehouse. It’ll be dawn before he goes home, which means we won’t get any sleep tonight.”

“It might be useful to discover the address of his mistress or his favorite brothel, assuming he has one or the other.”

“They all do,” Griffith said with world-weary wisdom. “They marry a respectable lady for her family connections or her fortune or both and get themselves an heir. But there’s always a mistress on the side.”

That was, Slater thought, an excellent summary of his father’s lifestyle. Edward Roxton had married twice before he succeeded in fulfilling his responsibilities to the family name and the title but throughout the decades he had never given up the liaison with Lilly. As far as Slater could tell, his parents had, in their own fashion, been devoted to each other. He had no idea how his father’s first wife had felt about the situation. He had never met the woman, although, as a boy, he had seen her occasionally from a distance. Like other ladies of her station, she had pretended to be unaware of her husband’s other life. For his part, Edward had gone out of his way to keep Lilly and Slater in a separate sphere.

Edward’s second wife, however, was a very different matter. Judith had been remarkably clear-headed about the marriage. She’d had her own reasons for wedding a man several decades older than herself. It had been a business bargain for both parties and each had fulfilled the terms of the agreement.

Slater watched the door of the club open. An elegantly dressed man emerged from the front hall and paused at the top of the steps. For a moment his aquiline profile was visible in the glary light.

“There’s Fulbrook,” Slater said. “Prepare to follow him and make damned sure he doesn’t notice us.”

“He won’t pay any attention to us,” Griffith said. “It’s just one more cab in a fogbound night. Doubt if he’ll even look back. Why would he? Not like any of his associates will care that he’s off to visit a woman.”

“Nevertheless, I think it best to be cautious. Fulbrook will know that I have not frequented this club since my return to London. If he were to see me in the vicinity tonight, he might think it odd, especially after having made it obvious that I have taken a personal interest in his wife’s new secretary—always assuming he is aware of Mrs. Kern.”

“You think he knows that we collected Mrs. Kern from the Fulbrook residence earlier today?” Griffith asked.

“Someone watched Mrs. Kern leave the house,” Slater said.

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