Page 15 of The Lady Confesses
Hettie pushed her plate away from her, unable to bear the sight of it any longer, and signaled for a footman to take it away.When the food had been removed, she rose and retreated to the small morning room which she’d taken as her own personal respite. It was the least objectionable room in the house, likely because it had never been redecorated by Arthur’s first wife. Apparently, the previous Lady Ernsdale’s taste had been atrocious. Everything in the house was fussy and overdone—too ornate, too gilded, too everything, really. But that room, with settees and chairs upholstered in a soft blue offset against darkly stained wood and a cream and blue carpet, offered up a peaceful spot in an otherwise often chaotic home. And she needed a bit of peace. Desperately.
Taking a seat at the small writing desk near the window, she began to pen a letter to her sister. She hated to do it, as they’d only just returned to town and were likely exhausted from their journey. But she’d never needed her sister’s counsel more.
*
Arthur Dagliesh, LordErnsdale, muttered to himself as he strode down the dimly lit street toward his favorite gaming hell. Well, not favorite, really. He was no longer permitted entry at his favorite. There had been an unfortunate disagreement and nasty allegations of cheating. A duel had only narrowly been avoided. Since then, he was no longer welcome in that lovely establishment. The same could be said for any number of others. It was getting to the point where he was running out of places where he was welcome. Of course, none of that had been aided by his wife’s sister marrying into the criminal class. Now, due to his unfortunate and quite involuntary association with the Hound of Whitehall, he was looked on as suspect by many.
Sympathy should have been with him, he thought bitterly. After all, following Henrietta’s abduction and rescue, it was quite clear that he was the injured party. What man wanted awife who may have been defiled by others? The truth of it was that he’d have been better off had they managed to kill her. Not that he cared one whit whether she lived or died beyond how it might benefit or bedevil him. If she had died, then he’d have access to the entirety of her fortune and not just the small bit that the trustees her father had named chose to dole out. It was galling that he’d only married the chit for money and discovered too late he’d only get his hands on it in piecemeal fashion.
The establishment he’d chosen for the evening’s entertainment was only steps away. The Plum Pearl dealt primarily in cards and dice, but there were other avenues of entertainment in there, as well. In particular, there were hidden passages that allowed one to observe the bedchambers many of the “ladies” used to entertain their guests. Watching had always been his preferred pleasure, and many of those ladies specialized in very specific types of pleasure. His introduction into that world of bondage and restraints, the deprivation of pleasure to the point of agony, had been enlightening, to say the least. Was it any wonder that he couldn’t feel any sort of excitement at the thought of bedding his frigid, virginal wife?
“Ernsdale?”
Arthur’s steps faltered. But he didn’t stop, nor did he turn. He wasn’t a man who was well liked, and he knew it. There were many who would do him harm, and since this person was following him, rather than waiting to speak to him in the club or calling on him at home, it indicated that it was not someone whom he would want to deal with.
Picking up his pace, he had just reached the steps, one foot poised to push up when he felt it. One hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. And then there was just a small sting, a slight prick of pain followed by a spreading coldness. Dropping his head, he saw the crimson stain spreading over the front of his waistcoat.
The blade had been so thin it was almost painless. It had slipped easily between his ribs. But then pain exploded when that sliver thin blade was turned, twisted brutally inside his chest, and then yanked free. His blood steamed in the cold air as it seeped out, the little puffs of white silhouetted by the gas lamp that burned beside the door of the establishment that would have offered him solace.
He stumbled, turning to face his attacker. But he never saw him. He never saw the man who had killed him because he was already gone, vanished into thin air. Another glance showed that the front of his waistcoat was now entirely saturated with blood. The deep crimson appeared almost black in the dim light.
The world was spinning, the darkness around him growing, creeping in ever closer. He fell, pitching forward into the street. He never heard the carriage wheels or the beating hoofs that approached. And before the first one had struck him, he had already breathed his last.
Chapter Thirteen
Joss leaned backagainst the cold bricks of the building and watched his quarry. The woman in question emerged from the pawnbroker’s, patting her reticule as though she were inviting a robbery. When she was out of sight, he rose from his casual stance and fell in step behind her, at a distance, of course.
The young bride of a much older gentleman, she’d taken to selling off the gifts he lavished upon her. Two weeks earlier, she’d fired a bevy of household servants after accusing them of thievery—which might have gone without notice, had she not done the same thing months earlier. The gentleman might be aging, but he was hardly a fool. There had been little doubt in his mind that it was his wife who was pilfering her own jewels and bartering them. But he’d wanted to know why. And thus came the distasteful part of Joss’ employment. Follow her, observe her. Report back that she was selling her jewels to either pay a blackmailer or support a lover. In his estimation, those were the only viable reasons for her surreptitious divestment of assets.
Near the end of the street, the woman climbed into a hack and made for her posh Brooke Street home. It was not difficult to follow on foot. Given the congestion of London’s streets, it was more difficult not to get ahead of the carriage rather than to simply keep up. When the conveyance halted before the gates to Hyde Park, Joss took note. It was the wrong time of day for a lady to be in the park. The evening hours tended to cater to vicesrather than promenades. If he intended to find out what she was about, he had to move quickly.
Crossing behind the carriage, he dodged traffic and the steaming evidence of horses’ hearty diets. But he managed to catch up to her. And he was completely stunned by what he saw. It wasn’t a lover she was meeting. It was a woman—very young, very pretty, and very heavily with child. He hadn’t solved his mystery at all, but simply added another layer to it. He also had the sneaking suspicion that his client might not be the wronged party after all.
Not for the first time, Joss thought how much easier it had been to do his work when Vincent had been a more noticeable presence in town. The man had but to whisper and information flowed like a raging river. But then money and power had always had that effect.
Walking away from the woman and her secret meeting, he headed back the way he’d come. Perhaps the pawnbroker knew something. It was at least a place to start. He highly doubted that either his client or his client’s wife would be in any way forthcoming.
He walked, lost in thought, as the crowd thickened around him. It was only then that he became aware of a commotion up ahead which had prompted the assembly of gawkers. In the distance, he could see a crowd gathered, watching from the sidewalks The wagon which held their rapt attention was one that he was all too familiar with. On the flat surface of the wagon’s bed, a body was laid out and wrapped in sheeting. It wasn’t as if the sight of a corpse being paraded through Mayfair truly shocked him. After all, murders happened every day in London. Most people just lived their lives blissfully unaware of the fact. It was the decided lack of outcry from those surveying the wagon which left him puzzled. There were no tears, no oneappeared outraged. Half of them seemed somewhat bemused by it all.
When he neared the crowd, he saw a familiar face—a shop boy whom he had often paid well for information. “Thomas, who is under that shroud?”
“Lord Ernsdale, Inspector Ettinger, sir,” the young man answered. “Cut down in cold blood on the street outside a gaming hell. Never seen so much blood!”
Joss felt as though his heart had fallen into his stomach with the same force as a rock falling from the top of a mountain. It left him reeling. “Ernsdale?”
“Aye, sir. Not been too long ago that there was another scandal... his lady wife abducted in broad daylight! Do you think they’re connected?”
He sincerely hoped not. If they were, his efforts to avoid Hettie Dagliesh would be effectively at an end. Because regardless of what had passed between them, and what had not, he would not see her in danger.
“I don’t know, Thomas. But I mean to find out. You hear anything and you let me know. Same arrangement as before.”
The boy’s eyebrows lifted. “But you’re not with Bow Street no more!”
“No. But Lady Ernsdale’s sister is now married to someone we both know... a certain Hound who would not want his sister-in-law to be in any sort of danger.” Joss hedged around the real reason for his interest.
With his eyebrows now having climbed fully to his hairline, the boy nodded vigorously. “Oh, aye, Inspe—I mean, Mr. Ettinger, sir! I’ll let you know the very minute I hear anything at all.”
Joss watched the wagon roll on by, noting the blood that had seeped through the white linen. And a terrible thought occurred to him. Had she done it? Or hired someone to do so? If shehad, he could hardly blame her, but others would not look so kindly on it. And if that terrible possibility had crossed his mind, others would begin to wonder, as well. Hettie faced more danger than just simply the potential threat of her husband’s murderer. She might well be labeled a murderer herself. The law was unforgiving of any woman who dared rise up against a tyrannical man.
