Page 27 of The Lady Confesses
“Yes, Mr. Batson. I will make certain to be safely tucked up in my sister’s home by then... if you could deliver a message to someone for me, a Mr. Josiah Ettinger. He’s a private inquiry agent who is a frequent associate of Mr. Carrow. If you could let him know that I will be taking sanctuary in my sister’s home, that would be most appreciated.”
“I will see it done, my lady, and as always, mum’s the word about our conversations,” the little man said. “It wasn’t right, you know? The way he treated you. It wasn’t right at all. It’s one thing to be in a marriage where there is no love, but to be in one where one party is actively cruel to another—I simply cannot fathom it.”
There was something in the man’s tone that alerted her to a hidden pain. “Do you have a wife, Mr. Batson?”
“No, madame. I was never so blessed as to marry. But I did love a young lady once... many years ago. Her father disapproved of my lack of prospects and arranged for her to wed another. It ended very poorly for her. Now, I try to intervene where I can to prevent such a sad fate from striking others.”
Overwhelmed with compassion for the poor man, Hettie felt tears stinging her eyes. “You are a very good man, Mr. Batson. And you have done remarkable things in the name of your lost love.”
He beamed at her. “Then I have achieved my loftiest goal, my lady. I shall bid you good day now.”
Alone once more, Hettie immediately rang for Foster. When the maid entered, she wasted no time with explanations. “I’ve decided that I shall go and stay with Honoria and Mr. Carrow for the time being. Pack for an extended visit, Foster, for you and myself.”
The maid nodded and then rushed away to do as she’d been bid. Hettie then wrote a short note to her sister, explaining what she planned to do, but carefully made no mention of Mr. Batson or his warning in case the missive was intercepted. Her entire life seemed to be nothing but a series of intrigues and schemes. She longed for something simpler. Something easier. Certainly something less lonely.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The funeral washeld in the afternoon at St. Paul’s. It was not well attended. Arthur Dagliesh had not been a well-liked man. Even members of his various clubs were scarce. The service was suitably abbreviated and subdued. Wearing a simple black gown and veil, the dry-eyed widow was the subject of much conjecture.
“Do you think she did it?” one mourner asked another.
“I think if she did, one could hardly blame her,” the other quipped quietly. “He was a bounder.”
There were shrugs of agreement from those in hearing distance. Other similar conversations were taking place throughout the small crowd of assembled mourners. But one person was not joining in.
Standing near the rear of the congregation, Joss observed the whole thing with a watchful eye and his ears attuned to every sound. Even then, most of his focus was trained solely on the gentleman who stood near the front: Lord Simon Dagliesh, the soon-to-be named Lord Ernsdale. The visit he’d received that afternoon from a small clerk from the solicitor’s office had provided more damning, if circumstantial, evidence against Ernsdale’s heir. The man was angling to seize control with undue haste, a sure sign of desperation. And desperate men were always dangerous men.
Movement beside him was Joss’s only alert. But he didn’t flinch. He knew who it was instantly. The Hound.
“It’s a miserable affair for a miserable bastard,” the other man murmured.
“So it is,” Joss agreed.
“Let’s speak outside. There’s too much to relay in here.”
Together, the men stepped out of the church and onto the busy street beyond. But they stayed close to the entrance. After all, Honoria and Hettie were both inside.
“You’ve found something?” Joss asked.
“Simon Dagliesh isn’t just in dun territory... he’s the proverbial king of it. The man has amassed more debts than he could ever hope to pay,” Vincent explained. “Even with the whole of Arthur Dagliesh’s estates and Hettie’s marriage settlement, he would be hard pressed to cover even half of it. And he’s in deep with the sort of people who do not like to wait for payment.”
“Not just shopkeepers and merchants, then,” Joss mused. “Moneylenders?”
“Several of them. He’s been holding them at bay with promises of a windfall... and men like him only get windfall sums when relatives die. That’s quite the impetus to hurry along their demise.”
“So it all comes back to the money.” Joss shook his head. “Not so different from the rookeries, is it? Everyone always trying to come out on top.”
“Not so different, but not so simple either. This is more than just his reputation at stake. It’s Ardmore,” Vincent said the name in a low voice, the word coming out sharp between clenched teeth.
Joss cursed under his breath. Just uttering the name of London’s most notorious moneylender was enough to strike fear in the hearts of many. The man was ruthless. He and the Hound had clashed from time to time, but generally gave one anothera wide berth. No one wanted an outright war, after all, and between the two of them it could be nothing less.
“I’ll speak to him,” Vincent continued. “I doubt it will do much good. Like many others, he believes my stepping back from the direct running of my enterprises signals weakness.”
“Can you really just walk away from it all? You’ve been building this empire for decades.” It was a fair question. At one point in time, nothing had been more important to Vincent Carrow than his criminal enterprise.
“I can. I want to,” Vincent admitted. “There are other things in life more important than simply amassing wealth and power.”
“I never had the drive for those things that you did,” Joss admitted.
