Page 47 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
Rahat’s words jerked him back to reality. “I am ready, Rahat,” he said, and took the hat and caped coat that the valet handed to him. On the table by his door was a heavy package he had picked up from Miss Clemen’s Book Emporium at Lily’s request.
The History of Englandin three volumes by a man called John Lingard. There’d been some discussion about it at the club; he might ask Lily if he could borrow it when she was done.
He put his hat down in order to pick up the book. “I’ll take this to Mistress Lily on my way down,” he told Rahat.
“I will carry your hat, sir,” the valet replied.
The next floor was quiet, it being late enough in the evening that most of the girls were working. Either Lily or Jasmine would be here, however—whichever one of them was not on duty downstairs as primary hostess.
Rahat knocked on Lily’s door, then, when there was no reply, on Jasmine’s. She took possession of the book, and gave Snowy a kiss on his cheek, for luck, she said.
They took the private stairs that led to the door into the mews, Snowy a little ahead, Rahat still carrying his hat. Daphne met them on a landing part way down, stepping to block Snowy’s way. “My,” she said. “Don’t you look fine? But your hair is a little ruffled, Snowy. Let me…” She reached up a hand.
Snowy, trying to keep the woman’s body from pressing against his from knee to breast, was a second late in recognizing the sudden narrowing of her eyes, the triumphant gleam. But suddenly, Rahat reached past him, grabbing her other hand.
She fought like a she-cat and swore like a dockhand. It took both of them to subdue her. “She had her hand back to strike you, my lord,” Rahat said. “Whatever she held, she dropped it.”
Rahat held her by her elbows behind her back while Snowy searched the floor till he found a long hair pin, the point discolored. He folded a handkerchief over it to lift it.
By the time that was done, the murderous cat’s stream of words had made it clear that the hat pin was poisoned, and that she’d been paid, “by a finer gentleman than you, Moses White.”
It was Snowden of course, or someone he had sent, who might be able to give them a lead back to his master.
“Should we send for the runners?” Rahat asked.
“The man who paid her will have her killed, like he did the valet,” Snowy pointed out. “We will lock her in the closed room in the cellar and put a footman to guard her overnight. Then tomorrow, I’ll take her to Wakefield for questioning.”
Daphne spat at him. “The major will not kill me. He loves me. He is going to take me out of here and set me up in a fancy house.”
Jasmine must have been drawn by the noise, for she spoke from farther up the stairs. “Daphne has been entertaining a Major Lord Martin Hungerford-Fox,” she said.
Snowy had been investigating Hungerford-Fox ever since he found out that the man had been claiming a former acquaintance with Margaret. Stancroft, the former army officer, spoke of the man in the most scathing of terms. His reputation in the army and in civilian life was abysmal. Was Margaret in danger?
As quickly as he could, he arranged for Daphne to be consigned to the cellar. Jasmine was happy to take charge. “I will keep the key, and one of the footmen can stand guard outside. It was Snowden who set Hungerford-Fox to it, I imagine.”
Snowy nodded. “Probably.” He grinned. “And every time he does something like this, we are a step closer to catching him. I was wondering whether I would need to take the initiative.” He would get his hands on Hungerford-Fox and ask the man directly. If his reputation for cowardice was accurate, he’d talk soon enough.
And then they would have evidence to question Snowden directly.
According to those who had been employed to watch the false viscount, he had given up on searching for his ward. In the week since Dickon and Ned had left London, he met with his—or rather the viscountcy’s—solicitor twice, and a new solicitor three times.
He rode most mornings, usually in one of London’s parks, but twice to a little house in St. Johns where he stayed for several hours and then rode away again.
He spent his afternoons either in his library or out visiting. He had been to dinner at his club three times, meeting with cronies to play cards.
Each time, he went from the club to the house at St. Johns and stayed the night. An enquiry in the neighborhood confirmed that the current resident was the third mistress Snowden had kept in that particular house.
On other evenings, he attended ton entertainments, often crossing paths with Snowy but never confronting him.
“You are taking this very calmly, Snowy,” Jasmine scolded. “Do be careful, dear boy.”
Snowy assured her he had never been in any danger, but it wasn’t true. “You saved my life, Rahat,” he said, once they were in the carriage that had been hired to take them to the ball.
“I did my job, sir,” the young guard replied.
*
Something was wrong.Margaret stood with Pauline, wondering what was being said behind her back. Her partners arrived, as scheduled, to take her out on the floor, but their conversation was stilted, and they looked at her oddly. Between dances, conversations would stop as she approached. Several of the worst gossipmongers of the ton looked at her over their fans, their eyes malicious.
