Page 85 of A Proposition for the Comte
They had reached the house of Douglas Cummings now and alighted from the carriage, Aurelian’s arm beneath her elbow as he helped her up the steps.
When they were shown into a salon to one side of the entrance he saw Mountford and Cummings standing together and his blood froze momentarily. Had he underestimated Charles Mountford’s lack of morals?
Pushing Violet behind, Lian drew his pistol, levelling it at both of them, but Mountford spoke without turning a hair.
‘I have explained our concerns to Douglas, Comte de Beaumont, and he is as eager to bring this farce to an end as you and I are.’
‘Farce?’ Aurelian could barely get the word out, his eyes skimming the further parts of the salon to qualify danger. Finding no one about to pounce upon them he lowered the gun, but still kept a tight grip upon it.
‘The French gold has made fools of us all.’ Cummings said this. ‘Harland Addington was adamant that the bounty would be a lot more lucrative than it was but with so many involved in its disappearance there was not much room for sharing.’
‘Who was involved?’ While Cummings was talking it seemed a good idea to encourage him at it.
‘Harland and Violet Addington for starters.’ His eyes raked across Violet, hatred in the stare. ‘The jewellers Miller, Taylor and Whitely and Antoinette Herbert with all her lies and deceitful plotting. Perhaps in truth she was the worst of them all.’
‘She was your lover?’
Cummings laughed but the sound was rough. ‘She used her body to get what she wanted and led men like bulls with hoops of gold through their noses to make certain that she held the upper hand.’
‘You murdered Miller, then, while he was a prisoner?’ Mountford asked, disgust in his words.
‘No. I let her in to talk with him, that was all. I think it was a poison she used. There was yellow froth coming out of his mouth as he died a few hours later.’
‘And George Taylor. You were seen at Chichester about the same time he was murdered?’ Aurelian asked this.
Cummings blanched. ‘I’d had a note to meet Whitely the jeweller there. He didn’t turn up and so I left for London only to find Taylor had been murdered half a mile away from the tavern I was directed to wait at.’
‘Whitely is definitely involved, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why are you? You had a job with a sense of importance in it. A family.’
‘I did not imagine it would come to this. I wanted some money to pay off my bills. I’ve worked for fifteen years solid in this department, for God’s sake, and I’ve never as much as had a holiday.’
‘Well, you will have a long one now. I am letting you go from this day on and there will be charges laid.’ Mountford sounded furious.
The door closed suddenly, with a bang that had Violet jumping as the lock turned. Aurelian crossed to wrench at the handle but no amount of movement could release the catch. Then two canisters were thrown through the window, the glass exploding into flame and smoke and sending fragments of metal through the air.
Aurelian launched himself at her and she found that she was on the floor, his body plastered across her own. With the smoke in the room Violet could not make out any other form, though she had seen Douglas Cummings fall in the first few seconds after the blast.
‘Mountford?’ Aurelian’s voice.
‘I’m here...in the...corner.’
His words sounded strange and uneven and after checking she was all right, Aurelian moved across to the Minister. With the clearing of smoke, the damage became so much more apparent, blood splattered across the room. Cummings was dead, lying face down at a strange angle to one side of the window.
Finding her wits, Violet stood, testing her legs which felt like jelly beneath her.
‘Be careful of the glass shards,’ Aurelian warned her and when she looked across at him his face and arms were dotted in small points of blood.
Outside she could hear people calling from the street and there was a rush of feet on the pavement. It was the fire brigade by the sounds of it and the long arm of the law would be with them.
Then the door opened and Eli Tucker held the jeweller Whitely by the scruff of his neck. ‘This man threw the canisters, my lord. He was hiding in the garden.’
Alexander Whitely looked nothing like the prosperous and arrogant jeweller of a few weeks before. He was dressed in black and his face was screwed up in anger.
‘She made me do it. Antoinette Herbert and her fancy promises which have all come to nothing. She even took the gold back from my shop and she promised she would not.’
