Devil in My Arms (22 page)

It had been a very good bargain for him. Over the years the prince had called on him time and again to fix untenable situations in which he’d found himself. That first secret paled in comparison to some of the others he was now privy to. He wished he could stop saving the royal pain, but he knew something about Hil, too. He knew he was the son of the local barmaid and prostitute, a penniless bastard who grew up in the gutter. By the time he’d saved the prince’s life, his mother was dead and he was on his way to becoming the sort of felon he now chased. That fateful day had changed his life. He’d never admit it, but he owed the king everything.

“Over the years I’ve regretted that decision,” the king said ruefully. “Now you are a threat to me. You know too much. I’m told I should have you executed. I’m sure I could find a reason.”

“Despite what is written about you, you are not an ogre, Your Majesty,” Hil said, not in the least concerned. “It is not in your nature to kill indiscriminately. That, I think, is why I survived all those years ago. What happened with Ainsley was a mistake, an accident. No matter how it would have looked to everyone else.”

“Damn you, St. John,” the king said without vehemence. “Even though I know you detest me, you are still the only man who can tell me I’m not awful and have me believe it.” He wagged a finger at him. “That’s why I keep you around.” He stood and walked over to look out the window, his hands behind his back. For a moment he actually looked a little bit like a king. “I made you, you know. The renowned Sir Hilary St. John, brilliant scholar, rake”—at that he looked over his shoulder with a smile and a wag of his brows—“and investigator. Mysterious, enigmatic, and infuriating.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Hil said with genuine pleasure at the description.

“I require your assistance,” the king said without looking at him. “It’s a very delicate matter, of course. However, I know I can count on your discretion.”

“Of course,” Hil said, keeping the contempt out of his voice. They were all delicate matters.

“Good. I shall send a note round to Newgate to release your Mrs. Fairchild. But only until the trial.” He turned to Hil and looked as if he genuinely regretted it. “The case has already become too notorious. I cannot acquit her. You must do that, Hilary.” He paused. “Did she do it? Did she kill him?”

“No, Your Majesty, she did not,” Hil said firmly. “And I have every intention of proving it.”

“Good, good,” the king said, looking relieved. “That will make it seem as if I was wiser than Bow Street, won’t it? I knew she was innocent when they thought she was guilty. I shall be a knight in shining armor, saving damsels in distress.” He pointed at Hil. “You make it so, St. John. I don’t need more bad press.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, let us discuss my problem and how you are going to solve it. You’re the only man around here worth a damn.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Hil said, used to his lightning mood changes. “I would be happy to assist you.” He gritted his teeth behind his smile, hoping this wouldn’t take too long.

Chapter Seventeen

Hil saw Roger pacing inside the house through the window when he finally arrived at Manchester Square. It was early morning. The sun had come up as he’d ridden back from Windsor. As soon as he dismounted, the butler, Mandrake, opened the door and stood back so he could enter. He looked very grave. “How are things going, Mandrake?” he asked quietly as he handed over his hat and gloves.

“It is an ill wind that blows through here, sir,” Mandrake replied. He sounded like a tragic Greek chorus.

“Nonsense,” Hil said with more confidence than he felt. “Has there been any word about Mrs. Fairchild?”

“No, sir, not yet.” That worried Hil. The king had better live up to his promises.

When he entered the drawing room, he saw that Roger was not alone. His barrister partner, Edward Lyttle, another Devil from their school days, was there, as were Wiley and Alasdair. At his entrance, they looked relieved. As he shook Roger’s hand, the dark circles under his friend’s eyes were noticeable. “I’ve arranged for her to stay with the gaoler and his wife in the press yard, until further plans can be made. Can you get her out?” Roger asked without preamble.

“I can,” he said. “The king owes me a favor.”

“The king always owes you favors,” Wiley said in disgust. “I wish you’d tell me what you’ve got on him.”

“That would defeat the effectiveness of blackmailing him by keeping his secret, wouldn’t it?” Lyttle asked. He was a huge man. He stood in front of a window, blocking the light, dressed in somber black, his dark hair wildly disheveled, wearing an expression like an undertaker. “Whatever you do, Hil, don’t ever tell a soul. Having a king in your pocket can be very useful.”

“He’ll only release her until the trial. He says the case is too notorious already, probably due to my involvement. What has happened since I left? Have you spoken with anyone?”

“We were all questioned,” Roger told him. “Even Harry and Julianna.”

“Damn,” he swore, his fist hitting his thigh in impotent anger.

“What?” Alasdair asked, looking as bleak as Hil felt. He sat on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees.

“I don’t know where to start.” Hil made the confession in a tight voice. He’d had hours of riding to think about it, but he had no plan. He had no idea who in London would want to kill Enderby, besides Eleanor and the people in this house. The image of Eleanor locked up in a dank cell in Newgate had haunted him to the exclusion of almost all other thought.

“We’re going to get her free, Hil,” Roger said, his voice shaking with determination. “If we cannot find the killer, then we will get her acquitted. We will. There is no other alternative.”

“We better,” Lyttle said, calmer than the others. He didn’t know Eleanor yet. “If we don’t, she’ll hang.” The other occupants of the room turned to glare at him. He held up his hands defensively. “I just want everyone here to know the stakes. This isn’t a jolly lark, helping Hil find a killer. Your Eleanor’s life is at stake. And they like to get these trials over with. Even if we get her out, it will only be for a few days. They’ll try her next week, when the court goes into session on Tuesday. If she’s found guilty, they’ll hang her by Saturday.”

Hil had to lean against the wall and rest his hands on his knees as he bent over, trying to clear the spots from his eyesight. “Vickery said next Friday’s docket.”

“He was wrong. The court goes in session on Tuesday, and they’ll try this one first, since it’s caught the attention of the public.”

Hil was shaking. He’d never felt so helpless. He’d blustered and bullied his way into Windsor, and made promises he had no idea how to keep.

“I will not fail her,” he said to himself, though he spoke out loud. “I will not.”

“They have to let her go today,” Roger said in a shaking voice. “Harry is inconsolable without her.”

“It won’t do for her barrister to sound frightened,” Wiley said. “I’m sure she’s scared enough as it is. Get yourself together, man, before you see her.”

“It’s just that I know what can happen,” Roger said. “I’ve seen it. They rush
through these trials and, as it’s a capital crime, she’ll be executed, just as Lyttle says. She’ll be dead in less than a fortnight if I don’t do something! What am I going to tell Harry?”

“Calm down,” Hil barked, getting his own equilibrium back. “She will not hang. You and I, and Lyttle, and Alasdair and Wiley, and every other resource at my disposal will be focused on one thing and one thing only—proving she didn’t kill him. We will succeed.”

Roger moved in close, his eyes darting from side to side. “We can get her out of here,” he whispered. “Out of London.”

“You cannot,” Hil told him firmly. “You risk your own neck. Helping a convicted murderer escape is also a capital offense. What will I tell Harry as we all hang together?” Not that he hadn’t thought of the idea already. He would set plans in motion today, in case she was indeed convicted. He looked at Wiley, who was watching him closely. At Hil’s look he nodded. He knew what to do. She would not hang. Hil would die before he’d see that happen.

A carriage pulled up outside, the sound carrying through the open window.
Still open for Eleanor
. His heart constricted in his chest. There was a knock at the door and he heard Mandrake answer it. All the men in the room were looking at one another warily. Who could it be? No one was likely to pay a call here before the trial, especially at this early hour.

The voice coming from the entry shocked Hil, and he turned to face the door. Inspector Townsend from Bow Street entered and smiled at the assembled men. He was short and fat and quite, quite eccentric in a flaxen wig, cream-colored suit with knee breeches, and a broad-brimmed white hat. He was also a member of the king’s inner circle. He probably knew more secrets than Hil.

“Inspector Townsend, sir,” the butler intoned from the doorway.

“Thank you, Mandrake,” Roger said, and he left, closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Townsend said pleasantly. “Having a war council, are we?” He removed his hat and adjusted his wig. He waved his hat at a chair. “May I?” Without waiting for approval, he sat down. “Have you any tea? I was awakened quite early this morning.” He pointed at Hil. “On your behalf, mind. Our mutual friend sent me
to assist you.”

“Did he?” Hil asked, feigning disinterest. “I fail to see how.”

“Now, don’t go all uppity on me,” Townsend said. He looked at Wiley. “Tea?”

“What? Do I look like the mother?” Wiley complained. He stood up, marched to the door, and opened it. “Tea,” he called out and then shut it firmly again and sat back down.

“Our mutual friend simply thought it would be in the best interest of Bow Street to find the real killer. Although I’m not convinced it’s not your Mrs. Fairchild.” He paused and looked at Roger. “Care to tell me more about that? Seems there’s no history of a Mrs. Elizabeth Fairchild in relation to your wife’s family, Mr. Templeton.”

“Is this an official interrogation?” Lyttle asked.

“Playing the lawyer, are you?” Townsend shot back. “Fine. No. I’m here on my own time, not in connection with the case. Not my case, is it? I didn’t arrest her.”

Lyttle looked at Roger and some silent communication occurred. Lyttle nodded.

“Here now,” Hil said, “consider your words, Roger.”

“So you know, too?” Townsend asked Hil. “Of course you do. The great Sir Hilary wouldn’t get involved with a mystery woman without solving the mystery first.”

“Hil, do you think he can help?” Roger asked, eyeing Townsend with some trepidation.

Hil honestly didn’t know. But the more men working the case, the better. Townsend may look the fool, but he was intelligent, and a damn good investigator. He didn’t catch the king’s eye for nothing. He made a decision. “I don’t know, but tell him. He certainly won’t be any help if he doesn’t know the whole story.”

“Mrs. Fairchild is actually Mrs. Enderby, the first.”

Townsend squinted at Roger. “The dead wife?” Roger nodded. “How?”

“She escaped him,” Hil said. Townsend looked at him. “She ran off and disappeared for three months, while Enderby had men searching for her. When she thought it was safe, she showed up here. Her plan was to wait until Enderby had her declared dead and remarried, then come out of hiding under an assumed name.”

“Well, that wouldn’t work unless he could prove she was dead,” Townsend observed. “Which he did. How did he do that?”

Hil’s lips thinned. “Enderby produced a body. We don’t know whose. But he swore it was Eleanor and she was declared dead. Since she’d been irrefutably declared dead, and Enderby had remarried, she felt she was free to assume a new identity and go on with her life. Enderby had nothing to gain by revealing Eleanor’s location if he found out. Or so we thought.”

“But?” Townsend asked. “Is that why he was in London?”

“Yes.” Roger took over the story again. “He showed up at the opera the other night, out of the blue. He actually hid and accosted Eleanor when she was alone, heading to the retiring room. She got away and ran back to our box.”

“Yes,” Alasdair said. “Eleanor came running in as if the devil were after her, and Enderby followed.”

“He demanded I turn her over. Said he was her husband and I had no right to keep her from him. He seemed quite mad, actually. What could have compelled him to seek her out? We don’t know. He didn’t tell us. Simply stormed off when I refused to let him have her. I insisted she was Elizabeth Fairchild, my wife’s cousin, and not Eleanor Enderby, though we both knew differently. I even reminded him of his new wife in Derbyshire. I was hoping he’d see the logic of simply leaving things as they were.”

“This doesn’t look good for your girl, St. John,” Townsend said with a frown. “Certainly gives her motive, which is all the case is lacking right now. Don’t have to prove it, of course, so it doesn’t matter. But if it comes out, it will make her look bad. Very bad. An adventuress and runaway wife.” He shook his head. “Very bad,” he repeated.

“Yes, thank you for your opinion,” Hil said in exasperation. “We know that, although it couldn’t be further from the truth. He was a bastard to her, abused her in the most heinous fashion, and deserved whatever he got.”

“Too bad you’ve got an alibi,” Townsend said. “This is the sort of murder you can pin on the lady’s lover.”

“I’d gladly take her place in Newgate,” Hil said staunchly. “Why don’t you tell Vickery he’s made a mistake and we’ll do just that?”

“Can’t,” Townsend said, shaking his head. “We’ve got a witness that puts her near The Bull and Mouth that night. One of the watchmen. Described her right down to
those boys’ clothes she was wearing, though he recognized she was a woman.”

“Damn,” Hilary said. “She was dressed like that to come to me. To say good-bye, actually. She was going to run again. She felt it was the only way to escape him. We were all worried he was going to show up with the authorities the next day.”

“Was she in Ludgate?”

There was a knock and the door opened before Hil could answer. Mandrake wheeled in the tea cart. “Thank you,” Roger said. “We’ll serve.” Mandrake bowed and retreated.