Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (11 page)

“No, no, nothing like that.” He paused, then went on abruptly, “After the party, a body was found at the foot of the servants’ staircase, the body of a footman. He was murdered, Gwyn, brutally murdered. His name was Johnny Rowland.”

With her mind in a whirl, she half rose from her chair, then slowly sank back again. “A murder! How awful! On the servants’ staircase!”

“Yes. There was no mention of it in the papers because the authorities want to get their facts straight before giving out the information. He wasn’t even employed at Sackville’s house.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know one of the magistrates at Bow Street. He told me.”

She said in a shaken tone, “I think I may have heard something.”

He sat up straight. “What?”

“As I came down the stairs. I wasn’t sure what floor I was on. Then I heard shuffling and moaning far below me. I thought it might be a man and woman … you know. So I went through the door on the landing so I wouldn’t have to pass them.”

“You—?” He stuttered, then roared, “Do you realize how lucky you were? If you’d gone down those stairs, you might have been murdered, too. You need a keeper. You should be on leading strings. No decent woman should have shown her face in that den of iniquity.”

She glared at him. “I was there by mistake. What’s your excuse?”

“Use your imagination!”

Silence. She folded her arms across her breasts. He clamped his teeth together.

Gradually, the muscles across his back relaxed and the anger died out of his eyes. “I apologize,” he said. “I hope you realize my anger was based on fear.”

His words mollified her, but only a little. He’d told her to use her imagination, and that’s exactly what she was doing. She inclined her head, then said, “I suppose the authorities will want to question me.”

“They don’t even know of your existence.”

“But they’ll know soon enough. I was on the guest list.”

“You were—” His eyes flared, then he said viciously,
“I could happily murder Sackville for his stupidity.”

She knew the feeling, but it didn’t help her. “And I’m a witness. Shouldn’t I come forward or something?”

“No. Wait for them to come to you. I doubt if they will. They have far bigger fish on that guest list to reel in. You’re small fry. They may never get to you. And it’s not as if you saw anything, is it?”

“No.”

“Then leave it be. I mean it, Gwyn. I don’t want you involved in this at any price.”

And that mollified her some more.

“Gwyn …”

“What?”

He edged forward in his chair. “I want you to come and stay with me. Right now. I want you to pack your boxes, get Mark, and come with me to Half Moon Street.”

“What?” Her mouth was open.

He smiled faintly. “There’s something about this whole business that doesn’t feel right to me. You told me you were being watched. Now you’re a witness to a murder. I’ve talked to the magistrate. I’ve talked to Sackville. I went back to the house and talked to footmen. This was brutally done. All I’m saying is that I’d feel happier if you didn’t live alone.”

She was touched, really touched, but she couldn’t accept his offer. “I can’t drop everything and move to Half Moon Street. I’d lose all my pupils.”

His lips flattened. “If you’re set on teaching piano lessons, you can teach in my house just as easily as here.”

“A fine thing that would be when your family is coming to town for Sophie’s come-out. I can just see it. My pupils coming and going and bumping into the fashionable ladies of the ton who are making
their morning calls.” She shook her head. “Jason, your grandmother would flay you alive.”

He chuckled. “Maybe she would, but it doesn’t look as though she’ll be coming to town after all. Sophie is digging in her heels. There’s a young man in Brighton she thinks she’s in love with.”

“Well, that makes it out of the question. I couldn’t take up residence in a bachelor’s household.” She held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “Listen to me,” she said. “I wasn’t a witness to anything. You said so yourself. And there were dozens of ladies at that party. You can’t offer to take them all in.”

He didn’t return her smile.

After a prolonged silence, Jason stirred. “There’s something else I wish to say to you.”

Inexplicably, her pulse jumped. “What is it?”

“I owe you an apology for last night. I’m sorry if I frightened you. My only defense is that I went a little crazy when I found you in that house. Can you forgive me?”

It was a gracious apology and deserved a gracious response. She said, none-too-graciously, “Let’s put that episode behind us, shall we, and forget it ever happened?”

She made the mistake of looking directly at him. He had the most compelling eyes of any man she knew. His searching stare made her feel as transparent as a plate-glass window, and that worried her.

When he smiled, her alarm increased. “What?” she asked.

“Your wine wasn’t tampered with. I asked Sackville. There was nothing in it, Gwyn.”

“So my wine wasn’t tampered with. What of it?”

He got up, crossed to her, and patted her cheek. “You figure it out” was all he said, then, grinning hugely, he strolled from the room.

And she did figure it out. Instantly. Another
thought crossed her mind, and his offer to have her come and live with him became highly suspect.

She jumped to her feet and ran to catch up with him. He was already at the front door. “Stay away from me, Jason Radley! That’s all I have to say to you. Just stay away!”

When he turned suddenly to answer her, by some mischance, she bumped into him and he steadied her with hands clamped on her shoulders. His eyes glinted down at her. “I knew a clever girl like you would figure it out,” he said. “And how can I stay away from you? We’re meeting with the attorney at two o’clock tomorrow, aren’t we? I’ll see you then.”

He kissed her swiftly, and before she could come to herself, he walked out of the house.

“And lock and bar the door,” he called over his shoulder.

Jason’s smile lasted until he turned the corner into Soho Square. Every step he took away from Gwyn increased his uneasiness. She was all alone, unprotected, except for the pistol she set such store by. How could she be so stubborn?

Well, he could be just as stubborn. If she wouldn’t move to Half Moon Street, he’d find another way of protecting her. But he was absolutely determined that she was not going to live alone until they’d solved the mystery of Johnny Rowland’s murder.

Maybe Gwyn was right, and he was making too much of small coincidences. All the same, he was taking no chances.

He knew someone who could help him sort things through in his own mind: Richard Maitland, Chief of Staff of the Special Branch.

He let out a sigh. Richard had more important
things to do than investigate the murder of a footman. His field of operations was national security. But the magistrates were worse than useless. If Sackville or one of his guests had been murdered, they would have been falling all over themselves to solve the crime, but a footman hardly raised an eyebrow.

It occurred to him that one of the guests on that list was a member of the prime minister’s cabinet. It was possible that Richard would be involved after all.

He was just about to cross Piccadilly when he halted. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned and began to retrace his steps. He’d have one last look around Sutton Row, he decided, just to make sure Gwyn was all right, and he’d pay the night watch to keep an eye on her house.

W
hen Gwyn opened the back door, she expected to see her maid with the morning’s
Courier
, but it was a young man who stood on her doorstep—a laborer or tradesman by the look of him. He was carrying a dirty leather toolbag.

“A ’m ’ere about the plaster work,” he said.

“Plaster work?”

He looked at a scrap of paper in his hand. “Mrs. Barrie?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ve got the right ’ouse.”

Gwyn made the connection then. “I didn’t ask the landlord to fix the plaster. It’s the roof that needs fixing. There’s a leak in the attic and now it’s seeping into one of the bedrooms.”

The young man looked nonplussed. “I don’t know nothing about that,” he said. “I was told to look over the plaster and tell my gaffer ’ow much the job would cost.”

“Can’t you fix the roof first?”

“ ’Ardly. That ain’t my trade. But I’ll let my gaffer know, and ’e can talk to your landlord.”

Gwyn opened the door wider. “Come in. You’re right about the plaster. There are cracks in some of
the rooms. But I do wish Mr. Pritchard would do something about the roof. Until it’s fixed, there’s no point in doing the plaster.”

She ushered him into the back vestibule, then shut and locked the door. “What is your name?”

“ ’Arry.” He was already running an expert eye over the hairline cracks in the ceiling. “I’ll ’ave to look over every room, but there won’t be no mess, not today. All I’ll be doing is appraising the job.”

“Then you’d better start in the front parlor, Harry,” said Gwyn, leading the way, “before my next student arrives.”

“When will that be?”

“In five minutes or so.”

She thought of something else. “Was it you who came to my house three nights ago? Did Mr. Pritchard send you?”

He shook his head. “No, not me.”

It didn’t matter. Mr. Pritchard might have sent someone else and hadn’t mentioned it to Harry.

He seemed to know what he was doing, so Gwyn left him alone and went back to the kitchen. Mark was at the table, his back to the fire, with books, pencils, and papers set out for the morning’s lessons. He was almost finished with the sheet of sums she had carefully copied out right after breakfast.

When she said his name, he looked up. “About this afternoon,” she began carefully.

His eyes lit up. “I know. It’s Saturday, and you’re going to take me to Gunther’s for an ice.”

“And I will. But you remember I said I had to meet with Cousin Jason and Mr. Armstrong, the attorney?”

Mark nodded. “To sign some papers.”

She hadn’t told Mark all the details about the legacy, just in case something went wrong. “Well, the thing is, the only time Mr. Armstrong can see us is this afternoon.”

The light in his eyes dimmed. “Aren’t you going to take me with you? It is Saturday.”

She looked at his expectant face and couldn’t bring herself to say that he was to stay at home with Maddie. Saturday afternoons were always reserved for doing things together. “I suppose it would be all right.”

“Maybe Cousin Jason will let me drive in his curricle.”

“He may not have it with him. And anyway, you’re not to ask, Mark.”

“I won’t have to. He promised I could ride in it again.”

She didn’t know how to answer this. Promises, to Mark, had the force of sacred vows, which was why she rarely promised him anything. “He may have forgotten,” she said.

“No, not Cousin Jason,” he replied, as though he’d known Jason all his life. “Maybe we can drive out to Richmond. He said that, too.”

She laughed. “Yes, and maybe we can hop over the English Channel and visit Paris.”

“Richmond isn’t so far away.”

She cupped his chin, bringing his gaze to hers. “Listen, young man! Cousin Jason may have other things to do. We’re going to Gunther’s for an ice, and that is one promise you can depend on. All right? And another thing, there’s a workman here, a plasterer. He’ll be wandering around. You do your work and let him do his. Don’t pester him with questions.”

“I won’t.”

Gwyn had to laugh. Mark could never contain his curiosity, so much so that there were times when his poor mother wished the word “why” had never been invented.

Her pupil arrived at that moment and Maddie was right behind her with the morning paper. It took
Gwyn only a minute or two to find what she wanted. The front page was devoted to the impending marriage of Princess Charlotte to Prince Leopold of Cobourg. At last she found it, on an inside page, and she quickly scanned it. There was no further information on the party at Sackville’s house, only that the authorities were continuing the investigation.

She felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When the piano lesson was over, she hurried to the kitchen to check on Mark’s progress. Maddie was supposed to be doing the ironing, but Gwyn could smell the mouth-watering aroma of fresh baking before she opened the kitchen door. Mark, Maddie, and the young plasterer were sitting around the table enjoying buttered scones and a pot of tea.

On seeing Gwyn, Maddie jumped up and color flooded her face. “I … I thought I’d make some scones,” she stammered out, “before I did the ironing.”

Harry, the plasterer, got up without any awkwardness. “And very good they was, too,” he said.

For the first time, Gwyn realized just how handsome he was.

“I’ll show you out, Harry,” said Maddie, blushing.

And, thought Gwyn, how pretty Maddie was. They were flirting, in her kitchen. It made her feel quite old.

When they left the room, Gwyn sat down at the table and absently began to nibble on a scone, inwardly reflecting on how she could protect her innocent young maid from the snares of handsome young men. Sensing Mark’s eyes on her, she turned to look at him. “Well, young man,” she said, “what do you have to say for yourself?”