Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (30 page)

“Do you think I care about that? Do you think they do?”

His words warmed her, but they did not weaken her resolve. “We’ll go to London together. We can hide out there as well as anywhere. Mark can go with Trish and Gerry. He’d like that. We can tell Grandmother and Sophie that I have to see my solicitor … and we’ll go to Maitland. You said he wanted to question me. You were going there anyway, weren’t you?”

The wind whistled outside the windows; a coal cracked in the grate; candles flickered, dappling the room in a golden light.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then I’m coming with you.” When he would have spoken, she covered his lips with her fingers. “Whatever Maitland knows may mean more to me than to you. Perhaps it will jog my memory. I must know something. I
must
.”

“Let me think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Gwyn—”

“No! It’s settled. No more talk. Just love me.”

There was a moment when it looked as though he would argue with her, but he straightened and threw off his robe. He was brazen in his nakedness, brazen and beautiful, and hers for the taking.

She said hoarsely, “Don’t you own a nightshirt?”

“Dozens of ’em. But I won’t be wearing them to bed from now on. What would be the point?”

He climbed into bed and gathered her in his arms. “I just want to hold you,” he said, “and know that you’re all right.”

Her arms went around him, holding him close. Tears squeezed from under her lashes. No one had ever cherished her like this. No one. When she was in his arms, she believed that nothing and no one could ever harm her. She wanted to protect him, too. But life was fragile. That was reality. And she was so afraid.

His body moved on hers and she responded. There was no urgency. They touched, they kissed, they savored. Sighs became moans; their skin heated; their breath quickened. They drifted into passion as easily as a boat drifts with the tide.

When he entered her, their rhythm changed. The beat of their bodies became frantic. Tomorrow was a haze in the distance. All they had was now.

For some time afterward, as Gwyn lay curled against him in sleep, Jason lay awake, his mind churning with fear and doubt. Gwyn was right. If they had found her at Haddo, they would find her in Norfolk. There was no escaping them.

Rage tightened his throat. If only it was him they were after, he wouldn’t feel like this. He would take his chances. But to put Gwyn at risk was out of the question. But what choice did they have? She was at risk anyway.

It might come to that, but only as a last resort. They must have missed something, some clue that would point them in the right direction. They had to go over everything again, in meticulous detail. There must be something they had overlooked.

His thoughts drifted to Mark, the son he had found and who would now be taken away from him for his own safety. It was Gwyn they were after, not
Mark. And what would happen to Mark if anything happened to him? What would happen to Gwyn?

He sat up and shook Gwyn awake.

She blinked rapidly and looked up at him. Something in his expression made her heart quicken. “What is it?”

“We have to marry at once. If anything happens to me, I want you and Mark to be well provided for.”

She gazed at him blankly for a long moment, then she pulled herself up. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said fiercely, “because we’re going to find them first.”

He smiled at this. “All the same, it would be one less thing for me to worry about. We were going to marry anyway. We’ll just do it sooner rather than later. That’s all.”

“Oh, Jason, what have I got you into?”

“Nothing I don’t want to be in.”

“Maybe Mark and I should just go away and start over where nobody knows me.”

His eyes darkened with sudden anger. “I might have something to say about that. I’m his father, remember?”

“I didn’t mean …”

“What did you mean?”

She put a hand lightly on his shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking. I would never try to keep you away from Mark.”

His expression softened. “I’ll keep you and Mark safe. I promise you, Gwyn.”

She nestled back on the pillows as she searched his face. Why, she asked herself, did men think they were the only ones who wanted to protect? The same instinct burned in her for those she loved. She wasn’t going to let him take any unnecessary risks just to save her.

“What is it, Gwyn? Why do you look at me like that?”

“I don’t want to think,” she said. “I don’t want to talk. I just want to forget. Make me forget, Jason. For a little while, make me forget.”

He chuckled softly, drew her into his arms and made love to her again.

R
ichard Maitland walked into his office and nodded to the three men who were assembled there. He had just completed an assignment that had taken him to Oxford where a group of students, all members of a secret society, had been arrested for plotting to blow up the Houses of Parliament. A greater bunch of fools he had yet to meet. It had been easy to track them down. All he had to do was find the printer who had printed their seditious pamphlets, and one by one, they were rounded up.

Of course, there was no plot. They posed no danger to national security. They were playacting, like little boys playing war games. But it was a dangerous game. So he’d had them arrested and let them cool their heels in prison for a few days while he sent for their fathers—men of rank and privilege, every one of them. He’d put the fear of a traitor’s death into his plotters’ heads, and their fathers had done the rest, though much more ferociously than he.

They’d been sent down with no hope of ever returning to Oxford, and they were bloody lucky to get off so lightly.

But he was still seething. Every threat against national security, however frivolous, had to be investigated by him personally, and it used up valuable time. He’d had to turn the Johnny Rowland investigation over to Massie, his second-in-command, with all his notes on every aspect of the case. There had not been time to question Mrs. Barrie, and that was something he’d hoped to do himself. In fact, the hardest part of his job was to sit back and let others do all the investigating of the really interesting cases.

He wasn’t thinking of Johnny Rowland. He was thinking of Harry.

He took his seat behind his desk just as Lord Ivan smothered a yawn. “Dancing the night away, were you, Lord Ivan?” he asked politely.

Lord Ivan jerked to an upright position. “No, sir. I’ve been on the road this last week, tracking down guests who were at Sackville’s party. Some of them live outside London.”

“How far outside London?”

“Horsham. Windsor.”

Richard noted that Lord Ivan’s cheeks had turned pink, so he put a rein on his tongue. Lord Ivan’s social calendar was already a cause for snickering among the men. But to be fair to Lord Ivan, he tried hard. He was the third son, and younger sons had to find a source of income. Lord Ivan had chosen the army for his career, then transferred to Special Branch. But Richard sometimes wished that he had chosen the church or the law instead.

“And have they all been tracked down and interviewed, Lord Ivan?”

“All except Mrs. Barrie and her Radley cousins. Mr. Massie said I should leave them to you.”

“And I shall get onto it as soon as possible. Right. What progress, Massie?”

Massie’s memory for detail was phenomenal. He could spot an inconsistency that others missed, and that made him invaluable.

Massie said, “We knew that Rowland had quit his place of employment. We’ve found out since that he had another job waiting for him in Bristol and should have started it almost a week to the day after he was murdered. His friends say he was in some kind of trouble. Someone came around asking questions about him—no description that would help us though. But this is interesting. He had come into some money to help him start over, not a fortune, but enough to buy a new suit of clothes and a few luxuries. One other thing. When he handed in his notice, he told the porter at his place of work that he was going to put the boot to Mr. High-and-Mighty.”

“Mr. High-and-Mighty,” said Richard musingly. “Sounds like he had it in for his employer.”

“I thought of that,” said Massie, “but there was no quarrel there.”

“What about former employers?”

Landon said, “There’s quite a list. Johnny never stayed in one place for long. He was restless and got bored easily.”

“Could any of his employers fit the description of Mr. High-and-Mighty?”

“Several. I’ve made a start, but there’s quite a list to get through, and some of them live quite far away.”

Richard sat back in his chair. “How far away?”

“Ireland.”

“You went to Ireland!”

“No, sir. I thought I’d leave that to you.”

When everyone laughed, Richard shook his head and laughed with them. Landon hardly ever cracked a smile, though he had a ferocious sense of humor. He was in his thirties, had the face of a monk, and an unblinking stare that could make everyone feel
guilty, whether they’d done anything wrong or not. And he was good at his job.

“What about the portrait?” asked Richard, and everyone groaned. “What did I say?”

Landon said, “There are portraits and miniatures aplenty in every house I’ve visited.”

“Same goes for me,” said Lord Ivan. “I can’t walk into a house now, but I’m looking at portraits on the walls. Do you know, in my father’s dining room alone, there are six full-size portraits and ten miniatures.”

More laughter.

Massie said, “Until we have more to go on, we’re not going to find the portrait, sir.”

Richard nodded. “Anything else?”

“We’ve saved the best for last,” said Massie. He nodded to Landon. “Go on, Landon.”

“There’s a girl,” said Landon. “We know that she spent nine nights at the Angel on Oxford Street, seven with Rowland, and another two after he was murdered. We think she was waiting for him, and when he didn’t turn up, she left.

“How did you find her?”

“The Angel was Rowland’s favorite watering hole. He’d registered the girl under the name of Mary Smith, but I doubt that’s her real name.”

“This gets more interesting by the minute,” said Richard. “Good work. Go on.”

“She kept pretty much to herself. Rowland told the landlord they were going to be married, but his friends find that hard to believe. They say that Johnny liked women, but no one special, except some girl in service who was more like a sister to him.”

“Who is she? Where does she work?”

Landon shook his head. “Johnny never told them her name. They were seen together on several occasions, and all he would say was that she was like a sister
to him, and that they’d once been in service together.”

“Well,” said Richard, “we know she can’t work for Sackville. He only has footmen.” He thought for a moment, then went on, “Could this girl and Mary Smith be the same person?”

“It’s possible.”

“Did you get a description of her?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t help us much. She’s young, pretty, with fair hair and blue eyes. Half the young women in service fit that description.”

“Anything else?”

Landon referred to his notes. “When she left the Angel, she had to be helped with her bags.” He looked up at Richard. “If Mary Smith and this girl are the same person, you see what this means?”

Richard nodded.

“What does it mean?” asked Lord Ivan.

“It means,” said Landon, “that she’s either quit her job or been turned off. That’s why she had her bags with her. And when you think about it, it makes sense. Johnny had handed in his notice. Maybe the girl handed in her notice, too. Maybe they were both involved in whatever it was that got Johnny murdered. Maybe—”

“And maybe,” said Richard, “we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s keep an open mind until we make the connection. Any leads on where she went after she left the Angel?”

“The trail is stone cold.” Landon shrugged. “If we’d known about her from the start, we might have found the driver of the hackney who picked her up. As it is, no one remembers her.”

“What about the man who attacked Mrs. Barrie? Any leads?”

Massie shook his head. “We’re looking through old files.”

“Anything else?”

They talked back and forth, sharing information, speculating, and finally mapping out how they would proceed.

At the end of ten minutes, Richard said, “Let’s concentrate on finding the girl who was once in service with Johnny. Maybe she’s Johnny’s connection to Mr. High-and-Mighty. I want to know who she is and who she worked for.”

He stopped speaking when Harper entered and handed him a note. It was from Jason Radley and said simply that he was in Richard’s rooms in Jermyn Street and wished to discuss a matter of some urgency. After reading it, Richard got up. “Massie,” he said, “would you mind taking over? There’s something I have to see to at once. Gentlemen, let’s meet this evening and compare notes. Shall we say eight o’clock? Harper, come with me.”

Jason was the first to hear Richard’s step in the hall. He rose and greeted him as soon as the door to the parlor opened.