The Duchess Hunt (16 page)

But before he could finish, Luke had the
man by the throat and pressed up against the dirty wall. “Where the hell is my
mother?”

The big man flicked Luke off him with a
meaty hand. Luke went stumbling backward, tripping over a spindly wicker chair.
As Simon helped him right himself, Woodrow said, “I ain’t much o’ one for
violence, yer lordship, but I draw the line at bein’ accosted in me own home.”

“Please forgive my brother.” Simon gave
Luke a warning glare. “He is distraught. You see, our mother, the Duchess of
Trent, is missing, and we are concerned for her welfare. We are given to
believe you might have found yourself in possession of one of her belongings.”

“Oh?” Woodrow rubbed his chin, suddenly
looking thoughtful. “That right?”

“Yes.”

“An amethyst necklace,” Luke spat out,
only being held back from lunging at the big man by Simon’s grip on his arm.
“Do you know what a bloody amethyst is?”

“Oh, aye, daresay I do.” Now a sly look
crept into the man’s eye. “Mayhap even seen one or two of ’em in my time.”

There was a pregnant pause as Woodrow eyed
them.

Simon knew what he wanted. He drew a fat
purse from his pocket, allowing the coins within it to clink loudly. Woodrow’s
beefy arm reached for it, but Simon held it back, meeting the man’s gaze
evenly. “Are you familiar with Ironwood Park, Woodrow?”

“The great house? Oh, aye.”

“Ever been there?”

Woodrow’s eyes went wide. “And you’d
invite me in like a right proper guest, yer lordship?”

“Doubtful,” Luke drawled.

Woodrow crossed his thick arms over his
chest. “Nay, ne’er been out that far. I always keeps meself within a day’s ride
of London. Necessary for me work, you see.”

“What work?” Luke asked.

Woodrow’s gaze strayed back to the purse.

“I won’t pay you for information if you
caused her any harm,” Simon said in a quiet voice.

Woodrow met his eyes evenly, but greed
shone in his expression. “Told you I weren’t one for violence, didn’t I?”

“What do you think, Luke?” Simon didn’t
break his gaze from the big man.

“I think he’s a bloody liar,” Luke
growled.

Woodrow shook his head. “I ain’t one who’d
harm a woman… One who ain’t already been harmed, that is.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Luke spat.

“So,” Simon said, “you’re a thief who
chooses not to harm his victims.”

“Not a thief, neither.” He shrugged.
“Well, not in the regular way, anyhow.”

What the hell did he mean by that?

Woodrow eyed the purse meaningfully, then
his gaze strayed back to Simon. “You’re no’ in league with the constables?”

“No.”

“You won’t go cryin’ to the watch?”

“No. We just want information.”

“What sort of information?”

“I will give you the contents of this
purse – nigh on twenty pounds – if you tell me everything you know of the
amethyst necklace that you sold to Lamb, the jeweler in Jermyn Street. And
everything you know of the Duchess of Trent’s whereabouts.”

Woodrow blew out a breath through thick
lips. “Mayhap you won’t be liking what I’ve to say about it.”

Something clenched inside Simon, but he
said, “No matter. We need to know,” in a tight voice.

Luke stared hard at the big man. “Tell
us.”

“Aye. I sold the necklace to Lamb. But I
didn’t injure the wearer. I… found her wearing it.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “You found her?
Where?”

“Dug ’er up from a fresh grave in the
Hillingdon churchyard.” Seeing Simon’s expression, Woodrow’s fleshy face
softened. “She was yer mam?”

“What did she look like?” Simon choked
out. Maybe it hadn’t been her… maybe it was someone else.

Woodrow shrugged. “Female. Dark hair.
’S’all I recall.”

Luke stalked to the only window in the
room. Upon reaching it, he yanked it open and leaned outside, taking deep gulps
of air. Simon knew from experience that the air out on the streets of the East
End wasn’t much of an improvement over the close, fetid air in this room. He
didn’t move.

Woodrow’s description didn’t help at all.
He could be describing half the people in England.

“You’re a resurrection-man?” Simon pushed
out.

“That’d be one way of puttin’ it.”

“You prefer grave-robber?” Luke said from
the window.

“Rather prefer to call meself a man o’
trade.”

Luke turned, his blue eyes bright. “The
trade of dead bodies, you mean.”

Woodrow just shrugged again.

“How did she die?” Simon choked out.

Woodrow’s lips twisted. “Sure you want to
know, yer lordship?”

“Tell him,” Luke spat.

“Slit throat.”

The air was too close. Simon couldn’t
breathe. Suddenly, a meaty arm wrapped around him. “Best sit down, yer
lordship. Over here.” Woodrow led him to a wicker chair at the table and gently
forced him to lower himself into it. Simon stared at the fish carnage on the
plate in front of him.

“She’s at peace now,” Woodrow said,
patting his shoulder awkwardly. “Remember that.”

“Not if you exhumed her,” Luke said
coldly.

“Here now. She’s furtherin’ science.
Bettering society.”

“Where is she?” Luke’s voice was low.
Dangerous. “Who did you sell her to, you bastard?”

“I b’lieve that night’s retrievals went to
Thomas Caldwell, the anatomist.”

“And at what price did Thomas Caldwell
value my mother’s body?” Luke spat out, dangerously, recklessly angry now.

“Nine guineas,” Woodrow said simply. “If
she were a bit fresher, she might have brought in ten —”

Withdrawing his pistol, Luke lunged for
Woodrow.

“Luke!” Simon yelled, leaping out of the
chair. “Stop!” He wrapped his arms around his brother.

Luke stopped struggling, looked up at him
with streaming eyes. “For God’s sake, Simon” – Simon sucked in a breath. Luke
hadn’t called him by his Christian name in years – “This man defiled her grave.
Sold her to a goddamned anatomist —” He choked on his words. His body shook in
Simon’s arms.

“I know. I know. But he didn’t put her in
that grave to begin with, and we need to find out who did.”

Because Simon would make whoever it was
pay.

Still holding on to Luke, Simon looked
over at Woodrow, who had tucked himself – as much as possible – into the
corner, as far from Luke’s weapon as he could get. “Where is Thomas Caldwell?”
Simon asked him.

“London Hospital Medical College.”

Goddamn it, their mother might have
already been cut into pieces in the name of science. Simon loosened his hold on
his brother. “Luke, we need to go there. Now. Before…”

His voice trailed off. They might already
be too late.

The Duke of Trent wasn’t stopped when he
barreled in to the London Hospital Medical College – just one curt mention of
his title opened every door in the place. Nor was it difficult to gain Thomas
Caldwell’s attention, despite the fact that he was engaged in a lecture in a
small hall, his baritone voice ringing out over a crowd of fascinated young
scholars.

Simon threw open the door just as Caldwell
was saying, “Now let us observe the texture and the position of the stomach. I
anticipate this to be a healthy organ, considering the age and the fact that
the subject perished from unrelated causes.”

The dark-robed students gathered closely
around the body covered with a white sheet and lying on the cot in the center
of the room. Caldwell raised one hand clutching a scalpel as his other hand
poised to pull back the sheet.

“Stop!” Simon bellowed.

Caldwell straightened, turning toward him and
Luke, bushy dun-colored brows rising in surprise. Fabric rustled as all the
young men turned to stare at them.

Simon sprinted toward Caldwell, cutting a
swath through the students with Luke on his heels, John Woodrow following with
far less enthusiasm. When they reached the cot, Simon whipped off the sheet
that covered the body.

He staggered backward.

Staring up at him from a gray face and
with unseeing brown eyes was his mother’s maid.

Beside him, Luke gasped. “Jesus Christ. Is
that Binnie?”

Chapter
Ten

Simon and Luke arrived at the churchyard
at the Hillingdon Parish Church at dusk. It had taken them a while to question
Caldwell and Woodrow to confirm that Binnie had indeed been murdered and that
hers was the only body Woodrow had “acquired” on that particular night. It had
taken more time for them to arrange for Binnie to be sent home for a proper
burial.

When Simon and Luke rode into the town of
Hillingdon, dusty and tired, worn in both body and spirit, a pedestrian
directed them to the nearby vicarage, where the housekeeper answered to Simon’s
knock.

“Is the vicar at home?” Simon asked
shortly. He was exhausted and dirty, tense from the day’s events so far, and
frustrated by the insufficient answers they’d received.

The housekeeper blinked. “Mr. Allen is
otherwise engaged, sir.”

Simon clenched his teeth, and Luke said,
“We’ve come from London, ma’am, and it’s imperative we see him right away. Tell
him the Duke of Trent is here.”

Simon slanted Luke a glance. This was the
most polite he’d been to anyone all day, Simon included. He’d barely spoken to
Simon during the hours it had taken them to ride out here.

The housekeeper flicked a glance back to
Simon, then nodded. “Yes, sir. I will see if he’s at home.”

She closed the door in their faces, leaving
Luke with a growing scowl. Evidently his polite moment had passed.

“Patience,” Simon muttered.

“It’s almost dark,” Luke grumbled.

“Yes.” Simon gave a quick glance at the
twilight sky. “I don’t want to spend the night here.” They’d return to London
by lantern light if necessary.

Luke shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Esme and Sarah have been left at home
waiting in suspense. I’ll not have them worry the night through.”

Luke’s lips twisted. “I understand you
wanting to inform our sister. But Sarah Osborne? Why?”

Simon met his brother’s gaze evenly.
“Sarah is as much a part of the Hawkins family as any of us.”

Indeed, while Luke was probably less
connected to Sarah than the rest of them – like Simon, he’d been home for
school holidays when she’d arrived at Ironwood Park and had only spent time at
home infrequently since – he had always liked Sarah and was well aware of her
deep ties to the family.

“For God’s sake, Trent, she’s a
housemaid
.”

“She’s no longer a housemaid,” Simon
reminded him, holding on to his patience by a tenuous thread. “And why should
that matter?”

“I wouldn’t give a damn,” Luke said, “but
you? The King of Hauteur and Contempt? I can’t remember a time – ever – when
you brought a servant into a private family matter.”

“She is no longer a servant, technically
speaking.” Though it was a stupid argument – Simon had brought her into this
matter before her status had changed.

“One day a housemaid, the next a lady’s
companion. One day in Ironwood Park, the next in London. Suddenly it’s ever so
important to keep her apprised of all the family news. Makes me wonder if
there’s something between you and the lovely Sarah —”

“She was the best choice for the position
of Esme’s companion,” Simon bit out. “Our sister’s ability to interact in
society improves with every outing, thanks to her.”

Simon’s teeth were going to wear to the
gums with the amount of grinding he was doing to them today.

“Do you mean Esme is not embarrassing you
as keenly this year? Your beloved family name is not being incessantly besmirched
by our sister’s endless social faux pas?” Luke clapped his hands softly.
“Bravo, Sarah.”

Simon wanted to say that Luke had caused
him more embarrassment than the rest of his family members combined, but he
held his tongue on that matter, because he knew where that conversation always
led – to Luke walking away and Simon not seeing him for months, only hearing
about the waves of vice and corruption that he left in his wake. So instead, he
said, “You know as well as I do that Esme finds public situations challenging.
And no one understands her better than Sarah. Sarah has been at her side since
she was weaned.”

Luke huffed out a breath. “I’ll grant you
that. All those years spent together must have made them close.”

Simon remembered his own childhood at Ironwood
Park… and Luke’s, although the years they’d spent together hadn’t made them
close. He didn’t know why. When he was very young, Sam had been at home and
when Simon was older, Mark and Theo had come along. But Luke had been his
companion all along. His playmate. His companion in mischief. The only person
who could lead the somber, serious Simon astray.

Just then, the door opened. The man
standing there was short and wiry and wore spectacles. “Your Grace. I am
William Allen,” he said with a bow. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Allen. I am
sorry to impose on you like this, but we come regarding a matter of great
urgency,” Simon said.

Allen invited them inside, and none of the
men said much until the three of them were settled in Allen’s cozy, if somewhat
shabby, parlor and drinking a strong, hot tea that warmed Simon after riding
for so long in the afternoon chill.

“Now, how may I help you?” Allen asked.

Despite the late hour and the knowledge
that the ride home wasn’t going to be pleasant, Simon took his time, telling
the entire story of his missing mother, the chance discovery of the amethyst
necklace that led to John Woodrow and Thomas Caldwell, and Binnie’s lifeless
body lying on a cot at London Hospital Medical College.

Allen listened attentively, his hands
clasped at his chest almost as if in prayer, sometimes nodding, sometimes
shaking his head. When Simon finished, Allen took a long, slow sip of tea
before carefully setting his cup and saucer aside.

He took a deep breath. “These are
disturbing circumstances, indeed, sir. And I fear that what I have to tell you
won’t be of much help.”

“Anything you can tell us will help,” Luke
said.

“I will tell you everything I know, then.
Your employee was discovered four days ago by one of our parishioners. The poor
woman was found in the woods near the river, and it seemed clear to everyone
who saw her that she’d been set upon by cutthroats. The parish did what it
could to find someone – anyone – to identify her, but we failed. It was a mystery
where she’d come from or what she’d been doing.”

Simon nodded. A small parish such as this
didn’t have the means to conduct a full-scale search for the relatives of an
apparently penniless woman whose body had been found in the woods. “No others
were discovered with her?”

“No one. Nor any evidence that she’d been
in anyone’s company. The following day, I decided she must be buried. I
presided over the burial.”

Luke raised his hand. “Wait. Was she
wearing any jewelry?”

At this, Allen flushed. “She might have
been. If the necklace you mention was long, Your Grace, if it was tucked inside
her bodice… well… I did not disturb her clothes. I am no coroner, sir, but a
man of God, and such a thing would have been unseemly. And…” He went a little
pale. “Well, there was so much blood, I —”

“Of course,” Simon soothed.

Allen frowned. “But perhaps finding the
jewels would have prompted me to dig deeper into the truth of her identity.” He
passed a weary hand over his forehead. “Perhaps I should have searched her, or
had someone… but my main concern was handing her into God’s loving embrace.”

“Do not question yourself,” Simon
reassured him. “You did what you should have done. You gave her a proper
Christian burial.”

The return to Trent House took far longer
than the ride out to Hillingdon. Both Simon and Luke held lanterns. Though the
moon was almost full, a shifting cloud cover dulled its light.

As the horses picked their way down the
road, Simon and Luke mulled over what they’d learned.

“It’s possible Mama wasn’t with Binnie
when she was killed,” Luke said hopefully.

“True,” Simon said. “I can’t really see
our mother just leaving her there.” Unless she herself was in grave danger.

“But why would Binnie be in possession of
her necklace?” Luke slanted him a glance. “Do you think she stole it, then ran
off?”

Simon had known Binnie since she came to
work at Ironwood Park when he was a child. By all appearances, she’d been a
loyal servant who wouldn’t think about robbing her employer. Then again, looks
could be deceiving.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Luke was silent for a long moment, the
only sounds the crunches of their horses’ hooves on the gravelly road. “Perhaps
she was carrying Mama’s other jewels as well. Perhaps that was why she was murdered.”

“Because she was flaunting the jewels
she’d stolen from our mother?”

“Yes. And the highwaymen – or whoever –
stole them and killed her. But they missed the necklace because they were in a
hurry to get away.”

Simon shook his head. “It seems farfetched.”

“And yet it is the most plausible
explanation given the information we do have.”

“Such actions aren’t consistent with
Binnie’s character.”

“It could have been an elaborate ruse.
Someone on the outside could have planned it and brought her in.” Luke was
quiet for a moment. His voice was firm when he spoke again. “We should return
to Hillingdon. Question the inhabitants of the area. Search for any clues that
might lead to her murderer. We should also delve more deeply into Binnie’s
background. Question her friends and her family. As well as the family of the
male servant – what was his name?”

“James.”

“James, too.”

“James has no family, as far as we’ve been
able to tell.” Simon’s head hurt. The deeper they dug into the mire that was
his mother’s disappearance, the murkier it became. He gave a great sigh. He
wanted to go home.

He had the sudden fantasy of Sarah waiting
in his bed for him. Naked. Warming his sheets with her silky skin. He’d climb
into bed, draw her soft body into his arms. Then, as promised, he’d make her
his.

Peace. Heaven.

They rode on in silence, concentrating on
the road in front of them. Then Luke said in a low voice, “So, what is it with
Sarah Osborne, Trent?”

Startled by the question, Simon glanced
over at his brother. It was like the man had read his mind. “We discussed this.
She was the best choice for Esme’s companion.”

Luke snorted. “If you weren’t you, I’d be
warning you about the repercussions of dallying with servants.”

Simon stiffened. Looking straight ahead at
the shadowy road, he said, “Well, I am me, so I expect warnings aren’t
necessary.” Although if they were, Luke would be the proper person to issue
them. Five years ago, Luke had engaged in a dalliance with one of the maids at
Ironwood Park. Simon had managed to contain the scandal, but Luke had
thoroughly compromised the young woman, who’d been sent back to her parents in
Worcester in disgrace.

“Right. Of course, I would have no such
qualms. To me, a beautiful woman is a beautiful woman, queen or housemaid. But
you, Trent? You and I both know that your snobbishness has no bounds. You’d
never sully yourself with a girl like Sarah.”

Heat rose within Simon, boiling in his
chest and rising to spread through his shoulders, neck, and face. His muscles
tautened into iron bands across his shoulders and back.

Luke was doing this on purpose, Simon
knew. Deliberately trying to raise his ire.

“Still,” Luke continued, musing, “she’s a
pretty piece. She adores you – oh, I’ve seen the way she looks at you – so
she’d be an easy conquest. And, knowing Sarah, she wouldn’t make a peep of
noise about it afterward. Not like —” He hesitated, then said, “Well, as
dallying with servants goes, perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after
all.”

Simon was silent. He clenched his hands
hard on the reins to keep them from wrapping around Luke’s neck.

Luke laughed, the sound grating along
Simon’s nerves. “Come, now, Trent. I know you’ve thought about it. And I don’t
blame you. The woman has curves a man can’t help but admire. Soft, luscious
curves that would fit nicely into a man’s hand. And a mouth meant to close over
his —”