The Suspect's Daughter (32 page)

“Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.” But for some reason, she didn’t appear as grateful as Jocelyn would have expected.

“Good night, Emma.”

“Good night, miss.”

Jocelyn sat in the darkened kitchen and drank her tea alone with her thoughts.

Once again, a step at the door roused her. The door swung open. This time, a large, distinctly male figure entered. He stopped short.

“Miss Fairley?” Connor Jackson came closer. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Drinking tea and having chats with maids.”

“Emma White. What did she tell you?”

“She was meeting her lover.”

“Yes, but not how you think—at least, not tonight. They, and several other people went into the basement of a pub for some kind of meeting.”

“What kind of meeting?”

“I don’t know yet. But I mean to find out—they were very secretive about it. I’ll question her.” He drew nearer, as grim and determined an expression as she’d ever seen on Grant.

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Now. We must act quickly if we are to save lives.”

“You think this meeting means she is involved?”

“Maybe. All I know is that someone in your household is helping to plant evidence to implicate your father. And her activities tonight are suspicious.”

“Very well. I’ll go with you.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ve already sent for aid in case she puts up a fight.”

At that moment, a soft tap sounded before the door swung open. A familiar figure crept in, silent as a shadow.

Jocelyn leaped to her feet. “Grant.”

He stopped short. “What are you doing up?”

“Having a cup of tea.” She folded her arms, trying to appear as if having tea in the kitchen wearing her shift and dressing gown, and engaging in conversation with a Bow Street Runner in the wee hours of the night were everyday occurrences.

Grant and Jackson exchanged glances. “The maid is spirited,” Jackson said. “She’ll probably put up a fight.”

“Lead the way.”

“No.” Jocelyn put herself in their path. “I will not allow two men to barge into her room and terrorize her.”

Grant’s eyes narrowed and his tone was defensive. “We aren’t going to terrorize her—just ask her some questions. She’s less likely to run or fight if she sees she’s outnumbered.”

“Fine. But I will talk to her first. You two wait in the corridor and block her path if she tries to run.” She stood with her hands fisted at her sides, ready to do battle if she must.

Grant’s mouth softened in…admiration? He glanced at Jackson who shrugged.

“Agreed,” Grant said. He picked up the candle burning on the table and gestured for her to proceed him.

Leading the way up the servants’ stairs to the maids’ rooms, Jocelyn glanced ruefully down at her dressing gown and pushed self-consciously at her hair. If only she’d had some inkling of the company she’d keep tonight, she certainly would have gotten dressed and tied back her hair. Of course, Grant had already seen her in her clad thusly once before so her state of
dishabille
wouldn’t be new to him.

Close on her heels, Grant held the candle up so its light would illuminate the stairs well enough to navigate them. His breathing sent tingles down her spine. Her nerve endings reached toward him, urging her to turn and throw her arms around him and kiss him until he responded with that same urgent hunger she’d discovered in him. Her lips burned at the memory.

At the top of the stairs, she strode down the corridor and took the attic stairs to the maids’ rooms. Though most young ladies never ventured to the servants’ quarters, Jocelyn had explored every inch of both of her houses when she was a youth, and she knew the way well. The air got progressively colder as she climbed, but by the time she reached the top, her leg muscles had warmed in exertion.

In the rough, wooden corridor, she hesitated. Which room was Emma’s? There. A faint glimmer of light between the cracks of the door and frame. Before she took a step, Grant gestured to the same door. Nodding, she took the candle from Grant. He met her gaze. The steadiness in his eyes reassured her. She could talk to the maid, coax her into telling the truth about where she’d been and what she knew. With a quick gesture for the men to stay back, she proceeded forward.

She knocked softly. “Emma? I must speak with you.”

The parlor maid opened the door and peered out. “Miss?” Her face creased in alarm. She probably assumed Jocelyn had changed her mind about dismissing her and had come to tell her she was throwing her out on the streets.

“Emma, I need your help,” Jocelyn said barely above a whisper so as not to wake the other maids sharing her room, nor those sleeping nearby.

Emma glanced behind her before she stepped out into the corridor and closed the door. “Yes, miss?”

Aware of the thin walls, Jocelyn whispered, “Someone has accused my father of being involved in some kind of terrible conspiracy.”

The maid’s expression turned instantly guarded. “Oh.”

Her mien confirmed Grant and Jackson’s suspicions about her. But if Jocelyn could appeal to her humanity, get her to help them, they might avoid a great deal of unpleasantness. “I’m trying to prove that he’s innocent before the authorities take action. I love my father very much. He’s a good man. You know that, don’t you?”

“Er, yes, miss.”

“He has a reputation for treating those in his employ well, doesn’t he?”

She blinked. “I s’pose.”

“We think someone who works in this house has been placing documents where an investigator could find them to make it appear as if my father is involved in a murder plot. Have you seen anyone do something suspicious?”

“Er, no. Sorry miss, but I must be up early. We can talk later, can’t we?”

Irritation wove through Jocelyn. She’d caught Emma out with her lover, forgiven her instead of sacking her, and now Emma attempted to dismiss her?

Firmly she said, “No, it can’t wait. Someone followed you. They saw you and a young man go into a meeting at a pub—a meeting where others were not invited.”

Emma’s mouth opened and closed and she shifted from one foot to another. “Oh, that.” She offered a sickly smile. “That was jes some friends tossin’ back a few drinks.”

“It’s a group of people who plan to assassinate the prime minister, and you’re helping them.”

Pure fear twisted the maid’s expression. With a leap, she rushed toward the stairs and pushed Jocelyn so hard that she stumbled and fell. Scuffling and a cry of alarm came from behind her. Jocelyn glanced back. At the top of the stairs, Grant and Jackson had a hold of Emma. She kicked and fought in a tumble of limbs as the two men tried to subdue her.

“Don’t hurt her!” Jocelyn cried out as she climbed to her feet.

The moment she uttered the words, shame wagged its finger at her. Grant and Jackson were not brutes who’d hurt a women. She should not have insulted their honor. The maid got off a few good punches but they finally captured all her pummeling limbs and held her fast, clearly trying to treat their captive as gently as possible.

Emma bucked and twisted one last time as if to test her captors before she finally relaxed. She stared at the three of them with open hatred.

Nearby doors and faces peered out. Jocelyn turned to them. “Return to bed. All is well.” To the men, she said, “Let’s continue this in my father’s study. Perhaps it’s time to tell him what’s really going on.”

As Grant and Jackson hauled the angry, silent prisoner down the stairs to the study, Jocelyn tapped on her father’s bedroom door. “Papa?”

Dressed in only his shirt and trousers, he peered out. A lone lamp burned in the room behind him. At least she hadn’t awakened him. “Jocelyn? What’s amiss?”

“Trouble. Please come with me to the study.” She headed to the stairway.

He caught up with her. “What’s this all about?”

“Bow Street has uncovered a conspiracy to murder the prime minister. The conspirators have named you the leader, and have even gone so far as to place evidence in the house that implicates you. It appears one of the parlor maids, Emma White, is involved. Grant Amesbury and a Bow Street Runner have her in the study and are questioning her.”

Her father said nothing for a moment. Then, “How long have you known about this?”

“I learned of it a few days after the House Party began.”

“And Grant Amesbury. He’s been investigating me all this time?”

“From the beginning.”

He let out his breath. “The scoundrel. He’s been using you to get to me.”

The words hit too close to the mark. Still, Grant had never led her on, had never made any pretenses about how he felt. He even denied his feelings now.

“He never used me or pretended to court me. He did try to ingratiate himself to you so he could learn if you were truly involved in a murder plot. But he is satisfied you are innocent.”

He glanced at her. “You seem to be taking this very well.”

“His reasons for befriending our family do not change my feelings for him. I knew the truth before I gave him my heart.”

“You never saw fit to tell me about this conspiracy or Amesbury’s intentions?”

“I gave my word I’d say nothing.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, leveling a stern gaze on her. “Never keep secrets of this kind from me, Jocelyn. This is dangerous business. You might have been hurt.”

She touched his arm, gave it a squeeze. “Grant would never allow me to be harmed.”

“What else have you kept from me?”

“Nothing, I give you my word.”

After a deep, probing stare, he gave her a rough embrace. “I don’t know what I’d do if you ever got hurt.” Without waiting for a reply, he resumed their pace, until they reached his study.

“I’m not tellin’ ye,” Emma’s voice rang out. She sat gripping the arms of a chair, glaring at the men.

Papa stopped up short at the scene.

Jocelyn gestured. “Papa, meet Connor Jackson, a Bow Street Runner.”

Jackson’s gaze flicked to her father and he nodded.

Her father glanced at her in mild reprimand. “New footman, huh?”

She offered an apologetic smile. “He has been watching the servants, searching for suspicious behavior. The only way to really do that was to be one of them.”

Grant walked behind Emma’s chair and leaned in over her shoulder. “How did you know I was part of the investigation?”

She folded her arms. “I have nothin’ to say.”

“So you left evidence for him to find which would further implicate Mr. Fairley?” Jackson asked.

She pretended to examine her fingernails.

Her father strode to Emma and stood over her. Grant and Jackson backed off a few steps as he glowered down at the girl.

“Is it true? You’ve been leaving evidence here to convince the authorities I was plotting against the prime minister?”

She studied the floor.

“Why would you betray your employer in such a terrible way?”

No reply.

Papa continued, “It would have meant my execution. That means nothing to you?”

She let out a scoff and dropped the accent she’d used as a servant. “Yer jes ’nother stuff’d shirt.”

Jocelyn’s hand itched to slap her. “He is a good man, innocent of any crime. How can you be so cold?”

Raw hostility rolled off the girl. “Ye rich nobs care ’bout nothin’ ’cept yer fancy clothes and fancy parties while mos’ o’ England goes cold and ’ungry. Well, we ’ave a right to a good life, too.”

“Who is involved in the plot?” Grant asked, still pacing behind the girl.

Emma clamped her mouth shut.

A calculating glint brightened Grant’s eyes as he glanced at Jackson. “Do you know where her lover lives?”

“Yes, I do.” Jackson said as if he found delight in his word. “I followed her there.”

Grant rounded the chair and stood in front of Emma with his arms folded. “Good. Let’s go rough him up a bit, get him to talk.”

“No!” Emma said.

“We have no qualms about getting reluctant prisoners to tell us what they know.” Grant’s eyes took on an unholy glint.

Jocelyn shivered. Was he bluffing or in earnest?

“No!” Emma pleaded, all traces of insolence gone. “Don’t ’urt him. He’s not really involved—jes ’elpin’ ’em wit a few things. Peter’s not gonna to shoot anyone.”

“Where are they going to try to kill the prime minister?”

Her chest heaved. “Promise to leave my Peter ou’ o’ it.”

Grant got into her face. “I promise not to beat him to death while he’s chained and helpless. That’s all you get from me.”

Still she hesitated.

Jocelyn watched the scene with the same fascinated horror one watches a carriage accident.

“This is pointless,” Jackson said to Grant. “Let’s go get him. Between the two of us, we’ll get him to tell us everything.” Jackson pulled out a knife and started fingering it.

The savagery in his expression sent a chill through Jocelyn. Dealing with the dregs of society must take its toll. Either he bluffed like a master or he truly enjoyed his work.

“No!” Emma let out a sob. “I’ll tell you.” She sniffed. “They’re goin’ to shoot th’ prime minister and cabinet members when they ’ave supper tomorrow night.”

Jocelyn’s blood rushed out of her head with a roar. Sickened at the sight of such calculating hatred, such ruthlessness to destroy innocent lives, Jocelyn hugged herself.

Jackson choked.

“What?” Grant said, his face pale. “The entire cabinet, too?”

“Where?” Jackson demanded.

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “All I know is that the Freedom Fighters will storm th’ room and shoot ever’one.”

“Freedom Fighters?” Papa asked.

Emma hugged herself. “That’s what they call themselves. They wanna new gover’ment—to ’ave the freedom t’ get educated and ’ave proper jobs.”

For a moment, Jocelyn’s resolve cracked. Those desires were understandable. But their approach would never grant them their wishes. And it was so ruthless, so terrible.

“Who is their leader?” Grant demanded.

“I don’ know,” Emma said. “I don’t get invited t’ official meetin’s; I only went wit’ Peter to meet with his contacts. They said it was ’appenin’ tomorrow night, but I don’ know where.”

Jackson let out an expletive that burned Jocelyn’s ears. She cringed. Jackson glanced at her. “My apologies, miss.”