A Dangerous Madness (19 page)

“I wasn’t attacked because of my involvement with this.” James was careful with his wording. It was perfectly true. It was Miss Hillier—Phoebe—who was the target of the attack. He hoped her attackers saw him as a nuisance who kept getting in the way, and nothing more.

Vickery eyed him over the glass, and then took a sip. Made a face in surprise.

“Not to your liking?”

“No, not that.” Vickery grinned at him suddenly. “Expected more of a bite. This is smooth.”

James offered him the decanter again, and Vickery poured himself a hefty splash. “If it’s nothing to do with the assassination, what were you playing at out there. All the melodrama getting into the house?”

James lifted a shoulder. “Some men don’t like it when I win at cards. Not many, but some, have thought to do away with me before I can call in their IOU.” None of this was a lie, just not applicable to the current incident.

But his reputation obviously preceded him. Understanding lit Vickery’s face. “You aren’t planning a duel, are you?”

James shook his head. “Always handy to pretend to be more injured than you are, though. Just in case.” He sent the Bow Street officer a wicked smile, and Vickery shook his head.

“Duelling is illegal, Your Grace.”

“I am very aware of that. As I say, I have no plans for one.”

Vickery obviously thought he was lying, and James couldn’t help the laugh he gave as he swallowed his whisky in a single gulp. “What can I do for you, Mr. Vickery?”

Vickery hesitated. “I’ve just come from my meeting with the Attorney General.” He took a sip from his glass. “Something he said…”

The inflection in his tone, and the way he cast a quick look at James made him sure Vinegar Gibbs had heard of James’s visit to Bow Street, and had given both the magistrate and Vickery an order not to speak to James again.

Interesting then, that Vickery had come straight here.

He waited the Bow Street officer out.

“He didn’t want me talking to you, Your Grace. And definitely didn’t want me sharing information with you.” Vickery put his glass down, and looked up at James with interested eyes. “I’ve been an officer of the Bow Street magistrate’s office for some time now, and I never saw a man look so guilty, or so afraid. And so I decided I didn’t hear him right. I think he must have said I
was
to talk to you.”

“I’m sure he must have.” James gave a nod. “His voice is so annoying, it’s hard to sometimes make out exactly what it is he
is
saying, don’t you find?”

Vickery gave a snort of laughter, and then forced himself under control. “I came up with a new witness today. After we saw Mr. Taylor. Someone you would be interested in.” He paused, and rubbed a hand along his thigh. “I have two men working for me, and they have been going to every gunsmith in town. Finally tracked the right one down. Beckwith, up at Snow Hill. He confirms he sold the pistols to Bellingham two or so weeks back.”

James tried not to react.

Beckwith.

The name on the gun Lewis had found on the street. The gun James had given to Harding, wrapped in his blood-stained jacket, under Vickery’s very nose, not ten minutes ago.

“Why did Bellingham go to him specifically? Do you know?” He busied himself pouring a second glass of whisky he didn’t actually want.

Vickery gave a nod. “Specializes in small, concealed firearms, does Beckwith. Has a brisk trade selling pistols to ladies that fit into their reticules and the like.” Vickery shuddered, as if the thought of young ladies going about with small guns concealed on their person didn’t bear thinking about.

“Expensive?” Some of his excitement faded. Could it be coincidence? Bellingham would have been naturally attracted to a specialist in concealed weapons.

Vickery nodded. “Very expensive, far as I can tell. Bellingham went off to practise shooting them in a park. Even came back to complain it was too difficult to screw the removeable barrel on quickly enough.”

“So he went along to Mr. Taylor for a secret pocket that would take the gun with barrel already attached, so he didn’t have to.” James could see Bellingham’s chances of escaping the noose diminishing.

Vickery sighed. “The Attorney General was pleased with the information. He’s said there is nothing stopping a Friday trial, now.”

James could think of plenty, and obviously so could Vickery, the way his hands clenched and his voice dipped as he spoke of a trial in less than two days’ time.

The Bow Street officer left to go home in a dark mood, and James looked into the fire long after he had gone, empty glass in his hand.

Gibbs was pushing the bounds of all decency with this trial date. And the bad news never seemed to end for Bellingham.

He caught a whiff of lavender from his borrowed shirt, and stood slowly. Strange how, despite everything else, he’d personally never felt better.

The look on Phoebe Hillier’s face when she had told him if he would like it she would be his lover, would stay with him for a long time.

If he would like it.

He didn’t think she truly understood her own appeal. There would have been very few men who would have turned her down.

He could still feel the warm brush of air on his ear as she had whispered her name to him.

But what she didn’t know was that he no longer wanted her for a lover.

When they’d met a few days ago, that had been something he’d enjoyed imagining. But now… James walked slowly up the stairs to bed. Now he wanted a great deal more.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Thursday, 14 May, 1812

“M
y lady?”

Lewis stood at the bottom of the staircase as Phoebe made her way down the sweeping golden curve, his upturned face a study in polite attention. His hands betrayed him, though. They were stiff and clenched at his sides.

It was so early, she could hear the birds twittering in the park in front of her house, the sound of the traffic that usually drowned them out noticeable by its absence.

“I’m sorry to disturb the house so early, Lewis, but I have too much going round in my head to sleep.” Phoebe kept her own face studiously blank. The thoughts circulating in her head were most definitely private. Very private. “I need to go out.”

“Out?” The dismay in Lewis’s voice was obvious.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and sighed. “I know. It sounds ridiculous, and I take the threat against me seriously, I truly do. But I forgot to mention to Wittaker last night that I need to visit Sheldrake’s staff.” All those scandalous declarations and the kissing and his bared chest. They had wiped her responsibilities from her mind.

She walked hopefully across to the breakfast room, but it was far too early for anything to be set out yet, and she turned back.

“Something I overheard last night made me think they need a little help, and if I don’t go now, when will I go? The Wentworths will be moving into Sheldrake’s house soon, and once they’re in, and have dismissed the staff, it will be very difficult to find them.”

Mrs. Wentworth and her son would neither be in the financial position, nor were they careful enough of those depending on them, to help, but they would not tolerate her interference, either. They would see it as an insult.

“Are the Duke’s men already watching the house?” She hoped they were, it would make this trip easier to explain to Wittaker if she could take his men with her.

Lewis gave a nod. “The first one came last night soon after His Grace had left, pretending to be a nightsoil man, one who never left our back garden, and this morning a few more came to relieve him, dressed as gardeners. They’ve introduced themselves. They say there are two more on the street, watching in secret.”

“I don’t want to cause them trouble with His Grace. I don’t want to cause trouble with him, myself.” She rubbed her forehead at the thought of what he might say, but he did not command her, and she really had to go now, or Sheldrake’s staff would be scattered to the wind.

“Quite.” Lewis’s tone was thoughtful.

“I meant some days ago to speak to Sheldrake’s butler. That’s when I thought he’d abandoned them with no salary. But I realized last night his death will be just as great a blow to them. I would have been their mistress in a few short months. I can’t leave them without means, and the Wentworths can’t afford them.”

Lewis was quiet while he fetched her coat from the coat rack under the stairs. “I know Lord Sheldrake’s butler. His name is Mr. Jackson, and I think you’re right. They will be most uneasy at this turn of events.” He held the coat up and helped her into it, making a humming sound at the back of his throat.

“Give me a moment to get my coat, and two of the men from Lord Wittaker, and Rogers and I will bring the carriage round for you. Sheldrake is only five minutes from here at this time of morning. We can be back in less than half an hour.”

“I don’t want to put the Duke of Wittaker’s men at risk.” She gnawed at her lip. “I don’t want to put anyone at risk, myself included, but certainly not others. You and Rogers, and Wittaker’s men, could be caught up in this and hurt.”

Lewis had been walking toward the stairs leading down to the kitchens and he stopped. Looked at her with raised brows. “My lady, you could not keep any of us away. I am sure, when I explain what is to happen, that it will be difficult to keep the footmen here at home while Rogers and I adventure off. And the Duke of Wittaker’s men will be far less likely to be in trouble with him if they join us, and after a morning destroying the flowerbeds, I’m sure they will be only too eager for some action.”

“And Rogers and yourself? If you are hurt…”

Lewis took a step closer. “Rogers and I would risk a great deal for you, my lady, and it has nothing to do with the fact that we work for you. Please, accept that we will come freely and gladly, and that none of us plan for anyone to be injured.” He bowed, a quick, sharp bend of his upper body and then left her standing, speechless, in the hall.

Five minutes later one of the footmen helped her into her carriage, with Lewis sitting above with Rogers, and two men she didn’t know, with her footmen’s livery jackets on over mud-stained trousers, standing on the running boards on either side.

They looked tough, and if they were nervous or annoyed at her plans, their faces didn’t show it.

The streets were almost empty, as Lewis predicted, and they drew up outside Sheldrake’s fashionable town house in under five minutes.

Lewis swung down and knocked on the front door. Wittaker’s men dropped to the ground, one going around the back of the house, the other standing beside the carriage. It had the whiff of a military operation to it, and Phoebe didn’t know whether to feel reassured or ridiculous.

The door swung open, and Jackson blinked in surprise. “Mr. Lewis, what brings you here?”

She knew the moment he caught sight of her. His mouth snapped shut, and he opened the door wider.

“My lady.” He bowed.

“I am sorry to be here so early, and unannounced, Mr. Jackson. But I wanted to speak with you in private.”

Jackson drew back, and Lewis waited for her to precede him into the hall.

Without thinking, she walked to the library, her favorite room in Sheldrake’s house, and Lewis and Jackson followed her.

“If you mean to tell me Lord Sheldrake is dead, Mr. Wentworth has already been by.” He looked at the fireplace, and Phoebe noticed a fire had been lit there. Wentworth really must have come here last night, as his mother claimed. She had half-wondered if it had been a lie.

Phoebe drew in a breath. The hard, rough way Jackson spoke could only mean Sheldrake’s heir had not been polite, or particularly sensitive. “Does Mr. Wentworth say you will all stay on?”

“No.” Jackson looked away, toward the open curtains overlooking the small back garden. “He would keep me, the cook and one maid, but that is all they can afford, I am told.”

And Jackson wouldn’t stay if he could help it, Phoebe guessed. His tone held open loathing for the Wentworths. “I wanted to offer you and the rest of the staff some aid, Mr. Jackson. If any of you have found another position, Lewis will write you a recommendation on my behalf. And if you would be so kind as to give him the monthly wages for everyone in this house, including yourself, I will make sure you all have three months salary to tide you over while you look for a new place.”

Jackson turned from the window to stare at her.

“That’s all I came to say. I didn’t want you to worry over the situation, not when I could easily make it right. And it would have been…awkward to approach you after the Wentworths were already installed in this house.”

“You have.” Jackson cleared his throat. “Made it right. I thank you.”

“If I had married Sheldrake, you would have had no less from me.”

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed, but unspoken on his lips and in his eyes was the clear fact that she had not married Sheldrake, and therefore had no legal obligation to do this.

“Perhaps I can wait here for a few minutes while you get Lewis those figures?” Phoebe could feel Lewis’s nervous energy, the same as her own, to be off home as quickly as possible.

Jackson nodded and led Lewis from the room, and Phoebe walked across to the desk Sheldrake had barely used, except to write his illegible notes.