A Perfect Gentleman (36 page)

On the other hand, he no longer worked for her. His uncomfortable scruples about mixing employment and enjoyment, finances and flirtations, were not relevant anymore. Of course, he still believed no woman should be wed merely for her wealth, and no man should be a parasite on his bride's bank account. If he were a rich man, though, Stony could now present himself as a legitimate suitor for Ellianne's hand, freed from the restraints of his guardianship. Not that she would accept him under any conditions, but he would feel better about asking. If he were inclined to make the offer.

Lud, a wife. Living with the same willful woman for the rest of one's life? Hell could not be worse. Of course, living without Ellianne was already torture, and barely twelve hours had passed. He looked at the clock, then at the check in his hand. He and Gwen could live comfortably—if not happily, on Gwen's part—at Wellstone Park in Norfolk now, but he would never be wealthy, never be considered an advantageous match for anyone but a vicar's daughter, a Cit's niece, or a title-hungry widow.

Stony decided to call on Miss Kane anyway. He had legitimate reasons, after all, he told himself. He had to thank her for the check, ask about the dog, make a last report on the search for her sister, and express his concern about the lint-brained female's engagement with the leech.

*

“I really wish you would reconsider accepting Sir John's escort,” he told her, after catching his breath at the sight of the radiant smile she gave him in welcome.

Ellianne was smiling from the inside out. He'd come. He did not have to, was under no obligation to do so, was not being paid to do so, but he had come to call. On her. What a beautiful, glorious day. One could almost hear the birds singing, if one ignored the rain and the wind and the street traffic noise. He had come, and he was expressing concern for her welfare—for free.

“I know you thought I was merely acting like a dog with a meaty bone,” Stony was going on, “but I cannot trust Thomasford or his motives.”

Ellianne did not want to talk about Sir John. “He is simply a dedicated scientist. Would you like more tea?”

Stony shook his head and persisted in his warning. “Being dedicated to dead people is freakish enough, but the man seems to grow more peculiar by the day. That night at Vauxhall he was decidedly queer. You must have noticed.”

“I did feel he was somewhat distracted, but I believe Sir John has cause for his perturbation. We are all worried about the murders, but he feels personally responsible, in his position of authority. That is admirable, rather than odd. Besides, I feel sorry for the man.”

“So send him a tin of biscuits or a bottle of wine. You do not have to share an evening with the fellow to show your sympathy.”

“It would be rude to back out at this late date.”

“You could claim a headache. Women do that all the time. Or say you are leaving town and have to finish your packing. Say anything, but do not go with him.”

She smiled. Stony was jealous. “Now you are sounding like Aunt Lally, who declares Sir John sends chills down her spine. She finds him so unsettling that she is making me take my maid instead of going with us as chaperon. She will not walk past a cemetery at night either, though, or walk under a ladder. I was always amazed that she stepped foot on her husband's boats, for women aboard ship are supposed to be unlucky.”

“Perhaps they were, for Mr. Goudge. He died, didn't he?”

“Of choking on a cherry pit, I believe, safe at home. Anyway, Sir John's unique calling is gruesome, I do admit, but that is all one can hold against him. He is a gentleman and harmless, and he needs the relief of an evening away from his work.”

Stony needed relief, too, and he was not likely to get it, not while Ellianne was busy defending that slimy creature. Considering Miss Kane's face and fortune, Stony was not convinced the man was so innocuous either, but he realized he was wasting his breath. Miss Kane's head was as hard as her heart.

“Very well, I can see that you are adamant about going. What merry entertainment does the coroner have planned for the evening, anyway?” Stony thought he might meet them there, for his own peace of mind.

“He is taking me to dinner after another lecture. This one is about amputations at field hospitals on the Peninsula.”

Stony rethought his plans. He also reconsidered his regard for Miss Kane. Any woman who could listen to such a talk, much less eat dinner afterward, was not natural. Perhaps she and the morguemaggot could make a match of it after all. The wedding could take place in an insane asylum.

She was continuing, as if Stony had expressed interest instead of half gagging. “Did you know how many more soldiers would have died of infection if their wounds were left to fester? Why, pieces of his own uniform could kill a man if they stayed imbedded in his flesh.”

Stony quickly dropped his napkin, so he could put his head between his knees before he fainted. “I…I am sure you will find the lecture…informative.”

“I suppose, but I am mostly going in hopes of locating a qualified surgeon for the hospital I am building.”

“And after the lecture?” Stony asked, recovering with the aid of another cup of hot tea that Ellianne silently handed him.

“Dinner at the Pulteney Hotel. I thought of inviting Sir John here, but decided against it in light of Aunt Lally's animosity. She was a trifle…vocal about taking mutton with a mortician. Not that Sir John is one, of course,” she added defensively. “He is an eminent research scientist, and so I told my aunt. And Gwen. Lady Wellstone refused to come, if I made a small dinner party of the occasion, and Lady Valentina and Lord Charles are busy. I did not feel Her Grace would be interested in Sir John's research either.”

Good gods, the Duchess of Williston dining with a connoisseur of crime corpses? “I should think not.”

“I could have asked Lord and Lady Aldershott, Mrs. Harkness-Smythe, and the other hostesses who were kind enough to invite me to their gatherings, but I do not think Sir John is in a frame of mind to endure strangers and small talk. Neither did I wish him to think I was holding an intimate dinner party for the two of us. So, you see, you need not worry that I am entirely unaware of the awkwardness of the situation.”

Not worry? He'd stop worrying when she was tucked in her bed, alone. Better yet, with himself beside her in case a lust-crazed lunatic climbed up to her window. Stony thanked heaven that the peagoose showed a little sense, not inviting a bloodsucking vampire into her home without the protection of company. Stony knew all too well what could happen there, with Mrs. Goudge's lax chaperonage. At the hotel, even if Thomasford hired a private dining parlor, they would never be entirely alone. Her maid would be present, the hotel's servants would be underfoot, and the other patrons would be nearby.

So would Stony.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Stony had a bad feeling about that night. Perhaps he was coming down with a quinsy from yesterday's rain, or he'd had too much to drink last evening, sitting alone in his book room. Or perhaps he would have distrusted any chap sharing a dinner with Ellianne. No matter the cause, Stony felt uneasy.

He was so unsettled that he went to speak with Lattimer at Bow Street.

The Runner was too busy to listen to Stony's vague, niggling suspicions. “The man's a bit daft, of course. He'd have to be, in that line of work. But he's a brilliant anatomist, you know. Knighted for his advances in the field and all that.”

Lattimer went on to say that they were all being harried by the press and haunted by the dead girls. Everyone connected with the magistrate's office was going without sleep or baths or proper meals, trying to nab the Barber before he struck again. So it was no wonder Sir John was not looking his finest. Lattimer glanced at Stony's spotless, elegant attire in disdain.

“Some of us are trying to catch a killer, not the eye of every damsel in Town. I consider Sir John a lucky dog to have Miss Kane's company tonight, a reward he richly deserves.”

Stony wondered how much the reward money was influencing Lattimer's zeal. He read a posted handbill outside the door at Bow Street that named an astronomical price for the murderer's apprehension. Some of the money was Ellianne's, he knew, but pounds had poured in from other concerned citizens, the government, the slain maidservant's employer, the murdered actress's friends. A group of Covent Garden doves had donated their pence to make the streets safer for their sisters. Now the reward was nearly a king's ransom. Lattimer would go without a few more hours of sleep to find the stiletto wielder. He would not take the time to help guard Miss Kane.

Stony was not reassured by the Runner's opinion of Sir John Thomasford. He still felt Aunt Lally's shivers up his spine, and not from the damp, drizzly day. His friend Captain Brisbane had always said that a soldier's best defense was the inner voice of instinct. Stony's intuition was yelling, “Danger! Danger!” in his ear.

So he rode back to Sloane Street early that evening and waited in the saddle, in the shadows and the rain, huddled in his caped riding coat. Dusk fell late this time of year, but there were enough clouds and trees between houses to offer some concealment, if not much protection from the cold drops that ran off his beaver hat and down his neck. With every drip he asked himself what the devil he was doing here.

He merely wished to make sure, Stony answered himself, that Sir John did not find some excuse to leave Ellianne's maid behind. Who knew what a knave could do in a moving carriage? Stony did, and intended to make certain Ellianne never found out, at least not with the carrion crow.

Eventually the gray-clad maid got into a modest coach, all right and tight. So did Miss Kane, wearing her green cloak and a black ruched bonnet trimmed with sprigs of green silk ivy that Stony had never seen before. She wore sensible half-boots, he noted as she stepped up into the carriage, showing trim ankles. She handed her umbrella to Sir John to fold for her before she took her seat.

She was smiling, Stony could see from his position, and he felt like a fool. A jealous fool, besides. He'd go home, have a hot bath, then take Gwen to a pleasant dinner at the Pulteney, as he'd arranged. That was likely another wasted effort, but at least the food was good.

The problem was, Sir John's coach headed east on Sloane Street. The hall where the medical lecture was to be given was west of Sloane Street. He stared after the black carriage, feeling the shiver down his spine turn into a sharp pain, as if someone held a knife to his back. Or else he'd been out in the rain too long, sitting too stiffly on his horse.

Home, a hot bath, and a good meal… or a dismal wet ride following the coach on another fool's errand? Hmm.

*

Ellianne was surprised that the coach did not turn around, too.

When she asked if the driver had the address wrong, Sir John reached across the carriage and placed his gloved hand over hers. “My dear Miss Kane, I fear I have ill tidings for you. I wanted to wait to tell you until we were closer to our destination, so that you had less time to fret.”

“Oh, heavens, my sister?”

“I cannot be certain, of course, without your identification. But this latest victim does have green eyes and light eyelashes, like yours. I knew you would not want to wait until tomorrow, and I could not let you read about this in the newspapers, or sit through a lecture, not knowing.”

“Of course not. Thank you. That was very kind.”

Ellianne wondered why Mr. Lattimer or another Bow Street minion had not come to tell her. She also wondered why she did not feel more distraught, as if she had accepted that Isabelle was lost to her forever. She only wished that Stony were with her instead of this gentleman who seemed more affected by the newest murder than ever.

He was dressed correctly in evening wear, bathed and shaved, but his clothing hung on his increasingly thinner frame. His neckcloth was badly creased, and his hair was hanging in damp, greasy locks from the rain. His lips were thinner, the creases on his forehead were deeper, but his brown eyes were still glimmering, as if with a fever. The poor man was obviously distraught that he had not been able to prevent yet another killing. Ellianne let her hand rest under his a moment longer before moving it away.

On the way to the morgue, Ellianne made no attempt at polite conversation, and Sir John respected her silence. She was trying not to think about the latest murder victim, but found herself recalling Isabelle as a toddler, red hair like a halo as she held her hands out to be picked up by her older sister. No, that was too painful. She would have years to grieve, to take out each cherished memory in turn. She would not think about Isabelle, and the dead girl would not be Isabelle.

Ellianne thought about Stony instead, and how sincere his concern for her had been. He did care for her, undeniably, and maybe that was enough. A great many successful marriages were based on far less. He was to call in the morning, and Ellianne was determined to discover his true feelings, even if she had to hit the clunch over the head with her reticule as she had done to Blanchard. Not that she would clobber Stony with the purse she carried tonight. After his visit, she'd decided to carry her larger reticule this evening, so she could carry the small pistol. She held the bag close to her now, as if it could protect her from bad news. At least it could keep her fingers from trembling, as Sir John's hand on hers had not.