Beware of Virtuous Women (20 page)

Your husband brings this danger to you and the danger will follow him wherever he goes. Show him this letter, impress on him that you must go, he must send you away where you will be safe.

I am powerless, but you are not. Leave London now, tonight. Go home, Mrs. Eastwood. I can do nothing else to help you and risk more than you know just in writing this letter. I implore you. Leave now, today! Hurry! Save yourself!

The fairly overwrought letter wasn't signed, but Eleanor knew who'd written it. Miranda Phelps. Who else could it be?

The woman had tried to warn her, and only a servant's lapse had kept that warning from arriving in time. She'd taken some risk, and she'd betrayed her husband in doing so.

Eleanor read the missive again, and then again.

"Yes. She betrayed her husband in order to warn me. Not Jack, me. I'm the one who is to leave.
Save myself."

Eleanor laid the piece of paper on Jack's desk, then wrapped her arms around her waist and continued to look down at it. Read the words again.

Had Miranda conceived those words? On her own? Using her own initiative? Did Miranda Phelps
have
initiative?

Or had someone else dictated the words to her?

That seemed more likely.

Eleanor needed to talk to Jack. Explain to Jack. Now. Today.

He'd be angry. He'd have every right to be furious. With her, with all of the Beckets.

Eleanor looked toward the still unmade bed, longing to return to the dream, knowing reality wouldn't let her.

An early-morning drizzle had finally gone, leaving behind warm damp air and one of those uniquely thick, swirling London fogs that turned the afternoon into a yellow-tinged dusk. The Earl of Chelfham carefully picked his way down the wide stone steps leading from his private club.

He stopped on the flagway, looking about, then frowned and muttered something under his breath, obviously not a happy man.

He was about to discover that Jack Eastwood was a very angry man and, according to Jack's mental calculations, angry trumped unhappy every time. He and Cluny had argued, hotly at times, but in the end Jack had prevailed: he'd had enough of stealth; he wasn't very good at it. He would confront Chelfham head-on. Now. Today.

He fell into step beside the earl as the man approached a narrow alley on his way down the street, and within moments the earl's direction had been changed.

"Here now! Let go of my arm! What's going on? Eastwood, is that you? Is something amiss? God, man, you look so fierce, don't you? So sorry I can't linger, but I'm on my way to White's."

Jack, his hand still gripping the earl's arm just above the elbow, guided him a good twenty steps down the alleyway, to a place the sun hadn't reached in decades, although several generations of cats seemed to have found a use for the area. "Where are your shadows, my lord? You look rather naked without them."

"Harris and Gilly? They're the reason for all this melodrama?"

"Yes. Phelps and Eccles. You don't keep them close for their elegant conversation. They were supposed to meet you at your club, weren't they? They always do, every day at one. But not today. Would you like to know why?"

"You've killed them?"

What sort of question was that? And why did the man seem to be genuinely amused? "No, I didn't kill them. They've merely been detained so that you and I could have a private conversation."

Chelfham continued to rally. "Oh. Well, more's the pity. Were I you, I would have had the Irisher slit their throats. You would have saved me a lot of trouble, had you snuffed them both out. They led you to me in the first place, after all. What a fine pair of fools."

The earl brushed down his coat sleeves and shot his cuffs. "Tell me, how is your little wife? I heard there was a fire. Terrible thing, fire."

This wasn't going as Jack had planned. The man should be terrified, not behaving as if he knew what Jack was after, and why. "So you admit it? You sent someone to burn down my house, kill us?"

"Don't be any more stupid than you can help, Eastwood." Chelfham removed his curly brimmed beaver hat and stroked a hand over his bald pate. "I
did
have you warned so you could get your wife out of there, poor little cripple that she is. I'm not entirely heartless. The note was very specific. If she was hurt it's on your head."

This was getting worse and worse, the older man somehow turning the tables, putting Jack on the defensive, sending him off balance. "Warned, you said? I don't believe my wife and I received that warning."

"No? Harris bungled that, as well? Your house was never meant to burn down, by the way, but simply to be...singed a bit."

Jack had wondered about that. The fire had come too early in the evening to catch them all unawares in their beds. He realized he had been used, and had responded just as the earl had figured he would. "Did you also plan that I should come straight to you afterward?"

"I couldn't be sure," the earl said with the ring of honesty. "A coward would run away, and you've now proved you're not a coward. A righteous man would have had his knife between my ribs by now. But I'd already ascertained that you're not a righteous man. I'll admit, however, that I hadn't considered that you might remove Harris and Eccles from the board, thus opening me to personal attack. My mistake, I'm sure."

"No. Mine, I think, for not killing you the moment I dragged you off the street."

"Ha! Bravado comes too late, Eastwood. I know your sort, and killing me would be murdering what you believe to be your golden goose. Greed. That's why you're here. It's amazing, isn't it, the power that emotion has over us all? So, shall we stop all of this silly posturing, take the gloves off and get down to business? After all, we both know what we want."

Jack felt perhaps he was beginning to understand. "So the fire wasn't meant to kill me, but to see if a little danger might scare me off. You didn't even consider inviting me in until you'd tested me. But you are going to invite me in now, aren't you? Now that I've shown what a greedy bastard I am?"

"Yes, I suppose I am. Ever since I began eliminating my competition, I've been waiting for you or someone like you to come along, hoping for some sort of compromise—those on the losing side most often would rather compromise than be annihilated. And then, suddenly, there you were. I can't say I don't admire the way you thought you could worm your way into my company through my idiot, red-breasted brother-in-law. That was my suggestion, you know, that he wear those ridiculous red waistcoats. It's red flags that attract bulls, correct?"

Jack felt himself being fascinated against his will by Chelfham's devious brain. "But how? How exactly did you know?"

"That you were the one? Quite easily, in point of fact. You gave yourself away. As if a man with your obvious talents would want to waste more than a moment's time with my deplorably obtuse brother-in-law? Hardly, Eastwood. You're much too good at cards to lose quite so often. And to lose to Harris? Impossible."

Jack couldn't resist a self-deprecating smile. "All right, I'll grant you that. I was perhaps a bit too transparent in my pursuit."

"Don't pretty it up. Slipshod and much too anxious, that's what you were, while thinking yourself brilliant. You're smart, but not as smart as me. I don't intend to hang, Eastwood, and you're the sort who will, sooner or later, unless someone like me takes you in hand. I had to test you, didn't I? As I said, another man would have taken last night's hint to heart and beaten a hasty retreat. Yet here you are, caught between wanting me dead and licking my boots so that I'll invite you to become a part of my small.. .enterprise. Greed. I admire greed, I really do, as it has served me well over the years. Shall we talk terms now? You'd like that, I'm sure. But not yet. Promise to send the little cripple away, and then we'll talk. That was the main point of the exercise anyway, you know, as I was already fairly certain I had a use for you."

This made no sense. He'd damn near burned down the house to get Eleanor out of the way? "Eleanor? Why? What has my wife to do with this? Why would you want her gone?"

Chelfham looked at Jack through narrowed eyelids. "I don't like her, that's why. M'wife doesn't like her. She's deformed, Eastwood, and pregnant women shouldn't look on the deformed, the crippled. Why, the babe may already be marked, thanks to your wife. I had the devil of a time calming mine the other night and, well, she's made certain demands. When I please my wife, my wife pleases me. I don't think I have to be more clear than that, as you've seen the woman. So, do we have, as the tradesmen say, a deal?"

Jack picked his way carefully, refusing to allow himself to knock the man down for his insult. "I'll have to think about that, Chelfham. After all, Eleanor and I are only recently wed. What excuse could I have to send her away? Can't we compromise on this? She stays, but just keeps out of your wife's line of sight? I've got my contacts, both here and in France. I've got boats, men, safe places to store the cargo. I do bring a lot to the bargaining table, Chelfham. Granted, I don't operate on the same scale as your Red Men Gang, but—"

"Tut-tut-tut. We don't bandy that name about, Eastwood, ever. Your life is already worth nothing if I tell him how you have pursued me. Mine, too, for that matter. You have no idea what he could do to you, what he can do to anyone who gets in his way."

Interesting.
"He? But you're the one in charge of the Red Men."

Chelfham snorted. "I'm not stupid enough to believe that. There is only one
real
leader, Eastwood. We're all the rest of us nothing but minions, chosen and tolerated only as long as we serve a purpose. Freetrading. That's
my
purpose. Tea and brandy and fine silks. But there's so much more. Tentacles, reaching everywhere, into everything. More than a young puppy like you could even dream."

What was there beyond money? Power? Yes, power. And money buys power. Jack pushed for more information, keeping his expression one of awe mixed with curiosity. "One man? One man controls so much?"

Chelfham seemed to like having an audience, and kept talking. "You have no idea what he controls. Free-trading? The Red Men themselves? A means only, not an end for him. Frankly, I'm growing weary with the whole of it. Working, taking all the risks—you found me, didn't you?—and then handing the majority of the profits over to him."

He shook his head, paused a few moments, then looked levelly at Jack. "Look, Eastwood, I'm a reasonable man. Comply with my demand—not a terrible demand, after all—and send your wife away. Then I will bring you in, and only then. You've got bottom, or you wouldn't still be here. I like that."

"What a twisted mind you have, Chelfham. You call that an invitation to do business with you?"

"Think, man. I had to treat you as an adversary, keep Harris from guessing my real plan. I didn't think you'd run, but I did hope you'd send the cripple away. Two birds downed with the same stone, as it were—or the same flaming brick. Show me you're sincere, send her away. Then it will be just the two of us, without Harris or his simpleton friend knowing, without
anyone
else knowing." Then he added, as if it was an afterthought, "He wants them gone anyway."