Debra Mullins (7 page)

“
Oui
.” Madame Dauphine sent Anna a long-suffering look. “Just as Madame Rosewood suggested.”

“Excellent! Allow me to tell you my ideas for the peach satin…”

The modiste rolled her eyes as Mama rattled on. At any other time, Anna would have found their exchange most amusing. Instead she let the scene fade to the back of her mind.

Someone in London was going about killing young men with a sword. Her brother’s death had looked like the work of footpads, but Anna had never believed that. Footpads tended to use
pistols or short, wide knives, not rapiers. Now it seemed that her instincts had been right— Anthony had been murdered, just like Reginald Dalton. And she had no doubt that the mysterious society and black-garbed swordsman from Vauxhall were responsible.

And standing right in the middle of the mess was Roman Devereaux. What part did he play?

She wished she could confide in her mother, but her parents had made it perfectly clear that they wanted to hear no more theories about Anthony’s death. They believed it was the work of thieves and had warned her that any further grief-stricken musings would only see her sent home to the country. And she desperately needed to be in London.

Madame Dauphine pushed Anna’s arms up over her head as if she were a doll and removed the blue silk. Then Mama and the modiste slipped the peach satin over Anna’s head, still debating about hems and trim and such. Anna barely noticed. Her mind had wandered far from the dressmaker’s shop, to the docks and a well-known sailors’ haunt called the Cock and Crown. Her father’s cronies had often spoken of the area when they hadn’t realized she could overhear them.

Maybe someone had seen something the night Reginald was killed. The spark of excitement ignited and spread through her body as the idea took shape. She had been unable to do anything about Anthony’s death, and her insistence that
her twin had been murdered had been dismissed by her well-meaning parents. But this time, there
was
something she could do. She could take her pin money and go down to the Cock and Crown and see if any of the locals had noticed something the night Reginald was killed.

Good heavens, could she do it? For a moment, common sense reared its head as she recalled the mess she had created the last time she went out in search of information. The Cock and Crown was located in a section of London to which no well-reared lady would ever go. Her presence in such an area, if discovered, could sully her reputation to the point that Haverford could not ignore it. Since he hadn’t formally asked her to marry him yet, his honor would not be called into account by Society should he change his mind, and once the story of her activities got out, no one would blame him for his rejection.

No, it was impossible. She couldn’t. If she were caught, it would destroy the future her parents had worked so hard to obtain for her. They deserved better from her. But so did Anthony.

What if this was her only chance to learn the identity of his killer? She was certain that Reginald’s death was connected to Anthony’s. How could she ignore this chance? Tracking down the truth was the reason she had convinced her parents to bring her to London for the Season.

Rose wouldn’t hesitate.

The thought of her masquerade the other night
gave her pause. Rose was brave and smart and wouldn’t think twice about going to the Cock and Crown and asking questions. But she was also a survivor. She would get the answers she needed, but she would do it in the most intelligent way possible.

Yes, this could be done, but only tonight. She could claim a headache and stay home from their dinner engagement with one of Papa’s cronies this evening. Her parents would go without her; they never missed an event at Admiral Westerman’s. And tomorrow night the three of them would attend the theater with Lord Haverford. Her mother would make certain she went to
that
, even if she were green with the ague.

Tonight was her only chance; she just prayed that intrepid Rose was up to the task.

“Explain yourself.” Silhouetted in shadow, the leader of the Triad turned a cold gaze on his underling. The leader was dressed completely in black, and his costume caused him to blend in with the dark wood of the huge chair in which he sat. The ruby of his ring glittered like fresh blood in the scant candlelight, as did the green eyes of the black cat who lay in his lap. He stroked a hand over the animal, his movement lazy and relaxed, but his lieutenant wasn’t fooled.

The man was furious.

“I did what had to be done.” He held his rigid
stance, refusing to be cowed by his leader’s anger. “The boy had come undone, was babbling about wanting to leave the group. He intended to go to his brother for help.”

“So you killed him?” The words, when spoken in that silky tone, sounded pleasant to those who didn’t know this man. Soothing, even.

But he knew better.

“Yes,” he admitted. “He intended to violate the oath of secrecy.”

“Which is what
you
did by leaving his body in so public a place!” The rebuke cracked like a whiplash.

He physically flinched. “He was a gamester. The boy was always in one scrape or another. I thought the Cock and Crown appropriate, that everyone would think he’d been in a brawl.”

The cat jumped off the leader’s lap and disappeared into the shadows. “Foolish of you to think we can afford so many deaths by the blade in London. Why didn’t you follow procedure?”

“I thought—”

“It is not your place to
think
!” The leader lurched out of his chair and looked down on his shorter lieutenant. “Your blundering has risked exposure of the Society.”

“He would have gone to his brother. Then Charles Dalton would ask questions.”

“He’s asking questions now!” the leader sneered. “Our policy is to dump the body in the countryside. Why go to the trouble to start ru
mors of the renegade bandit who kills his victims with a sword if my own man undermines my efforts? You had no right to do anything else.”

“But Dalton—”

“Is mad with grief and swearing vengeance on his brother’s killer. Bravo.” He clapped his hands in scathing mockery. “Before, he would have been grief-stricken. Now he will not stop until we are disbanded.”

The lieutenant opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it.

“Good,” the leader said, noting his choice of silence. “Now you understand what you have done.” He wandered over to the wall and perused the crosseds words that hungt here. “Do you know the worst thing about this whole situation?”

The lieutenant cleared his throat. “Ah, no, sir.”

The leader took down a sword and looked at it, then turned back to his underling. He swished the sword in the air with a practiced motion, each move perfectly graceful, perfectly executed.

Of course, he was perfect. He was the best swordsman in their society, the unchallenged leader of the Triad.

“The worst thing about this whole distasteful tangle is that Reginald Dalton did not die in a match as he should have.” The leader came back toward his lieutenant, slicing the rapier through the air almost playfully. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “His purse is lost to us now. His pledged
amount will no doubt go to his tailor or to cover his gambling vowels.”

“He would have bolted,” the lieutenant rasped, unable to tear his gaze from the blade.

“There is no way out.” The leader lunged at an invisible adversary.

“Gone straight to his brother and exposed us,” the lieutenant argued.

“You handled the matter poorly, and there is one less purse in the coffers of the Society.” With a polished maneuver, the leader swung around and brought the point of the rapier to his lieutenant’s throat. “But you will make up the difference out of your own winnings, won’t you?”

The leader’s eyes glittered with the light of battle, giving him an almost maniacal air. The lieutenant swallowed hard. Then he nodded.

There was no way out.

“M
iss Rosewood, please, do let us go home. This place is simply wretched!” Lizzie peered out at the dim streets and shivered with revulsion. “This is no place for you, miss.”

“I have no intention of getting out of this hack, Lizzie, so calm yourself.” Anna glanced out the window and fought back the urge to echo the maid’s shudder.

Papa’s cronies had always spoken of the Cock and Crown with great affection, and while she knew it to be near the docks, she had still imagined a fairly harmless tavern, a welcoming place ready to serve seafaring patrons a hot meal and a healthy draught of ale. Instead, the neighborhood where the Cock and Crown resided was truly one of London’s more unsavory ones, with drunken
louts on street corners and doxies lingering in doorways. The building itself was a ramshackle pile of timber and brick that looked as if it would collapse with the next storm to blow in. Her instincts screamed at her to return to the warmth and safety of home.

But she couldn’t. This might be her only chance to discover the truth about Anthony.

As instructed, the driver stopped a few doors down from the Cock and Crown. Anna tensed with expectation. She was here, mere feet away from where Reginald Dalton’s body had been found. She was in disguise, garbed from head to toe in black with a veil over her face to hide her identity. Since she had no intention of leaving the coach, she had determined that she would pay the driver to ask questions of the locals.

Except the driver didn’t want to cooperate.

“I drive a hack. I’m no Bow Street Runner,” he called down when she asked him to make inquiries.

“But it’s very important, and I dare not do this myself,” Anna pleaded, arching her head out the window.

“Miss, you paid me to drive, and I drove. But if I leave this hack to go on some fool errand, my master’ll hitch
me
to the traces!”

“Botheration!” Anna flounced back against the seat and frowned. “This is an unexpected wrinkle.”

“May we go home now, miss?” Lizzie asked hopefully.

“No, I simply need a new plan.”

With a forlorn sigh, Lizzie slumped in the seat.

Anna stared out the window, hoping an idea would occur to her. She had never imagined that the driver would refuse her offer of a few coins. To go herself was madness, social suicide.

But what were her choices?

A scantily clad woman, rouged and hard-faced, caught her eye. She leaned out the window. “You there!”

The woman glanced her way, sneered, then gazed in the opposite direction, where two sailors in naval uniform were stumbling down the street toward her.

“You there!” Anna called again.

The woman tossed her too-bright blond curls and glared at her. Anna held up her purse, and the prostitute’s expression changed from annoyance to greed. She sauntered over to the carriage. “Ye talkin’ to me?”

“Yes. I would like to hire you for an errand.”

The woman smirked. “Never heard it called that before.”

Anna ignored the crudeness. “I would like you to ask some questions for me.”

“Me?” She cackled. “Them around here would soon as cuff me as talk to me.”

“I’ll pay you.” She jangled the purse.

“Hmmm.” The woman eyed the bulging pouch. “How much?”

“How’s this?” Anna held up a gold piece.

“Right enough, long as that gold is real.”

“Of course it’s real!”

“Let me see it.” She held out her hand.

Anna placed the gold coin in the woman’s palm, then gaped as the prostitute turned and sauntered away. “Hey there!”

The woman ignored her, sidling up to the naval sailors and whispering in one’s ear. They both laughed, and one grabbed her bottom in a fierce, one-handed grip as they turned down a dark alley.

“Very well then,” she muttered.

“What, miss?” Lizzie looked over, then squealed in alarm as Anna pushed open the door to the hack. “Miss Rosewood, what are you doing?”

Anna paused before descending the steps and leaned close to her maid. “Lizzie, listen to me. Do not call me by my name. I do not want my presence known. If you must address me, call me Miss Rose.”

The maid nodded frantically.

“Now let’s go.” Anna went to step down, and Lizzie cried out in alarm.

Anna swung back and grabbed the maid’s wrist. “Lizzie, hush! Do not attract attention to us.”

“But, miss, I can’t go out there. And neither should you!”

“What are you talking about? Come on, Lizzie. We’re just going to ask some questions.”

The maid shook her head, a mulish look on her face. “You can sack me if you want, miss, but I’m not going out there.”

“Of course I won’t sack you.”

Lizzie let out a relieved sigh. “Then let’s go home, please? This is no place for either of us.”

Anna sighed, then shook her head. “Fine, then. I’ll go alone.”

“But—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Anna said, with a sharp look at the servant. “I’ll stay within sight of the hack.”

The maid wrung her hands and whimpered but said nothing more. Anna took a bracing breath and climbed down from the coach.

Immediately she felt exposed. Vulnerable.

She took another breath, the stench of the street filling her nostrils. The door to the Cock and Crown burst open, and two raucous males stumbled out, laughing and singing, with their arms wrapped around each other. Anna nearly climbed back into the coach, but she thought of Anthony and stood her ground. The two sots staggered past her as if she didn’t even exist.

“Hmm.” A cautious look around revealed several people watching her from windows and corners. A woman leaned against the wall in a nearby alley, her impressive bosom swelling above her scandalously low-cut bodice. Glaring, henna red hair fell in fat curls over her bared shoulders.

Another prostitute. But this time she would hold tight to her gold until the deed was done.

“What do you want?” the woman sneered, as Anna started toward her.

The threat in her tone made Anna falter. “I just want to speak to you.”

“Do you now?” The slattern gave her a quick, head-to-toe study and curled her lip in distaste. “I don’t tumble women, dearie. Go see Mary Fox near the Hawk and Hound. She’s got what you want.”

“I don’t…Good heavens.” Did women actually…how could that be done? Beneath the black veil, Anna’s face burned. “I want to ask you some questions.”

The harlot’s face hardened. “Off wi’ you now.”

“I’ll pay you,” Anna hastened to add. “As long as you can tell me something about the body they found here the other night.”

“The nob, eh?” The redhead chuckled. “You his woman then? Looking to see if he was nippin’ out on you?”

“No. I just want to know what happened.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out two silver coins, then held them up to the lamplight. “Please tell me.”

Eyes gleaming with greed, the prostitute began to talk.

Nursing his ale at the Cock and Crown, Rome watched the two men at the next table. His inquiries had revealed that these fellows were the ones who had discovered Dalton’s body. They seemed none the worse for their grisly experience, as both had imbibed copious amounts of
liquor and were currently vying for the charms of the well-curved tavern wench.

Neither fellow seemed to be the type who belonged to the society.

Peter had told him that the Black Rose Society consisted of young men of means with adventurous spirits. These youths were approached by members higher up in the society and inducted into the group for a fee, then required to pledge an amount of money that they would stake on their first duel. Whoever won the duel would keep his stake and also win part of his opponent’s.

The society had started out as a strategic game played by university students. However, recently a new element had reached the upper echelons, and Peter feared for his life.

The two at the next table did not look to be men of means by any stretch of the imagination, and their familiarity with the barmaid made it clear they were regular patrons of the establishment. It had probably been pure coincidence that they’d found the body.

Still, he got to his feet and lurched across the room as the very drunk were wont to do. He bumped the chair of one of the fellows, deliberately sloshing ale all over his chest.

“Bugger!” The bearded man leaped to his feet, his chair screeching backwards and tipping over. “Watch yourself!”

“Sorry.” Pasting a simpleton’s grin on his face, Rome took out his handkerchief and swiped at
the ale staining the fellow’s shirt. “Didn’t see you there.”

The bearded man’s tall, thin friend stood up. “You spilled his ale,” he accused. “Haven’t you heard what we do to nobs around here?”

“Now, now.” Rome turned to the tavern maid. “Fetch us ales, my pretty, all three of us.”

The girl nodded and cast him a look of feminine appreciation before hurrying off to do as bid. Rome grabbed a chair from the table behind him and pulled it around.

“Give me a reason not to pound you into pulp,” the wet man growled, ale dripping from his beard.

“Because I’ve just bought you a round. Sit, both of you.” Dropping into the chair, Rome took a swig from his own tankard. “Please accept my abject apologies, gentlemen, in the form of the Cock and Crown’s best.”

The two fellows looked at each other in indecision. Finally, the tall one shrugged, and they both sat down again. The barmaid hurried over with three brimming tankards.

Rome pushed his empty one aside and lifted a new one in toast. “To this beautiful lady,” he said, then drank. The barmaid giggled and hurried away as the two other men awkwardly followed suit.

“Meggie’s a fair one, to be sure,” the skinny one said.

“Best broadside I’ve ever seen.” The bearded
fellow gazed after Meggie, then gave a lusty sigh and took a deep drink of ale. “I see you’ve a fine eye for the ladies, but what brings you to the Crown? It’s clear as day you’re not a regular.”

“Is it?” Rome scowled. “I had thought to blend.”

The skinny one gave a bark of laughter. “Not in that fancy coat.”

“A friend of mine was killed the other night. I had hoped to find out what happened.”

“The nob.” The bearded one nodded, then gestured to his associate. “Reese and I found him, you know.”

“You did?” Rome goggled. “Where? What happened? Did you see who did it?”

“Easy there.” Reese sat back a bit, as if afraid such open emotion would contaminate him. “Let Birch tell you the way of it.”

“We didn’t see a bloody thing.” Birch slurped at his ale, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Reese and I come here every night. We have a pint or two, then head home.”

“That night we stopped in the alley because Birch here had to…how do you nobs say it? Relieve himself, that’s it.”

“And I tripped over the dead bloke,” Birch said. “Near pissed on him.”

“He was just lying there?” Rome asked.

“Aye, just lying there,” Birch confirmed with a nod. “Bleeding all over the street. Reese here checked his pockets—”

“To identify him,” Reese quickly interjected.

“And then the watch came. We had witnesses who saw us here in the Crown all night, else they might have thought it was us who done him.”

“But we didn’t,” Reese said. “We just found him.”

Birch nodded sagely. “Poor blighter.”

Rome took a quick swig of his ale, then slapped the tankard down on the table. “Show me,” he said, his voice rough like a man trying to control his emotions. “Show me where you found my dear friend Dalton.”

Birch awkwardly patted his arm. “Soon as we finish our ale, friend.”

“Birch and Reese found him,” the red-haired doxy was saying. It had taken another coin before Anna discovered her name was Maude. “Those two are at the Cock and Crown every night.”

“I take it you know these men.”

“O’ course I do.” Maude tossed her red curls and gave her a feline grin. “Gave ’em both a ride a time or two when they had the coin.”

Grateful for the veil that hid her blushing cheeks from the other woman, Anna asked, “Do you think they had anything to do with killing him?”

“Birch and Reese?” The harlot gave a cackle. “They’re harmless, those two. Apt to pinch a purse now and again if they get the chance, but that’s just so they can buy more ale.”

“And you didn’t see anyone else around before the body was discovered?”

“I was busy, dearie.” She winked. “I’ve got customers to see to.”

“Of course.” Anna cleared her throat. “Thank you for your time, Maude. I appreciate it.” She held out a couple more silver coins.

“Easiest work I’ve ever done.” The doxy snatched them from Anna’s hand and tucked them away inside her bosom.

“I’m glad you feel that way. Perhaps—”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you.” Maude gave her a grin that suddenly seemed more calculating than friendly. “Was I, lover?”

“No, you weren’t.” A masculine hand clamped down on Anna’s shoulder and spun her around. “What have we here?”

Anna got an impression of a big, brawny, dark-haired man with a pockmarked face silhouetted against the streetlamp. She tried to jerk from the man’s hold, but his grip was like iron. “Let me go!”

“I’m betting we’ve got ourselves a virgin,” Maude said, coming around to stand beside the man. “All them hoity-toity society ladies are virgins.”

“That would be a nice stroke of luck.” Holding Anna firmly by the arm, Maude’s lover ran a huge hand over Anna’s breasts and down along her waist to trace her hip. “Decent teats. If her face ain’t half-bad, we could fetch a pretty price for her.”

“Unhand me!” Anna struggled to free herself,
but she was pinned like a butterfly caught beneath a cat’s paw.

Maude laughed. “Unhand her, do you hear that?”

“You’d best get used to a man’s hands on you, wench,” the man said with a chuckle. “Starting with mine.”

“No!” Anna kicked hard at the man’s shin, startling a bellow out of him, but it didn’t make him release her.

Maude’s expression hardened. “You shouldn’t ought to have done that, you fool. Now you’ve made Graham cross.”

Graham gave her a hard shake, nearly breaking her arm with his grip. “Maybe a beating will teach you to behave.”