In the Barrister's Chambers (15 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

BOOK: In the Barrister's Chambers
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Jack sat back in his chair. “And that is?”
“Randolph Sheldon interrupted the murderer, causing him to flee out of the window. Based on how you described the murder scene—the bedroom ransacked and violently torn apart—the diary may still be in Bess Whitfield's London home.”
Realization dawned. “You're right. I need to search it.”
“Will Lady Evelyn go with you?” Devlin asked, a cynical twist to his lips.
“Knowing her stubborn nature, I would guess yes,” Jack said.
“Have you bedded her yet? It would be easier on you if you exorcised your lust,” Devlin said.
“Ignore Devlin, Jack. He's an ass,” Brent said. “Just continue to follow my earlier advice: Work hard and you won't have time to think of her in a lasvicious nature.”
“You're both daft,” Anthony muttered. “Since when does lust have to complicate anything? Jack can have a tumble without losing his legal head.”
Brent scowled at Anthony. “Your matrimonial and divorce cases have skewed your beliefs. It's obvious you've never cared for or fallen in love with a woman.”
“And you have? Your total lack of female companionship tells a different story,” Anthony said.
Jack rolled his eyes. Despite their cutthroat words, they enjoyed taunting each other like close brothers.
But they did give him a new idea: To search Bess Whitfield's London lodgings. And Evelyn
would
insist she come along. He should be annoyed, troubled by her anticipated interference, but instead his pulse pounded in anticipation.
He couldn't wait to see her again.
 
 
Jack departed soon after finishing his ale. Devlin waved at the barmaid and ordered three more tankards and he, Anthony, and Brent discussed what Jack had told them.
“What's Lady Evelyn like?” James Devlin asked the two barristers that had already met her.
Brent shrugged. “I only spoke with her once at the Old Bailey. As the daughter of a barrister, she was familiar with her surroundings and understood the meaning of
pro bono,
but on the other hand she seemed surprised when I said Jack volunteered his services for the poor.”
“You think she's after his money?” Devlin asked.
“Hardly,” Brent said, shaking his head. “Emmanuel Darlington inherited an earldom and all the estates that came along with it. And he was a successful barrister before then. No, I believe she is completely genuine and naïve and believes a poor scholar accused of murder would make a good husband.”
Devlin looked to Anthony. “What about you? What do you think about her?”
“She's more than just a beautiful woman. She has spark. I think Jack's taken by her already, the poor fool,” Anthony said.
“Why do you say that?” Devlin asked.
Anthony leaned back in his chair. “She's more trouble than most. Not only is there this murder business to resolve, but she's smart, stubborn, and independent. Combined with her looks, she's a force to be reckoned with. It will be interesting to see how Jack handles her.”
“There's more than Jack's heart to worry about here. From what I understand, both Lady Evelyn and her father could be in danger,” Brent said.
Anthony crossed his arms over his chest. “It's a possibility. But the further Jack digs into the murder, the chances are he could be in danger as well.”
Chapter 23
Weeks passed and yet the glorious memory of the slaughter did not fade. Rather it was like costly whiskey strengthening over time.
The killer circled his desk in his private room when the pounding in his head began anew. Holding his temples, he dropped to his knees, taking in great gulps of air. It didn't help. The pain heightened, threatening to crack his skull in two, roaring like an infernal beast.
Time was running out.
He had to find that diary.
It was the key to the power that he craved and coveted.
But in his enemies' hands, it was the weapon that could cause him to lose all that he had attained.
At first, Bess had denied all existence of the diary. Once, when he had surprised her in her bedroom, he had caught her writing by candlelight at her escritoire. When she had noticed him, she had slammed the plain, nondescript cover shut and shoved it away. But it was too late; he had known of its existence.
Even with her death, the thought of the diary in its hiding place taunted him.
He needed to finish what he started. Get his hands on that diary, and use it to blackmail his rivals. Then he needed to replace Bess Whitfield with another. The magnificent, blond female who wouldn't dare lie to him—whom he could easily control with pain and fear.
 
 
“You want to search where?”
“Bess Whitfield's home in Mayfair. It is a four-story building with tenants on the second, third, and fourth floors. My sources say the second floor Bess had been renting has not been inhabited since her murder.”
Evelyn looked at Jack. Hodges had announced Jack's arrival a half hour earlier, and when she had entered the drawing room, she had found him gazing out the window overlooking the street. Her eyes had immediately been drawn to his broad shoulders straining against the meticulous cut of his mss-colored jacket. His trousers fit like a second skin over muscled thighs. And when he had turned and smiled, she felt a curious swooping pull at her innards.
Just like a breathless girl again, she had been excited at the prospect that Jack Harding had come to see her.
“Well? What do you think, Evie?” he asked.
She became aware of Jack's stare, waiting for her response. He sat in a winged-back chair, his long legs crossed before him, and she occupied the settee across from him. Gathering her wayward thoughts, she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her skirt.
“I'm not surprised that the landlord is having difficulty finding a new tenant considering a woman was savagely stabbed to death in her bedroom,” she said.
“It's to our advantage. There is a good possibility that the diary is still there.”
“But Randolph said the place was torn asunder. Surely the murderer found what he was looking for,” she argued.
“I had originally believed that as well, but after speaking with Anthony Stevens, I realize we may have prematurely jumped to the incorrect conclusion.”
“What do you mean?”
“Randolph said that he had received an urgent note to go to Bess's home to receive ‘an item of great importance. ' When he arrived, the door was ajar and the housekeeper was absent. As he looked about the vestibule, a loud noise sounded from upstairs, and when he investigated, he found Bess's body. By then he heard the constable and panicked. The window was already open and he climbed down the trellis. The noise Randolph heard on the second floor must have been the murderer escaping through the window moments before Randolph had come upstairs. Randolph interrupted the murderer's search, and there is a good chance the diary was never found.”
“I want to go with you.”
“I had a feeling you would insist. But still—”
“Bess's lodgings are vacant. There is no threat to my safety. I told you from the beginning that I want to be actively involved in any investigation on behalf of Randolph's case. Short of tying me down, I insist on going with you.”
His jade eyes darkened with an unreadable emotion. “Believe me, Evie, the image is quite tempting.”
She felt her cheeks grow hot, but she refused to be waylaid. “Two people can search faster than one, remember?”
“Trust me when I say that I haven't forgotten Viscount Hamilton's library escapade. But this time, I don't want you sneaking up on me. Since the place is vacant, there will be no anticipated danger of discovery.”
“How do you plan to get inside?” she asked.
“That will be the easy part, and I assure you I will not need the services of one of my lock pick clients.”
“You have represented professional burglars, then?”
“Of course. I do not discriminate on the type of criminals I represent. I take pride in my work.”
Her brow furrowed. “You must be jesting.”
He shrugged. “Only partly.” He held up a hand when she made to argue. “Don't fret, Evie. I spoke with Bess's landlord and made inquiries as to the availability of the home. He thinks I'm an interested renter and is more than happy to loan me the key to take a look around. The most challenging aspect will be for you to accompany me without Janet trailing as your chaperone.”
Evelyn smiled a secret smile. “Don't worry about that, Jack. At my age, I know how to dodge an unwanted chaperone with no one the wiser.”
Chapter 24
It was a simple matter. While Janet and Mrs. Smith were occupied cataloging the pantry, Evelyn slipped out the back door of the kitchen and cut through the garden to the main street. Walking swiftly, she flagged down a hackney and soon was in Mayfair. As Jack had instructed, she told the driver to stop across the street from Bess Whitfield's home.
Evelyn paid the driver, stepped from the cab, and studied the four-story brick building across the way. It looked like many others in Mayfair with its flower boxes and sturdy brick façade. The only difference was that a brutal murder had occurred inside its walls.
She shivered despite the warm May afternoon.
“Evie!”
She whirled around as Jack stepped from an alley behind her.
“I take it you had no difficulty on your journey here and that no one questioned your leaving?” he asked.
“They'll never notice me gone.”
He smiled and offered her his arm. “Shall we, then?”
They crossed the street and stood on the porch, but instead of using a key as she had anticipated, Jack pulled out two thin rods from his sleeve—one straight and one with a slight hook—and inserted them into the lock.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.
“Lower your voice and act as if you own the place,” he said in a low, composed voice.
It took every ounce of willpower not to turn around and see if they were being observed. “Are you picking the lock? What happened to the landlord happy to show you the place?” she whispered vehemently.
“I was told an urgent family matter arose, and he had to leave town. I saw no need to wait for his return.”
A second later, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. With a firm hand low on her back, Jack ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.
Dimness surrounded her, and a musky scent permeated the space. Evelyn blinked, her eyes adjusting from the bright afternoon sunlight to the poor lighting inside the small vestibule. She looked about, noting the heavy velvet curtains drawn closed at every window.
“Where are the tenants on the third and fourth floors? This place appears uninhabited.”
“They've all left since Bess's murder.”
Jack cracked open the drapes, permitting just enough light to see, without alerting the neighbors of their presence. She could make out the flocked leaf pattern of the wallpaper. A staircase loomed ahead.
“You had said Bess rented the second floor. Where should we start there?” she asked.
“In Bess's bedroom. It's where the murderer had last searched before Randolph's arrival.”
She nodded and followed Jack. The stairs creaked as they ascended to the second floor, and Evelyn made a conscious effort to stay an arm's length from Jack. Shadows flickered off the flocked walls—spooky images like dancing specters. Despite knowing that the building was vacant and that Jack was close by, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
They reached the second-floor landing and faced a closed door. A brass plate on the door labeled with a large
B
identified it as Bess Whitfield's lodgings. Before she could ask, Jack pulled out his lock picks and got to work.
He really was skilled at it, she thought, for within less than five seconds, they were inside.
Unlike the velvet curtains downstairs, Bess's quarters had been decorated with Venetian lace at the windows, and plenty of sunlight illuminated the interior. Most of the furniture had been removed. Only a few select pieces remained, and Evelyn suspected they were the better pieces that the landlord had retained when Bess's only living kin, Randolph Sheldon, had never showed up to claim them. They consisted of a settee of gold fabric beneath the window, a small dining table of solid workmanship with matching chairs, and small vases and collectibles artfully displayed on a bookshelf.
Noticeably absent were any books or reading material of any kind, and Evelyn assumed that Bess Whitfield hadn't a care or use for them.
How odd,
Evelyn thought,
that Randolph, who was obsessed with books would have grown close to a woman who had no interest in them.
The hardwood floors gleamed from a recent cleaning and the smell of lemon polish filled the air. A bucket and mop rested in the corner, and it was clear that the landlord had made efforts to clean and stage the place to attract a new tenant and compensate for the fact that a heinous crime had occurred here.
“The bedroom must be in here,” Jack said as he opened the first door on the left.
She walked inside, and a canopy bed with a missing mattress met her eyes. Evelyn recalled Randolph's description of the crime scene, how the mattress had been sliced down the center in search of what they now suspected was the diary. Here the floors did not gleam, but a dark stain in the center of the room drew the eye. A large bottle of white vinegar and a scrub brush rested by the stain—additional proof that the landlord was trying to remove evidence of the murder.
Her hand fluttered to her chest.
This was where Bess Whitfield bled out.
Evelyn could imagine the blood splatter on the white walls and curtains . . . the gruesome killing as Randolph had described it.
No wonder Randolph ran! If I walked in on a murder victim, would I have the fortitude to stay and explain myself?
She had always believed Randolph was wrong in fleeing out the window and climbing down the trellis, but now she wasn't certain she would have done otherwise.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked.
She looked away, at the frame where a large mattress should be. “I . . . I was just thinking. Maybe Randolph's reaction in fleeing wasn't that . . . that cowardly.”
Jack's hand cupped her elbow, and he turned her around. “People react differently under stressful conditions. But knowing you, I don't believe you would have run, Evie.”
Her eyes snapped to his face, and her heart pounded an erratic rhythm. There was some tangible bond between them at the moment that was frightening.
“Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think,” she whispered.
His lips twisted in a smile. “In this, I'm sure. You wouldn't run from a challenge, but would fight till the end. Randolph Sheldon has no idea how fortunate he is to have a woman like you stand by his side.”
His nearness, his words, kindled strong feelings of warmth. Her heart fluttered wildly in her breast.
“Come, Evie. Let's search this place and be gone.”
She blinked, coming to her senses. “What should we look for? It's obvious that the landlord cleaned the place. Do you think he found it?”
“I don't think it was kept out in the open. Bess Whitfield was not stupid. She was cunning and would have hidden her diary where it would be least suspected.”
“I take it we're to look for hidden compartments again?”
He flashed a grin. “You catch on quickly, Evie. Perhaps you should consider a future as an investigator for hire.”
At his humor, the tension in her shoulders eased a notch. “An unlikely occupation for a woman, Jack. I can only imagine my father's reaction.”
She eyed a closet and a tall chest of drawers in the back of the room. She decided to search the chest first and walked over and opened the top drawer. Empty. Knowing the landlord had been through the place, she wasn't surprised, but she checked the others just to be sure. All were bare. Starting over with the top drawer, she ran her fingers along each edge, searching for a crevice or nook out of place, but found nothing.
The sound of a chair dragging across the wood floor drew her attention. She turned to see Jack stand on the chair and reach up to the corner of the ceiling.
“There's a patched seam,” he said.
Slipping a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, Jack pulled out a small pocket knife. She watched as he inserted the knife into the seam and began to chip away. Bits of plaster fell on his head, and soon a small crevice became visible. Evelyn was surprised at Bess Whitfield's ingenuity. A thick coat of plaster could easily conceal such a clever hiding place. An ordinary person would miss it, and only someone with a sharp eye like Jack's could catch it.
Jack reached inside the crevice. His brow furrowed in concentration as his fingers searched inside. “Damn. It's empty.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“There's nothing here. She must have moved the diary and plastered over the crevice.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She must have feared it would be discovered,” Jack said as he stepped down from the chair.
“It all makes sense now. No wonder Bess wanted to give the diary to Randolph, her only living kin, for safekeeping. She was murdered before she could tell him where she hid it.”
The distinct noise of a door closing downstairs and the sounds of the stairs creaking jerked their heads around.
“Someone's here. We have to leave,” she whispered urgently.
Jack shook his head. “No time. In the closet. Now.”
He took her by the arm, jerked open the closet door, and thrust her inside. He stepped in but left the door slightly ajar.
It was a small, cramped space with shelves on both sides. The cracked door allowed a thin shaft of illumination. Lily sachets could be dimly seen, hanging from overhead hooks and filled the space with a cloying, flowery scent. Evelyn was pressed close to Jack, aware of his strength and warmth.
Heavy footsteps echoed off the hardwood floors, coming closer. Her heart thundered in her chest and perspiration trickled between her breasts. She strained to see, all the while praying the intruder stayed out of the bedroom.
But the footsteps came closer, stopping on the threshold.
Jack pressed a finger to his lips, warning her to keep quiet, a moment before the intruder entered the bedroom. Jack shifted to the side, and she saw his pocket knife clenched in his fist.
Evelyn bit her lower lip to stay silent.
Through the small crack, she was able to make out a face.
Viscount Hamilton.
Dear Lord, what is he doing here?
The question barely registered in her mind before he spotted the chips of plaster on the floor beneath the chair Jack had used. Hamilton strode to the corner and looked up at the damaged ceiling. But instead of investigating the revealed hiding place, he whirled around to face the closet.
Icy fear twisted around her heart.
She was certain he would march over to the closet and tear the door open.
Hamilton strode forward with purpose, but stopped short in the center of the room. Standing in apparent contemplation, he rocked back and forth on his feet.
Her mind whirled, wondering what he was doing, and then she heard it: a creaky floorboard.
Hamilton dropped to his knees, withdrew a chisel from his coat pocket, and began to pry up the board.
He worked for a full minute, curses tumbling from his lips, until the board came loose, snapping in half, the sound reverberating like a gunshot off the bare walls.
Evelyn watched as he reached down below the floor. He's looking for the diary!
More curses, louder this time, and he withdrew his hand.
Empty.
Hamilton's face turned a mottled shade of red, his nostrils flaring with fury. A vein in his forehead swelled like a thick snake. His mustache twitched, and he slammed the chisel on the floor. Muttering beneath his breath, he rose, picked up the chisel, and stomped out of the room.
Seconds later, they heard another door open down the hall.
Jack opened the closet door and took her hand. “Quick. Before he returns.”
She followed Jack out of the bedroom and they crept past another room where Hamilton was on all fours, his back to them, as he pried another floorboard loose.
Together they fled Bess's second-floor lodgings, and Evelyn rushed down the stairs behind Jack. Holding her skirts high, her heart pounded so loudly she feared Hamilton would hear it.
The vestibule came into view. Almost there . . .
Halfway down the stairs, she tripped, a surprised screech escaping her. Jack's reflexes were lightning quick, and he whirled around to steady her.
For a heartbeat they stared at each other. Then the dreadful sound of pounding footsteps above.
Hamilton was in pursuit.
They flew down the remaining steps, and Jack opened the front door. But instead of hurrying outside, he turned around and dragged her into the far corner. Pulling her into his arms, he covered her with his body and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

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