Love Between the Lines (24 page)

Lizzy didn’t like the way that woman smiled at Gideon, who was a rat. An attractive, sleek rat.

I
’m the one who should be upset, Lizzy thought. I have been exposed as a liar by the very man who demanded I lie.

“
I’m sure we have much to discuss.” Sir Gideon put his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket and exposing his lean torso in a plain waistcoat. Lizzy jerked her eyes back up to his face and hoped no one had noticed the way she’d ogled.

“
Alas, we cannot stay,” Lady Edith announced. “Thank you for the offer of tea, but we must be going.”

Lord Lutton and his son trailed after her to the door.

Lizzy wasn’t sure what was expected of her as a guest—was she supposed to stay in the chair as Lord Petersly and Sir Gideon escorted everyone else out. Should she stay here alone?

She jumped
up from the chair and followed the others. Lord Ernest politely allowed her to go through the door in front of him. She turned and eyed him, wondering if that vacuous smile could possibly be a clever disguise. “How do you do, Lord Ernest? Do you recall we met at Sir Gideon’s office?” She waited to see if he gave some sign of guilt, although of what she wasn’t sure. He wouldn’t be sending her warnings about himself, would he?

He gave
an elegant bow. “Pleased, and so forth.”

They strolled
behind the others. Soon they’d reach the entrance, and she had to take a chance. “So. Lord Ernest? Have you been reading the newspapers?”

He glanced at
Sir Gideon, who walked with Lady Edith. “Er, some.”

“
Did you happen to see the article about the young lady who was killed in Maida Vale?”

He frowned
in concentration as if she’d ask him to push a heavy rock up a hill. “Don’t think so.”

“
Her body was found just at the edge of the canal. Near a house I think you know. It has a red door and is—”

He
immediately turned pale. “I say, miss, that’s not at all the sort of thing. No, no. That will not do.”

Was that guilt at last? Or merely male sensibilities offended that a female would know of such a house.
He hurried ahead of her, calling, “We’d best hurry, Pater. Don’t want to be late.”

“
Two hours,” Lady Edith said with a voice of exaggerated patience. “Two hours, Ernest. Walk with me a little way, Sir Gideon? Lord Petersly and Miss Drury will not mind, I’m sure.”

The Lutton group
was down the front stairs before Lizzy could ask Ernie any more questions. She stood in the doorway, watching them stroll down the sidewalk. Sir Gideon walked next to his fiancée, his hands clasped behind his back, his spine ramrod straight. He stared down at the pavement, listening to Lady Edith.

The first time
s she’d seen him he’d been lighthearted, amused, enraged. When in the company of Lady Edith, he usually turned into a version of stolid Mr. Brinker. Though for a few minutes, he’d shown himself as outrageous as the man she’d met in New York.

Lord Ernest glanced back at Lizzy
. She smiled and gave a little wave of her fingers. He looked away at once. The fool knew something, and she’d find out how he was related to that house and to those poor women.

The
elation of the hunt filled her. What had the police found? How much would they require for bribes? Oyster might know already. She’d check the records as soon as possible. And she’d find a way to interview Lord Ernest alone—with Oyster nearby.

“
You should get rid of Langham.” A low voice spoke in her ear. Petersly had sneaked up on her. Really, she must have been distracted by her thoughts to allow him to get so close to her. He said, “I don’t know what you see in him.”

She stepped away from him and the door
. “My salary.”

“
Pshaw. I have eyes and more intelligence than a turnip. I can see you gaping at him.” He eyed her up and down. “He treats you badly. You have brains enough to understand that you’d do much better with me. We’d have a jolly time together. And
I’m
not engaged to a lady who won’t tolerate any sort of hanky-panky.”

Lizzy heaved a sigh. She
’d thought him an intelligent man, but now he’d dropped to the level of a drunkard propositioning her on the street. “You seem to have lost all your polish, Lord Petersly.”

“
I want you. And I’m tired of playing games.”

“
You? Tired of games?”

“
I don’t know your rules. You have me confused.” He grasped her arm. If he pulled her to him, she’d stomp on his foot—but he only held her forearm lightly.

“
I’m not that confusing, Lord Petersly. I don’t prevaricate.”

“
All right, if you don’t hide the truth, you mentioned salary. Tell me the bottom line. What is your price?”

“
Price?” For a moment, she didn’t understand. And then she lost her temper. Not only because he insulted her—he simply didn’t listen. She yanked away her arm. “How many times must I tell you that I am not a strumpet? I am a reporter.”

“
Hell.” Sir Gideon had returned. For a moment, he glared at Lizzy and then Petersly. And then he walked over to Lord Petersly and struck him on the jaw so hard the man fell over.

Petersly landed on his rear on the floor with a clatter and an
oomph
. He cursed and rubbed his face. “Damn it, Langham.” He growled and scrambled to his feet. “We’ll have this out here and now.”

“
No, you won’t,” Lizzy said. “You’re done. We’re done.”

Petersly glowered.
“We are to go to tea with—”

“
No,” Sir Gideon said, still breathing hard. “Miss Drury has persuaded me that the society series will not suit my publications.” He peeled off his glove and rubbed his knuckles. “You are done with her.”

Petersly moved his jaw side to side, gingerly touching the side of his face.

“Lord Petersly, is anything broken? Will you need a doctor?” she asked.

He shook his head.
“No, dear
cousin
. I think not.”

“
Then I should try again,” Langham snarled. “Goddamn you, Petersly.”

Lizzy looked around. If servants had been watching, they
’d vanished by now. She advanced on Sir Gideon to stop him from lunging at Petersly again, and she stood between the two men, her back to Petersly.

Langham
watched her. He wore a small smile as if he’d never felt the heat of rage. Those hazel eyes sparkled as they met hers. As if he wasn’t engaged to another woman. Her longing for him, all the nonsense between them, infuriated her. He’d fought two men for her today, and she hadn’t required or wanted him to attack either of them.

Why didn
’t he stop acting as her knight and start behaving as an employer? Why couldn’t he have been fat and comfortable?

She stopped trying to hold in the rage.
“No. Goddamn
you
, Sir Gideon.” The curse felt odd in her mouth, but she liked the way it tasted. It relieved some of the ache deep in her chest. “I have had enough of your dramas, gentlemen. I amreturning to work no
w
.
M
y
—
” She started to say
honest work
, but that wasn’t entirely true, so she finished with, “my real work, which is only as underhanded, amoral, and disreputable as is necessary.”

Lizzy turned
from Gideon and walked out the front door.

Langham House had rabbit warrens and passageways and enough room that she might do her work without ever encountering her employer again.
She counted on that.

She had planned to sulk or look for a fast assignment, but instead she found a note at the office with her name on it. Heart beating fast, she flipped it open. She felt a wave of disappointment—the handwriting on this didn’t resemble the writing on the anonymous note or the instructions they’d found on Smith. The stationary had a Barnes Asylum imprint on it and an unfamiliar name at the bottom.

It took her several moments to recall
Clark was the man who’d offered to sell her information. She took a seat at her desk and wrote questions she had for him while she waited for Oyster’s return from trailing Smith. If he didn’t get back soon, perhaps she’d hire a copyboy to walk with her to the appointment.

Oyster came back to the paper less than an ho
ur later. “Smith lives in Whitechapel. Found his hidey-hole too. He got drunk. He admitted he’d followed that guy who employed him. I think he’s scared.”

“Of Sir Gideon?”

“Dunno.” He sat on the edge of the desk, which groaned under his weight. “What next?”

She
picked up the note from the Barnes Asylum and flapped it. “We’ll go meet this Clark in an hour after he leaves work at the madhouse. I think we should go to a public house.”

He shook his head.
“Not good for females.”

“
I’ve seen some.”

He shook his head again.

She ignored him and pulled out the list of descriptions and names of the men who’d gone into the bordello. Benjamin the printerhad some interesting description
s
—
“White with pale hair and protuberant eyes and a nervous giggle.” She suspected that was Lord Ernest, again.

“
Why me?” she said to no one in particular. “Why put me on the trail of Miss Miles and Lord Ernest and the brothel? What am I supposed to find?”

“
That murdered girl too.” Apparently Oyster had forgiven her for ignoring his warning about the public house. He pulled out a knife and began cleaning his nails.

She pulled
the copy of the morning paper from under his rear. The story was on the bottom half of the front page.

The
murdered girl had been identified as a Londoner and the description of her appearance conjured a version of Lizzy with longer hair. The poor girl had had several fingers of both hands cut off.

The
prickly sensation she felt as she read the article had to be a response to all the nonsense she’d received from men this morning, starting with Smith and ending with Petersly and Langham. The thought of Langham made her heart hiccup, and she sighed.

“
Most men are such nuisances. Perhaps I should marry you,” she said to Oyster.

“
I ain’t such a fool to ask,” he said as usual, and continued to clean his nails.

They stood at the corner under a gas lamp as Clark had instructed. Still in his gray asylum uniform, he strode past them. Lizzy and Oyster followed him into a tea shop, an oddly feminine choice for the hulking attendant.

Clark went to the far end of the shop and sat at a table facing them, wa
tching Lizzy. Oyster nodded at her and, after making a slow circle looking up and down, settled at the table closest to the door.

Lizzy joined Clark.
“Good afternoon. Why didn’t you simply arrange to meet here?”

“
I didn’t know I was going to miss my meal. The inmates are stirred up, and it’s all because of that young lady, Miss Miles. She’s taken to screaming again. Here, give me my money and I’ll tell you something you’ll want to hear. I figured it out—what all the screaming is about.”

He put his hand, broad palm up, on the chintz tablecloth.

She handed over a pound, which seemed to satisfy him.

“
It was your name,” he said as he pocketed the pound note.

“
Pardon?”

“
Garvey was talking to someone about how Trudy Tildon was writing an article, and Miss Miles started in with the screams. We calmed her down, but Garvey, he was the one what watched her with you that day you visited, said she’d started in just as he’d said Miss Tildon when you were there. So we waited a bit, and I said ‘Trudy Tildon’ again.” He grinned as if thoroughly pleased with himself. “And she starts sobbing again. Your name does it like”—he snapped his finger
s
—
“that.”

The thin
, dolorous woman in charge of the shop came to the table at last, pushing a trolley of cakes and teacups with a large urn perched on the top. She plunked down two mismatched cups and waited for the rest of the order. Clark pointed at four different slices. Lizzy said no to any other refreshment.

After she served Clark, the tea-shop lady made her slow, sad way to Oyster.

“Do you have any idea why this happens?” Lizzy asked. “Does Miss Miles say anything else?”

He shoveled half the cream cake into his mouth and only shook his head. After gulping down some tea, he wiped his mouth.
“Poor thing just cries and trembles and tells us we’ll all bring on trouble. I been on duty for two days and nights straight and tried it any number of times. She got exhausted and by the time I left only trembled when I said Miss Tildon.”