The Paid Companion (23 page)

“Aye, sir. You said I was to tell ye if anyone came to see him. Well, someone did. A gentleman went to his lodgings not two hours past. He waited there until Ibbitts returned from a tavern. They were private for a time. After a while, the visitor left. Had a hackney waiting in the street.”

A cold mist sleeted through Arthur’s veins. “Did you get a look at Ibbitts’s visitor?” he asked in a voice that made Hitchins raise his brows.

“No, sir. I was not close enough to see his face. Nor did he notice me. You told me that I was not to let anyone know that I was watching Ibbitts.”

“What can you tell me about his visitor?”

Hitchins’s face scrunched in deep concentration. “As I said, he arrived in a hack. The light was bad, but I could see that he had on a cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. When he left he was in a great hurry.”

Arthur realized that Elenora was following the conversation very intently.

“You’re certain the visitor was a man, Mr. Hitchins?” she asked.

“Aye,” Hitchins said. “I could tell that from the way he moved.”

“What of Ibbitts?” Arthur asked. “Did he leave his lodgings again?”

“No, sir. As far as I know, he’s still inside. I went around to the back of the building and checked the window. There’s no light inside. Expect he went to bed.”

Arthur glanced at Elenora. “I will see you home and then I will pay a call on Ibbitts. I intend to find out everything I can about his visitor this evening.”

“What if he will not tell you the truth?” she asked.

“I do not think it will be difficult to get Ibbitts to talk,” he said calmly. “I know his sort. All I need do is offer him money.”

“It is quite unnecessary to escort me back to Rain Street before you talk to Ibbitts,” Elenora said quickly. “Indeed, it would be a great waste of time. The streets are clogged with traffic and the journey will no doubt cause you a considerable delay.”

“I do not think-” he began.

She did not allow him to finish. “It is the most reasonable course of action under the circumstances. I can see that you are eager to interview Ibbitts. There is no reason why I cannot accompany you.”

“She’s got a point, sir,” Hitchins offered helpfully.

They were right, Arthur knew. Nevertheless, had Elenora been any other lady of his acquaintance, he would not have even considered taking her into that part of town. But she was not any other female. Elenora would not faint at the sight of a drunken tavern patron in the street or a prostitute plying her trade in an alley. Between Jenks, Hitchins and himself, she would be quite safe.

“Very well,” he finally agreed, “provided you give me your word that you will remain in the carriage while I speak with Ibbitts.”

“But I might be of some assistance in the interview.”

“You will not enter Ibbitts’s lodgings, and that is final.”

She did not look pleased, but she did not argue. “We are wasting time, sir.”

“Indeed we are.” He shifted position on the seat. “Come with us, Hitchins.”

“Aye, sir.” Hitchins hauled himself up into the carriage and sat down.

Arthur gave the address to Jenks. He then turned down the interior carriage lamps and lowered the curtains so that no one in a passing carriage could see Elenora.

“It was a brilliant notion to set Mr. Hitchins to watch Ibbitts, sir” she said.

Arthur almost smiled. The glowing admiration in her voice was absurdly gratifying.

22

The carriage clattered to a halt in the darkened street outside Ibbitts’s lodgings some thirty minutes later. Elenora had been correct about the traffic, Arthur thought, following Hitchins out of the vehicle. Escorting her back to the house in Rain Street would have cost him upward of an hour in lost time.

Before closing the door of the carriage, he looked back at her, intending to remind her of her vow to remain in the vehicle.

“Be careful, Arthur,” she said before he could speak. Her face was pale in the deep shadows cast by the hood of her domino. “I do not like the feel of this situation.”

The urgency in her voice took him by surprise. He studied her as she sat in the darkness. Until this moment she had seemed quite calm and utterly sure of herself. This attack of nerves surprised him.

“Do not be anxious,” he said quietly. “Jenks and Hitchins will watch over you.”

“It is not my safety that I am concerned about.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “It is just that for some reason I have developed a very nasty feeling about this business. Please do not go in there alone. I do not need the protection of both men. I beg you to take one of them with you.”

“I have my pistol.”

“Pistols are notorious for misfiring at inopportune moments.”

This show of unease was uncharacteristic of her, he thought. He did not have time to talk her out of her agitation. It was easier to placate her.

“Very well, if it will soothe your nerves I will take Hitchins with me and leave Jenks to guard you and the carriage.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Her relief and gratitude worried him more than anything she had said.

He closed the door of the carriage and looked at Jenks. “Give us a lantern. Hitchins and I will go inside. You will stay here to watch Miss Lodge.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Jenks handed down one of the lanterns.

Hitchins lit the lamp and then took a wicked-looking knife out of a deep pocket.

Arthur glanced at the gleaming blade. “Kindly keep that concealed unless it becomes absolutely necessary to employ it.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” Hitchins obligingly slipped the knife into its hidden sheath. “Ibbitts’s lodgings are upstairs at the back.”

Arthur led the way into a dingy front hall. No crack of light showed under the door of the single ground-floor room.

“A couple of tavern girls live there,” Hitchins explained. “Saw them leave several hours ago. They won’t be back until near dawn, like as not.”

Arthur nodded and went swiftly up the steps. Hitchins followed close behind with the lantern.

The short upstairs hail lay shrouded in intense darkness. Hitchins raised the lantern. The weak yellow glare fell upon a closed door.

Arthur crossed the hall, made a fist and knocked sharply.

There was no response.

He tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. Too easily.

He knew then that Elenora’s apprehension had been well warranted. There was something very wrong here.

He opened the door.

The stench of spilled blood, burnt powder and death wafted out of the darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Hitchins whispered.

Arthur took the lantern from him and held it higher. The flaring light fell across the body on the floor. A portion of Ibbitts’s face had been destroyed, but there was more than enough left to confirm his identity. The blood on the front of his shirt made it clear that he had been shot twice.

“Whoever the villain was, he wanted to make certain of his work,” Arthur said quietly.

“Aye, that he did.” Hitchins glanced around the small space. “Looks like there was a bit of a struggle.”

Arthur studied the overturned chair. “Yes.” He walked closer to the body. The light glared on the blade of a knife that lay near Ibbitts’s outflung arm. “He tried to defend himself”

“No blood on his blade.” Hitchins made a tut-tutting sound. “He missed his target, poor bastard. Didn’t even nick the villain.”

Arthur crouched to take a closer look at the knife. As Hitchins had noted, there was no trace of blood. Several long, black threads were caught at the end where the blade was attached to the hilt.

“Looks like he snagged the killer’s coat.”

He straightened, an edgy dread tightening his innards. He thought of Elenora waiting downstairs in the carriage and turned immediately toward the door.

“Come, Hitchins, we must be off. We shall arrange for the authorities to be notified anonymously about this death. Whatever happens, I do not want Miss Lodge’s name involved. Is that understood?”

“Aye, m’lord.” Hitchins followed him out the door. “Set your mind at ease, sir. I’ve got too much respect for Miss Lodge to see her troubled in any way. She’s been through enough.”

The admiration in Hitchins’s voice was genuine. Arthur was certain that the Runner could be trusted in this affair.

He went quickly down the stairs, cursing himself with each step. He had been a fool to let Elenora convince him to bring her along. It was one thing for her to risk being seen with him in a less-than-pristine part of town. The worst that could result was a bit of scandalized talk that would do no great harm.

It would be another matter altogether if someone noticed her sitting in a carriage in front of the scene of a murder.

When he and Hitchins reached the front hall, he turned down the lamp before moving outside.

“Do not run,” he said to Hitchins. “But for God’s sake, do not dawdle.”

“Wasn’t planning to take my time, sir.”

They stepped outside and went quickly to the waiting carriage. Hitchins bounded up onto the box to join Jenks. Arthur heard him explaining the situation in low tones.

Jenks had the vehicle in motion before Arthur got the door closed.

“What’s wrong?” Elenora demanded.

“Ibbitts is dead.” He dropped down onto the seat across from her. “Murdered.”

“Dear heaven.” She hesitated a second. “The man Hitchins saw earlier? The one who waited for Ibbitts and then left in a great hurry?”

“Most likely.”

“But who would kill Ibbitts, and why?”

“I suspect the villain got the information he wanted and then decided that death was the only way to keep Ibbitts quiet.”

He kept the pistol in his hand and watched the street, searching each darkened doorway, trying to make out the shapes in the shadows. Was the killer still here, lurking in an alley, perhaps? Had he seen Elenora?

“Well, this certainly seems to prove that someone, is, indeed, aware that you are investigating your great-uncle’s murder,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” He tightened his grip on the pistol. “This affair has become a game of hide-and-seek. If only Hitchins had gotten a closer look at the villain when he entered and left Ibbitts’s lodgings.”

“Was there no clue left at the scene of the murder?”

“I did not take time to conduct a thorough search. The only thing that was obvious was that Ibbitts tried to defend himself with his knife.”

“Ah, did he cut the villain, do you think?” Enthusiasm laced her voice. “If he managed to wound his attacker, there may be some hope.”

“Unfortunately, I fear that he only snagged the killer’s cloak. There were a few black threads stuck to the knife, but no blood.”

There was a strange silence from the opposite seat.

“Black threads?” Elenora repeated in an odd voice. “From a long cloak?”

“Yes. I suspect there was a struggle and Ibbitts’s blade got tangled in the fabric. But I cannot see where that information will aid us. If only there were another witness.”

Elenora took an audible breath. “I think there may well be another witness, sir.”

“Who, pray tell?”

“Me,” she whispered, sounding rather stunned. “I believe that I may have danced with the killer very soon after he committed the murder.”

23

She sat in the chair nearest the fire, trying to warm herself while Arthur paced the width of the library. She could feel the restless, prowling energy radiating from him.

“You are certain about the rip in his cloak?” he demanded.

“Yes. Quite certain.” She held her hands out to the blaze, but for some reason the heat did not seem to penetrate very far into the room. “My fingers brushed against it.”

The great house was hushed and dark, except for the fire that burned here in the library. Arthur had not awakened any of the servants. Margaret had not returned.

Arthur had said very little after she had delivered her startling news. The journey home had been conducted in near silence. She knew that he had spent the time pondering the information she had supplied, no doubt drawing up theories and arriving at possible conclusions. She had respected his deep concentration.

But as soon as they walked into the front hall, he had escorted her into the library and lit the fire.

“We must talk,” he had said, tossing his black domino across the back of a chair.

“Yes.”

Arthur unknotted his cravat with quick, impatient fingers and allowed the neckcloth to hang carelessly down the front of his jacket. He began to prowl the room.

“Did you comment upon his torn garment?” he asked.

“No. I said nothing about it. In truth, I did not wish to carry on a conversation with him.” She shuddered. “At that point, it was my great desire to be finished with the dance as quickly as possible.”

“He did not speak to you?”

“Not a single word.” She caught her lip between her teeth, thinking back to the scene in the ballroom. “I suspect he did not want to provide me with such a significant clue to his identity.”

Arthur shrugged out of both his coat and waistcoat and dropped the garments on top of a round pedestal table.

She took a deep breath and concentrated very intently on the flames. The man did not appear to realize that he was practically undressing in front of her.

Calm yourself, she thought. Arthur was merely making himself comfortable. A gentleman had a perfect right to do so in the privacy of his own home. His mind was clearly on murder, not passion. He did not realize the effect he was having on her nerves.

“That could mean that you have met him somewhere else.”

Arthur continued. “He may have feared that you would recognize him if he spoke.”

“Yes, it’s quite possible. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I’m quite sure that I have never before danced with him.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

She risked another glance at him. He was still moving about the room with the restless energy of a caged lion.

“It is difficult to explain,” she said. “When he first came toward me through the crowd, I thought he was you.”

That brought Arthur to a halt. “What the devil made you believe that?”

“He wore the same style of domino and a mask that was almost identical to yours.”