To Taste Temptation (15 page)

The room was suddenly too small, too close, too smelly. He turned, stumbling, and nearly ran from the room. He tumbled ungracefully down the stairs and out into the light. Even this grimy courtyard was better than the death room upstairs. Sam took deep breaths, trying to still the rolling nausea in his belly, aware as he made his way back into the narrow alleyway that Vale clattered behind him.

“He could’ve been killed by anyone, living in this cesspit,” the viscount panted.

“Maybe.” Sam felt a grudging gratitude that the other man didn’t mention his ignoble retreat. “Or perhaps I was followed here before. The man who was trailing me had a bone-handled knife.”

Vale sighed. “Then Sergeant Allen must’ve known something.”

“Christ.” Sam stopped. “I should’ve come back sooner.”

Vale looked at him a moment and then tipped his head back to stare at the small patch of blue overhead. “There were so many.”

Sam stared. “What?”

“Do you remember Tommy Pace?”

A memory of a young lad—too young to have told the truth about his age—came to Sam. Freckled cheeks, dark hair, a small wiry frame.

“He used to pretend to shave,” Vale said dreamily. “Did you know that? He probably had all of three whiskers on his chin, and every morning he’d be stropping his razor, so proud.”

“He won the razor off Ted Barnes.”

“No.” Vale looked at him. “I didn’t know that.”

Sam nodded. “In a card game. It was part of the reason Tommy was so proud of the thing.”

Vale chuckled. “And Barnes had such a heavy beard. That’s irony for you.”

There was silence as they both contemplated this old gossip. A rodent scurried into the shadows near a doorway.

“And now they’re both dust in the ground,” Vale said softly, “along with all the rest.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Sam pivoted and resumed walking back to the carriage.

Vale strolled a little behind him. The alley wasn’t wide enough for two men to walk abreast.

“If they were betrayed, we’ll avenge them. All of them,” Vale said conversationally.

Sam nodded, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Where do we go now?” Vale asked.

“Dick Thornton. Perhaps he’s returned to his place of work. We need to question him.”

“Glad you agree.” The viscount whistled a few merry notes and then cut himself off. “Did you see MacDonald’s body, by the way?”

“No.” They rounded the corner, and the carriage came into view, the footmen and driver standing around it looking nervous. “I never went back. I was too busy running to Fort Edward and then guiding the detachment with the ransom. That was one of the things I wanted to ask Allen: who among the regiment survived?”

Vale nodded, probably busy with his own terrible memories as they made their way back to where the carriage waited.

The footmen looked relieved when they came into sight. Vale nodded to his men, and Sam entered the carriage and settled into the seat across from the viscount. The carriage lurched forward.

“Did I ever thank you?” Vale asked. He was watching out the window, apparently engrossed in the dismal neighborhood.

“Yes,” Sam lied. In fact, Vale had been in shock by the time the rescue party had ransomed the surviving officers at the Wyandot Indian camp. All of the captured men had run the gauntlet—a double line of whooping Indian men and women who had pummeled the victim as he ran by. Then, too, from what Sam heard, Vale had been made to watch St. Aubyn’s death and the torture of Munroe and the others. Vale had been in no condition to thank anyone when they’d eventually rescued him.

Vale was frowning now. “So we only have Thornton’s word that MacDonald is dead.”

Sam looked at him. “Yes.”

“Look here, if anyone had a reason to make sure the regiment never got to Fort Edward, it was MacDonald.” Vale sat forward. “The man was in chains as we marched.”

“He would’ve been hung at the fort,” Sam said. “Rape and murder. His court-martial would’ve been very short.”

MacDonald had been a nasty piece of work. He and another soldier named Brown had looted a French settler’s cabin, raping and killing the settler’s wife when she surprised them. Unfortunately for MacDonald and his companion, the French settler’s wife had turned out to be an Englishwoman—and the sister of a British colonel. Looting and rape were hanging offenses, but ones that some officers might turn a blind eye to, as long as they weren’t wholesale. The rape and murder of an Englishwoman was a crime that couldn’t be swept under the rug. There had been a hunt within the British army, and soon soldiers had come forward with the information that Brown had drunkenly boasted of the crime. Once under arrest, Brown had soon betrayed MacDonald, and both men had been marching in chains when the 28th Regiment of Foot had been attacked.

That thought made Sam grimace. “Brown might also be the traitor.”

Vale nodded. “MacDonald seemed to be the leader of that little gang, but you’re right; Brown had just as much reason to stop the march as MacDonald.”

“Or they might’ve been in it together.” Sam shook his head. “But in either case, how would they have known the route we’d take?”

Vale shrugged. “Wasn’t Brown friends with Allen?”

“Yes. They often shared their fire with Ned Allen.”

“And as an officer, Allen would’ve known the route.”

“He might’ve carried a message, if they’d bribed him.”

“Surely not to a Frenchie?” Vale’s eyebrows had shot up.

“No. But all they needed was an intermediary who could take a message to a neutral Indian, and as you know, there were plenty who either switched sides or dealt with both French and English.”

“If Allen talked to someone about the route the regiment took, it would certainly be a motive to kill him.”

Sam thought of the pathetic bag of bones they’d just found, and grimaced. “Yes, it would.”

Vale shook his head. “There’re holes to that theory, but in any case, we need to talk to Thornton again and determine what he remembers.”

Sam frowned. Thornton had made him uneasy from the first. “Do you think that’s wise? Bringing Thornton in on this? For all we know, he’s the traitor.”

“All the more reason to confide in him. If he thinks we trust him, he’s more likely to slip.” Vale touched his lips with a long, bony finger. Then he smiled, almost sweetly. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

E
MELINE PAUSED JUST
inside Samuel’s town house garden. What was Rebecca doing with Mr. Thornton—alone?

“You may go now,” she said absently to the butler who had shown her the way through the town house and into the garden.

She’d come calling in the hopes of finding Rebecca better. Perhaps they could go hunting for a pair of dancing slippers. New slippers always cheered Emeline up, and she felt the poor girl might need some reviving after the events of last night.

It seemed Rebecca was already revived.

Emeline squared her shoulders. “Good afternoon.”

Rebecca jumped back from Mr. Thornton and turned a woefully guilty face toward Emeline.

Mr. Thornton, in contrast, pivoted smoothly. “Lady Emeline, how pleasant to meet you again.”

Emeline narrowed her eyes. It was a point in the man’s favor that he’d been properly introduced to Rebecca, but it still didn’t excuse his tête-à-tête with an unattended maiden. And in any case, it seemed odd to find Mr. Thornton in the garden with Rebecca so soon after talking about him with Samuel and Jasper. Very odd.

“Mr. Thornton.” Emeline inclined her head. “How...
unexpected
to meet you here. Do you have business with Mr. Hartley?”

He smiled wider at her pointed question. “Yes, but it seems Mr. Hartley isn’t at home. I was waiting here in the garden when Miss Hartley joined me and made my wait so much easier.” He finished his pretty speech with a courtly little bow in Rebecca’s direction.

Humph. Emeline linked her arm with Rebecca and began to stroll. “I believe you said you were in trade, Mr. Thornton.”

The garden path was narrow, and the man was forced to trail behind the ladies. “Yes, I make boots.”

“Boots. Ah, I see.” Emeline didn’t bother looking around. The town house garden was mediocre, but she kept her pace slow as if she might actually be interested in dying foliage.

“Boots are very important, I’m sure,” Rebecca said, coming to Mr. Thornton’s defense, which was not at all what Emeline had intended.

“I supply them to His Majesty’s army,” Mr. Thornton called from in back.

“Quite.” It occurred to Emeline that Mr. Thornton might very well be rich. She had so little knowledge of the workings of the army, but she could imagine the piles of boots that would be ordered from Mr. Thornton.

“Are they made here in London?” Rebecca asked. She craned her neck a little to try to see him.

“Oh, yes. I have a workshop on Dover Street and employ thirty-two fellows there.”

“Then you do not make the boots yourself?” Emeline inquired sweetly.

Rebecca gasped, but Mr. Thornton replied cheerfully enough, “No, my lady. I’m afraid I wouldn’t even know where to start. Father used to, of course, when he began the business, but before long he’d hired other fellows to do the work for him. I might’ve learned when I was young, but I had a falling-out with Pater—”

“Is that why you joined the army?” Rebecca interrupted. She stopped and turned to face Mr. Thornton, and Emeline was forced to halt as well.

Mr. Thornton smiled, and Emeline realized that he was rather handsome in a bland sort of way. He wasn’t the type of man one would notice in a crowd, but perhaps that made him all the more dangerous.

“Yes, I’m afraid I took the king’s shilling in a fit of callow pique. Left Pater and my wife—”

“You’re married?” Emeline cut in.

“No.” Mr. Thornton’s expression sobered. “Poor Marie died not long after I returned home.”

“Oh! I am so sorry,” Rebecca murmured.

Emeline looked back down the path. Someone was coming.

“It was a terrible blow,” Mr. Thornton said. “She—”

“Emmie! Ah, there you are.” Jasper was striding up the path, his long, horsey face beaming.

Mr. Thornton stopped and turned at the sound of Jasper’s voice, his features going curiously blank. But Jasper wasn’t who she had expected. Confusion and a kind of disappointment shot through her, and then she saw him. Behind Jasper, Samuel followed, his eyes hooded, his expression sober.

Emeline held out her hands. “Why, Jasper, I did not expect you back until nightfall, if at all. Have you been successful in your investigations?”

Jasper took her hands and bent over them, brushing a kiss against her knuckles. “We lost the trail, alas, and went hunting Mr. Thornton instead. Except he wasn’t at his business, and we retired here in defeat only to find you have supplied the man we looked for.”

By this time, Samuel had caught up to Jasper. “Lady Emeline, Rebecca.” He nodded at them and then held out a hand to his guest. “Mr. Thornton, it is good to see you, although I confess some surprise at finding you at my house.”

Mr. Thornton grasped Samuel’s hand in both of his. “You are no more surprised than I, Mr. Hartley. I had not intended to presume upon your hospitality, but I was in the area, and my feet led me to your house whether I willed it so or not.”

“Indeed?” Samuel cocked his head, watching the other man.

“Yes. Maybe it was our reminiscences of the war the other day. I...” He hesitated a moment, looking down before raising his gaze to stare frankly in Samuel’s eyes. “You will think me an imaginative fellow, but I had the sensation when we talked that you did not think what happened at Spinner’s Falls occurred by happenstance.”

There was a silence as both men looked at each other. Samuel was fully a head taller than the other man, but there were certain similarities otherwise that were hard to overlook. They were both self-made men who worked in trade. They both carried themselves with a certain raw confidence, an ability to look a higher-born gentleman in the eye and dare him to make comment. And, Emeline sensed, to have succeeded in what they did, both men would have had to be daring. They were men who could see a chance and seize it, knowing the consequences might very well be dangerous.

At last, Samuel glanced sideways at her and Rebecca. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps if the ladies permit, we gentlemen should retire to my study inside to discuss this in private.”

Emeline arched an eyebrow. Did he really think she could be fobbed off that easily? “Oh, I’m most interested in what you have to say to Mr. Thornton. Please. Continue.”

“I say, Emmie,” Jasper began rather nervously.

She didn’t look at Jasper, her eyes holding Samuel’s gaze. “It’s the least you can do, don’t you think?”

She saw a muscle in his jaw flex, and he certainly didn’t look happy, but he nodded before turning to Mr. Thornton. “We were betrayed.”

Emeline felt a flicker of satisfaction. Samuel treated her as an equal, and that kind of trust was curiously heady.

Then Mr. Thornton blew out a breath. “I knew it.”