Chapter 14

 

 

 

“Where, exactly, are we going?” Christian asked.

They had taken his carriage to Cleveland Street and stopped only long enough for Eleanora to change. Then returned to his club for him to remove portions of his procurer disguise. He slipped on his long black coat over the purple plaid suit and used his homburg hat.

There was no time to delineate what had happened between them. There was no denying the sparks between them had ignited into roaring flames of desire. But Christian realized there would be no discussion of anything beyond the investigation, not with Eleanora singularly focused. Hailing another hansom, they headed toward their destination.

“Fiona Mapleton is living on Half Moon Street. Her protector is Gillis Mawles, banker,” Eleanora replied.

“Gillis Mawles is employed by Barclays Bank. I sit on the board, a primarily honorary position engrained with the family seat going back over a century. My club meets in a building owned by Barclays. Mawles also sits on the board. A young and rising star within the Barclays sphere. A Director of Finance, married with two children.”

Christian crossed his legs. “He is a serious sort. I am certainly amused to find he has a mistress, for he passed judgment on The Rakes more than once. Damned hypocrite. Anyway, I know exactly where on Half Moon Street you will locate Miss Mapleton. Number ten. Do you see? I have proved to be useful once again.” He gave Eleanora a playful wink. “As I am certain you’re aware, many prominent men house their paramours on this street.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Well, that is useful information. My sincere thanks. Now we know exactly where to go. Have you ever had a mistress? One you housed exclusively for your pleasure?”

Christian arched an eyebrow. Was there an edge to her voice? Disdain or dare he hope—jealousy?

“No. I wanted no long-term entanglements or responsibilities. All my liaisons were of a brief duration.”

Her bottom lip thrust out, but she said nothing.

“Sitting in judgment?” he ventured. “Isn’t that what you want with me, or am I assuming too much?”

“A brief liaison,” Eleanora mused. “I am not certain. I have to puzzle this out more. And no. I do not judge you or your friends on your activities. I never did. I always thought whatever adults do in their private moments is no one’s concern. Even though I make a living investigating them.”

Before he had a chance to form a response about a liaison or anything else, she continued, “Speaking of judging, I’m often dismissed outright for merely being a woman. Insulted. Spat at for daring to venture in what is considered a man’s domain.”

“And yet you prevail,” Christian said softly.

Eleanora’s shoulders straightened. “Yes, and I always will.”

A fierce wave of admiration moved through him. By God, she was fearless. Utterly brilliant.

“It astounds me that you and your sister, and your cousin, I assume, move about this city with no fear at all for your safety,” he marveled.

“We protect ourselves. Althea carries a revolver, while Sybil and I prefer knives.”

With a metallic click, a blade appeared from under the long sleeve of her jacket. “I also have one hidden in my boot. It has come in handy. I am also proficient at swordplay.”

“I am impressed.” Will she ever cease to surprise him?

“Have no worries, Your Grace, I will protect you.” She gave him a delightful and teasing smile while moving the knife into its holder.

“I hardly need protecting. Like you, I’m more than able to protect myself.” He said this matter-of-factly. Although, having Eleanora close by in whatever capacity certainly appealed.

“You hired me. It is all part of the service from The Galway Agency. Caution is always practical. Now, as to your new role. I will introduce you as Mr. Christian, my assistant. I will ask the questions.”

“Understood, Miss Galway,” he acquiesced, and she chuckled in response.

Once they arrived, they dismissed the hansom as it would be easy enough to catch another on this street. A maid wearing a crisp and starched uniform with a white apron and cap answered the door.

Eleanora handed the servant her business card. “I am Eleanora Galway; this is my assistant, Mr. Christian. We wish a few moments of Miss Mapleton’s time in connection with a former acquaintance of hers.”

The maid took the card, gave it a cursory glance, then said, “Miss Mapleton is not receiving.”

“It’s all right, Hannah, show them in.”

The maid stepped aside, and they entered the hall. There stood a stunningly attractive woman wearing a silk mauve tea gown. She was a true English beauty with golden hair, flawless ivory skin, and sparkling blue eyes. No wonder Damon frequented The Chrysalis, for this woman was his friend’s particular preference.

Christian searched his memory. Had he ever been with this woman the few times he had frequented the brothel? Damn it, he should have thought of that before insisting on attending this interview. She didn’t look familiar. But who was to know? Regardless, he pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes, then turned up the collar of his coat. As if that wasn’t obvious.

“What acquaintance?” Miss Mapleton asked.

“At your former place of employment. Emily McCarthy, known as Lucinda?” Eleanora responded.

“You had best come into the parlor.”

“We will not take up much of your time,” Eleanora assured her.

Banked coals simmered in the hearth, which made the room welcoming. It was balmy for early October, but Christian stood before it and warmed his hands. Miss Mapleton took a seat on a small settee, and indicated for them to take the one opposite. The residence was plush and luxuriant. Only the best for the men of Barclays Bank, Christian mused sardonically.

“Shall I ring for tea, Miss Galway, Mr. Christian?”

“Nay, lass. We thank ye, but as Miss Galway said, we won’t be here long enough,” Christian replied with a Scottish burr.

Miss Mapleton met his gaze, and no recognition registered in her eyes.

Dodged that.

Eleanora cast him a side glance as she pulled her notebook from the pocket of her cloak, surprised no doubt by his sham Scottish accent. During a few school holidays, he and his mother had journeyed through Scotland. Always a good mimic, Christian had picked up some of the vernacular and musical cadences.

“Have you had any contact with Miss McCarthy since you both departed from The Chrysalis?” Eleanora asked, her fingers tightly gripping the pencil.

A furrow developed between Miss Mapleton’s perfectly-shaped brows. “Is Emily in trouble?”

“A client wishes for us to locate her. They are worried about her safety. Any contact?”

Not a lie since he was the client, and remembering Eleanora’s resolute warning about interrupting her questioning, he remained silent. Although, it would be stimulating to do exactly that, only to have her reprimand him once again.

“Yes, not three months past. Emily asked for a small loan, assured me she had a man who would soon set her up. Emily said the man was well off, but she could have been lying. I asked who he was, but she wouldn’t say. I didn’t have much money on me; I could only give her a handful of shillings.”

Miss Mapleton sighed. “Emily did not look well. Her clothes were dirty and tattered. God only knows how she’s been living since her dismissal. I know what she did. I told her it was wrong to cheat Bathsheba. She was good to us. Emily wouldn’t listen.”

Miss Mapleton reached under her sleeve and pulled out a lace handkerchief, and dabbed her eyes. The concern appeared authentic, but Christian couldn’t be certain.

“It’s why she came to me. She couldn’t seek out the others, for they were warned to have no contact with her. Emily had no one. No family at all.” Fiona continued, “I have no earthly idea where she went. I offered to take her in, even though my gentleman would be angry if I had. But Emily refused, thanked me for the money, and left. I never saw her again.”

“Did you know if Emily had a venereal disease?”

Miss Mapleton was genuinely shocked at the question. “Not when we left. But now that you mention it, she wore no gloves when we spoke. There was a lesion by her thumb. When I looked at it, she pulled her sleeve to cover it.” Miss Mapleton’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is that why she didn’t look well? Oh, my dear Emily. I wish I had more money on me that day. I wish she had returned.”

“She gave no indication where she was staying? Take a moment and recall the conversation,” Eleanora asked gently.

“None. I assume a dosshouse.”

“Had she ever discussed her past, where on the streets from whence she came?”

Miss Mapleton shook her head sadly. “None of us discussed our pasts; why would we? Best forgotten. Although she had mentioned once in passing, she’d moved from the workhouse to orphanages and back again until she was deemed old enough to look after herself.”

After taking her notes, Eleanora stood, so did Christian. “Thank you, Miss Mapleton.” Eleanora held out her card. “Please contact us if Emily gets back in touch or if you remember anything at all.”

Miss Mapleton nodded. “I will. I promise. I wish I could have been of more assistance.”

Once they stood on the sidewalk, Eleanora gave him another strange look. “What is with that horrid Scottish accent?”

“It wasn’t all that horrid.” Seeing a hansom approach, Christian waved to gain the driver’s attention.

Once settled inside, Christian said, “It sounds as if Emily may have met her end.”

Eleanora sighed. “It may be a possibility.”

“Is there a likelihood that whoever sent that macabre package has murdered Miss McCarthy and is cutting off bits and mailing them to us as a warning?” Christian asked.

Eleanora studied him. “What kind of warning? And for what?”

Christian wasn’t sure. He crossed his legs and tried to think of every mystery or thriller novel he had ever read. “The package was addressed to us all, even though Damon had more direct contact with Miss McCarthy than any of us. It could be someone who knows of us, and the fact we are life-long friends. They know of the life we lead—or led—and where we meet.”

“Like a former friend?” Eleanora asked.

“Or any acquaintance. Warning us to give up our vacuous and vile lifestyle? Had we inadvertently caused insult to someone the perpetrator is fond of?”

“What about a former member?”

“I sent along the list from Watford, have you looked into any of them?” Christian asked.

Eleanora shook her head. “Not as yet, that will be our third tier of investigation. What about a current friend or member?”

His eyes widened in shock. “Current? Like Tolwood or Huxley and the rest?” It was not possible.

“Huxley left town. You said he was having problems. Perhaps the issues are with you all.”

Christian was having difficulty processing this. “Wait, how did you know Warren had departed? Are you having us watched?” Unbelievable.

She shrugged. “Everyone is a suspect.”

“Including me?” he shouted. Taking a cleansing breath, he said, “I spoke to Warren. He suffered a breakdown and is heading to a sanatorium in Standon, Hertfordshire. And I just broke strict confidence. Do not repeat this.”

Eleanora pulled out her notebook and pencil and began writing. “The name of this place? It will be easy enough to check.”

Christian rubbed his left temple. “The Bevan Sanatorium.”

Now she had him wondering if Warren was behind all this.

Not possible.

 He had known the man since they were ten. But Warren had been agitated last they met and had said: “We gravitated toward each other as children. What a privileged and carefree life we have all led. It is no wonder we became friends. The thread that held us together no longer exists. You know nothing about me.”

Could it be true?

Warren also was quick to agree with Christian’s assessment that they not call the police. Coincidence?

“What are you thinking? Tell me, Christian. Share your thoughts with me.”

Feeling like a damned traitor, he repeated what Warren had said at their meeting and about agreeing about not calling the police.

Eleanora nodded as she wrote.

Warren a suspect. He could not fathom such a dire possibility.

“And the other? Tolwood?” she asked.

“Harmless as a hedgehog. Merritt has distanced from the club, not that he was full-fledged. He wishes to find a suitable bride.” Christian blew out an exasperated breath. “The club is fracturing. Brandon Knight will be leaving London in December, perhaps permanently. As to the rest? The club members are continuing with their carnal pursuits, as far as I know.” Christian smiled. “No pun intended.”

“Pun? Oh, members. I get it. How rakish of you.”

“Forgive me. That sounded like something Damon would say.” He admonished himself for his crass behavior, for it was not like him at all. The delectable Miss Galway had him at sixes and sevens.

“You are forgiven.” Eleanora continued to write. “Hedgehogs can inflict serious injury with their sharp quills. They can be aggressive. But we can rule out Tolwood for now; at least, I will place him at the bottom of the list. My report said he was attending various social events. No doubt seeking a bride, as you said.”

“And me?”

She cocked her head as if studying him. “It would be deviously clever of you to act interested in joining the investigation only to sabotage it from within. Flirt and act as if you were interested in me to appeal to my ego.”

Act? He didn’t have to bloody well act. “Then why allow me to assist you?”

“To ascertain if you are indeed a suspect. We haven’t known each other all that long, but I am a good judge of character. I do not sense any sly machinations about you. So far as I’m aware, you’ve told the truth.”

“Well, thank you for that at least,” Christian replied sardonically. “We can rule out the ‘random body part from a hospital or graveyard’ theory.”

“Yes, I believe we can. Resurrectionists, those who sell dead bodies for research, pretty much petered out in the Thirties with the Anatomy Act. Not to say there isn’t a black market for such doings. The sender—let us call him Mr. X—for I assume it is a man, but who knows? Mr. X knew of this destitute woman’s association with all of you. It has certainly moved beyond a macabre prank. Do you wish to involve the police at this juncture?”

Police? Should they? Not if one of his friends is involved.

“And what can they do? Until the rest of Miss McCarthy surfaces, they will toss it on the unsolved pile. They would not have discovered as much as you have. The thought this Mr. X is keeping the poor young woman on ice is rather disturbing. How long could she possibly stay preserved?” Christian paused. “And what about Ford Whitney? If you are considering Warren or Merritt or the others as suspects, shouldn’t you also add Whitney to your suspect list?”

“First, I assume if the ice is changed regularly, a few weeks perhaps? I will have to ask Doctor Jackson. As for Whitney, that will be our next line of inquiry. We will visit the baronet tomorrow and question him on his son’s whereabouts.” She waved her notebook before tucking it into her cloak pocket. “Thanks to Althea, I have his current address.”

“And Hayes Addington?”

“Did you see a dead body?”

“Well, no. We assumed it swept out to sea. None of us attended the inquest. The story put forth was the one accepted. Such an outcome often occurs when peers are involved. Our fathers made certain there was no mention of our names and that we were never part of the official inquiry.”

“The rest of you continued with your lives, believing him dead.”

Christian gave Eleanora a dubious look. “Why would we believe otherwise? Especially as the years ticked by.”

“My sister has a theory, and I concur. That perhaps Addington did not drown, instead he suffered from amnesia, regained his memory recently and wishes to exact revenge on you all.”

What could he say to such a hypothesis?

“At least you haven’t scoffed at it as Brookton did,” Eleanora stated.

“No, anything is possible. By all means, add Addington to the suspect list.”

Eleanora gave him an admiring look, then scribbled in her notebook.

“As long as you take my name off,” Christian added.

Eleanora met his gaze, smiled, and slashed a pencil stroke across the page. “Done.”

“There is a chance you will never find out who is behind this, isn’t there?” Christian asked.

“There is that likelihood. However, as you stated, we have already discovered more than the police would have.”

“Where to next, Miss Galway?”

“Me? I’m going home. I need time to think and to do that; I need to bake.”

Christian nodded, giving her a dazzling smile. “Brilliant. I will accompany you.”

“Whatever for? To sit in my parlor while I toil in the kitchen? Why would you do such?”

Christian leaned forward, giving her his full attention, along with a heated look for good measure. Just in case she had forgotten the attraction simmering between them. Hell, it was bubbling at full force—at least on his part.

“As I said before, I want to be in your company, if you will allow me. And I’m not acting in a devious manner for any reason. It’s because I am interested in everything you do. And in everything you say.”

Because, my dearest El, you have caught my attention as no woman as done before.