“You lying bastard!” Furious, Heath grabbed Reynolds by the lapels. But the wiry man was much stronger than he appeared and shoved Heath off and moved behind the desk in mere seconds.
Reaching into a drawer, Reynolds pulled out a short sword and pointed it directly at Heath’s chest. “You’ll take your leave now and not bother me with your imaginary theories.”
“If you’re a secretary, I’m a proper seamstress,” Bills growled, stepping to Heath’s side.
Bernard held up his hands. “There’s no call for violence, now, my good man. All we need is to speak with your superior.”
“Mr. Wheaton’s not here,” scoffed the secretary, who no doubt had never seen this side of a quill. Reynolds was a reedy thing with a pointy face and a high, nasally voice. When the man had first called for them to enter his office, Heath had thought that the man seemed harmless enough, with his short stature and slender frame. But with the blade unwavering in his hands, matched only by his pitiless gaze, Heath suddenly knew that the bloke would kill without hesitation. How could Tess have worked with such a man? Well, it had to stop.
“Where is Mr. Wheaton?” Bernard inquired.
Like that of any vermin with a predator nearby, Reynolds’s dull brown gaze did not leave Heath. “Out of town. But don’t bother trying to reach him; he’ll be even less patient with your wild accusations about us working with some trollop than me.”
“Trollop!” Heath raised a fist.
“We’re not accusing anyone of anything,” Bernard countered, shooting Heath a quelling glance. “We’re simply here at Lady Golding’s behest.”
Reynolds’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t know her, except by reputation, of course,” he sneered. “I hear she’s quite free with her favors.”
“You son of a bitch!” Heath stepped forward.
The short sword jerked, aiming for his chest.
Bills laid a hand on Heath’s arm, pulling him back. “You’ll do Tess no good if you’re in a grave or a prison.”
Reynolds smirked. “You’re mighty heroic when you know you can’t do a thing. Feeling a bit impotent, are you?”
“The man’s cracked,” Bills whispered in Heath’s ear. “And there’s more than one way to bake a cake, my friend. Tess needs your help and this is not the way to do it.”
Torn, Heath didn’t budge. Reynolds was a double-dealing snake. And his insults went beyond the pale.
He knew that Tess wasn’t lying. It simply wasn’t her style. She might not tell the whole truth but she was not an out-and-out fabricator. Moreover, the facts were incriminating enough to be wholly against her interests. And she knew that they would be checked.
Why was Reynolds being such an ass? Afraid of scandal? Afraid of the ton taking up arms about being investigated? Concern over society putting pressure on the Foreign Office to cease some of its operations? Governmental rivalries?
No matter what possibility came to mind, Heath sensed that Reynolds’s actions were directed against Tess. They had to be, to desert a woman when she faced hanging.
Bills tugged on Heath’s arm. “We’re getting nowhere here. And when you hit a wall…”
Dig a tunnel, was what they’d always said when they’d run into difficulty at the Inns of Court.
“You’re a bug in need of squashing,” Heath bit out, turning his back on the son of a bitch and heading toward the door. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. “Try it,” he dared over his shoulder. “And you’ll swing before the end of the week.”
Bernard put his hat on his head. “Obviously we were mistaken, Mr. Reynolds. We’re sorry to have disturbed you.”
The three men silently filed out of the room.
Once on the pavement, Bills spoke, “Don’t those fellows have some sort of code about not leaving a man behind on the field?”
Bernard adjusted his sleeves. “Apparently not, if what Lady Golding says is true.”
“She’s not lying.” Heath’s glare was matched only by Bills’s.
“The Cat and Bagpipes is around the corner,” Bernard offered. “I suggest we repair there to consider our tactics.”
The men silently traversed the narrow streets and alleys, passing muck-scented livery stables and dilapidated lodging houses. The sounds of carriage wheels, horses’ hooves, and hawkers plying their wares filled the air.
The Cat and Bagpipes was half empty as the men took a table near the front entrance by the door. They each ordered ale, but when it arrived, Bernard was the only one to drink.
Bernard leaned forward, his tone affable. “I heard that some of the public houses around here were hostels of old for pilgrims seeking the shrine of Edward the Confessor at Westminster Abbey.”
Heath shrugged, his mind filled with Tess and her troubles.
“Still reading history, are you?” Bills made a face. “Well we have a lady’s future to consider, if you don’t mind.”
Bernard sniffed.
Running his hand through his hair, Heath swallowed his frustration. “We need to find Wheaton.”
Bernard snorted. “Why? So we can hit another dead end? I’m not a Bow Street Runner and neither are you.”
“Mayhap Wheaton has a bit more honor than that nasty Reynolds bugger,” Bills countered.
Shaking his head, Bernard sipped from his drink. “If you do find this Wheaton fellow, which will be difficult enough to do, you’ll likely get the same response as Reynolds. I say we find another course. One more suitable to keeping our eyes on the real target—getting Lady Golding out of Newgate.”
Heath had never admired the snippity barrister more than he did at that moment. Leaving Tess at Newgate that afternoon had been one of the hardest things Heath had ever done.
Heath peered out the window, wondering what she was doing. It was growing late, and his last hopes of clearing Tess so she wouldn’t have to spend the night at Newgate were fading with the darkening sky. A night in such a place…
Curling his fists, Heath pushed aside the anxiety, refusing to give in to the phantoms. She’d be fine. She was inside the warden’s residence. Warden Newman had given his word that she’d be perfectly safe. Anna was there, too.
Instead of allowing his fears to strangle him, Heath would use the anxiety to propel him forward to chase down whatever avenue would see her free and safe and in his arms once more. “So what do you propose we do, Bernard? I am open to any suggestions.”
Belching, Bernard waved a hand. “First we bring up the fact that Lady Golding works for the Foreign Office, then we substantiate that claim by showing that she received funds from the Foreign Office. Then we float a few possible theories of what could have happened to Miss Reed and create reasonable doubt.”
“Not bad.” Heath nodded.
“But if we can’t make the link ring true, then we may be able to use the Foreign Office claim as part of an insanity plea.”
Heath wondered if he’d heard correctly. “Tess will not assume any responsibility for a crime she didn’t commit. Besides, no jury would rule Tess insane.”
Bernard shrugged. “I’m simply considering all of the possibilities. I do what it takes to get the job done.”
“But a woman is dead, and there’s a murderer running free!”
“Not my problem at the moment.” Bernard coughed into his fist. “I keep my focus fixed and leave the investigative work to the Bow Street Runners. I suggest you do the same.”
Heath banged the table with his fist, drawing stares from the other customers. He lowered his voice. “I can’t. I cannot sit by while Tess is being blamed for some else’s crime. It goes against the very code I’ve sworn to uphold.” Not to mention that Tess was in danger as long as the murderer was roaming free. “You trace the money, and don’t you dare go for the insanity plea without checking with Tess first. I’ll find Wheaton.”
Tapping his finger on the table, Heath had a sudden idea. “I want you to do something for me, Bernard.”
“Yes?”
“Can you have your lackeys set up a watch at Downing Street?”
Bernard nodded. “We’ll know if Wheaton shows up. And when he does?”
“Send word to me. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing, track me down and let me know.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Narrowing his eyes, Bills pursed his lips. “I may have an idea for how to find Wheaton, and it could be a lot faster than waiting for him to surface.”
Hope rose in Heath’s chest, and now more than ever he was grateful for Bills’s friendship. “How?”
“We need to go to the society. I must speak with Lady Blankett.”
Heath frowned. “Lady Blankett? Why?”
Bills’s eyes twinkled. “She has a friend she told me about, an old chap named Sir Lee Devane.”
“How can he help?”
“It seems he used to work at the Foreign Office. She claims he used to be pretty high up, a knight with connections, she says.”
“Capital! He can give us a lead on where we can go or who we can ask to find Wheaton.” But as quickly as his elation came, it suddenly died, and Heath frowned.
“What is it?”
“I don’t think Tess wants anyone in the society to know about her work with the Foreign Office.”
Bills scratched his cheek. “I don’t know that we have much choice.”
“I’ll dash to Newgate and see what she says and meet you back at the society.”
“You’re worried about her.” It wasn’t a question. Bills understood.
Heath was already setting his hat on his head and heading for the door, intent on hailing a hackney. “Wouldn’t you be?”