A Heartless Design (23 page)

“What was I thinking?” she muttered, even as she remembered the bliss she’d felt.
You can ask me for anything
, Thorne had said. She knew that he’d been referring obliquely to the slight possibility that she might bear a child. But what if she asked him for more…such as marriage? No, she could never do that to him, and he’d resent having to marry her out of obligation. She had to continue on as before. Alone.

Thorne’s life had not gotten
much simpler, even though he now had the
Andraste
designs that were so sought after. He could not make heads or tails of them, but his sense of urgency was gone now. Yes, he still had loose ends. He needed to find Hayden and learn about his angle. The man was likely an opportunist who was only interested in money, but whoever employed him clearly had grander ambitions. Thorne suspected that Hayden was an agent of a foreign power. He had to find out which one.

But he had the designs. He could deliver them to Neville and they could be assured that at least no enemy of England would be building a deadly armored steamship to destroy their navy.

So why was he still so restless?

The next day, Forester called at the Thorne home asking for Sebastien as if on a routine matter. In the study, Forester lost his easy manner. “You have problems.”

“You have no idea,” Sebastien muttered. “What ones are you referring to?”

“Miss Bering’s servants.”

Thorne looked up, interested. “What did you find?”

“Several things, and absolutely nothing good. Are you prepared to hear this?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” Forester cleared his throat. “First, I’d like to point out that discovering all this took rather longer than usual because that household, for all its faults, does not gossip. I had to fool a neighbor’s hostler into thinking I was a down-on-my-luck ex-soldier looking for any job that came my way.”

Sebastien grinned despite his worry. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“Be kind. I managed to find out the names of most of the servants. For such a small household, there are more than you’d expect.”

“How many?”

“Butler, housekeeper, lady’s maid, two parlormaids—the one named Ivy also acts as lady’s maid to the older woman, a cook and her assistant, a gardener, and another lad who seems to be footman, hostler, and driver by turns.”

“All for two rather retiring ladies. How does she afford it?” Thorne asked.

His friend shrugged. “That’s a separate question. The better one is how did these wastrels find their way into her house in the first place?”

“Wastrels? What do you mean?”

“Not all of them are suspect,” Forester clarified. “The older parlormaid seems upstanding, and I’ve nothing on the cook. But the others… The lad-of-all-work is a bad egg for sure. James Harper, or Jem as he’s called, has a history with several local magistrates. He’s been picked up for pickpocketing and housebreaking, but always managed to cast enough doubt that he didn’t go to prison permanently. He has not been seen by the authorities for a couple years, and the assumption was that he’d either died or left the city.”

“But that’s clearly not the case.” Thorne was ready to go over and throttle the lad if he was taking advantage of Cordelia in any way.

Forester went on. “Housekeeper, Mrs Landry. Arrested for operating a distillery without a license.”

“Could be worse,” Thorne commented.

“Oh, it will be. Here’s the so-called lady’s maid, a Lucy Bond by name.”

“I met her,” Thorne said, remembering the tall, flinty-eyed girl. “Miss Bering’s most recent hire, she told me.”

“Hired from Bridewell, apparently. A jewel thief, specializing in robbing city homes. She was included on a list of female prisoners to be transported to New South Wales from Bridewell. The ship manifest with the harbor master indicates that she did not get on board.”

“But how did she end up getting a position? She wouldn’t have had a reference!”

“Good question. However, the worst I’ve saved for last.”

“I’m waiting.”

Forester grimaced. “The butler. I checked with a few people who keep records of this sort of thing, just to make myself believe it. Including,” he added significantly, “one of the administrators of Newgate.” Forester’s eyes were serious. “About ten years ago, there was a leader of a gang of wharf-side…wait for it…smugglers. The gang was famous for creating false compartments in the various ships they used to fool the law. Truly inventive stuff. The head of the gang was a vicious man who used violence to eliminate any sort of threat. He got sent to Newgate for murder.”

“And?”

“The murderer is described as a short, stocky man with pale blue eyes and a scar along his right cheek,” Forester said.

Thorne shook his head, unwilling to accept such a premise. “No. It must be a coincidence that Cordelia’s butler has similar features. Surely that criminal was executed.” 

“He escaped from Newgate right before his scheduled execution. That was over six years ago. He’s the same man. He changed his last name and hid where no one thought to look for him. Harry Morgan is now Harry Stiles.”

Thorne stood up. He had a strong urge to destroy something. “And he’s in Cordelia’s house now. The same man. The murderer.”

“Yes, along with a known housebreaker and a jewel thief. They’re all there with Miss Bering and all her father’s useful work on ships.”

“You’ll excuse me,” Sebastien said, even as he started striding out of the room.

Forester matched his pace. When Thorne got outside, he called for a carriage, unwilling to wait for anything to be brought from the stable.

“Will you want company?” Forester asked.

“I’ll handle this myself.” He jumped into the carriage that had pulled up, and shouted Cordelia’s address to the driver.

It took far too long for Thorne’s taste to reach Cordelia’s home. He ordered the cab to stop in the street, and then strode quickly up the drive.

Even on foot, he was noticed. The footman who opened the door was the lanky one from before. Thorne matched him to Forester’s description. The pickpocket. He glared at the boy, who looked back insolently.

“Miss Bering is not at home, sir,” Jem said. “Do you wish to leave a card?”

“I don’t wish,” he growled. “Get me Stiles.”

“The butler?”

“Do you have another Stiles tucked away here?” Thorne asked coldly.

The footman wasn’t impressed. “No, sir. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll fetch him.”

The lad vanished toward the kitchens, and Thorne momentarily regretted letting him out of his sight. What if he was warning Stiles to flee right now? He breathed in, reminding himself that he hadn’t given anything away.

The stocky butler appeared a second later, shadowed by the footman.

“How may I help you, sir? As you know, Miss Bering is not available right now.”

“It’s you I came to see, Harry Morgan.”

The butler’s eyes widened.

Thorne lowered his voice and leaned in. “I know you were in Newgate, and I know you skipped the short drop.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Stiles began to protest, but Sebastien, far past furious, reached out and grabbed him, twisting the shorter man around, bending his arm to an improbable angle. The young footman fled up the stairs. The curly-haired parlor maid peeked in, shrieked, and vanished again, leaving the two alone.

“Tell me the truth, Harry,” Thorne spat.

“Aye.” The man gasped at the strength in Sebastien’s hand. “It’s true. But I ain’t done anything since…”

“You were in for murder! How did you get a position in this house? Did you fake your references?”

Stiles almost whimpered, his natural accent returning in his distress. “The lady forgave my past. Why should it matter now?”

“What do you mean, the lady?”

“Miss Bering, of course.” He groaned as Sebastien tightened his grip.

“Cordelia
knows
?”

“Of course, sir!” Stiles fell to the ground as Sebastien abruptly released him. “It’s her way, is all. We’d all do anything for her. She trusted us.”

Thorne took a step back, stunned by the possibility that Cordelia was complicit in hiring criminals.

Stiles tried to straighten up. “I run a tight ship, and the lady won’t stand for any scandal in her house. One lad went back to evil ways. He was gone in a flash. My lady is generous, not stupid.”

An imperious voice broke in. “Exactly what is going on here?” 

* * * *

Cordelia stood at the top of the stairs, flushed with anger and worry. Jem had rushed into her room and told her Thorne had appeared, looking like the devil himself. Not knowing what to think, Cordelia hurried to the hall, only to find Thorne tussling with Stiles as if they were guttersnipes.

Both men stilled at her voice.

“It’s nothing to concern you, my lady,” Stiles said, despite the fact that he was still on the floor.

“I am concerned,” she snapped back, hurrying down the staircase. She glared at Sebastien. “What are you doing here, my
lord
?”

“I had a question for your butler,” he said, with admirable understatement.

“And this is how you asked it?” She bent to help Stiles up off the floor. The older man accepted her assistance unwillingly, his pride more damaged than his body. “Your method of questioning people leaves something to be desired,” she declared, looking back at Sebastien.

“It depends who I’m questioning,” he replied blandly.

She blushed at the innuendo, but didn’t forget the matter at hand. “What are you doing here? No, wait.” She held up her hand. “Stiles,” she said to her butler, “please show Lord Thorne to the parlor and then return to me.”

“No,” said Sebastien.

“Excuse me?” Cordelia asked in a tone colder than ice. “Am I not mistress in my own house? Do you have some authority to tell me how to direct my servants?” She stared at him, daring him to refute her.

He stared back, unwilling to give ground. “Your butler is not what he seems.”

“Who is?” she returned, with a thin smile. “Stiles, please show his lordship to the parlor.”

“Yes, my lady,” Stiles said. “This way, my lord.”

Cordelia watched narrowly as Sebastien followed the stocky man to the parlor across the hall.

Stiles must have exchanged words with Thorne behind the closed doors, for when he came back, his face was red. “That man isn’t fit to be in this house.” He quickly explained what happened.

“I will talk with him,” she reassured Stiles.

Cordelia glided into the drawing room, her face carefully composed. “My lord,” she said. “I demand an explanation.”

“Your butler just threatened me,” he noted.

“Imagine that.” Cordelia looked at him. “Considering you attacked him in the foyer, I’m only surprised at his restraint. Which brings me back to the question of what you thought you were doing.”

“Stiles is an escaped convict,” he began to say, his tone careful and, to Cordelia’s ears, condescending. “His real name is Morgan.”

“Yes,” she agreed shortly. “What of it?”

“So you do know about his past?” he gaped.

“You seem to think that I am incapable of noticing the world around me.” She frowned at him. “Must I remind you that I am not like the other women you are familiar with?”

“You are like no woman I’ve ever known,” he said, making her knees weak with a look.

“Nevertheless, you have no right to accost my servants in my own home!” she retorted, refusing to be distracted from her anger.

“Was Stiles telling the truth? You know that all your servants are criminals?”

“
None
of my employees are criminals now. Whatever happened in the past belongs to the past. I trust each of my employees with my life. I think of them as family. If my method of hiring them is unconventional, that’s my concern. Not yours.”

“Unconventional!” Sebastien sat down on the sofa, staring at her. “How did you even manage to find such people, let alone hire them?”

“It’s none of your business.” Cordelia, still standing, began to pace the room.

“You’re right,” he said. “But will you please tell me how such a thing came to pass? When I learned about Stiles’ past, I assumed the worst.” He assumed, in fact, that Cordelia was in physical danger, and he hadn’t been able to breathe properly until he saw her, safe and beautiful, before him.

She whirled toward him, suddenly putting two puzzle pieces together. “It was you asking questions about the servants this week! Stiles informed me that someone was snooping around. I worried it was Hayden, and we know how he views other people’s secrets: as a commodity. They were frightened to death, you know!”

“Oh,
they
were frightened? I had to know who was in this house. I had to know who was being trusted around the designs.”

“So why did you not ask me?”

“I did ask you, Cordelia,” he reminded her. “And you did your best to hide it from me until it was almost too late. So I did what I thought best.”  

She flushed. Despite all they had shared, he still did not know the whole truth, not yet. “You had no right,” she hissed. His arrogant manner infuriated her.

“Cordelia…” He got up and crossed to where she stood. Reaching out to her, he said “Forgive me. I did it out of concern for you.”

She watched his expression for signs of duplicity, but then found herself simply gazing at him. He smiled at her. “If you kiss me, I’ll take it as forgiveness.”

“Don’t try to distract me,” she warned, even as he leaned forward to kiss her.

He didn’t listen. The distraction lasted for some time. Cordelia melted under his talented mouth, forgetting momentarily why he had come to her house. She only knew she would soon be addicted to the feelings he summoned up in her.  

“Is that better?” he asked softly when he ended the kiss. She blinked at him, now pressed against his body, supported only by his arms.

“I told you not to distract me,” she whispered. Then her eyes narrowed. “You can’t do this, Sebastien!” She stepped back out of his embrace. “You cannot simply come into my home and…and take over! You have no
right
.”

“Yes, you keep saying that. But you were going to tell me how you found your servants.”