In the Barrister's Chambers (6 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

BOOK: In the Barrister's Chambers
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Chapter 8
“Randolph wants to meet
where
?” Jack scanned the note in his hand and then glared at Evelyn.
“It makes perfect sense, really,” Evelyn said.
“The hell it does.” He was so irritated that he did not care if his choice of words was inappropriate before a lady.
Evelyn crossed Jack's chambers, sat in the chair across from his desk, and made a show of arranging her skirts before speaking.
“Surely you must understand that Randolph must be cautious,” she said.
“I understand that he is evading the Bow Street Runners to avoid questioning regarding Bess Whitfield's murder. But I do not understand why he wants to meet at the infamous Cock and Bull Tavern in the frenzied fish market of Billingsgate on a busy Friday afternoon.”
“It is a safe choice for him. Randolph will not be recognized there.”
Jack felt his temper rise. “And he has no concern for your safety, your reputation?”
“I will dress appropriately.”
Pressing both palms flat on the desk, Jack leaned into them and glowered at her. “You think a quick change of your gown and all will be well? Have you not looked at your reflection of late?”
She swallowed. “We will travel together. It will be dark by the time we leave.”
“No, Evie.
We
will not travel anywhere together.
I
will meet Mr. Sheldon alone.”
Evelyn's eyes widened in alarm. “I must go. I have to see Randolph. And Simon said Randolph will not meet with you unless I am present.”
“And just who is this Simon?”
“Simon Guthrie is Randoph's close friend and another Oxford Fellow. Simon is the one who delivered the note requesting us to meet at the Cock and Bull.”
Jack glanced down at the now-crumpled note on the desk. Throughout his career he had met with clients in all types of establishments throughout the underbelly of London, but never had he been responsible for the welfare of a lady accompanying him.
And the Cock and Bull was a rowdy, bawdy tavern, in the center of the Billingsgate fish market. Part of the London docks, the place swelled with sailors, dockworkers, fishwives, buyers, prostitutes, thieves, and smugglers on a daily basis.
It certainly was no place for a lady.
Jack could blend in at the Cock and Bull if need be, and if by chance he was recognized, many of the tavern's patrons would look upon him as a hero from the Crown's overly aggressive prosecutors.
But to take Evelyn to such an establishment?
Unthinkable.
His eyes raked her face. Her golden hair was pulled back into a bun, but the severe style only served to emphasize her exotic cat-shaped eyes, which now flashed a glorious shade of blue.
Anger toward Randolph Sheldon—the man she intended to marry—escalated to a heightened pitch.
“I insist on traveling alone,” Jack said. “I will tell you everything upon my return.”
Evelyn sat forward in her chair, her spine visibly stiffening. “No. I will go with or without you.”
“I am not offering a choice, Evie.”
She met his hard eyes without flinching. “You must know that I do not take well to unreasonable orders, Jack. I intend to see Randolph no matter the risk.”
No doubt,
he thought. Evelyn would put herself in danger to aid her man. A foreign ache sprang up in the center of Jack's chest. No woman of his past acquaintance would ever jeopardize her safety on his behalf.
Could he be jealous?
Nonsense. In the cold, selfish world in which he practiced criminal law, he was merely unnerved by her loyalty.
She must have sensed he was debating whether to capitulate to her demands because she leaned across the desk and touched his sleeve.
“Please understand, Jack. I don't believe it to be a great risk. Not with you, Simon, and Randolph present.”
Jack looked down to where her slender fingers rested on his arm. She would do it, he knew. She would go alone and the chances of her escaping unscathed without his protection were slim.
“I'll agree,” he said, “but only because I don't want your father to become ill should anything untoward happen to you should you venture there on your own.”
She removed her hand, and a secretive smile softened her lips. “Everything will be fine, Jack. You'll see.”
His gaze dropped from her blue eyes to her full, bottom lip, curved now in a sensual smile, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was getting himself into.
 
 
The most difficult part was slipping out of the house undetected. Evelyn had announced she wasn't feeling well and sought to retire for the evening after an early supper. Having long ago sent away her maid, Evelyn now restlessly paced her bedchamber.
The closed curtains shut out the late-afternoon sun, and a solitary candle stood lit on a nightstand. As she moved about, shadows loomed over the cream-colored walls like eerie ghosts.
The household routine was like clockwork as her father ordered his life with military precision. A familiar creaking of the wooden floorboards drew her to a halt, and she listened to her father's heavy footsteps first on the landing, then moving down the grand staircase. Lord Lyndale was headed for his library office where he would immerse himself in scholarly volumes, have his evening meal delivered on a tray, and remain until midnight. The servants, including Mrs. Smith, Janet, and Hodges, would perform their household duties, then linger in the kitchen until they retired. Only her father's valet would remain near to assist Lord Lyndale into bed.
She continued pacing for five minutes more, her eyes drawn to the mantel clock in thirty-second intervals.
Four o'clock.
Finally certain she could sneak out of the town house undetected, she rushed to her wardrobe. But instead of opening the wooden doors, she reached behind and pulled out a dress that had been carefully hidden.
Evelyn shook out the serviceable black fabric and eyed the garment. For a heart-squeezing instant, she felt a stab of guilt. But then she thought of Randolph and pushed the emotion aside.
The dress belonged to Janet, and Evelyn had taken it from the laundry when no one was about. She was thankful she had purchased Janet new dresses last month to supplement her wardrobe before Evelyn had ever dreamed of needing to borrow her maid's clothes. Nothing in Evelyn's own wardrobe was suitable for the Cock and Bull Tavern, and she had told Jack she would dress “appropriately.”
The truth was she had no idea what would be appropriate attire for such an establishment. As a child, she had spent most of her time at her father's chambers at Lincoln's Inn or with her private tutor. And then later—after her father had inherited the earldom—she had begun to socialize with the
beau monde.
Never had she strayed into the unfashionable areas of London, let alone the boisterous Billingsgate fish market.
“It is of no consequence,” she spoke out loud to herself. “Randolph is depending on you.”
Tossing the dress on the bed, her fingers reached for the buttons of her own gown. She stripped off the fine muslin, and the chilly evening air made her shiver. She pulled on black stockings and then struggled to don the maid's dress. She was glad it had buttons down the front instead of down the back—one of the reasons she had chosen it from the laundry.
A cheval glass mirror stood in the corner of the room, and she frowned at her reflection. The dress was a good two inches short and overly snug in the bosom. Evelyn knew Janet was shorter, but she hadn't considered the distinct difference in their chest sizes.
She looked again at the clock. The dress would have to do; Jack was waiting. She would wear a coarse wool cloak to cover the bodice, and the short hem would serve to showcase her economic straits. And along with the serviceable black shoes Janet wore, no one would mistake her for a lady of wealth.
Grabbing a black hat, she reached for the door handle and crept down the stairs.
Chapter 9
Jack was standing outside a hackney cab parked around the corner when Evelyn approached. His eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in her unusual attire with a wry smirk.
“What took you so long?” he asked.
“I had to wait until Father went to work in his library for the evening.”
“Were you seen?”
“No.”
He opened the door to the hackney and held out his hand. “I took the liberty of obtaining a cab. In the area of London where we are headed, my phaeton or carriage would draw a significant amount of unwanted attention.”
She climbed in and sat on the bench across from him. In the small confines of the cab, her skirts brushed his knees. Jack watched as she fidgeted in her seat and retied the ribbons of her hat tightly beneath her chin, all sure signs that she was anxious and tense.
Some devilish part of Jack was glad she was nervous, but the rest of him wanted to reach out and touch her, reassure her that he would remain by her side tonight. He mentally shook himself. His warring emotions were becoming all too familiar when it came to Evelyn.
“I don't like this,” he said. “Your father would not approve of where we are going. Is he aware that the Bow Street Runners are searching for Mr. Sheldon?”
She lowered her eyes and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her dark cloak.
“I'll take your silence as a no.”
She looked up. “Father isn't aware of the extent of the evidence against Randolph and that witnesses saw him fleeing from Bess Whitfield's bedroom window. He believes Bow Street wants Randolph for questioning. But Father fully understands Bow Street's aggressive nature, and he
wants
you to represent Randolph in case he is arrested.”
“Then let me, Evie. I can go to Billingsgate alone. My representation as Mr. Sheldon's barrister will not be compromised by your absence tonight.”
“We had an agreement, Jack. I go with you.”
He threw up his hands and sighed. “Fine. Shall we then?” Leaning out the window, he gave the driver directions.
The leather harness creaked and the cab jerked forward, then settled into a sway as the wheels crunched over the cobblestone streets.
Jack returned his attention to her. The window shade was rolled up and the late-afternoon sun illuminated Evelyn's form. She was garbed entirely in a dark cloak. Her shoes were obviously a servant's, and the slight brim of her hat served to shield her eyes. It was not a bad choice of attire, and he wondered what she wore underneath. If he had any say, she would keep the cloak on the entire evening.
He noticed she was studying him as well. “Do you approve of my clothing?” he asked.
She grimaced. “I was wondering where your valet obtained such a horrid jacket.”
Jack grinned. He was wearing a corduroy jacket, torn and badly stitched at one wrist, and a grubby shirt with enough grease stains to appear as if he had repeatedly wiped his plate with the dingy fabric. Coarse wool black trousers with frayed hems and scuffed boots completed his look. He hadn't bothered to shave that morning and had a shadow of a dark beard.
“My valet, Martin, is familiar with several secondhand clothing dealers. He adds his own personal flair, of course.” Jack motioned to the awful stitching and grease stains. “But Martin's talent is remarkably helpful when I am investigating some of my clients' alleged grievances, and I need to travel to the scene of the crime.”
A corner of her mouth curled upward. “I can only imagine.”
“Don't be fooled, Evie. Our attire will aid us, but you must be aware that nothing will draw the eye like a beautiful woman.”
She blinked, and the thought occurred to him that she had little idea just how stunning she was. Had no man ever called her beautiful before?
What a blasted waste,
he mused. Her father had done her a grave disservice by permitting her to sequester herself in his chambers.
The swaying of the hackney changed to a stop-and-go motion. The pungent odor of fish wafted through the window of the cab, and Jack knew they were close to their destination.
On impulse, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind Evelyn's ear. But as soon as he touched her, he felt an immediate and total attraction. His fingers lingered near her lobe, and he was mesmerized by the silky texture of her hair. He wanted to touch more of her, to take off the hat and explore the fine mass....
He glanced at her face. She sat rigid, clearly surprised at his touch.
Feeling a sudden rush of frustrated annoyance at his lack of control, he jerked his hand back. “Stay close to me, Evie,” he bit out. “Keep your hat on at all times. The last thing we need is your hair drawing unwanted attention. If any man approaches us, then you are to claim to be my woman. Understand?” His tone sounded unduly harsh to his own ears, but he didn't care, wanting only for her to heed his warning.
“But surely that won't be necessary?”
He leaned forward, his eyes piercing her with a hard stare. “Until we find Randolph Sheldon, then it is necessary for your own safety.”
When she opened her mouth to protest further, Jack said, “Do you trust me?”
She looked taken aback and bit her bottom lip before looking him in the eye. “Yes. I trust you, Jack.”
“Good, because we've arrived.”
He opened the door, jumped down, and held out a hand to Evelyn.
She took it and alighted, her blue eyes wide as disks as she spotted the throng of people down the street.
“We can still turn back, Evie,” he said.
She shook her head.
Jack tossed a coin to the cabdriver. “Stay in the area tonight and there will be double in it for you.”
“Aye, gov'ner,” the driver said, tipping his hat.
Then Jack took her hand in a firm grip and headed for the thickest part of the mob.
Evelyn couldn't believe her eyes. The fish market enveloped them in a malodorous crowd of activity. The overpowering stench of fish lay as heavy as the humid air on her skin. Fishmongers with gut-stained aprons waved fish above their heads and cupped hands around their mouths as they shouted their prices. Screeching seagulls hovered above and occasionally swooped down to pick at fish guts or slop thrown between the stalls.
“How will we ever find the tavern?” she shouted above the cacophony of voices to be heard.
“I know where it is,” Jack said.
A burly sailor bumped into her and she stumbled. Jack steadied her with a hand at her elbow.
“We could lose each other in this crowd.”
His grip tightened. “No, we won't. The tavern is just down the street.”
“I didn't think it would be this busy. It's almost five o'clock in the evening.”
“It's worse at five o'clock in the morning,” he said dryly.
They passed a stall where a buyer haggled with a fishwife who had a dozen turbots strung around her apron. The brownish tails and white bellies of the fish swung around as the woman gestured wildly with her hands and yelled in the buyer's face. In the next stall a charlatan stood on a table, shouting out the benefits of a salve that could heal hemorrhoids as well as accidental cuts from fish knives in record speed. A milling crowd gathered around the charismatic man and the noise level increased.
Evelyn looked about flabbergasted, grateful for Jack's presence by her side. The market was like a living beast with a pulse of its own that could easily swallow an unsuspecting passerby.
“I can see why you did not wish me to come alone,” she blurted out.
He stopped suddenly and looked down at her, his green eyes studying her with a curious intensity. “Is that an admission of weakness, Evie?”
“No, Jack. Merely a statement of gratitude for your escort.”
A strange, faintly eager look flashed across his face, but as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished.
“I would have preferred to meet Mr. Sheldon elsewhere, but we're here now.” He pointed past the table of the medicine man. “I can see the tavern up ahead. Let's be on our way.”
They continued on through the market. As the end of the business day neared, fishmongers threw buckets of water in front of their stalls. Some mopped the fish guts and waste, others were content to let the gulls and stray dogs do the work. The cobbled street was slick and dirty, and Evelyn held up her already-short hem as they walked by.
Soon the murky, brown water of the Thames came into view, and the odor of fish and seaweed grew stronger. Shrimp and oyster boats were lined up at the wharf. Fishermen and porters scurried about at the direction of a burly wharfmaster, his weathered face as dark as tanned leather, whose shouts were mixed with ear-blistering profanity.
She first spotted the sign for the Cock and Bull Tavern before they rounded the corner and the building came into view.
“Stay by my side, Evie,” Jack warned. “Every sailor in Billingsgate is going to be here on a Friday night.”
They came up to the tavern door, and she could make out the roar of voices within. Just as Jack reached for the handle, the door swung open and a sailor stumbled outside. Ruddy-cheeked and glassy-eyed, he barely glanced at them before making his way to the street and spewing up his latest meal.
Giving her no chance to stare, Jack dragged her inside the tavern.
A thick haze of smoke enveloped them. Her eyes stung, and she blinked several times until the scene before her cleared.
The tavern was crowded just as Jack had warned. It was a large room, with a long bar spanning the back wall and tables and chairs haphazardly scattered about. Groups of men were seated, their hands cradling tankards of ale or cups of gin while others held decks of cards. The crowd was coarse—made up of dockworkers, sailors, porters, and fishermen.
Candles sputtered from wall sconces and coals glowed in a corner brazier. A few women were present—barmaids scurrying about; other females with scandalously low bodices lingered at the tables, hanging over the shoulders of men who played cards.
The door closed behind Evelyn. The man behind the bar looked up and stopped pouring a bottle of gin. Other heads rose, and the occupants stared at the newest patrons with narrow-eyed interest.
Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest, and uncertainty flooded through her. She had tried to anticipate what she might encounter, yet no newspaper article she had read, nor even literature featuring the lower classes, had amply prepared her for this true life experience. Her senses were overwhelmed by the thick smoke wafting across her skin and the fetid air full of unwashed, perspiring bodies. The din of the crowd boiled down to a dull ringing in her ears, and her feet felt as heavy as if her borrowed shoes were filled with lead.
She was vaguely conscious of shuffling backward, making for the door, when Jack's hand tightened on her wrist. He pulled her firmly to his side, his breath hot in her ear.
“Don't, Evie. It's too late to run, and I'm with you.”
The hard length of him pressed against her, reassuring her, and she nodded numbly.
Jack elbowed their way past the crush of bodies to an empty table in the rear of the room. Several broad-shouldered dockworkers eyed them, and Evelyn feared they were the type who enjoyed bar brawls. But Jack exuded a cocky confidence as if he belonged in such an environment, and the men remained in their seats. The man behind the bar went back to pouring cups of gin.
They were almost at the table, when a hand snaked out for Evelyn. Jack pulled her out of reach and glared at a young sailor with crooked, brown teeth who was far into his cups.
“Willin' to share?” the man asked, slurring his words.
Jack's face was fierce. “She's mine fer the night. Bought and paid fer. Find another.”
The drunkard shrugged and turned his attention back to his gin.

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