JORDAN Nicole (40 page)

The carriage turned into a slop-covered cobblestone lane and came to a halt before a dilapidated building. Drew was waiting in front to hand Roslyn down, his expression sober as he gave her a terse greeting.

She responded with a question as he guided her up the entrance steps. “So Bow Street discovered her location?”

“Yes, from her former neighbors. According to the proprietress of these lodgings, Constance has apartments on the third floor, but I haven’t approached her yet.”

He ushered Roslyn inside to the first door, which was partway open. The proprietress was a heavyset woman with the coarse manners of a Billingsgate fishwife. When Drew handed her a shilling, she grinned widely, showing her rotting teeth.

“’Tis peculiar ye’ve come, guv’nor. Missus Baines don’t ’ave many visitors. Puts on fancy airs like she was a real lady, she does. But she won’t be welcome ’ere much longer if she can’t pay ’er rent. It’s past due by a fortnight.”

The woman climbed the rackety stairs ahead of them and stopped halfway down the dim corridor to bang on the door. Upon receiving no answer, she shouted through the thin wood panel.

“Missus Baines, ye ’ave a fancy toff and his lady ’ere to see you. Unlock this ’ere door or I’ll do it meself.”

It was another moment before the sound of a key turning in the lock could be heard. When the door cracked open an inch, Drew glanced at the proprietress.

“That will be all,” he said dismissively.

Frowning, she spun her bulky body around and stalked away as the door opened another few inches.

Roslyn was taken aback to see a wide-eyed young girl peering out. Perhaps ten years of age, she wore a patched frock that was too small for her thin frame, and she looked wary and frightened. Yet her speech was clearly upper-class when she managed to choke out, “M-May I help you, sir?”

“Yes, child,” Drew responded, his tone softening. “I would like to speak to your mother, Constance Baines.”

Her expression turned distressed. “My m-mother is ill, sir. She cannot be disturbed.”

Drew handed the girl a gilt-embossed calling card. “Then will you give her this and tell her I have questions about her son?”

Appearing indecisive, she looked over her shoulder as if she might bolt for safe refuge. But at last she opened the door fully and beckoned them to enter.

When Roslyn preceded Drew inside, she was surprised to see that, unlike the surrounding squalor of the neighborhood, the room was neat and clean, and held a kitchen of sorts, as well as a sitting area with some threadbare furniture that once had been of good quality.

“If you will please wait here, sir,” the girl murmured before she scurried toward the closed door behind her and slipped inside.

Roslyn met Drew’s gaze silently as they waited for the child’s return but knew her own distress was showing.

Several long moments passed before the girl reappeared. “My mother is too ill to leave her bed, your grace, but if you do not mind, she can receive you there.”

The rear room was a bedchamber, Roslyn saw when they followed the girl. Crowded with three beds, it was just as tidy as the outer room but less welcoming, since the windows were open against the warm summer day and foul air reeked in from the lane below.

The woman lying in the largest bed looked gaunt and feverish. There was also another child sitting silently in one corner, a girl of about six who eyed them nervously.

The elder girl went straight to her mother’s bed and took her hand. “Mama?” she whispered. “Can you talk now, Mama?”

Constance’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed blankly at her daughter. Then she gave a start as if coming to her senses, and her worried gaze found Drew. She wet her cracked lips before speaking in a rasping, barely audible voice, “Your grace? My son…has something happened to Benjamin?”

“Your son’s name is Benjamin?” Drew asked quietly.

“Yes….” She tried to sit up, but she was too weak to manage, and at the effort, she fell into a paroxysm of coughing.

Constance was gravely ill, Roslyn realized, hearing the rattle in her chest that was symptomatic of a deadly inflammation of the lungs.

Drew stepped forward with alacrity. “Pray, don’t exert yourself, Mrs. Baines. Nothing has happened to your son to my knowledge.”

Her daughter leaned closer, obviously distraught to see her mother in such distress, but Constance waved her away. When her coughing fit subsided, she collapsed back on the pillow. “I…don’t understand…what you want with my son, then.”

“We have some questions about him that I hope you can answer,” Drew said, offering his handkerchief to the ill woman, who took it with a strange mixture of reluctance and gratitude.

“What…did you wish…to know?”

He started to answer, but Roslyn forestalled him, concerned that the girls were too young to hear about their brother’s attempted thievery. “Mrs. Baines, I am Miss Loring. The duke and I are friends of Lady Freemantle. Perhaps it would be best if we spoke in private.”

Her expression suddenly growing more apprehensive, Constance nodded weakly and glanced at the eldest girl. “Sarah…please take Daisy to the parlor. Don’t be alarmed, my love…I will be fine with our guests.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When the girls had left, shutting the bedchamber door behind them, Roslyn moved to stand beside the invalid’s bed. “Mrs. Baines,” she said gently. “Your children’s father was Sir Rupert Freemantle, is that so?”

Constance’s fingers plucked at the coverlet. “Yes.”

“And your son Benjamin is about sixteen years of age now and has ginger hair?”

“Yes, Carrot-Top is what we call him.”

“Tell us, was he wounded recently? In the arm or shoulder, perhaps?”

Constance looked confused. “Yes. A fortnight ago he was helping…to harness a team to a carriage…when the shaft slipped and gouged his arm. Why do you ask? Is Benjamin in…some kind of trouble?”

Roslyn avoided answering directly. “We wish to speak to him, but we’ve had difficulty locating him—and you as well, Mrs. Baines. We know that you lived in a house in St. John’s Wood, but you left with your children several years ago.”

“Who told you so?”

“A solicitor named Farnaby.”

Constance’s eyes darkened. “That evil man…”

“WasFarnaby evil, Mrs. Baines?”

She set her jaw stubbornly, despite the effort it took. “Perhaps not evil…but he was certainly a thief and a swindler.”

“Because he was entrusted to care for you?” Roslyn ventured to guess. “But he refused to honor Sir Rupert’s wishes after his death?”

“Yes,”Constance exclaimed with a surprising show of strength and spirit. But her explanation was halting as she continued. “Rupert bought the house for us…although the deed was in his name. He also…bequeathed an income sufficient…to provide for our upkeep and…proper schooling for the children. But…there was no proof of his intentions. When he died…Farnaby sold the house…and forced us to find other lodgings.”

“So how did you manage to survive?” Drew asked, his tone sympathetic.

Constance shifted her gaze to him. “To support us…my son hired on as a houseboy in a nobleman’s household…and was later promoted to footman…. I found employment in a milliner’s shop.”

“And how did you come to live here?”

She turned her face away, as if ashamed to answer. “We could not make the rent…so we moved to even cheaper lodgings. I abhorred having to bring…my children here, but I had no choice. And now we may be evicted even from here. When I fell ill last month…my employer let me go—”

Her last words were cut off when she began coughing fiercely into Drew’s linen handkerchief.

Seeing a mug of water on the bedside table, Roslyn helped Constance lift her head so she could sip, yet she continued to struggle for breath.

“Has a physician attended you?” Roslyn asked, deeply worried.

Constance swallowed with effort and then fell back weakly, shutting her eyes. “No…we cannot afford doctors or medicines…on Ben’s meager salary.” She forcibly opened her eyes again. “Why do you ask about Benjamin, Miss Loring?”

When Roslyn hesitated, wondering how much to divulge, Drew answered for her. “Your son was interested in acquiring a certain brooch in Lady Freemantle’s possession, Mrs. Baines.”

Constance looked puzzled. “My brooch…how did he even know…” She fell silent except for her breathless rasping.

“The brooch was yours?” Roslyn gently prodded.

“Yes, it was a gift…from Rupert many years ago, at our son’s birth. I cherished it because it…had Rupert’s portrait inside. But when he died, the brooch…was at the jeweler’s being cleaned, so I never saw it again.”

“And you could not legally claim it?”

“No.” Her voice lowered to barely a whisper. “Rupert could never publicly acknowledge…me as his mistress, out of respect for his wife, so…I could not simply demand the brooch back. Lady Freemantle would…have learned about me then…and Rupert would not have wanted that.”

“So why did your son want the brooch?” Drew asked.

“I…suppose to return it to me. I remember some weeks ago…when I first became ill and was wracked with fever…I told Ben I wished that I still…had the miniature portrait of his father. Perhaps I told him it was…in Lady Freemantle’s possession. I can’t recall.”

At least that explained why the boy had been so determined to obtain the brooch, Roslyn reflected. He was trying to fulfill what he thought was his mother’s deathbed wish.

“Is Benjamin in trouble?” Constance repeated weakly.

Again Drew answered for Roslyn. “That remains to be seen. The evidence against him is very serious, but we wish to speak to him before making any accusations.”

“What evidence?” Constance demanded worriedly.

“We believe he attempted to steal the brooch, more than once.”

She stared. “You must be mistaken, your grace. Benjamin would never steal. He is a good boy, the best son anyone could hope for.”

“Perhaps so, but his arm injury may have been a gunshot wound.”

“A gunshot wound! You must be mistaken—”

Just then the door burst open and Winifred’s ginger-haired thief rushed into the room, a worried look on his face. He took one look at the visitors, however, and froze in recognition, his expression turning to fear. The parcel he was carrying dropped from his nerveless fingers, while his freckled complexion turned as pale as his sick mother’s.

He was no longer wearing a sling, Roslyn noted, although he seemed to favor his right arm by holding it close to his chest.

To his credit, Benjamin recovered quickly and stuck out his chin. He meant to brazen it out, Roslyn realized.

“What do you mean coming here? My mother is too ill for visitors! Please leave at once.”

Constance looked appalled by his brusqueness. “Benjamin!” she rasped. “What do you mean…being so rude to our guests?”

When she started hacking again, the boy launched himself toward the bed, insinuating himself between the visitors and his mother. Obviously bent on protecting her, he whirled, his fists clenched defensively. “I won’t let you hurt her!”

Suspecting his belligerence was caused more by fear than anger, Roslyn would have tempered her reply, but Drew’s tone was not so gentle when he responded. “We have no intention of hurting your mother, lad. We are here to discuss your attempted theft of Lady Freemantle’s property.”

The boy ground his teeth. “It is nother property! The brooch belongs to my mother.”

“So you thought you had a right to hold up her ladyship’s coach at gunpoint, and when that failed, you invaded her home?”

Constance gasped. “No, Benjamin…you would never…do something so terrible.”

He turned to gaze down at her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I thought having Papa’s portrait might help you to get better.”

He turned back to face the duke, his gaze defiant. “Lady Freemantle won’t miss one little trinket with all those diamonds and emeralds she has in her jewel case. She is rich as a nabob.” His tone turned bitter with resentment. “It isn’t fair that she should be so wealthy while my mother and sisters starve.”

“Oh, Benjamin….” his mother murmured in dismay. “I taught you better than to covet other people’s possessions.”

His tone softened. “I was not coveting your brooch, Mama. It is rightfully yours, and I was only trying to get it back for you.”

Drew’s gaze remained grim. “You could have injured or killed Lady Freemantle and Miss Loring when you shot at them.”

Constance gave a low moan. “Dear heaven, Ben…how could you?”

The last fire left the boy’s eyes, to be replaced by guilt. “I am truly sorry, Mama. But my pistol discharged by accident. I would never have shot them, your grace. I would never hurt anyone.”

Interrupting the uneasy silence, Roslyn spoke up. “I have always found Lady Freemantle to be quite reasonable, Benjamin. Why didn’t you simply ask her to return the brooch?”

His gaze shifted to her. “I didn’t dare risk it, Miss Loring. Her ladyship didn’t know that her husband had another family—and I couldn’t tell her. In any case, I was sure she would be outraged if I approached her, enough to have me horsewhipped and driven off her estate or worse. Stealing the brooch was the only possible way I could regain possession of it.”

Although his voice remained steady, his chin was trembling, and Roslyn could detect more than a glimmer of remorse in his eyes.

“So you pretended to be a footman and managed to get hired for my sister’s wedding celebrations?” she asked.

“Yes…. I mean, it was no pretense. I am in service to Lord Faulkes. But a footman’s livery is a good disguise for a thief. The gentry never look at servants—they’re invisible.”

There was significant truth to his assertion, Roslyn acknowledged as Benjamin turned back to Drew.

This time his voice quivered noticeably when he queried, “D-do you mean to arrest me, your grace?”

Drew’s grave expression never changed. “Given the severity of your mother’s condition, I understand why you wished to champion her. But when you held up her ladyship’s carriage, were you aware that highway robbery is a hanging offense?”

A sob escaped Constance, while Benjamin’s face whitened again. “Y-yes, your grace.”

“Do you believe you should go unpunished for your crimes?” Drew asked.