Never Wager Against Love (Kellington Book Three) (28 page)

 “I don’t know,” said Vanessa.  “I guess I never gave it
much thought.”

“Dumbarton is another one with unexplained wealth,”
continued Stapleton.  “He claims much of it was from an inheritance from a
distant relation in America, a claim that will be difficult to verify.  But, he
also has taken dozens of trips to the continent – some of them extended trips
that lasted for months.  And many of them occurred during the war.”

“He is an academic,” said Vanessa.  “And he wasn’t going to
France during the war.”

“Probably not,” conceded Stapleton, “but we do not know for
sure.  Finally, there is Lord Willingham.  He’s also wealthy, although that can
be explained by his inheritance and the fact his estates are prospering.  In
his case, my suspicions were raised because he has access to information most
people in the government don’t have.  And he has also taken several trips
outside of England, many of them to the continent during the war.”

“But, that is part of his job at the Home Office,” said
Vanessa, not wanting to even consider that the man who’d been like a father to
her might possibly be behind the scheme.  Arthur might easily have died at the
Iron Bridge.  She couldn’t bear it if anyone she knew was behind it, but it
would particularly hurt if it were Willingham.

“It is indeed part of his job,” said Stapleton, “but because
of his position, he would be able to offer Mortimer and Cassidy something even more
valuable than money – safe passage out of the country.”

Vanessa told herself there were any number of people within
the Home Office who could be behind the conspiracy, but the three suspects Stapleton
had mentioned would truly fall under the category of Judas for her.

“Thank you, Inspector,” she said.  “You have given me a
great deal to think about.”

“I want to see justice done,” he said.  “I am available to
assist in any way I can.”

“As am I,” said Lynwood, a sentiment that was quickly echoed
by everyone else in the room.

Vanessa looked at each of them, read the sincerity in their
eyes.  She was truly touched by this outpouring of support.  For so long she’d
been on her own, having to depend only on herself.   It was a marvelous feeling
to know others were willing to share the burden.

“I thank you all,” she said.  “But it would be too
dangerous.  I shall find a way to uncover the truth myself.”

“You mean, ‘we’ shall find a way, don’t you?” asked Arthur. 
“Surely I’ve done too good of a job as your assistant to be summarily dismissed
now.”

“Your assistant?” asked Hal with a grin.  “I would have
loved to have seen that.”

“I believe,” said Lynwood, rising from his chair, “that Miss
Gans has a great deal to consider.  And since she and Arthur had a long
journey, perhaps it is time for us all to retire.  The best way to proceed may
come to Miss Gans in the morning.”

“Can it come in the early-to-late afternoon?” asked Hal.  “I
am extremely tired myself.”

“Miss Gans,” continued Lynwood, ignoring his youngest
brother, “welcome to Lynwood House.  I expect you and Arthur will remain here
at least until this matter is cleared up.”

“Thank you, your grace,” said Vanessa.  “But I plan to
return to my rooms in the morning.”

“You cannot do that,” protested Arthur.  “It is not safe.”

“Which is all the more reason for me to leave Lynwood House,
my lord.  I cannot allow any of you to be put at risk, especially with a child
here and Lady Edward in a delicate condition.”

“While I thank you for your concern,” said Jane warmly,
“this is not the first time the family has been under siege.  You shall remain
here and we will just make sure to be more vigilant.”

Before Vanessa could object, Ned spoke up.  “You cannot
gainsay Lynwood and my wife, Miss Gans.  If it were only Lynwood you were
defying, I’d say you had a chance, but no one flouts Jane’s authority.”

“So it is settled,” said Lynwood as he shook hands with
Stapleton.  “Thank you for coming here so late.  We can prepare a guest room
for you.”

“Thank you, but I shall go back to my rooms.  There are a
few matters I have to settle at Bow Street in the morning, but I’ll be back
here later in the day.”

“In that case,” said Lynwood, with a glance at Lizzie and
Riverton, who were holding hands and talking quietly, “perhaps you’d like to
escort Riverton out of the house and to his home.”

Riverton looked up at the mention of his name.  “Surely you
don’t mean for Stapleton to escort me all the way home.  My horse is in the
stable and I only live a few blocks away.  Nothing will happen to me at this
hour.”

“You misunderstand me Marcus,” said Lynwood, with only a
glimmer of a smile.  “I am not as concerned with Stapleton delivering you to
your home as I am with having him get you out of this house.  Good night.  I
shall see you all in the morning.”

As the party broke up, Arthur escorted Vanessa upstairs to
her room.  He kept the door open, but escorted her inside to see if everything was
as it should be.  The Lynwood servants had, of course, done their jobs well.  But
he wanted to linger.  He wanted to remain there all night.  However, one look
told him he would be sleeping alone that night.

“Thank you, Arthur, for bringing me safely back to London. 
Now I’m afraid things will really get interesting.”

“Yes,” he said, as he kissed her briefly good night.  “I
believe they will.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When Portia Cassidy discovered that Frederick Mortimer had
failed to take the chalice from Vanessa, she’d been livid.  The plain cup she’d
pulled out of the bag had been nothing like the famous chalice.  Mortimer had
sworn he thought it was the real thing when he took it out of Vanessa’s
saddlebag but claimed to have been fooled by the wrapping around it.  She
didn’t believe him. 

He had raged at her for trying to shoot Vanessa at the
bridge.  He claimed it was because he didn’t want to attract the law any more
than they already had.  The Crown didn’t like it when its agents were killed and
retribution tended to be death without benefit of a trial.  But she suspected
he still harbored feelings for the dim little miss who had turned traitor and
worked for the law.  And it was affecting his judgment.  If they had the
chalice, they could be on their way to America by now.  But they were stuck
with a sword that was too distinctive to sell without attracting unwanted attention,
and a golden stake which wouldn’t bring them nearly enough wealth for the life
she wanted to live. 

She looked at Frederick, who was working at the desk in
their London safe house.  They’d spoken little since her last tirade about the
chalice.  She was beginning to wonder if they’d ever speak again.

*                    *                    *

“I’m sorry, milord, but no one has approached me with any of
them items,” said Mr. White, the proprietor of a pawn shop with a rather shady
reputation.  It was Hal’s ninth such visit that afternoon.  While he’d never
had to pawn anything himself, he’d accompanied several of his friends who’d had
to part with items of worth, so he was familiar with how they operated.  Mr.
White had a reputation for selling items of questionable provenance.

“And I’m sure you’d tell me if you had been approached,”
said Hal with a raised brow.

Mr. White’s only response was a smile revealing a gold front
tooth.  “I can only tell you what I can tell you.”

“I believe you’re acquainted with Inspector Stapleton?”

Instantly, the man was on guard.  “Aye,” he said warily.

“I understand the Inspector recently helped your family.” 
Stapleton had come to the rescue of Mr. White’s sister, whose common law
husband had beaten her.  Stapleton had thrown the man in gaol for a few days,
then helped Mr. White send his sister to live with a cousin outside of London.

It was obvious Mr. White didn’t want to cooperate with Hal’s
inquiry, but that his sense of honor made him.  “He’s a good cove, despite
being from Bow Street.  Listen, I told you the truth.  I ain’t been approached
about them items, and I cannot think anyone else has either.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because for one thing, whenever anyone makes a good score,
you can tell by the gloatin’ and no one’s done any of that lately.  But the
reason I’m really sure is it don’t do no good to buy somethin’ you cannot
sell.  All three of them items, the sword, the cup and the spike are too well
known to sell.  It would bring Bow Street down on you, then the gallows.  The
only way to unload something like that would be on the continent, most likely
France.  No ways to do it here.”

“What about if someone were to try to sell the jewels on the
sword and chalice?”

“’Twould not work.  Jewels that old are identifiable.  Would
be worth a man’s life to try to sell them.  And while there’s all sorts of
greedy folks in this trade, you won’t find too many that stupid.”

Hal thanked the man with a coin then was on his way.  Dusk
was approaching and he had to walk a few blocks to where he’d told his driver
to wait.  The neighborhood wasn’t the worst in the area, but he still hadn’t
wanted the carriage to be waiting on the street as a target to would-be thieves
or drunks too inebriated to know the folly of crossing a peer such as Lynwood.

And there was no shortage of drunks, even at this early hour,
with taverns lining the streets.  At this time of day most would be filled with
working men, but as the night wore on, peers stumbling home from an evening
spent gaming, whoring or both would likely stop by to further indulge.

Hal had spent his fair share of time in taverns.  Truth be
told, he’d probably spent enough time in taverns for half the families in
Mayfair.  He had little inclination to indulge now, since not only did he have
to get home to report on the pawn shops, but he’d never been a solitary
drinker.  He spent his nights in rakish pursuits because that’s what his
friends did.  If they were monks, he’d do monkish activities with them.  Well,
that wasn’t quite true.  He couldn’t really see himself headed to a monastery
any time soon.  But he enjoyed his friends, so it only made sense that he’d accompany
them about town. 

Midway up the block was a group of reformers.  They were
appearing with more frequency and in greater number throughout the East End and
the area around Covent Garden.  Their rather laughable goal was the banning of
spirits, particularly Mother’s Ruin, the strong form of gin that caused
blindness and death.  While Hal believed efforts should be made to eliminate
dangerous spirits, the very notion of banning drink in general was ludicrous,
even if there had been many a morn when he’d awakened with a bruising headache
and a pledge to never drink again.

Fortunately, the pledge never lasted.

As he approached the reform ladies, he could hear them
singing.  It was some sort of hymn.  He might even have sung it at one point,
though he couldn’t remember the words.  The group of six ladies was much as one
might expect.  Grim-faced, dressed in dull colors, most of them grey-haired. 
He had no doubt all were humorless.  He smiled and tipped his hat to the lady
in front.  She frowned, which only made him grin. 

He was just about to pass them, when he noticed a woman in
the back of the group who was much younger than the others.  Though most of her
hair was stuck under a hideous cap, what little he could see was a rich
mahogany.  He couldn’t quite make out her face because she was bent over tying
her half boots.  She’d pulled up her skirts just enough to reveal silk
stockings with delicate stitching.   They were expensive.  He knew that because
his last mistress had insisted he buy her a dozen pairs.  It was an odd
clothing choice for a dour reformer.

As if feeling his eyes upon her, she looked at him and her
eyes widened – revealing a striking hazel color – then she quickly dropped her
skirt and stood up.  She looked like an angel, even if she was the only one who
wasn’t singing the hymn.  But a moment later, she blinked, turned from him and
joined her friends in the next chorus.

Hal stood rooted to the spot for a moment, wishing his angel
would look at him again, but it was all for naught.  He remembered that the
carriage would be waiting for him, so he set off for Lynwood House.

*                    *                    *

Arthur vaguely recalled meeting Lord Willingham at some
ton
event a few years earlier.  He’d seen the man now and then after that, but
since Willingham was a good twenty years older than he and not much of a
gamester, they’d had little social interaction.  Willingham was short, with
thinning hair which was mostly grey.  He was a man of few words, and, like any
good spy, listened more than he spoke.  Arthur resented the man for forcing
Vanessa into service to the Crown, even if it had saved her from being
transported.

When they arrived at Willingham’s office, the man was in a
foul mood.  He’d just yelled at his secretary and, as Arthur and Vanessa
unexpectedly entered his office, Willingham looked like he wanted to throw them
right back out again. 

The office was in disarray, with files covering every inch
of his desk.  Willingham was in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, packing a box,
which he quickly set aside.  He reached for his jacket, then nodded curtly to
Vanessa.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to report in,” he
said without preamble.  “Sir Lawrence told me about the fiasco in Shropshire.”

“Sir Lawrence was able to report in?” asked Vanessa.

“He was here first thing this morning, why?”

“I thought his injury would keep him from it.”

“Perhaps he thought losing three of England’s greatest
treasures was more important than a sore ankle.  How the devil did that
happen?”