Suzanne Robinson (11 page)

“It worked this time,” he snapped over his shoulder. “This time. It won’t work again.”

He vanished. Liza sighed as she heard a door slam inside the house. She waited until she was sure he wasn’t coming back, then went to her room and began packing. She couldn’t stay now. If she stayed, he would find her again. Somehow she brought out a ruthlessness in him he didn’t even want to control. No, she couldn’t stay, for in her heart she suspected she really didn’t want to go.

L
iza poured another cup of tea from the china pot on her desk as she read the information gathered so far by Toby. Glancing out the window at the back garden, she watched snowflakes fall, then yawned. She had reached Pennant’s late last night, and hadn’t calmed enough to sleep for several hours after that. The mantel clock struck four in the afternoon, and she returned to her reading.

That boardinghouse had been a place of prostitution, of course. Rumors about it said that the men who frequented the place had peculiar tastes. They also said that the manager pandered to these tastes most enthusiastically, since they coincided with his own. The manager’s name was Frankie Fawn.

“Fawn.”

Liza rummaged among the papers on her desk, found the note she’d scribbled last night, and jabbed her finger at one of the names.

“Frank Fawn. Merciful heavens.” She jumped up from the desk and began to pace back and forth in front of it. “Toby!”

Toby, who had been seeing off a group of employees bound for an earl’s military banquet, clattered through the house in his all-weather boots. Entering her office, he put his mittened fists on his hips and surveyed her.

“Read it, did you?”

Liza waved her list at him. “That man, the manager or procurer or whatever he is, he’s on the list.”

“That’s real peculiar like,” Toby said. “Old Bill just got in from the docks. Says they’ve found another floater.”

“A what?”

“A corpse, missy. One floating in the river. It’s our Frankie, it is.”

Liza clutched the back of a chair. “Frank Fawn.”

“Some blokes saw him fighting with a gentleman. Seems our Frankie came at him from behind with a knife. Picked the wrong gent, though, ’cause this one did for him good. Frankie stumbled and fell backwards off the dock. Must have hit his head on a pylon. Maybe that gent was the one who reported our Frankie to the rozzers, ’cause they raided his place. Didn’t find no tykes though. None at all. Only regular whores.”

“Dear me.”

Liza’s voice sounded faint even to her own ears.
She sank down on the chair and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“Toby, there are so many people dying. William Edward, Airey, Stapleton, this man Fawn.”

“Nah,” Toby said as he unwound a wool scarf from his neck. “London’s a big city. With this many people in one place, there’s bound to be some dying, and sorry creatures like Frankie get done all the time.”

“But their names don’t appear on lists hidden in the houses of dukes’ sons.”

Toby stopped unbuttoning his coat. “You’re right there, missy. Good thing you scarpered, or you might have ended up a floater.”

“I can’t just leave off.”

Groaning, Toby marched over to her and shook his forefinger at her. “Now you listen to me. You hire one of them gents who investigate crimes for folks.”

“We’ve been through this,” Liza said. “They’re too expensive, and I’m not risking the financial health of Pennant’s. Too many women with children work for us.”

“That’s not it.”

“Oh?”

Toby stood erect and clasped his hands behind his back with a snort. “It’s him. And don’t look at me with them innocent eyes. Ever since you first saw him, you been acting peculiar. I seen your face go all soft and misty-eyed when you was thinking of him. I got a daughter of me own, so don’t think I don’t know what that look means. He’s got to you, just like he meant to, and you’d better stay away from him if you don’t want to end up like my Betty.”

“Why, Toby, you’re worried about me, and I can’t imagine where you got such ideas.”

Her answer was another snort, and a mimicking sneer. “Oh, gracious, I can’t imagine.”

“Besides, I’ve just thought of a plan.”

“Gor, not another plan.”

Liza gave him an affronted look. “It’s a good one. Look, Toby, we can’t stop now. Don’t you see—there are children involved.”

“Them two we saw are still with the old lady we saw. They don’t need our help.”

“How do you know that old woman isn’t another procurer? How do you know she isn’t keeping them for the same reason Frank Fawn kept them?”

“You make me sick, you do, with your canniness and your stubbornness.”

“Then we’re agreed,” Liza said. She laid the list in her lap and smoothed her skirts. “Which is good, because I need you to post a letter for me at once. It’s to my father.”

“Gor!”

“I’ve found a way to be near Viscount Radcliffe and yet make sure he won’t, um, pursue me.”

“Not if you don’t wear a padded dress.”

“I’m going to be me, Toby, which should prevent any further interest.”

Toby threw up his hands. “You’re daft. Being you won’t get in his way. Women. If a young hound like that comes sniffing around you plump, he’ll sniff around you skinny.”

“Papa wants me to marry well, especially now that William Edward is gone. He wants a grandson. Not a granddaughter, mind you, a grandson. I’ll pretend Pennant’s isn’t doing well and that I’ve learned my lesson. That’s what Papa’s been waiting for me to do. I’m going to agree to hunt for a husband, and then get him to invite Jocelin Marshall to a house
party. When Papa realizes I want to try for a duke’s son, he’ll be apoplectic with joy.”

“Him visit your pa? Not likely.”

“He will if Papa mentions he’s thinking of supporting Asher Fox’s bid for a seat in Parliament. The viscount has a great fondness for Mr. Fox, and political aims as well.”

Dropping to his knees, Toby spoke to her quietly. “You listen to me, missy. Don’t you go putting yourself in his way. If this high tone fellow is up to the nastiness I think he is, you’re in danger.”

Liza patted Toby’s arm and rose from her chair.

“If he’s killed my brother or done the things you say, he’ll find me dangerous as well.”

Jocelin sat behind his desk in the library nine days after he refrained from seducing his plump maid. During the past week he’d fought a small war with his scruples and lost, which was why he’d sent for the housekeeper and Choke. The housekeeper sat on the edge of her chair. Her lace cap quivered with her shaking. Choke stood beside her, unperturbed at this abrupt summons.

“And since I’m going to be searching for my future wife, I’ll be entertaining more,” Jocelin said. He was gratified with his reasoning. It had taken him a while to come up with it. “Therefore I’m going to need more service abovestairs. I want you to make that new maid—Gamp is it—make her a parlor maid and hire another maid of all work.”

The housekeeper’s cap quivered. Choke and she exchanged glances, and the butler cleared his throat.

“Your lordship hitherto has left household matters
in our hands. Ah-hum.” Choke looked at his employer with mild reproach. “And since your lordship has had so many late night appointments and political meetings, there hasn’t been an opportunity to take up certain matters.”

“What matters?”

“Gamp, my lord. She’s left your service. Quite abruptly, over a week ago. She left a note informing me that her aunt in Liverpool had taken ill and that she was forced to go to her.”

Jocelin lowered his gaze to the correspondence on his desk. “She’s gone, is she? Where?”

“Yes, my lord, and I replaced her,” Choke said. “I can find another parlor maid quickly, however. The Pennant’s Domestics are always available, and—”

“Where, I said.”

“She didn’t say, my lord.”

“Never mind.”

“But, my lord, if you are contemplating some new entertainments, we should begin hiring at once.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Thank you, Choke.”

He nodded and rose from his chair. Left with no other alternative, Choke and the housekeeper filed out of the room. When they were gone, Jocelin pounded his fist on the desk.

“Damn all!”

Ignoring the ache in his fist, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at a portrait of George III hanging on the wall beside the desk. Then he pulled the bell cord and sent for Loveday. He was drumming his fingers on the desktop when the valet arrived.

“What have you done with her?” Jocelin asked.

“Whom, my lord?”

“The plump and peevish maid, Gamp. Did you send her away?”

Loveday’s brow wrinkled, causing furrows in the bare scalp above them. Then they smoothed as he comprehended.

“Ah. We have been unable to rise above temptation, and have also just discovered Miss Gamp’s disappearance.”

“We’re pissed, Loveday.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“I thought she was hiding from me belowstairs. Where is she?”

“I don’t know, my lord. But perhaps her absence is fortuitous.” Loveday cast a meaningful glance at him. “If I may be frank?”

“Go on. You will be anyway.”

“Since we encountered Miss Gamp, our manner has lacked a certain decorum. We have been temperamental with servants, which is quite unlike our usual gracious deportment when dealing with those in our service.”

Jocelin stood up, put his hands on the desk, and leaned forward to grind out his words. “I don’t care. If you think I’ve been temperamental, just watch me if I don’t find Miss Gamp. We’re going to have her, Loveday, and we don’t care how we get her.”

“Indeed, my lord?”

He sank back into his chair and clutched his head. “Indeed. Loveday, I’m desperate. I think I smell lemons everywhere. I accosted Lord Quay’s scullery maid in the street because I thought she was Gamp. Damn those silly caps. They cover a woman’s whole head.”

“This is quite unlike you, my lord.”

“I have to find her.” Jocelin slumped over and buried his head in his arms and groaned out his frustration.

“This obsession is likely to interfere with our efforts to find a bride.”

Jocelin talked into the pillow of his arms. “I can’t think with my cock stiff as a cook’s rolling pin. Sorry, Loveday.”

“As I said, my lord, our decorum has lapsed since making the acquaintance of Miss Gamp.” Loveday bent over the desk to peer at Jocelin. “If I may make a suggestion, my lord. We might avail ourselves of the services of a private inquiry agent. Such a person could find the whereabouts of Miss Gamp and put us in communication with her in a circumspect manner. Once this task has been accomplished, we would be free to entertain the young woman in our usual discreet fashion.”

“You’re a man of acumen and discernment, Loveday. Feel free to go around to that rare book store you like. Select several volumes that take your fancy, and have them send the bill to me.”

“Your lordship is gracious.” Loveday bowed regally. “And now, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Ross was just arriving when I came in.”

“Throw him in here, then.”

Jocelin sat up, straightened his necktie, and brushed his fingers through his hair. Nick Ross sailed into the library, waving the morning paper at him. He grinned, but his smile faded when his friend spoke.

“Delenda est Carthago,”
Nick chirped.
“Morituri te salutamus.”

“Oh, God, you’ve hired another tutor.”

“Fas est et ab hoste doceri.”

“It is right even to learn from an enemy?”

“Is that what it means? Clever of me.” Nick dropped onto the couch, put his legs up on it, and flapped the newspaper at Jocelin. “Read it?”

“Not yet.”

“They have found a partial list of Fawn’s customers.”

Jocelin turned away and gazed out the frosted windows behind the desk. Beyond the French doors lay a terrace, and beyond that a snow-shrouded garden.

“Has that boy told you how many others?”

“No. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Give him time, Jos. Don’t think about it. You always go black on me after we do one of our little jaunts. And don’t bother denying it, because I heard that sigh.” Nick jumped off the sofa and struck a dramatic pose. “Don’t think about it. Listen to this:

Jocelin hunched his shoulders and turned around to stare in horror at Nick. “That’s Shelley. You’ve hired an English tutor as well, blast you.”

Nick put a hand on his breast and gazed at the ceiling. “ ‘To be, or not to be: that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune—’ ”

“No!”

Jocelin sprang at Nick and clamped a hand over his mouth. Nick shoved his hand away.

“Watch it, Jos.”

“Please, please, Nick. Hamlet was murdered once in the play. Don’t you do it a second time.”

Nick flushed and turned his gaze from Jocelin.
Rising, he stalked to the fireplace, placed an arm on the mantel, and contemplated the coals.

Remorseful, Jocelin took a seat nearby. “Sorry, Nick, old fellow.”