My kind of scoundrel, p.10
My Kind of Scoundrel, page 10
Had she imagined seeing a shadow?
Had she felt the spectre’s hands on her back?
“Is Jules well? Did he offer any useful information?”
“He’s well but refuses to speak to anyone but you. I’ll take you to see him once we’ve finished with Pickering.” And with that, he closed the door, leaving her alone with Mrs Maloney.
There was something comforting about having an older woman brush her hair. Mrs Maloney’s soothing strokes were enough to lull Eleanor back to sleep.
“I know Theo is partly to blame for your troubles, but he’s a good man at heart.” She took a pin and pushed it gently into Eleanor’s hair. “I know he plays the fool but he would die for his family.”
Eleanor smiled. “You love him a great deal.”
“What’s not to love?”
His pranks, for one thing. Yet with a power akin to gravity, he drew Eleanor into his orbit, the invisible tug impossible to ignore.
“There have been times lately when I could have whacked him with a skillet.” There were times when she could have locked lips with him until dawn. “But you’re right. There’s something endearing about him.”
Mrs Maloney patted Eleanor’s chignon. “He’ll light up your life if you let him, though his battle with his conscience will be his downfall. He’s chained to this place and will never leave Aaron here alone.”
Eleanor remembered him confessing his greatest fear. He didn’t worry about his own future. He would happily push his dreams aside out of love for his eldest brother.
Mrs Maloney gave a weary sigh. “Do you know my first thought when I saw those poor mites on my doorstep, faces dirty, eyes sad with lost dreams?”
“That you were desperate to take care of them?”
“I thought, Maura, it will take a strong woman to fix this family. I was the first to help set them on the right path, but I’ll not be the last.”
Mrs Maloney did not elaborate but helped Eleanor into the bottle-green dress and matching pelisse she had shoved into her valise three days ago.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs Maloney, for pressing my clothes and caring for me these last three days.” If Eleanor’s mother had lived, would she have been someone Eleanor could depend upon? “I’m unused to such kindness.”
“Then guard your heart, dear,” Mrs Maloney said with a chuckle. “When you see what my boy has done with your shop, it will be like a hit from Cupid’s arrow.”
One question burned in Eleanor’s mind as she sat opposite Mr Chance in his family’s elegant equipage. Well, maybe more than one. But she did not want to know how long he’d sat watching her sleep. She would rather not think about him stripping to his shirtsleeves and padding about barefooted.
“Mrs Maloney said you spent time at my modiste shop.”
Mr Chance relaxed back against the squab. His confident grin could move mountains, yet she sensed his unease. “I wasn’t sure you would recover from your fall and feared—”
“I didn’t take you for a pessimist.”
He held her gaze. “I prayed I wouldn’t lose a worthy opponent, not halfway through the game. And something told me it wasn’t the end of our friendship. I only wish I had been there to prevent the accident.”
Her shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t an accident.”
He paused, tilting his head. “Not an accident?”
“Someone or something pushed me.”
Mr Chance sat bolt upright. “Are you certain? The door was locked. We were the only people on the premises.”
She had replayed the chilling moment in her mind a thousand times. Those few seconds were still a blur. “No, I’m not certain. I saw a shadow before someone shoved me in the back.”
He shuffled to the edge of the seat, his knees a fraction from hers. “You said someone or something. Surely you’re not speaking about a ghost. I credit you with more sense than that.”
“I don’t know what to think. Emily is the only person with a key, so why would she not show herself?” She had given Emily a door key weeks ago and had not thought to ask for it back.
Mr Chance gave a mocking snort. “Because she stole your silk and returned to take whatever else she could carry.”
Had she stolen the silk or simply taken it for safekeeping?
“Emily is barely five feet tall and so petite people mistake her for a child. Surely the person who pushed me was much stronger.”
“Then one of your devious clients entered the premises intending to steal back their note.” He shoved his hand through his mop of golden hair. “Daventry was right. Only the dead keep secrets. Perhaps someone means to silence you, Miss Darrow.”
His remark forced her to face a truth she had been avoiding. But what did she know that was so damning? She knew the identity of those sending secrets but nothing incriminating.
“Thankfully, I had the foresight to hire someone to guard your shop,” he said, alluding to his mysterious machinations. “Daventry’s man Gibbs has taken residence. It’s the only way to protect your property.”
Eleanor’s heart softened. He was determined to restore her reputation, determined to keep her in London. Did his motivation stem from guilt?
“Perhaps me being incapacitated was a blessing,” she said. “I would have insisted on returning home and tackling the problem myself.” In the process, she might have paid the ultimate price. “You chose well. Mr Gibbs has the strength of three men. I know Delphine valued his help when searching for the truth about her parents.”
“I had the locks changed yesterday,” he confessed.
“Oh.” She was unused to a man taking care of things. “Another wise decision.”
“And I supervised the cleaning of the shop yesterday. You would hardly know the place was ransacked a few days ago.”
Eleanor swallowed past a lump in her throat. The thought of tidying the rooms had filled her with dread. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Miss Darrow,” he began firmly, “I’ll not rest until things are as they were before the day of the shooting.”
The pang in her chest proved confounding.
Shouldn’t she be happy he wanted to put things right?
And yet she didn’t want things to be as they were. The empty compliments and endless teasing. The feeling they were worlds apart, practically strangers who knew nothing about each other at all.
“So much has changed since then.”
One kiss at the theatre had altered the course of fate. They’d grown closer. She was slowly learning to trust him and enjoyed his company. But nothing about this situation was permanent. Guarding her heart should be her only priority.
“I need to know you’re happy,” he clarified.
A moment of inward reflection confirmed what she already knew. Happiness eluded her. She had been living someone else’s life. Fulfilling her parents’ dream.
“I’m not your responsibility, Mr Chance. You’ve offered to help me and need do no more. Your conscience is clear. Once we’ve gained the information we need from Mr Pickering, our partnership will end.”
She hoped the librarian confessed and they had the vandal in custody by nightfall. There’d be no more threats. No more sudden attacks. No more sleepless nights spent wishing for a peaceful life. No more kisses from the only man who had ever made her soul sing. No fears of heartbreak.
She would return to the shop and her silent companion, the ever-present figure of loneliness lingering over her shoulder.
“You sound keen to get rid of me, Miss Darrow.”
“The arrangement was always temporary.”
“When I trust someone enough to call them a friend, is it wrong to hope the relationship might last a lifetime?”
A lady could not be friends with a man like Theodore Chance. He was like a well-honed blade, powerful enough to slice through her defences. While his masculine prowess had her gawping in awe, his chivalrous deed left her an emotional wreck. Any thoughts of urging him to be realistic vanished when he played his ace card.
“I have never had a friend outside of my family circle,” he said. “There has never been a need until now. But I have a feeling you need a friend, too.”
She might have melted into a puddle of tears had the carriage not stopped outside Mr Daventry’s premises in Hart Street. Her heart hurt more than the dreadful bruise on her back, but the need to comfort him overrode common sense.
“We make an unlikely duo, but I can be myself with you. That’s important in any alliance.”
Pleased with her answer, he smiled. “Honesty above all else. That will be our motto.” His gaze fell to her mouth, his eyes turning an attractive shade of blue. “The odd little lie won’t hurt. How else can I claim a kiss when we play cards tonight?”
“Friends do not kiss like we do.”
“We’re scoundrels and friends. We make our own rules.” He alighted and offered his hand. “Besides, you need something valuable to wager. I’ll not accept pearl buttons.”
This will end in tears, she told herself as he handed her down to the pavement. But the brush of his fingers made everything feel right.
The housekeeper led them into Mr Daventry’s study. The gentleman stood and rounded the desk, keen to ask about her health.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Darrow. Are you sure you’re well enough to tackle Pickering? When cornered, all men have a propensity for violence.”
Eleanor smiled, banishing the memory of the only time she had challenged her father. “Finding the wretch who destroyed my home is all that matters. He said I would die if I failed to deliver the note, and I believed him. Mr Pickering is the only person who knows the villain’s identity.”
“It’s a pity you don’t have the book.” Suspicion clouded Mr Daventry’s gaze. “Had we played along and hidden the note inside, Pickering would have led us directly to his source.”
Did he think she’d lied about it being stolen?
“Emily must have taken it along with my diary.” Had the girl panicked and fought to save what she could? Had she taken the opportunity to line her pockets instead? “We will visit her at her parents’ home later today.”
Mr Daventry perched on his desk. “Why would Emily want your book or diary?” he mused. “None of this makes sense.”
“Unless the devil who ransacked the shop stole them,” Mr Chance suggested. “He came for the book or the diary and took both.”
Unsure why the man had targeted her to begin with, Eleanor sighed. “Why use me and not deal with Mr Pickering himself? Hopefully, the librarian will provide us with the answer.”
A timely knock on the door brought the housekeeper, Mrs Gunning. “You asked to be notified when Mr Pickering arrived, sir. He’s outside, opening the doors of his fancy caravan.”
“Thank you, Mrs Gunning.” Mr Daventry waited for his housekeeper to leave before asking Eleanor, “Did you bring the sealed note?”
Mr Chance reached into his coat pocket. He turned the tiny missive over in his hand. “Amongst other things, the desire to break the wax and read the message kept me awake most of the night.”
“Read it now. I have black wax to reseal it.”
Eleanor looked at Mr Daventry, fear holding her rigid. “But what if the villain knows we’ve tampered with the note? What if he knows we’ve read his message?”
“I suspect he will come looking for you to carry out his threat,” he said in the calm tone of a man who fought crooks for a living. “Mr Chance will be your protector as we draw the rogue out.”
Mr Chance smiled like a cat in a room full of mice. “I’d like nothing more than to wring the blighter’s neck.”
“Then it’s settled.” Mr Daventry waved his hand to hurry Mr Chance along. “We need something we can use to scare Pickering. Let’s read the damning words that have caused Miss Darrow such misery.”
Mr Chance turned to her, his tone softening. “What do you want to do, Miss Darrow? I shall abide by whatever decision you make.”
Oh, this man was dangerous.
In a world of patriarchal dominance, he knew how to make a woman feel valued.
“I trust you will support me, whatever happens.” She was tired of hiding, tired of running, and meant to fight for what was right. “I say you open it, sir, regardless of the consequences.”
Her stomach churned as he broke the seal and peeled back the tiny folds. He studied the paper, shaking his head, a deep frown marring his brow.
“Well?” she prompted as he stared open-mouthed. “Is there mention of a name or a time and place?”
Was she about to learn the identity of her persecutor?
“No.” Mr Chance showed Daventry the note before handing it to her. “There is no message. The paper is blank.”
Chapter Nine
“Might he have used a process to conceal the message?” Miss Darrow said, her brows drawn together in consternation.
“Lemon juice on paper leaves a brown mark when held to the heat of a flame.” Theo knew because Lady Lucille had once sent him a similar message to evade her father’s detection.
Miss Darrow sniffed the paper and wrinkled her nose. “Surely I would be able to smell lemons.”
Theo couldn’t help but smile. Miss Darrow’s hidden innocence heightened her appeal, as did her enthusiasm for solving mysteries. “I doubt it. The note has been in your box for over two weeks.”
Daventry lit a candle. He took the paper from Miss Darrow and wafted it back and forth over the flame. When that proved pointless, he held it up to the light streaming through the study window.
“I’ll need a chemist to confirm my suspicion,” Daventry began, “but I’m confident there’s nothing written on this note.”
Miss Darrow shook her head in confusion. “How can that be? I’ve risked my life to deliver those messages.”
Keen to determine the facts, Theo said, “So, the villain is the only person who asked you to deliver the notes personally? The barrow boy never dealt with Pickering?”
“No. I hid the notes beneath the bookplates and delivered them myself. Mr Pickering took receipt of them and I went on my way.”
“Then let’s see what the man has to say.” Daventry gestured to the door and they followed him outside to Pickering’s library.
The wooden wagon resembled a spectacle from the Bartholomew Fair. Intricate gold and red scrollwork adorned its sides, and its bow roof was painted a deep forest green. It looked more like a mobile palace than a library on wheels.
Pickering had propped wooden steps against the back porch and opened the wagon’s doors. Rows of oak bookcases lined the interior walls.
“Pickering.” Daventry stood at the entrance, keen to get the stout fellow’s attention.
The wagon rocked as Pickering swiftly turned within. “Mr Daventry. Good afternoon. There’s no need to leave your office. I would have brought your order inside.” Pickering chuckled as he retrieved a book and looked at the gold-embossed title. “You don’t strike me as a man who would read Memoirs of an Heiress. Though those brutes plotting to control Cecilia’s wealth provide a lesson in criminal machinations.”
Daventry smiled. “The book is for my wife, but I confess to having a selfish motive for ordering the first volume.”
Pickering’s hearty laugh shook the vehicle again. “There’s no need to be bashful, sir. I delivered all three volumes of Evelina to Lord Marshall only last week. Though between us, I’m told he is giving his new maid private reading lessons.”
Theo’s attention sharpened. Lord Marshall owed Fortune’s Den eight hundred pounds. Using a secret scandal as leverage, they could force the lord to pay.
“You misunderstand. I summoned you here because you’ve been named as a witness in a criminal case.” Daventry gestured to Miss Darrow. “Someone blackmailed and coerced the lady into delivering secret notes to you on three occasions, notes hidden inside books. We need to know the recipient’s identity and why you agreed to play the middleman.”
Shocked and utterly confused by the allegations, Pickering gripped the doorframe. “A criminal case? Sir, I live to bring pleasure to the masses. I deliver books and know nothing about these strange notes.”
“Do you not recognise me?” Miss Darrow stepped forward. “I returned a book by Voltaire, though the title eludes me. I handed it to you personally. You thanked me and told me to hurry home because we were expecting rain.”
“Voltaire?” Pickering brushed his greying locks over his bald pate and gave a curious hum. “When was this?”
“Six weeks ago.”
The man pulled a ledger off the shelf and rifled through the crisp pages. He found what he was looking for and pointed to an entry. “I remember now. You borrowed the first volume of Candide. I have one copy, and it was already on my library shelf. The volume you returned did not belong to me.”
“But you took receipt of the book.”
“Yes, you’d left before I realised it wasn’t mine.”
“Do you still have the book?” Theo asked. If Pickering was innocent, the note would still be hidden behind the plate.
Pickering blinked and stuttered, “W-well, yes. I kept it in the hope the lady would realise her error.”
“Find it,” Theo snapped. “The book is evidence in a case of assault, blackmail, theft and housebreaking.”
The ledger shook in Pickering’s large hands. “Good grief. You can’t think I was involved in these nefarious deeds.”
“Find the book, Pickering.” Theo was quickly losing his patience.
“Just a moment.” The fellow returned to the shelves in his wagon and spent an age scanning the spines. “It’s here somewhere.”
Theo resisted the urge to climb inside and see to the task himself. “What about the other two books Miss Darrow gave you?”
Pickering continued his search. “Other books?”
“Polidori’s The Vampyre,” Miss Darrow said. “I recall the name because it sounded quite terrifying. The other was the first volume of Radcliffe’s The Italian.”
The latter was a story of happy endings, marriage and the death of the villains. Had she ever read the entire novel? Did she hope for a similar outcome to her tale? Indeed, it bore similarities to the Chance family’s saga.
