Page 45 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)

Mandell was elbowed aside by the valet, who stared at him reproachfully and sought to calm his master. Mandell saw there was nothing more he could do. He had caused enough damage.

Stepping out into the hall, he cursed himself.

He had been a fool to come here, more foolish still for spouting such nonsense and upsetting poor Briggs.

What was he trying to prove by vowing to capture the Hook, blustering threats of vengeance that only added to Lancelot’s misery?

The bitter truth was that Mandell had not been considering Briggs’s feelings at all, but merely seeking to appease his own guilty conscience.

He had never been Briggs’s friend. It was too late to start pretending as if he were one now.

Just as it had been too late with Anne. He had been doing the same thing with her earlier that afternoon, playing games of pretend. Making believe that he could go back to a time when he was not yet so well-schooled in arrogance and cynicism, indifferent to anyone else’s needs but his own.

It had not worked. The soft touch of her skin, the sweet scent of her perfume, the warm womanly feel of her in his arms and his own selfish desires had raged out of control.

That she had responded in kind only made matters worse.

It was just a sign of how far he had succeeded in seducing her.

He had been so tempted to take full advantage of her willingness.

It is too late for any new beginnings. As he dwelled upon this grim truth, he became aware that one of the maidservants was approaching him. She would wish to conduct him back to the parlor, but Mandell could not bring himself to face Briggs’s grieving mother again.

He called for his hat and walking stick instead and quit the house.

Drawing on his gloves, he bolted down the stone steps of the brick residence and collided with his cousin.

Nick staggered back, his curly-brimmed beaver nearly flying to the pavement He grasped at it, looking a little taken aback at the sight of the marquis.

“Mandell!” he exclaimed. Appearing to recover himself, he straightened his hat back upon his head.

It had been over a week since Mandell had seen his cousin, and he should have evinced more pleasure at encountering Nick. But he felt too raw from his visit with Briggs to do more than mutter, “The long-lost Drummond. Where have you been keeping yourself, Nicholas?”

Nick smiled, but the expression was strained, lacking his usual warmth. “I have been preoccupied with Parliamentary sessions, government details too tedious to bore you with. But I rushed over as soon as I heard about the attack on poor Briggs. I was told that he is not expected to live.”

“He looks very bad, but he is conscious.”

“Oh?” Nick asked anxiously. “You have spoken to him?”

“I visited with him for awhile, but he cannot speak.”

”Then he cannot describe who attacked him?”

“Cannot or will not.” Mandell frowned, remembering Briggs’s strong reaction to being questioned. “It seems to distress him to remember anything about the attack. The shock of the whole incident appears to have been too much for him. I fear it may have disordered his mind.”

Nick vented a frustrated sigh. “Well, I did try to warn everyone, but no one would listen. The activities of the Hook won’t be stopped until we have a better police force. The government always refuses to do anything until it is too late.”

“For Briggs, it already is,” Mandell reminded him sharply.

“Perhaps what happened to Briggs will finally be the leverage I need to get my bill through Parliament. He is the Hook’s third victim. Surely now—”

“Don’t, Nick,” Mandell snapped. “I am in no mood to listen to one of your homilies about the social benefits to be derived from murder.”

“Damn you, I have never said anything like that,” Nick protested hotly. “Of course, what happened to Briggs was dreadful. But if some good could come of it, if the House could at last be brought to realize ...”

When Mandell shot him a dark look, Nick bore enough sense to subside, but he added, “Besides, what makes you so self-righteous all of a sudden? You have probably wounded Briggs with that cutting tongue of yours far worse than anything the Hook did to him.”

Nick’s words struck too close to the mark. Mandell flinched, but he drew himself up icily. “Yes, I daresay you are right. But I think Briggs’s family has enough to endure without the pair of us quarreling on their doorstep, I bid you farewell, cousin.”

Mandell brushed past Nick. He started to stalk away along the pavement when he was halted by the sound of Nick’s voice.

“Mandell!”

Mandell glanced back. Nick stood poised by Briggs’s steps. He still looked flushed with annoyance, but there was an unaccountable sorrow in his eyes as well.

“I am sorry,” Nick said. “I did not mean to sound so callous. I guess I never realized how much you cared about Briggs.”

Mandell started to voice his usual denial, but he ended by saying softly, “Neither did I.”

“If I had only known—” Nick broke off. He looked as though he wanted to say something more but ended by shaking his head sadly. “You are right. This is not a good time or place to talk about anything,”

He turned to walk away himself in the opposite direction. Apparently, he had forgotten his own intention to visit Briggs or had decided against it.

Mandell stared after Nick. It occurred to him that Drummond was behaving rather oddly.

It was not like the impetuous Nick to hold back with anything he desired to say, no matter what the circumstances.

Mandell was left with a strange sensation of a distance widening between them, a distance that stretched much further than the yards of pavement that separated them.

It only added to Mandell’s feeling of being isolated and alone, but he attempted to shrug the emotion aside.

He was being foolish, he chided himself.

Likely Nick was, as he had said, preoccupied with some blasted political matter.

Even as he turned the corner, Drummond consulted his pocket watch and hastened his steps as though he had forgotten some important meeting.

It was the sight of that pocket watch that drove thoughts of Nick and everything else out of Mandell’s head. His breath quickened as he was assaulted by the memory that had eluded him earlier in Briggs’s bedchamber.

But now he could recall it so clearly—Briggs performing the same action at the tavern last night, checking the time on his watch, urging Mandell to leave.

The same watch that now sat ticking upon Briggs’s dressing table hours after he had been assaulted, supposedly by one of the most notorious brigands in London.

As the full implication of this struck Mandell, his brow knit in a heavy frown. What manner of villain was he dealing with here? What kind of a common footpad would carve up a man to rob him, only to leave his victim still in possession of a solid gold watch?

The last minutes of daylight faded. Clarion Way was enveloped in a purple mantle of twilight, the first stars winking in the sky.

“Seven o’clock and all’s well,” Obadiah called out. But the old watchman no longer intoned the time with the confidence and serenity he had felt before Bertie Glossop’s murder. Now, if a stray cat so much as brushed against his legs, he startled half out of his skin.

When he saw the gentleman in the long black cloak come striding up the street, Obadiah’s heart gave a flutter of fear, although there was nothing furtive about the man’s movements. It was only the marquis of Mandell approaching his own front gate.

But the haughty marquis had ever made Obadiah nervous and he was quick to step out of his lordship’s path. He expected Mandell to sweep on past, taking no more notice of Obadiah than he ever did.

To his astonishment, the marquis came to an abrupt halt and nodded in his direction. “Good evening.”

Even then, Obadiah glanced about to see whom his lordship might be addressing.

“I am talking to you, sir,” Lord Mandell said with a tinge of impatience in his voice. “You are the night watchman, are you not’?”

“Well, I-I—,” Obadiah babbled. He had always been in terror of Mandell’s fierce dark gaze.

But seen up close, he realized that the marquis’s face possessed none of its usual hauteur.

His eyes were dulled with a bone-deep weariness, a feeling Obadiah knew all too well. It gave him the courage to reply.

“Why, why, yes, milord.” Obadiah managed a nervous but respectful bow. “I am Obadiah Jones, your lordship. At your service.”

“You, I believe, are the one that I heard found Albert Glossop’s body. Do you remember the night he was killed?”

The question astonished Obadiah into blurting out, “How could I ever forget it, sir? T’was the most terrifying night of my life, finding young Mr. Glossop that way, all bloodied over and seeing that villain run away, laughing like some pure devil from hell.”

The marquis’s eyes narrowed. “You actually saw the Hook then?”

“‘Deed I did. All garbed in black he was, like some phantom, that strange hat flopping over his eyes.”

“And his face?”

“I couldn’t see that, m’lord. It was a terrible foggy night.”

“Then what made you so sure it was the Hook?”

“Why because the rogue has been on the prowl for months, terrifying honest folks. Who else could it have been?”

“Who else indeed?” the marquis murmured.

He frowned, but Obadiah had the impression Lord Mandell was not scowling at him so much as at some disturbing thought of his own.

The marquis’s curiosity on this subject surprised Obadiah a little, but then he had never fully understood the ways of the Quality.

He waited respectfully while the marquis continued, “After you found Glossop, did he still have his valuables on him? His watch perhaps, his purse?”

“I don’t know, m’lord. After I first touched Mr. Glossop and saw that he was dead—” Obadiah shuddered, remembering the sensation of his fingers coming away, warm and sticky with blood. “I didn’t examine the young gentleman too close after that.”

The marquis seemed so disappointed with his answer, Obadiah hastened to add, “But the Hook must’ve taken away Mr. Glossop’s valuables. Stands to reason, don’t it? Him being such a notorious cutpurse and all.”

The marquis did not answer. He regarded Obadiah and said gravely, ‘Thank you, Mr. Jones. You have been most helpful.”

“Have I?” Obadiah quavered. “I wish I could think I have been. I still remember how Mr. Glossop screamed that night. I never had much liking for Master Bertie, but it was a terrible way for any young fellow to die. I lay awake sometime wondering if I could’ve done things any differently that night.

If I might’ve moved a little faster, done something to save him. ”

“Regret is the poison of life, Mr. Jones.” Lord Mandell said. ”But I fear it is a curse that many of us are doomed to experience.”

He smiled sadly and passed on his way, leaving Obadiah staring after him.

This surely had to be one of the strangest encounters Obadiah had ever had on Clarion Way and yet, for a moment he had felt an odd kinship with Lord Mandell.

It was almost as if the marquis really understood Obadiah’s feelings of guilt and remorse over what had happened to Mr. Glossop.

And to think he had once fancied the marquis such a hard, cold man. He had much more of a liking for Lord Mandell’s cousin. But lately it was Mr. Drummond who seemed less than kind, distant and curt. The last time they had met, Mr. Nick had snapped at Obadiah to get out of his way.

Obadiah meandered on his way up the street, slowly shaking his head. It only went to show. One never knew any man as well as one thought one did.