Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Hart Street, Covent Garden

Office of the Order

Lucius Daventry sat behind his imposing desk, studying the Gothic novels through the tiny magnifying glass. “How interesting,” was all he said as they waited patiently for his opinion.

Daniel’s gaze flicked to the painting of Themis—the goddess of divine order and justice, a symbol of everything Daventry stood for—hanging on the study wall. “Does the name Cynthia Wright mean anything to you?” he asked. “We were hoping for your insight.” Or that Themis might bless them and seek to right an injustice.

“No, I can’t say it does.” Daventry took up his pen and made another entry in his notebook. “But we have an address. It shouldn’t be difficult to trace her. There’s every chance a relative still lives in the house. On a positive note, I am acquainted with the Reverend Preston-Jones. He’s a sprightly fellow of ninety and still lives in Harrow on the Hill.”

“You went to Harrow School?” Elsa asked.

It was a reasonable assumption based on the fact Daventry was the illegitimate son of a duke.

“No, a school in Wetherby, but the reverend attends many scientific lectures, and we share a mutual respect for the truth.” Suspicion darkened his gaze when he considered Elsa. “Is there a reason your brother chose to stay in Geneva, and not Paris or Rome?”

“I believe he went there on a Grand Tour years ago. Though it’s not somewhere he spoke of with great fondness.”

“I ask because his visit to Port Noir suggests he has knowledge of the secrets hidden in these books.” Daventry leaned back in the chair. “Did Carver ever borrow books from the library and take them to his cottage?”

“I have no idea what Mr Carver did,” she said defensively. “But it’s fair to assume he was hunting for my father’s journal, perhaps even working with his enemies.”

“Or working with Magnus,” Daventry dared to say. “Have you considered the fact your brother may have killed him? Maybe he lashed out in a fit of rage upon finding you there. Maybe for a purpose we’re yet to discover.”

Elsa swallowed. “Yes, I am aware that’s a possibility.”

“There must be a reason your parents failed to confide in him. It’s clear these messages are for your eyes only.” Daventry steepled his fingers. “It’s all rather fascinating.”

“Fascinating is not the word I would use to describe the hell this devil has put us through,” Daniel snapped.

“No, but let me reassure you. The end is in sight.”

Elsa didn’t appear convinced. “I wish I shared your optimism. The more information we find, the more confusing the mystery.”

“On the contrary,” Daventry said, rising with confidence. “It’s all quite simple. The villain doesn’t want you to discover your mother’s secret. Everything else is an attempt to destroy you, to stop you from learning the truth.”

A knot formed between her brows. “What about my father’s failed investments and the men he accuses of fraud?”

Daventry braced his hands on the desk. “Just another attempt to distract you from the real issue at hand. A warning to leave the ghosts of the past buried.”

“When a man faces ruin, little else matters,” Daniel agreed.

Daventry straightened and glanced at the mantel clock. “We can discuss it at length tonight. I have an appointment at Whitehall and cannot be late. Meet me outside The Salty Gull at ten. The tavern is aptly named. The landlord is an ill-tempered sort. Though most men spill their guts when you press a knife to their throat.”

“I plan to join you,” Elsa stated, raising her chin defiantly.

Daniel stiffened. This woman toyed with his nerves like a cat with a half-dead mouse. “A dockside alehouse is no place for a lady.”

“As I said last night, I’ve spent too long living in ignorance. I want to fight for my future. And that means facing the truth, no matter how painful.”

A swell of pride rose in his chest—she had every reason to run, just as Magnus had, yet she remained steadfast. “Well, you do boast axe throwing amongst your many accomplishments.”

She could add kissing and lovemaking to that list, too.

“I’m equally skilled with a blade. ”

Daniel couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure you are.”

“You’ll need the threat of death for those drunken fools at The Salty Gull to squeal,” Daventry said with a chuckle.

“I do have another trick up my sleeve. If all else fails, you’ll be surprised what you can purchase for two shillings.”

Edwin Hawthorne, Solicitor

Ironmonger Lane, near Cheapside

Mr Hawthorne’s office occupied a narrow building on Ironmonger Lane. City grime had left a film of dirt on the windows and brick facade. The worn cobblestones reflected a street steeped in history, a busy thoroughfare used by clerks, errand boys and tradesmen pushing carts.

With a bemused expression, Elsa stared at the metal signboard creaking as it swung in the wind. “I wonder why my father hid evidence here. Are you sure there’s no mistake?”

Daniel checked the address on the piece of paper he took from his pocket. “This is the right place. Judging by what we know about your father’s dealings with Charmers, he visited this solicitor months before he died.”

“I recall him taking a trip to London when he was ill. He refused to let Magnus accompany him.” She stared at the black lion-head knocker as if the beast might bite her. “Rundle & Co. in Fleet Street always handled his legal affairs. Why not trust them?”

He slipped his arm around her waist. The tension between them had eased since making love last night. Conversation flowed with warm familiarity. Yet the slightest touch stirred his desire, a slow-burning need that refused to be tempered.

“Well, we won’t find answers if we continue lurking outside.” He hammered the iron knocker against the plate and waited.

A silent moment passed before he tried again.

A weak, croaky voice shouted, “Enter. The door is unlocked.”

Despite a brief struggle with the swollen door, he pushed it open and led Elsa into a small hallway where musty dampness clung to the air.

“In here,” the fellow called from the small office on the right. “Come in. Come in. I spare my legs any unnecessary journeys these days.”

An elderly man with white hair and intelligent blue eyes sat behind a cluttered desk. He scanned their attire and smiled. “I rarely see anyone without an appointment.”

“We have an appointment,” Daniel replied, confident the solicitor had anticipated their visit. “Though there will be no record in your diary.”

“Ah, a riddle. I’ll need a little more context.”

“We believe you’re the keeper of secrets,” Elsa said, glancing at the shelves of dusty tomes, some spines cracked due to age.

He steepled his fingers, his gaze sharpening with intrigue. “Some might say I’m the keeper of burdens, a protector of fears.”

“Only those who are afraid of the truth,” Daniel countered.

“So you come seeking a truth, eh?” He gestured to two old wooden chairs, which hadn’t seen a coat of varnish in years.

Daniel made the introductions while Elsa brushed the seat with her gloved hand. “I assume you are Mr Hawthorne.”

“Yes, the senior,” he said with a wry smile. “If you ask my son, he’ll insist I’m the older, grumpier version. How may I be of service?”

“I believe you hold something belonging to my father, Mr Jacob Tyler of Edenberry, Chippenham.”

“You believe, or you know?”

“My father died a year ago, sir. He left behind a series of cryptic clues to a secret that continues to baffle us. There has already been one attempt on my life, so if you know why we’re here, do enlighten us.”

The solicitor removed his spectacles and polished them with a handkerchief. “It’s not that simple, Mrs Dalton. My reputation rests on discretion and integrity. I cannot give you what you seek without proof you have a claim.”

His reluctance to hand over any evidence of fraud was reassuring. While many men would accept a bribe, Daniel suspected Hawthorne would throw them out at the mere suggestion.

“What sort of proof do you need?” he said.

Hawthorne drew a slow breath. “Books are delicate things, easily destroyed by forces of nature. The great blaze claimed much, leaving ash and ruin in its wake. Water can be as unforgiving as any flame.”

Water? Was he referring to the book left in the pond?

Until now, it made no sense why Mrs Tyler had left it there.

“Perhaps you have experienced this yourself,” Hawthorne added. “And still recall the name of the beloved book you lost years ago.”

Elsa sat up, excitement lighting her eyes because she knew the answer. “Yes, The Romance of the Forest .”

Hawthorne nodded. “Who wrote that again? I fear my memory is not what it once was. ”

“Mrs Radcliffe, sir.”

“Ah, yes. My wife liked to read while she bathed—a peculiar habit, if you ask me. Those dreaded novels slipped from her fingers no end of times. I was forever buying replacements.”

Yes, why would a woman read in the bath when she could make love to her husband? Why would she soap herself when her lover could see to the task? Indeed, Daniel hoped to wash his wife again this evening.

“A similar thing happened to my mother.”

“She lost a book in the tub, my dear?”

“No, in the garden pond. I only recently fished it out.” Elsa looked at Daniel. “Well, my husband was kind enough to retrieve it for me.”

“I assume it’s unreadable.”

“It was a sodden pile of mulch, nothing left but the board and remnants of a faded bookplate.”

“What are bookplates but a mark of ownership, a personal glimpse of the person who once cherished the book?” Again, the solicitor removed and cleaned his spectacles as if his next comment was important. “Did your mother favour the traditional country scenes? I know some who design their own.”

Elsa went on to explain both designs, telling Hawthorne that the book in the pond had the fox and oak tree ex-libris.

Daniel smiled to himself at the mention of the oak tree. Perhaps his wife might like a picnic at the bottom of the garden tonight, to indulge in another erotic adventure.

Satisfied with Elsa’s answers, Hawthorne gripped the arms of his chair and stood, though it took three attempts. “Your father was very specific in his instructions. Had you married Lord Denby and arrived here with him, asking these same questions, I was to deny everything and send all correspondence to your brother.”

While the man hobbled to the row of bookcases lining the wall, Daniel asked the obvious question. “How do you know I’m not Lord Denby using an alias?”

Hawthorne laughed. “For one, your wife looks happy.”

Was Elsa happy? Their problems disappeared in bed, but the complexities of this case had taken its toll on both of them.

“I worked in the criminal courts many years ago,” the solicitor continued. “Liars often have a telltale glassiness in their eyes. And I do my research, Mr Dalton. When a client tells me Lord Denby is his enemy, I make certain I can identify him on sight.”

The last comment stole Daniel’s attention. “Did Mr Tyler tell you why Lord Denby was his enemy?” No doubt it had something to do with the peer wanting to marry Elsa.

Hawthorne withdrew a tiny brass key from his waistcoat pocket. “He simply said his daughter would suffer greatly unless he could prevent the marriage. Poor man didn’t hold out much hope. Evidently, you found a way out of the contract your father foolishly signed.”

“Not quite,” Elsa said, shifting in her seat. “We ignored the contract and married regardless.”

Hawthorne froze, his bony fingers resting on a large dusty tome on the shelf. “You ignored the contract? Good gracious. Lord Denby could sue. It could spell financial ruin. Was there land promised? A dowry?”

Elsa looked at Daniel. “All I know is my father and brother insisted I marry Lord Denby in payment for a large loan. Then everything suddenly changed.”

It changed the night they found Elsa in Carver’s bed. Magnus confessed to receiving blackmail notes from the felon wanting the journal. He also showed Daniel the marriage contract and explained they were drowning in debt. The two incidents were unrelated.

Or so he’d thought.

Perhaps Denby had staged the scene. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the journal, and the only motive was to ensure Elsa had no option but to marry quickly. But Denby could have his pick of the debutantes. And why kill a man and then sit idly waiting until Elsa was out of mourning?

“I gave Magnus Tyler the money to settle the loan to Lord Denby. He assured me he repaid the debt, though I have yet to see proof.”

God, he felt like a fool.

A prized idiot.

The more they learned, the more Magnus seemed untrustworthy. Hell, if his own parents kept secrets from him, what did that say about his character?

“Then I must make enquiries. I must examine that contract,” Hawthorne said, the prospect alone leaving him breathless. “You cannot wait for Lord Denby to haul your brother to court.”

Distracted by the task at hand, Hawthorne muttered to himself as he removed two large tomes from the bookcase and opened the small safe hidden behind.

He retrieved a file and a black velvet box and brought the items to his desk. “Your father went to great lengths to duplicate the letters documenting his investment with Mr Charmers of Britannia Shipping, even down to using a copy of Mr Charmers’ seal. These are the originals brought to this office for safekeeping. Since you’re here, I assume the copies he made were destroyed. ”

“Apparently, his man of business lost them,” Elsa said.

Hawthorne shook his head. “Probably because they’re evidence Mr Charmers committed fraud. Your father suspected as much. He’d fallen for Lord Grafton’s scheme and that of the land agent Hines. He knew the shares in the shipping company were worthless.”

“Then why on earth did he invest?” Elsa said, aghast.

The answer came to Daniel like an epiphany. “Because your father suspected someone was out to ruin him. That man must be Lord Denby. It was a noose around your father’s neck that would force you to marry.”

Elsa frowned. “But I hardly know Lord Denby. Many ladies crave his attention. Why does he want to marry me so badly?”

Daniel could think of a few reasons.

Elsa was kind and compassionate and loved Clara like kin. She was loyal and forgiving and accepted that everyone made mistakes. She was beautiful inside and out and had a body made for sin. Yet there had to be another reason Denby had gone to great lengths to secure her hand in marriage.

“I believe that’s the question that plagued your father,” Hawthorne said, removing the documents from the file and showing them the financial reports. “I was able to obtain a copy of Britannia Shipping’s real financial report. It makes for an interesting comparison.”

He handed them the papers. The inflated profit on the original contract did not reflect the company’s accurate accounts.

Daniel tutted in frustration. “I could have told your father that Britannia Shipping was a struggling operation.”

“Mr Tyler knew but acted as the clueless investor because there was something he valued more. ”

“Evidence against Charmers?” Daniel said.

“Indeed. You need a confession. If you can prove Lord Denby was somehow involved in the scheme, you’ll have grounds for breaching the marriage contract.”

Daniel’s pulse soared at the prospect of confronting Charmers. The rogue would pay for stealing his cargo and hurting his men. “Rest assured. I’ll get the truth from Charmers.”

“As for the other matter,” Hawthorne said, handing Elsa the black velvet box, “this belongs to you, my dear.”

“Me?” Elsa’s hand trembled slightly as she accepted the gift. She opened the lid carefully, surprised to find a gilt-framed miniature inside. “Who are they?” she said, studying the image of a handsome couple holding a babe.

“As for that, I have no clue.”

Elsa jerked. “Did my father not say?”

“Your father left specific instructions.” Hawthorne did not need to consult his notes or rummage through the file. “That is a priceless heirloom, one you must protect with your life. Under no circumstances are you to show it to anyone, not even your brother, until the time is right.”

Elsa wrinkled her nose. “The time is right for what?”

“Who can say? But your father said you will know.”

“Then why have you disobeyed your client and shown me the portrait?” Daniel said.

Hawthorne smiled. “Mr Tyler must have possessed a fortune teller’s insight. He instructed me not to give his daughter the miniature unless she had married you, Mr Dalton.”