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Chapter Fifteen

The Burnished Jade

Aldgate Street, London

“I can picture it now.” Joanna, Countess of Berridge, gathered her friends in a small circle and lowered her voice. “A gown of deep crimson, its full skirts sweeping the floor. The soft swish of silk when you move.”

Clara swallowed, unable to contain her excitement. “With gold embroidery tracing the bodice like delicate filigree.”

Elsa glanced around the elegant drawing room, relieved the men were deep in conversation. “No one else must know it’s you, Clara.”

“And you must wear a matching mask,” Olivia said with enthusiasm—quite the change from her usual wistful mood. “One adorned with feathers and pearls that draws attention to your pretty lips. ”

Clara pressed her fingers briefly to her mouth. “I could wear rouge the colour of my gown. No one will suspect it’s me.” But then her beaming smile faltered and died. “Of course they will. When they look into my eyes and notice the scar, it will be obvious who I am.”

“What are scars but one’s story etched into flesh?” Olivia said, her opinion reflecting a love of the graveyard poets. “To me, it’s a mark of survival. But I suppose that doesn’t matter if you wish to remain incognito.”

“I have an idea,” Joanna said, clutching Clara’s hand to reassure her. “We will have a mask made of red velvet and gold leaf, designed to shield one eye. It will be fastened with crimson ribbon, hiding the scar that slashes across your brow.”

“So I will be able to see?”

“Of course. We’re the only ones who will know The Crimson Contessa’s identity.”

“The Crimson Contessa,” Clara mused aloud.

“It will be the perfect illusion,” Elsa said, thrilledthey’d found a solution. She hated the thought of Clara living alone at The Grange and prayed she found the courage to remain in town.

Clara had other doubts. “The masquerade is next week. Is there time to craft such a masterpiece?”

“You forget I made money as a seamstress when I opened The Jade. And my sister-in-law is a famed modiste. We will work together to ensure the gown is ready in time.”

Clara’s lips parted on a breathless smile. “I cannot thank you enough. It must sound foolish, but I’m tired of hiding in the shadows.”

“It doesn’t sound foolish at all,” Elsa said. It was a dream come true. “The masquerade will be your night of freedom. A night to do as you please.” She hesitated. “Within reason, of course. I shall be your secret chaperone.”

The sudden clang of a distant gong was a signal to gather in the music room. The men approached, ready to escort them to their seats.

“Are you reciting poetry tonight, Miss Woolf?” Lord Rothley said. His midnight eyes held a spark of intrigue as he glanced at Olivia’s fiery red hair. “Or will you sing something rousing?”

Olivia did not falter beneath his intense gaze. “You must wait and see, my lord, though you did yawn twice the last time you were in the audience.”

Lord Rothley covered his heart with his hand. “I confess, I find maudlin sentiment rather tedious. Not everyone finds the words of Home, Sweet Home so uplifting.”

“No. For some, home is nothing more than walls to contain one’s sorrow.” Olivia curtsied. “If you will excuse me, I must prepare for the recital.”

The marquess bowed and watched Olivia leave. He turned to Viscount Rutland, who seemed taken with Clara’s jewelled eye patch. “You were lucky to escape last time. Brace yourself for the worst hour of your life.”

The countess tapped Lord Rothley on the arm with her closed fan. “My ladies spend days rehearsing. Do them the courtesy of listening tonight.”

“Why? Will you not invite me again?”

“Quite the opposite. We’re practically family, so I’ll expect you to attend every event.”

The marquess raised his hands in mock surrender. “You drive a hard bargain, my lady. I shall be as attentive as a cat watching a birdcage.”

Elsa had the pleasure of sitting between Daniel and Lord Rothley. While her husband took advantage of the dim lighting to trace his fingers along her thigh, the marquess grumbled under his breath whenever anyone took to the stage.

Miss Pennywell recited Charlotte Smith’s sonnet To Hope .

“Her tone is too heavy for a poem of that depth.”

Mrs Reagan played a lively tune on the pianoforte.

“It’s a piece more suited to the raucous atmosphere of a bordello than a refined music room,” the marquess complained.

Miss Beaumont earned his praise when she performed a card trick using sleight of hand. “Why the devil isn’t she married? Every cardsharp in town could use her skill.”

Then Olivia took to the stage, moving with quiet confidence. She did not seek attention yet commanded it with her poised stillness.

“Her hair, like autumn leaves, burns bright in shades of crimson and gold,” the marquess uttered, almost to himself.

“I’m afraid I don’t know that poem,” Elsa said.

“No, it’s one of my own creation.”

Olivia clasped her hands in front of her, cleared her throat and sang The Last Rose of Summer by Thomas More.

“’Tis the last rose of summer,

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone.”

The marquess sat forward. Perhaps he was determined not to yawn. Perhaps he did not wish to disappoint the countess. But he never took his eyes off Olivia, not even for a second .

Olivia sang of decaying friendships, withered hearts and the pain of suffering the bleak world alone. According to Daniel, the marquess had endured all of those tragic scenarios.

“It’s as if the woman can see into my soul,” he complained, turning to Elsa. “Is she doing this on purpose? Is Miss Woolf mocking me? Is this part of the countess’ plan to drag me to the altar?”

“Not at all, my lord. Miss Woolf looks for the beauty in every tragedy. As she said only recently, ‘One cannot appreciate light without spending time in the darkness’.”

The marquess fell silent before saying, “Miss Woolf reads Plato?”

“Miss Woolf reads many things in her quest for answers.”

“Answers to what exactly?”

“You will have to ask her.”

They broke for an interval, with refreshments being served in the drawing room. The marquess enquired after Miss Woolf but she failed to return, which left the lord strangely at odds.

“Rothley hates uncertainty,” Daniel said, though he was looking at Elsa’s lips as he spoke. “I doubt he will trust a woman again, so he searches for flaws long before they become apparent.”

“Because the woman he loved accepted a bribe and left him?”

“Because he hates being taken for a fool.” Daniel leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, and whispered, “I’m tired of playing investigators tonight. I need to be inside you, Elsa.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Every nerve in her body sparked to life. The memory of him filling her, loving her, left her aching to experience it again.

“I want that, too.” Desperately, so. It was so easy to forget the reasons they should distrust each other when they lay naked in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps we won’t wait until we’re home,” he drawled.

She glanced around the drawing room. “Someone will notice if we slip outside. And we must leave soon to visit The Salty Gull.”

His sinful smile deepened. “It’s a little over a mile to the Shadwell Basin. You’d be surprised what a couple can achieve in fifteen minutes.”

She set her hand on his chest. “Do enlighten me.”

A sudden cough made her jump.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the Earl of Berridge said. The man unsettled most people with his dark glare and brooding countenance.

Daniel straightened. “Do you bring news of Denby?”

“No. The lord leads the most boring life in existence—his club, his tailor, then home again. But I’ll keep my man on him. Sometimes dullness is a deliberate disguise.”

“I’m confident he’s hiding something,” Daniel agreed.

“As to other matters, I received this a moment ago.” The earl offered Daniel a folded note. “Charmers is staying in Kingston upon Thames tonight. At a private residence north of town.”

Daniel took the note. “I heard he went to Epsom.”

“He’ll be there for the Derby tomorrow. Let’s just say he seeks an alternative type of sport tonight. If you want answers, best catch him in the act.”

An alternative sport?

Was her father’s comments about the man true ?

Was Mr Charmers a deviant ruled by carnal desires?

Daniel frowned as he read the information on the note. “We have an appointment at the docks in half an hour. It could take all night.”

“Daventry may say questioning Charmers takes priority.And you have until dawn to find him in a compromising manner.” His brow lowered, voice flat as steel, the warning etched in his expression before he said, “Take Rothley with you. When you storm the manor, you may be outnumbered, and the marquess is a superb shot.”

The Salty Gull

Near Shadwell Basin, London Docks

The alehouse was tucked away on a dim, cobbled lane, a path to damnation, for few sinless men drank there. The shouts of drunken sailors and the wails of tuneless maritime songs punctuated the stale, briny air.

A shiver of trepidation ran the length of Daniel’s spine as he waited in the shadows for Daventry. The distant clang of a ship’s bell sounded like a death knell. Only a fool ventured to these parts at night, which begged the question: Why the devil had Lord Grafton lodged in a place a stone’s throw from hell?

“Elsa, you’re certain the blade is strapped securely to your thigh?” The mere mention of his wife’s thigh ignited a fire in his blood. He would have checked for himself during the brief carriage ride to the docks had Rothley not insisted on accompanying them.

“It’s strapped so tightly I suspect my leg is blue, and I have the muff pistol the countess gave me hidden in the concealed pocket of my cloak.”

Rothley snorted. “I suppose Joanna has the ladies firing at targets in the garden. Next, they’ll be doing spurious duels on the common.”

“You may mock, my lord, but I doubt you’ve ever found yourself in a vulnerable position. Without the countess’ classes, Miss Woolf wouldn’t have had the courage to punch the burglar.”

Rothley raised a brow. “Miss Woolf hit the felon?”

“Yes, she broke his nose, though that didn’t stop the rogue from escaping.”

“Impressive. The lady has risen a notch in my estimation.”

“Only a notch? You approved of her performance at The Jade tonight.”

“Such was her sorrowful tone I believed every word.”

“Enough about Miss Woolf,” Daniel said, peering into the sinister lane where lantern light shone on the foul-smelling puddles. “We need to keep our wits.”

“Since when did you care about walking into a tavern full of lawless sailors?” Rothley said, giving Elsa a playful nudge. “I’ve seen your husband take down three men while bladdered.”

He had fought hard, as if bruised knuckles could ease the frustration of being kept from his wife’s bed. “I’m not concerned for myself.”

“I wouldn’t be concerned for your wife. I’ve come hoping to witness her skills with a blade.”

“It’s been some time since I practised,” Elsa said, being modest.

“I’d much rather it stayed firmly stuck to your thigh.” Daniel turned to her, panic making his heart flutter, and for the tenth time in as many minutes, said, “Promise me you’ll not leave my sight.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Although she spoke with conviction, a knot in his gut said he had everything to fear and more to lose. What if they’d been lured to this hellhole on purpose? If a fight broke out, a single jab with a blade could destroy their future.

The clip of slow, measured strides on the cobblestones stole his attention. A figure emerged from the mist, clad head to toe in black, his greatcoat billowing in the breeze. His hat sat low, obscuring the upper half of his face, but his air of quiet menace said it was Daventry.

He didn’t know Daventry well but felt a kinship in their shared struggles. Daventry had fallen in love with his wife but never expected to marry her. He had sworn an oath to protect her, a task more important than his own feelings. Fate had smiled on them, and few couples were said to be more in love than Lucius and Sybil Daventry.

Daniel glanced at Elsa, praying they might be that lucky.

“I see you brought reinforcements,” Daventry said, nodding to Rothley. “The more the merrier. You told your coachman to park near the churchyard as I requested?”

“Yes. Jarvis knows to stay alert.” Daniel mentioned the information he’d received about Charmers. “When we’re done here, we’re heading to Kingston upon Thames.”

Daventry narrowed his gaze. “Where in Kingston?”

“Shadowmere. An estate out of town.”

“The home of Dominic Hawke.” It wasn’t a question. “You’ll need my assistance. Hawke doesn’t tolerate uninvited guests.” He cast a wary glance at Elsa. “Shadowmere is no place for a lady. The manor would give Lucifer pause. ”

Daniel wished he could lock Elsa in a tower, far from the fiend who meant to hurt her. “My wife is no stranger to threats and intimidation.”

Despite the risks, he could not leave her behind again.

Elsa smiled. “Rejection is closer to hell than anything I’ve known. A man’s debauched antics bears no comparison.”

Rothley was quick to agree. “Even when I’m alone at night, I still feel the burn of rejection’s flames.”

Daventry did not question the decision. “Let us deal with the landlord at The Salty Gull. I paid Grafton’s rent for a month. The room will be free for inspection should you think it necessary.”

Conversation inside The Salty Gull died within seconds of Daventry pushing open the creaking door. The smell of sweat and stale ale hit them, along with woodsmoke and the brackish stench of the Thames.

The men watched them like wary seagulls eyeing a storm. The tide shifted when their beady eyes found Elsa. Some combed their hands through their unkempt hair. Some smirked and nudged their friends. Others stared like they had spotted a mirage on the horizon.

The landlord, a broad man with a barrel for a belly, his face weathered like driftwood, stopped wiping a tankard with a grimy rag and beckoned them to the crude counter.

“There ain’t nothing to see here,” he called to his patrons, waiting for their rough laughter to fill the dingy room. “What can I do for you gents?” He leaned closer. “Take my advice and keep the lady close.”

Daventry reminded the landlord of their previous meeting. “I want to inspect the room.”

The man’s hewn features tightened. “The room?”

“Grafton’s room. I paid a month’s rent. ”

The fellow shifted uncomfortably. “As to that, there’s men what needed a bed for the night. A problem with customs fees had the officials grounding a ship. It was all unexpected like.”

Daventry’s tone turned dark when he said, “You let a rabble of sailors sleep in my room.” He slapped a note on the counter. “Here’s proof I paid you in good faith.”

“Things change like the tide in these parts.” The landlord firmed his tone. “After months at sea, I can’t let men sleep out in the elements.”

“Then we have a problem,” Daventry said coldly.

“There ain’t no problem if you leave now.” The landlord flashed his blackened teeth. “There might be a problem if I have to turf them fellows out onto the street.”

“We’re investigating a murder on your premises,” Daniel growled, though he felt like grabbing the fool by his stained neck tie and dragging him over the counter. “We’ll be happy to kick everyone out onto the street, including you, for obstruction of justice.”

“Threaten me all you want. How do I know you ain’t working for them river pirates, and you’re looking for a place to lie low?”

“Then allow me to introduce my friends.” Daventry gestured to Daniel. “Dalton owns Imperial Shipping, and the Marquess of Rothley owns most of the land from Islington to Rochford.”

Rothley grinned. “I assure you, I’m no pirate. Although people say I’m an opium addict, a murderer, and keep a harem of women imprisoned at my estate.”

Undeterred, the landlord slapped his meaty paw on the note. “Then you can afford to turn a blind eye. A man has to make a living. And if I cross this rabble, I’ll end up trussed in a sail and dumped in the Thames.”

Before anyone could breathe, Elsa drew a small pocket knife from her reticule and drove it into the counter, between the landlord’s spread fingers. “You’ll struggle to make a living with a severed thumb. We have a few questions. Answer them to our satisfaction, and we’ll forget about the room upstairs.”

Daniel froze, though his pulse thumped hard in his neck.

The landlord’s eyes widened as the tavern fell into a sudden silence. Seconds stretched before the brute glanced at the blade—and laughed. The room erupted, the sailors raising their tankards to the brave missy, showing more courage than most men in these parts.

Elsa pulled her pocket pistol on one toothless mariner. “I’m equally skilled with a pistol if anyone wishes to make a wager.”

The men laughed until they were mopping tears from their weather-beaten cheeks and wiping spilt ale off the table. Even the mangy terrier in the corner howled.

While Daniel felt a rush of pride, as powerful as the surge of lust flooding his loins, Daventry addressed the landlord. “You lied to us. You know who killed Grafton and why the lord was hiding out here.”

“I ain’t no snitch.”

“I would rethink your position. The four of us can take every man in here. Where would that leave your thriving business?”

Elsa turned to the landlord. “The fellow who killed Lord Grafton likely shot me. I can show you the wound if you’d like. Or we can come back tomorrow night with more men.”

After pouring himself a shot of rum and swallowing it down, the fellow said, “The lord wanted somewhere to hide. Somewhere his fancy friends wouldn’t find him.”

“Except someone did find him,” Daniel countered. “You must have heard a commotion.”

“With this lot singing about wind in the sails and a heart full of strife? Half the time, I can hardly think straight.”

“Did Lord Grafton join them?”

“He mostly kept to his room.”

“Did he have any visitors?” Elsa reached across the counter and touched the brawny man’s arm. “It’s important. Surely you won’t turn your back on a woman in need?”

The landlord glanced heavenward and huffed in surrender. “Grafton paid me to take a letter to the magistrate down at Wapping. Something about fixing a mistake. Except he was killed before he wrote it. As for the rest, I’d rather save my neck if it’s all the same.”

Had Grafton planned to make a full confession? The letter found hidden in his coat lining was an admission of guilt. Perhaps he was going to name an accomplice.

Daniel scanned the taproom. There was only one door leading to the pokey rooms upstairs. “Someone passed through here the night Grafton was murdered. I’d wager you know every face in here, even those sailors who return to shore after months on the high seas.”

“One weathered face looks like another.”

A sudden commotion stole the landlord’s attention.

At a dimly lit table, two men were haggling with the seller of an unusual trinket, their voices low but urgent, each trying to outbid the other with a mix of coin and sly promises.

“You should leave. The men are growing restless,” the landlord warned, lowering his voice. “Grafton went out one night and came racing in here like he’d seen a ghost. Happen I seen two men hanging about. One with a scar on his cheek. The other a handsome gent with golden hair and a swagger in his step.”

It had to be Charmers.

“Did Grafton mention the gent’s name?”

The landlord shrugged nonchalantly. “He mumbled something about Charmers not being charming. Said there’s a devil behind that smile.”