Chapter Twenty-Nine

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

V ERITY SLEPT LITTLE , just as she had the night before. Am I never going to be able to sleep again without Nathan beside me? It was a ridiculous thought. She'd slept fine alone for all her life, but now she found her bed cold without his warm body pressed against her. Worse, she couldn't seem to control either her mind, which circled endlessly over all the reasons she had to leave Nathan, or her heart, which ached to be with him.

Long before Nathan arrived, Verity was up and ready to leave, the little breakfast she'd managed to force down sitting like a lump of lead in her stomach. She was not going to do this anymore, she told herself. Today would be the last time. If they didn't find their two attackers, she would give up. She'd come home and pack, even if she did get tears in her eyes every time she started to do so.

She would go to France. Or Italy. Or maybe all the way to America. She would start a new life. She would...well, she didn't know what she'd do, but surely there was something that would fulfill her.

Nathan's knock startled her out of her thoughts, and she went to answer it, relieved to shove all that aside. She told herself Nathan could not possibly look thinner or wanner than he had the day before, but somehow he seemed to. It made her heart ache, and all she wanted was to take him in her arms and comfort him.

Verity never should have taken up with him. She should have known she would only hurt him. In fact, hadn't she known? But she had done it anyway—and that just proved she was not the right woman for a man so kindhearted. It had been wrong and cruel to pull him into her life. Worse, she knew that if she had the power to do it all over again, she would do the same thing. She couldn't resist Nathan.

"Good Gad, Verity," Nathan said, staring at her. "I—you—I'm at a loss for words."

She laughed, her spirits lightening as they always did around Nathan. "I decided not to reprise my widowhood." Verity patted her abdomen, which was substantially larger than normal. "Padding."

"But you look like you're with child. You'll be so...so noticeable. I can't think that this is a good idea."

"I thought you were at a loss for words." Verity smiled. It felt so nice, but also bittersweet, to be trading teasing barbs with Nathan again.

"Apparently I recovered." He grinned back at her.

"I got the idea last night when I saw Annabeth. When you're pregnant, no one sees anything but that." Verity pointed at her stomach. "They don't look at your face. And I put on my old ‘Judy' wig, which does nothing for my skin. It's amazing how much that conceals one. If you'll remember, you never noticed me when I wore it."

"Oh, I noticed you." The look in Nathan's eyes made her heart do a little flip.

Verity could feel herself blushing, and she went on hastily, "The padding is practical, as well." She slipped her hands into the concealed slits in her skirt and pulled out a gun and a knife from beneath the false stomach and brandished them in the air. "And I put on these old worn clothes so I'd fit in at the taverns."

"Yes, I hear the taverns are often frequented by heavily armed pregnant women in dowdy frocks."

She grinned. "Just so. The knife proves quite useful when strangers try to pat one's belly."

He began to laugh.

"Stop that. You'll hurt poor Bertha's feelings. She does her best, you know."

"Bertha?"

"Yes. Bertha Goodbody, washerwoman." Verity made a little curtsey.

"Such a pleasure to meet you." Nathan sketched a bow and extended his arm to her. "I am at your disposal, Miss Goodbody."

" Mrs . Goodbody," Verity corrected as she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I'll have you know I'm a good woman."

"My apologies. Of course you are. Indeed, you're the best."

How in the world am I going to be able to part from this man?

They took a hack, her carriage being too noticeable in the former haunts of Hill and Shoemaker. Once in Cheapside, they proceeded on foot, questioning patrons of taverns and setting Verity's band of street urchins loose to ask questions all around.

Nathan was somewhat surprised to find that, despite his doubts, Verity didn't draw attention from the people they met. The low, rough voice and East End accent she adopted fit in, and most of them seemed too tired or too wary, too incapacitated by gin or simply too ground down by life to look at anything but the coins Verity and Nathan offered.

One or two people acknowledged that they'd seen the two men Verity and Nathan sought in this area, but none knew where they lived or who their companions were. They went to the flats where Nathan and Sloane had found Shoemaker and Hill before, but they were now occupied by other residents who disclaimed all knowledge of the former tenants.

Finally, after many fruitless hours, they returned to Verity's house for afternoon tea. They were just about to return to the search when the leader of Verity's crew of youthful informants knocked at the door.

"There's not much, miss," Sally said as she ate the remainder of their tea and cakes. "Nobody knows those blokes—or at least, they won't own up to knowing them. I think some folks are dead scared of 'em. But..." She paused to take a gulp of tea. "There's talk."

"What kind of talk?" Verity asked.

"About men in the tunnels. Like where that bloke fell in the hole." Sally jerked her head toward Nathan.

He sighed. "That's how I'll always be known, isn't it? The bloke who fell in the hole."

"That's likely," Verity agreed with a little grin. "Go on, Sally—what about these men? You think they're Hill and Shoemaker?"

"I dunno, miss. But people say something bad happened down there. And some just say it's safer to stay out of the tunnels." She shrugged. "Sorry. That's all, miss. People are tight-lipped about it. But they always bring that up when anyone asks 'em about the men you're after."

"That's good, Sally. Thank you." Verity dug into her coin purse and handed the girl several coins. "Now you'll remember to share with the others, right?"

"'Course, miss," the girl said somewhat scornfully. "I always take care of me own. You taught me that."

When the front door closed behind Sally, Nathan and Verity looked at one another. He sighed deeply and said, "Back down to the tunnels, then."

After loading a rope ladder and lanterns into their carriage, Nathan and Verity returned to the dilapidated building where Nathan and Sloane had fallen into the ruins.

When they climbed down into the tunnel, they found that someone had laid two planks across the gaping hole into the Roman ruins. Nathan eyed the narrow makeshift walkway with some suspicion, but he followed Verity across it.

They proceeded down the tunnel, though Nathan soon had to stoop not to knock his head. They came upon another branching passage, but it ended in a pile of rubble, so they continued on.

"Wait." Verity lifted her light to peer into an offshoot. "Is that a door?"

"Perhaps it's a hole where someone else fell in," Nathan said acerbically as they started down the exceedingly narrow corridor, which had a ceiling even lower than the one they had just left.

"No," Verity laughed. "This looks more recently built—and not as well. I think someone made it to reach the main tunnel."

Even Verity had to duck down to go through the opening, but once through, they found themselves in a more spacious underground room.

"A cellar," Nathan said. "They dug it out from an old cellar."

"Look, there are some stairs. Maybe this is how they exit the tunnels." Verity started toward the far side and the steep set of steps leading up to a doorway.

The door had long since fallen from its rusted hinges and lay in pieces, and the inside was in similar disrepair, with piles of trash and broken pieces of wood scattered around. An outside door was boarded up, and the only light aside from their lanterns came from a small square in the wall where a window had been made of chunks of old opaque glass in varying colors. A few rats ran squealing at their entrance.

"Ugh," Verity said, pulling out a handkerchief and covering her nose. "What a stench."

"Yes. People have been building fires here." Nathan gestured toward the scorch marks on the stone floor. He, too, pulled out a handkerchief, adding, "And obviously using it as their ‘facilities' as well."

"But there's another odor besides that. It smells like..."

"A dead animal," Nathan finished. They looked at one another. "It's just an animal, surely. A rat, probably."

"I think it's coming from up there." Verity moved toward a set of rickety stairs leading upward. "The smell gets stronger." They exchanged another long look.

"What if it's not—" Nathan sighed and said in a resigned tone, "We have to see, don't we?"

"Unfortunately, I think so." Verity lifted her skirts a little and started up the stairs. "You needn't come."

"You have to be joking," Nathan said, climbing up after her.

They stopped abruptly as they reached high enough to see the floor above.

"Bloody hell," he said, his voice muffled by his wadded-up handkerchief. "It's a man."

Verity nodded, dread growing in her stomach. "Those boots..."

She forced herself to climb the rest of the way so that she could see the man's face. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed hard and turned away. Nathan was right behind her, and she buried her face in his chest.

"Good God!" Nathan exclaimed. "It's Will Tolliver."

Verity pushed at his chest. "Let's go. Leave."

"But surely we should see if we can figure out how he died."

"I don't care how," Verity retorted. "All I need to know is that he's dead."

They hurried back down the stairs and out the way they had come, not stopping until they'd crossed the planks over the ruins and climbed back up into the abandoned building.

"We should tell someone," Nathan said.

"Who?" Verity asked, blowing out the lanterns and starting toward the outer door.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I've never found a dead body before."

"Well, I'm not in the habit of it either. The only bodies I've seen were during the war, and my main concern was always getting as far away as I could, as quickly as possible."

They went outside, and Verity drew in a deep breath. "I've never thought of London air as fresh before."

They stowed their gear in the carriage, but Verity's nerves were jumping so that she couldn't stand the thought of getting into the vehicle. "I have to walk."

Gesturing toward the coachman to follow, she set off at a brisk pace, Nathan beside her.

"Why would someone kill Tolliver?" Nathan said. "I suppose there might be any number of other people he was trying to swindle. But his sort of criminal activity hardly seems something one would kill him for."

"Maybe if one was desperate enough, unable to pay him say, one might. Or furious enough at what he'd done to—" Verity stopped and swung toward Nathan. "Like Malcolm Douglas, for instance. He'd been knocked over the head and imprisoned by Tolliver for weeks. That might be enough to make one want revenge." She whipped around and began to stride briskly forward again.

"Malcolm?" Nathan hurried after her. "He wouldn't kill someone."

"How do you know? Just because he's your half brother doesn't mean he is like you. He could be a terrible person. Terrible people must get kidnapped, as well."

"But he's been locked up all this time," Nathan pointed out. "He couldn't have killed him."

"We rescued him yesterday morning. He's had a day—more than a day—to do him in."

"But how did he track him down? We've been trying to find Will and weren't able to until just now—and Malcolm didn't have your little gang of urchins to run all over looking for him."

"Maybe he knew Tolliver. If you'll remember, I thought it was suspicious that he said Tolliver was just some fellow he ran into in a tavern."

"You just don't like Malcolm."

"He was rude to you. And not terribly grateful, given that we'd rescued him." She frowned. "Maybe Malcolm was part of the scheme, after all."

"Verity," Nathan said sternly.

"Oh, very well," Verity said grudgingly. "That does seem unlikely."

"Besides, the man has been dead longer than a day, hasn't he?"

"I don't know, Nathan. I'm not an expert in dead bodies."

"And here I thought you would be," he teased, and Verity had to smile.

"Well, I'm not, and apparently finding one puts me on edge." She started walking again. "Still, I'm not entirely crossing Malcolm Douglas off the list."

"My thought is that it was likely a falling out among thieves," Nathan mused.

"You think it was Shoemaker and Hill?"

"We know that they are prone to violent methods. They could have argued over the money. Maybe Tolliver didn't give them the payment he promised. After all, he never got any money out of his scheme with me."

"He certainly wouldn't pay them if he was dead."

"Yes, that puts something of a hole in that argument," Nathan admitted.

"Or maybe someone else paid them to do away with Tolliver."

"Are you going back to the real Malcolm again?"

"No, no. But what if...I just can't get away from the idea that someone else was involved besides Tolliver, someone who knew Malcolm better."

Nathan nodded. "It makes sense, though I'm not sure how we'll find out who that person is. You think that it was this other man who killed Tolliver? Or hired Shoemaker and Hill to kill him?"

"Yes. Not asking for ransom wasn't the only peculiarity. Shoemaker and Hill attacking us the first time doesn't fit either, really."

"I thought we decided it was because they were trying to discourage us from finding out the truth."

"But that makes little sense. It happened shortly after you asked for my help, when Tolliver first talked to us. We'd barely begun to look into anything. There's no reason he'd want to keep us from investigating the marriage records—they supported Tolliver's claim. He had no idea we would go to Scotland."

"But it's too coincidental for the same two men to kidnap Douglas and also attack us for some other person like Arden or Stanhope." Nathan frowned. "Though I still don't see why they would have been asking us where something was unless it was Arden and the brooch."

"Exactly. It doesn't fit." Verity paused, trying to express the theory that had begun forming in her brain. "Maybe Hill didn't ask about ‘them,' maybe he said ‘him.' What if Will Tolliver was the thing they were trying to find?"

"Very well, I'll give you that. It's easy enough to confuse 'em and 'im. And I suppose there was some reason to think we might know where Tolliver was. I had been in contact with him. He had come to your house. But why would his own henchmen not know where the man was?"

"What if they weren't his henchmen?"

Nathan looked at her for a long moment. "So your thought is that this other fellow, the Scotsman that knows the Douglases' secret, hired all three of the men. Or he—Mr. Unknown—and Tolliver were in partnership. And Mr. Unknown sent those two to find Tolliver. But why would he have been looking for Tolliver? Why wouldn't he have known where the man was?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't fully thought this out. Perhaps they argued about something or Tolliver cheated him some way. But we know Will left the inn where he was staying. Maybe he didn't tell our mystery man where he was going."

"Tolliver could have had second thoughts, I suppose," Nathan mused. "Decided whatever he was getting paid wasn't worth the risk of committing fraud. Or he realized the scheme wasn't going to work. He certainly hadn't convinced us. But would this man kill Tolliver just because he did a bad job? Because he fled?"

"That seems unlikely. But he might kill him because Tolliver could identify him. If this mystery man is someone the Douglases knew, he would be afraid of that."

"Yes..."

"But you aren't convinced," Verity said.

"Are you?" Nathan asked.

"Not really. There doesn't seem to be an important enough motive to warrant the whole subterfuge."

"Yes, why would someone—" Nathan stopped abruptly, and stood for a moment, staring blankly into space.

"What?" Verity asked, excitement beginning to stir in her. "Nathan, what are you thinking?"

"What if...what if we have been looking at this thing the entirely wrong way? What if we turn it upside down?"

"I don't understand. What other way is there?"

"Maybe the scheme was never really to prove Malcolm was my father's heir. Maybe it was to reveal that he was illegitimate."

"Who would want to do that? Oh!" Her face cleared. "It's the other inheritance someone wants—the Douglas inheritance that the real Malcolm will get when his father, or, rather, grandfather dies."

"Yes." Nathan's eyes lit with enthusiasm as he followed the idea out. "You found out that an illegitimate son couldn't inherit the family estate, and I suspect the Douglases' estate is worth much more than my manor."

"So when the scandal breaks, that land would go to the person who would be the rightful heir. Which is..." Verity looked at Nathan, her eyes widening.

"John's brother," he said grimly.

"Uncle Robert," Verity said softly.

"It would have to be. There weren't any sons from their marriage, just Margaret. And it wouldn't pass through her even if Malcolm weren't illegitimate. Malcolm told us it was a very small family. I recall Robert is his only uncle."

"Robert would inherit, and he wouldn't appear to have had anything to do with taking it away from his nephew. He wouldn't look like the villain. His family wouldn't hate him for it."

"No. They'd hate me. The wicked Sassenach."

"Everything makes sense now. Robert doesn't want to physically harm his nephew, just keep him from interfering with his plan. He hires a couple of ruffians to kidnap him and keep Malcolm locked up, then he finds an actor or mountebank who fits the general description and can pretend to be a Scotsman. Uncle Robert then gives the imposter all the information that he wants provided to us. Maybe he also hoped for some blackmail money, but it wouldn't have mattered, really. His eye was on the larger prize."

Nathan added, "It also explains why he didn't ask for ransom—Robert wouldn't have wanted Flora and John to know that Malcolm had been kidnapped. And who knows whether Shoemaker and Hill realized that Malcolm's valet saw the whole incident."

"Even if they were aware they'd been seen, they wouldn't have told their employer."

"Robert probably thought his brother had no idea. I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted the Douglases to come to London and create a huge stir."

"Exactly—" Verity wagged her finger back and forth to indicate the two of them. "You and I might have been accosted by them and learned that our Malcolm was a fake."

"When I look back at it now—" Nathan's gaze was hazy as if actually trying to see into the past "—it wasn't an accident when Robert told me the name of the village. He's clearly too good a liar to have slipped up. Good enough, in fact, to make it appear as though he slipped up, which would make me even more certain that there was a family secret there. He wanted us to have the name of the village, wanted us to go there and find out what really happened."

"He's an excellent liar," Verity said. "He certainly fooled me."

"He asked me more than once to tell him if Malcolm turned up, which adds weight to your idea that he lost track of Tolliver."

"Where he slipped up was underestimating you," Verity told Nathan. "He assumed you would have no concern for your brother, that you would be happy to spread it around that Malcolm was illegitimate."

"I don't think family loyalty is something Robert understands well," Nathan said drily.

"What do we do now?" Verity asked. "If he killed Will Tolliver, we can't just let Robert get away with it."

"No. I don't know how we'll convince anyone of our theory, though. Malcolm and his parents won't want to believe it, especially coming from a Dunbridge." Nathan scowled. "And we have no proof, just conjecture. Still, we have to warn Malcolm about his uncle. Robert failed with this scheme, but that doesn't mean he won't try something else. Though I'm not sure how he could claim the inheritance without killing him." Nathan's head snapped up, and he and Verity stared at each other in alarm.

"He may have cared enough about Malcolm to go after the fortune by other means. But if murdering him is the only way—well, Robert's already done away with one man."

"And we left Malcolm alone with him."