Chapter 21

21

I n Peter Kendrick's experience, being summoned by the chief magistrate invariably led to an unpleasant conversation. It certainly had last week when he'd been yelled at for failing to locate Lady Eleanor's murder weapon during his first visit to Orendel House. Mentioning the rain hadn't helped. His ears had burned by the time Sir Nigel finished his rant.

So as Peter entered the chief magistrate's office again, he wished he were anywhere else. Hell, having to work a shift in the dockyard appealed to him more than this.

He closed the door and addressed his superior. "You asked to see me?"

Sir Nigel, who'd been perusing a file, glanced up in response to Peter's voice. Dense strands of gray lay neatly against his scalp. Cheeks, sagging a little with age, creased the corners of his mouth. The chair in which he was seated squeaked as he shifted his heavy frame. An unnervingly sharp gaze made him appear slightly hostile.

Peter resisted the urge to break eye contact, choosing instead to take a step closer.

"Prinny has requested our presence at Clarence House within the hour. Viscount Carver will be there too, so I'm sure you can figure out what this matter pertains to."

It wasn't difficult. With the Prince Regent's close advisor in attendance, it had to be about the murder.

Not wanting to sit unless Sir Nigel asked him to do so, Peter clasped his hands behind his back. "They want a progress report on Lady Eleanor's case."

"And what will you tell them?" Sir Nigel raised a narrow pair of eyebrows. "As far as I know, it's been three days since you learned anything new."

"On the contrary, I acquired some more information this morning." He'd meant to hold onto it – had wanted to double check it first – but Sir Nigel's comment spiked his nerves and compelled him to prove his competency. "Orendel has shared additional details about his daughter with me. Turns out, there was a man in her life before Mr. Lawrence. A Mr. Michael Hutchins, who was very intent on marrying her. Orendel fears he may have reacted badly when he realized she'd never be his."

"Not very substantial, is it?"

"I believe it's worth looking into, regardless."

"Of course." Sir Nigel's loud inhalation filled the room as he pushed himself to his feet. He retrieved his pocket watch and studied the time. "We've got to go if we're to avoid being late. You can issue the order on our way out to have this Hutchins fellow brought in for questioning."

Having never visited Carlton House before, Peter found himself soaking up every detail. The wide mansion, overlooking Pall Mall and St. James's Park, struck him as excessively opulent. The building expense must have been enormous considering all the marble and gold leafing adorning each room. Hell, there was enough plaster molding on the ceiling in the foyer alone to decorate his own house twice over.

He and the chief magistrate followed the butler, a tall man who looked to be ten years too young to hold such a vital position, up the sweeping staircase. Their footfalls were muted by plush red carpet edged in gold thread.

They passed the first landing and continued upward until they arrived at the next. The butler led them through a long hallway that sat beneath a curved ceiling, the uppermost part consisting of stained-glass panels through which sunlight spilled in an array of colors. Pillars propped up a series of archways they passed along the way until the butler stepped through one, ushering them into a square room that appeared surprisingly homey, compared with everything else .

Peter recognized the Prince Regent at once, having seen him on a couple of prior occasions. He sat on a red velvet sofa, one arm flung across the backrest, his thick brown locks in slight disarray. It looked as though he'd gained weight since Peter had last seen him.

His cheeks were fuller now, his body less suited to the fitted garments that constituted the current fashion. Two white collar tips cradled his chin, beneath which his entire neck had been wrapped in a black cravat.

He wasn't the only man whom Peter had seen attired in such a way, though he doubted the comfort of it. Personally, he preferred to wear his cravat a bit looser, with less winding and tucking. It looked as though the man's neck was wrapped in a bandage.

"Your Royal Highness," said the butler. "Your guests have arrived. I present to you Chief Constable Kendrick and Chief Magistrate Sir Nigel Clemens."

The prince looked Peter and Sir Nigel up and down, then waved them forward. Peter followed Sir Nigel's cue and made his best attempt at an elegant bow.

"Welcome, gentlemen," said the prince, his tone light and inviting. He swept his bejeweled hand toward the man who sat adjacent to him. "Are you acquainted with Lord Carver?"

"Of course," Sir Nigel replied, bowing once more.

"I've not yet had the pleasure." Peter gave the viscount a polite nod of acknowledgement.

"Indeed, the pleasure is all mine," said Lord Carver. A wry expression filled his gaze as he took in the new arrivals. He was an older man whom Peter guessed to be well past five and fifty. By contrast to the prince's, his features were lean, with angular cheekbones jutting out from a slim face. His brown clothes did not look much different from what Peter chose to wear, though he suspected they probably cost significantly more.

The prince encouraged Sir Nigel and Peter to sit. They made use of two vacant armchairs, after which tea was served by a maid who remained nearby.

Peter fought the urge to ask for coffee instead and thanked her. He barely managed to add some milk and sugar to his cup before the prince said, "I wish to know about Lady Eleanor's death and what you are doing to find the man responsible for it."

When Sir Nigel failed to respond and the silence started to stretch with all eyes on Peter, he cleared his throat and said, "Please rest assured, Bow Street is following every available lead."

The prince blinked a few times before declaring, "That's simply not good enough, Kendrick. An arrest must be made if the public is to be appeased. The citizens of London need to feel safe or we run the risk of having a riot. Beastly business. Doesn't do anyone an ounce of good."

"Agreed," Peter said, earning a smile from his host. "These things, however, take time. There's a great deal of information for us to sift through, but no clear trail to follow. However, we do have a dedicated team working on it, so I'm confident we'll catch the man eventually."

"The way you caught Newton?" There was no denying the prince's jab. He smiled again, and Peter realized there was an insolent dismissiveness to the expression that hadn't been there before. "It's important to me that my law enforcement officers are perceived as capable instead of inept. Isn't there a viable suspect you can arrest?"

"Not yet," Peter informed him.

"Then you leave me no option. I'll have to consider a total overhaul of the Bow Street Magistrates' Court." The prince, who'd picked up his teacup, took a tentative sip while a cool sweat erupted against Peter's skin. "You've had your chance. Both of you. It's time to find someone who's actually capable of doing their job."

"Your Royal Highness," Sir Nigel said, sending Peter a hasty look filled with disapproval. "What my colleague means to say is that we do in fact have a suspect. Although it is true that we haven't technically arrested him yet, he is being brought in for questioning as we speak and is expected to be restrained as soon as he arrives at Bow Street. It's a matter of correct language usage, you see. I'm afraid Kendrick is quite the stickler for it."

Peter clamped his teeth together so hard his jaw started to vibrate under the pressure. He would not argue in front of the prince and Lord Carver. Doing so would only make him look disloyal, incompetent, and possibly stupid. He didn't believe himself to be any of those things. But Sir Nigel was making a grave error in judgement by offering Hutchins up as the sacrificial lamb before they'd even interviewed him .

It was the sort of disgusting behavior he'd no desire to be involved in. And yet, he held his silence and watched as the prince gave a satisfied nod.

"Then there's no cause for concern. As long as you've got your man, I expect an announcement will soon be made to appease the public and reinforce their faith in the country's legal system. Yes?"

Despite the bitter taste in his mouth, Peter responded to the prince's pointed stare with a nod. "Of course."

Sir Nigel relaxed in his chair with a sigh.

"Excellent." The prince smiled and turned to Carver. "I'll allow you to raise the next point of conversation."

The viscount, who'd been watching the previous exchange with open interest, leveled Peter with the sort of look that made him feel as though he were shrinking. "I've been keeping an eye on Croft, who appears to be enjoying life as a husband tremendously. His wife, whom I was led to believe had been hired to build a case against him, doesn't seem to be making any effort to do so. Which makes me wonder if she might have started to sympathize with him. If so, we'll need to change tactics. If not, there's clearly an issue of efficiency that needs addressing. Yours, I suspect, since you're the man leading the mission."

Peter held Carver's gaze while trying to puzzle his way through the man's criticism. Despite Peter's attempt at getting Mrs. Croft to continue her assignment, she'd been disinclined to heed his command when Harlowe had asked the opposite of her. And since Harlowe's order echoed Sir Nigel's, Peter had been the one breaking rank when he'd tried to ignore it.

And yet, it would seem as though those higher up – Lord Carver, for one – expected the mission to go on as planned.

Peter waited a second or two to see if Sir Nigel might comment on this. When he didn't, apparently choosing to let Peter untangle himself from this one alone, he decided to say, "I was asked to stand down with regard to Croft. My agent was told to do the same."

Carver snorted, surprise showing in the widening of his eyes and shift in position. "But that's absurd. Croft was undoubtedly involved in his father's illegal dealings – the aiding and abetting of criminals in exchange for favors, the compilation of blackmail material to be used against the highest-ranking members of our society, smuggling, and most likely murder too. Despite initial appearances to the contrary, it would seem that Croft intends to continue this trend."

"You have evidence of this?" Peter asked, a little put out by Carver's unwavering conviction when he himself had struggled to find the proof.

"That's what you were meant to provide, isn't it?" Carver leaned forward, pinning Peter with a sharp stare. "Who gave the order for you to stand down?"

It took great effort for Peter to resist the urge to tug at his cravat when it felt like a noose had been dropped around his neck. Refusing to betray anyone, he held his tongue while searching his brain for something clever to say.

But Carver immediately shifted his gaze to Sir Nigel. "As his superior, I expect it was you."

Sir Nigel made a choked sort of sound, half cough half wheeze. "Yes, my lord. I…um…was of the opinion that backing off a little would encourage Croft to form a trusting bond with his wife. The…um…idea…" He spread his hands wide and blinked a few times before saying, "Was that this would compel him to become laxer in her presence. Which I hoped might allow her to move about more freely and find what she needed once given the order to resume her mission."

"While I will admit your theory does have some merit, it's the sort of ploy that requires more time than I am prepared to sacrifice on this effort." Carver pushed out his chin, affecting the look of a greyhound preparing to chase down a rabbit. "Viscount Stanton sent a couple of men to reason with Croft last month in the hope of reacquiring whatever information he believed Croft's father had gathered on him. Those men are now missing. It's Stanton's belief that Croft killed them. He's also convinced Croft murdered his son, Mr. Clive Newton, and insists something be done to remove Croft from Society."

"If Stanton had concerns about information Croft might have on him," Peter mused, "does it not stand to reason that it was the damning sort? In which case I cannot help but wonder why we would help him."

"It is because," the prince said with an almost bored air of superiority, "no matter what information Croft has acquired on Stanton, it is not for him to use in his quest for power. Nor is it up to him to dispose of people as he sees fit. If everyone were to do as he does, Society would crumble. Which is why we leave the matter of passing judgement to the courts."

"Exactly so," Carver agreed. "We cannot have men like Croft taking the law into their own hands. If Stanton is right – if Croft did kill his son and make it look like self-murder – then he deserves to face the consequence of his actions. And in a fair and reasonable world, he would do so. The problem is that he's gained enough money and leverage to weave his way out of trouble. Which is why we need irrefutable proof of guilt. The more the better."

Happy to be officially told that the mission was once more in progress, Peter reached for his cup and pretended to like the tea he'd been served. "I'll inform my agent at once and make sure she provides it."

Having parted ways with Kendrick after their meeting at Carlton House, Nigel hastened to another lavish residence nearby. The butler there showed him into a lovely parlor painted in light blue tones. The furniture was upholstered in shades of white and ivory, the matching curtains falling softly alongside the tall beveled glass windows that overlooked a lush garden.

Shifting uncomfortably in the chair he'd selected, Nigel contemplated his need to shed a few pounds. Modern furniture wasn't suited to his large frame. He much preferred the baroque style his wife had used throughout their home.

Nigel huffed. The man he'd come to visit had yet to honor him with his presence. It took nearly an hour for him to arrive, by which time Nigel's right foot had fallen asleep.

Grunting, he pushed himself out of his chair and greeted his host. "I realize my presence here is likely unwelcome, but I thought you should know that my hand has been forced. I'm no longer able to assist you in your endeavor. Orders have come directly from Carver who has the Prince Regent's blessing. We're to resume our take down of Croft."

Assessing eyes stared at him from beneath a pair of prominent eyebrows. "Was my name mentioned?"

"No. I explained that we were trying to avoid raising Croft's suspicions while helping his wife acquire the freedom of movement she'll need in order to smuggle evidence out of the house. I'm sorry, but with Carver keeping a watchful eye on the goings on, there's little I can do to stop Kendrick from pursuing Croft in earnest. He's like a bloodhound who's just been unleashed."

Nigel's host grunted his response and crossed to the window. He stared at the scenery beyond. "Return to Bow Street, Sir Nigel. Do your job as best you can to avoid garnering any suspicion. I'll see what I can do to prevent Croft's downfall. "

"And my son?" A tremor caught Nigel's voice as he posed the question.

"Keep your head down. Don't speak to anyone of our involvement, and he'll be fine. I give you my word."

Sir Nigel's shoulders sagged with relief. He bid the man a good day and departed, his step slightly lighter than when he'd arrived.

Still standing by the parlor window, the gentleman, watched the chief magistrate lumber toward his carriage. The vehicle dipped as he hoisted himself inside. A pitiful reflection of what British law enforcement had to offer these days.

The gentleman shoved his hands into his pockets, his attention no longer on Sir Nigel but rather on the news he'd imparted. He hated the idea of causing more damage to Croft's life. Eliminating his sister had been necessary. But he couldn't stand idly by while his wife worked to destroy him.

Though evidence did suggest she'd come to care for her husband, he knew it was likely an act intended to help her achieve her goal. She was like a jungle cat taking a lazy afternoon nap until it was time to resume the hunt.

It was regrettable that he liked her as well as he did. Because if it came to a choice between her and Croft, there was no question as to which of the two he'd remove from the playing field.