Chapter 30

30

A bright beam of sunshine spilled through the dining room window, illuminating the dust motes. Samantha stared at the swirling particles while sipping her tea, acutely aware that the deep satisfaction she felt in her breast was merely a brief reprieve from the troubles lying ahead.

Kendrick would soon discover the files she'd delivered were useless, if he hadn't already. There was no telling what dangers they faced once that happened, but for now, there was peace and comfort to be found in the domesticity of sitting down to breakfast with her husband and the boy they'd saved. In knowing the rest of the children rescued from The Buxom Lady were now settled into their new home.

She glanced at Isak and smiled at the sight of him shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth. "I'm glad to see you relishing your meal. "

He froze at the realization that he'd drawn attention and swallowed his bite. "It's really good. All the food I've had here is."

"You should let Cook know. I believe she'd be tremendously pleased." Samantha slid her gaze toward Adrian, who was now enjoying his second day out of bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine." His wound was healing nicely and he'd stopped wincing when he moved his arms and shoulders. "Almost as good as new"

"But not quite," she told him firmly, reminding him of the scab that had formed. It would take a while for that to fall off.

He sent a sideways glance toward Isak. "Was she equally impossible when she visited you in the hospital?"

"Nope." Isak gulped down some milk with a loud slurp. "I was free to do as I pleased."

"Really?" Adrian narrowed his gaze on Samantha while she voiced her protest.

"That's not at all true and you know it." Her lips twitched on account of the mischievous laugher Isak produced in response to the chiding. "Free to do as you pleased indeed." Humor bubbled through her. "I told the nurses they were to tie you to the bed if you tried getting up without permission."

"Devilish woman," Isak murmured.

"I beg your pardon?" Samantha did her best to sound affronted, but knew she didn't quite manage the feat .

"She certainly can be," Adrian agreed with a very distinct hint of fondness that made her toes curl with pleasure.

"Well, I—"

A knock at the door cut her off. Murry entered at Adrian's request. "Turner has returned with information he'd like to share."

"Excellent. Please show him to the study. I'll meet him there." Adrian downed the remainder of his coffee and stood. "Let's pray that our man has something useful to impart."

Although Samantha was tempted to ask if she might join Adrian for the meeting, she didn't want to leave Isak alone. So she topped up her tea while Adrian left and told the boy, "I'm thinking we ought to give some consideration to your schooling."

He nearly spat out his food, coughing slightly while trying to regain his composure. "If that's the price I'm to pay for your help, I'll go back on the streets."

She tilted her head, studying him while he stared at her in mutinous silence, no hint of the sparkling amusement he'd shown mere moments before. "It's not a demand but rather an offer you ought to consider."

"Why?"

"Because there's power in knowledge. If you know your letters to perfection, information will be yours for the taking."

A stubborn tilt of the chin. "What makes you think I don't know how to read and write?"

Rather than bring up the effort he'd made at copying down the title of Herakles some months ago, Samantha gave him a curious look. "Do you?"

His gaze held hers for the longest moment before he pushed back his chair and stood. "Thank you for breakfast."

"You really should ask if you are permitted to leave the table." Her words stopped his progress toward the door. When he sent her a backward glare of annoyance, she sighed. This would be like training a wild beast to live in confinement. It would take time. So she chose to abandon all attempts at educating him for the moment in favor of asking, "How do you plan to spend the day?"

"Dunno."

"May I make a suggestion?" It took a few seconds, but he finally nodded. "Betsy has been asked to help you in case you'd like to try taking a boat ride in the park or pay a visit to a museum. If you speak with her, I'm sure she'll make some more suggestions."

"And if I want to go for a walk? Does she have to come with me then?"

Sensing his concern, Samantha said, "You're not a prisoner here, Isak. We're only trying to help."

Lips pressed together, he nodded once more then left the room without saying anything more.

Samantha blew out a breath and dropped her head in her hands. This should not be so hard, should it? Someone cleared their throat and she glanced back up to find Adrian standing in the doorway.

"Everything all right?" he asked, hands in his trousers pockets as he came toward her .

"I fear I may have said the wrong thing when I suggested to Isak that we consider his schooling. My attempt to fix the mistake by encouraging him to enjoy an excursion with Betsy did not seem to work."

"This is only his third day here." Adrian pulled out the chair beside her and sat. He took her hand. "We need to allow him some time to adjust."

"You're right, but it's also not good for a boy that age to sit around doing nothing. He's thirteen years old, Adrian, and he barely knows how to read the most basic words. I'm just trying to help him."

"And he'll see that, provided you do not push him too hard too fast. Otherwise you run the risk of his feeling trapped, and I know that's not what you want."

She took a deep breath and expelled it. He was correct. While Harlowe had wasted no time with her when she'd first arrived at Clearview, she recalled how jarring the change had been. It might have been nice to have had a month to get used to her new surroundings before demands were made for her to perform.

"What did Turner tell you?" She was rather keen to know.

Adrian straightened, assuming a businesslike manner. "A cloaked figure left Mr. Benjamin Lawrence's home at two in the morning – a man, Turner deduced, based on the individual's gait and build. He followed him all the way to the docks where he disappeared into a lodging house. There he remained for about half an hour, after which he returned to his point of departure. "

It was unclear what this might mean, if anything at all, but it was certainly interesting. "Does Turner have any idea of who the man might be or what his purpose was?"

"None whatsoever."

Samantha bit her lip in contemplation. "Did he see the man arrive at Mr. Lawrence's home before heading out?"

"No."

"Then it was probably a servant, either a footman or the butler."

"My thoughts exactly. In fact, considering what we know, I'd say the man in question probably went to meet with the riders who got away when our carriage was attacked. We've already linked Lawrence to that, and a lodging house at the docks would make an excellent hideout for two such thugs."

"True, though it might be wise not to make assumptions."

"Fair point." Adrian scratched the nape of his neck. "Since much of tomorrow will be taken up by Phelps's funeral, I intend to call on Lawrence again today. It's time for him to answer some questions about that attack."

"I'll join you. If we're lucky, we'll have his confession by luncheon."

The anger flashing in Mr. Benjamin Lawrence's eyes stood in contrast to the soft tones with which his parlor was furnished. "I should stop granting you entrance when all you do is accuse me."

He sat in a plush armchair this time, his useless legs propped on an ottoman. Like the rest of the furniture in the room, the pieces were upholstered in cream-colored damask.

"Forgive us, but the evidence does suggest that you ordered the attack and made it look like Stanton's doing so we would enact our revenge upon him." Adrian hardened his gaze. "A direct aim at punishing him for not giving in to your demands."

"And what demands would those be?" Exasperation was evident in Lawrence's tone. He was either telling the truth, or he was a brilliant actor.

Samantha watched him with careful consideration while Adrian answered. "You wanted his shares in North Atlantic Trade. When your threats against him failed to achieve the desired result, you decided to punish him by pitching me against him."

"That's absurd." Lawrence tried to lean forward, but flopped back against his chair when the muscles in his legs failed to provide the resistance he needed. He gritted his teeth. "If I sent a blackmail letter to Stanton in May as you suggest, I wouldn't have waited three months before making good on my threat which, according to you, was to reveal his most carefully guarded secret.

"Why would I change my mind and send you after him so long after? That makes no sense at all. And let's not forget, I had no need for Stanton's shares at the time when the blackmail letter was sent. Not when I stood to acquire Orendel's the moment I married his daughter. Once added to the ones I already own, they would have been substantial."

For some peculiar reason, it hadn't occurred to Samantha that Lawrence might already have his own shares. She glanced at Adrian, who was watching Lawrence with careful consideration as though he'd reached the same conclusion.

Rather than press the point, Adrian said, his voice firm, "In other words, the forged blackmail letter was not sent by you."

"Of course not."

Samantha swept the room with her gaze, her interest in Lawrence fading since it didn't look like they'd find what they'd come for. Not that she trusted a word he said. There was something too weaselly about him. But if he had sent those thugs after them, it would be hard, if not impossible, to prove.

Besides, it was quickly becoming too great a distraction from the far more important task of solving Lady Eleanor's murder.

"I trust we're heading down to the docks next," she said as soon as they'd left Lawrence's house. Neither of them had questioned Lawrence about the cloaked figure, a deliberate decision to keep from alerting him to the finer points of their investigation.

Adrian confirmed this while leading her back to the carriage. Once seated inside he asked, "Do you think we've gotten the wrong end of the stick where Lawrence is concerned?"

"I'm honestly not sure." It was the truth. Lawrence had been convincing. The only thing telling her he'd been behind the attack was a needling suspicion that wouldn't let up. Which wasn't enough. "His arguments made sense."

Adrian grunted in response, his elbow propped against the edge of the window while he peered out at the buildings they passed. "You know, there's someone else who'd want us dead, only we've been distracted from it, first by Stanton and then by Lawrence."

"I don't believe those thugs aimed to kill us."

He sent her a sidelong glance. "They didn't exactly try not to. It was almost as if they didn't care which way things went."

"True." She angled herself toward him and tilted her head. "What are you suggesting?"

"Considering what you and I have been up to – the questions we've been asking and it being common knowledge that Orendel wants me to help solve his daughter's murder – I believe the attack was intended to stop me from doing precisely that."

"In which case Lawrence would have had every right to be angry with us for accusing him of being involved." She sank against the corner of the cabin, her spine jolting a little when the carriage bounced over an uneven spot in the road. "We probably ought to apologize to him. "

"Is that what your instinct tells you to do?" When she didn't respond right away, he said, "Because mine keeps insisting he's up to something. Which is precisely why we're going to follow up on the cloaked man Turner saw leaving his home."

They arrived at the lodging house in question some fifteen minutes later. A young woman, no more than twenty years old, answered the door. Her dark blonde hair was swept into a knot at the nape of her neck. She stared at them. "Yes?"

"Forgive the intrusion," Samantha said, masking her surprise as she took a small step forward. This was not the thug she'd expected. Then again, this woman might be a wife or a sister. "I'm Mrs. Samantha Croft and this is my husband, Mr. Adrian Croft. We were hoping you might provide us with some information."

Caution showed in the woman's expression. "Information about what?"

"We're helping Bow Street with a special investigation. As part of this, we're looking into various individuals, one of whom you may be connected to." A sweet smile accompanied these words. "We'll pay you handsomely for your time."

The hazel eyes assessing them flickered with interest, though the woman's overall expression remained wary. She hesitated as though weighing the pros and cons of granting them entrance – the possible danger. "Do you have some credentials? A letter from the chief magistrate perhaps?"

"I'm afraid not. The nature of our inquiry is too secretive for those higher up to admit any kind of involvement at present." Samantha retreated, angling herself away from the door as though preparing to leave. "Again, we apologize for disturbing you. We'll see if one of the other people on our list has something to impart." To Adrian she murmured just loud enough for the woman to hear, "I don't care how much it costs us, as long as we don't return empty handed."

Adrian grunted his response, his hand going to Samantha's elbow, already steering her toward the stairs that would take them down to the street.

"Wait."

Samantha halted mid-stride and allowed a brief sense of victory to catch her lips before schooling her features. Turning slowly, she faced the younger woman once more, her eyebrows raised in question.

"How…how much are you willing to offer?"

"At least five pounds, possibly more," Adrian said. "It all depends on what you're able to tell us."

The younger woman swallowed. She was clearly still torn, but the eagerness in her eyes told Samantha the offer they'd made her was too irresistible to be ignored. As expected, only a couple more seconds passed before she pulled the door wide and stepped aside, granting them entrance.

"Would you care for some tea?" the woman asked once they'd been shown into her sparsely furnished parlor. "It's not as hot as it was an hour ago, but it's got a good flavor and will quench the thirst."

"Thank you, but we're not in need of refreshments." Samantha glanced about, noted the absence of the men they'd hoped to encounter, and finally chose to take a seat on one of two wooden chairs.

Adrian gestured for their hostess to take the other, leaving him with the stool that stood in a corner. He pulled it closer to where the women sat and lowered himself to the round seat, then retrieved his notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket. A quick glance at the woman followed. "I'd like to start with your name, if I may."

The woman folded her hands in her lap, affecting a more relaxed posture, though the slight movement in the heel of her right foot betrayed her nerves. "Genevieve Fontaine."

Adrian wrote the name while Samantha, finding it a bit flamboyant for a woman of Miss Fontaine's station, carefully asked, "Is that your real name or…?"

"It's the one I use for the stage. I'm an actress, you see, at the Haymarket Theatre." She nibbled on her lower lip, her attention darting between Samantha and Adrian, who continued jotting down notes. "I switched to it years ago, when I first came to London. Jane Smith isn't exactly memorable, is it? In fact, I'd prefer to leave that out, if it's all right with you."

"It's perfectly fine with me," Adrian said. He stopped writing and straightened his back, his elbows resting on his bent knees. "As we mentioned earlier, this visit isn't so much about you as it is about the person who came here last night between the hours of two and four. We need to know who that person was, why he was here, and what he said."

"Um…"

"The more details, the more we'll pay," Samantha reminded Miss Fontaine.

Those folded hands started to fidget. "His name is Mr. Frederick Trenton. He works as valet to a certain Mr. Benjamin Lawrence. After seeing me perform last year, he sought me out in the way gentlemen oftentimes do with actresses, ballerinas, and opera singers."

"In other words," Samantha said, her voice light, nonjudgemental, "he made you his mistress."

She shared a quick look with Adrian and acknowledged how wrong they had been in their deduction. The man who'd come here was clearly not connected to the thugs Lawrence had hired. All he was after was a bit of bedsport.

Adding to this, Miss Fontaine said, "He got me this place, and while it may not look like much, it's a step up from where I was before, the best part being that I don't have to share it with anyone."

Adrian frowned and proceeded to scan their surroundings. Samantha did the same, and it suddenly struck her that while the furnishings might not be costly, the place appeared to be both well-maintained and clean. It was also spacious, if the other doors she'd seen in the hallway led to additional rooms of a similar size.

"Quite an expense, I should think, even for a high- ranking servant," Adrian said, giving voice to Samantha's thoughts.

"Frederick claims his employer pays him exceedingly well."

"So he's happy with his job?"

"I would think so. He's always praising Mr. Lawrence for his kindness. It's so very tragic what happened to him, and at such a young age."

"Have you ever met him?" Adrian asked. "Mr. Lawrence, that is?"

A shrill laugh broke past Miss Fontaine's lips. "Goodness, no. What reason would I possibly have for that?"

"I was merely curious." Adrian returned his attention to his notebook. He tapped it with the end of his pencil. "Describe Mr. Thompson's appearance to me, if you will."

Samantha was glad he'd thought to ask this question. The information it led to would surely be useful if they ever needed to track Mr. Thompson down.

"He's a little bit shorter than you, with a handsome face defined by an elegant jaw, straight nose, and the clearest blue eyes I've ever encountered. Yours are lovely as well, Mrs. Croft, but Frederick's are slightly darker." Miss Fontaine's smile turned beatific as she described the rest of her protector's features as though he were Cupid incarnate. "Honestly, I've never met anyone more deserving of an artist's rendering than him. A pity he can't afford to have his portrait painted."

Samantha blinked, her lips slightly parted in wonder and…something far more disturbing. Every word Miss Fontaine had uttered twisted the pieces of knowledge she'd had when she'd come here until a dangerous truth began to emerge.

She shot a look at Adrian, his dark eyes meeting hers with sharp understanding. Their thoughts were aligned, their question the same. How the hell was this possible?

"When is he due to return?" Samantha asked, her voice wooden to her own ears.

"I can't really say. There's no set agreement in terms of time. He comes when he's able, which tends to be three times a week."

"And in the meantime?" Adrian's voice was low, casually coaxing. "What do you do?"

A shrug. "I go to rehearsals, perform my shows, and wait."

"And do you consider yourself to be a good actress?"

"I like to think so." Words spoken with confidence.

Adrian sent Samantha a meaningful look, encouraging her to say, "Perhaps your skill can help catch a killer."

Miss Fontaine's mouth fell open, her eyes wide with shock. "What do you mean?"

Samantha did not mince words while sharing every detail she and Adrian had acquired with Miss Fontaine, for she knew the information would not be well received. Or easily believed.

As expected, Miss Fontaine frowned, the lines deepening with every word Samantha spoke. She shook her head, disbelief sparking in her eyes, her jaw suddenly rigid. "I don't believe you. The man I know Mr. Thompson to be is incapable of enacting such brutality."

"Miss Fontaine," Adrian tried, "as my wife has just explained, the man you know as Mr. Thompson is someone else entirely. A scoundrel who has lied to you, deceived you in hi—"

"No." Miss Fontaine stood, her body quivering in outrage. "He has been nothing but good and kind toward me."

"Of course," Samantha said. "You provided what he needed – a service with which he found no complaint."

"What right do you have to judge me?"

"Forgive me. I meant no insult." Samantha offered a smile. "Considering your comfortable lodgings, it looks like you pleased him greatly."

"He pleased me too," Miss Fontaine informed her sharply.

"As such," Samantha told her, doing her best to sound amicable, "there was no reason for him to be anything other than charming when he came to visit."

Miss Fontaine stared at Samantha, her stiff arms ending in two clenched fists. "It was wrong of me to invite you in. I'd like you to leave now, please."

Samantha stood but it was Adrian who said, "We're telling the truth."

An incredulous laugh rolled from Miss Fontaine's lips. "Why should I believe you – two strangers lacking credentials – over someone I know? "

Adrian shared a look with Samantha, as if to say, well?

She licked her lips. Unable to come up with any convincing argument, she said, "You shouldn't. But maybe you should ask yourself what we stand to gain from telling you such an outrageous lie."

"I…I don't know." Hesitance slackened Miss Fontaine's features.

"If we are wrong," Samantha went on, "and the man you've been seeing is truly as harmless as you believe him to be, then so be it. But if we are right and he did indeed kill Lady Eleanor Marsh, wouldn't you want to know?"

"I…" Miss Fontaine swallowed, the fire that blazed in her gaze before now waning – transforming – turning to desperation. "Curse you for coming here."

Samantha ignored the harsh words. "Will you help us?"

"What choice do I have?" Misery strained her features. "If I don't, I'll always wonder from this day on if the man I've let into my bed has blood on his hands."

"I'm sorry," Adrian muttered.

"You could have fooled me." Miss Fontaine shifted her gaze between them a few times before she returned to her seat, her body slumped in defeat. "What do you want me to do?"

Adrian did not hesitate in his request. "Summon him for us and we will see who shows up. If it's the man I expect, we can make sure he pays for his crime."

"And if it isn't?" Miss Fontaine asked .

"Then I shall inform The Morning Post of the inconvenience I have caused you today, accompanied by a public letter of apology addressed to both you and Mr. Thompson."

"Your reputation will suffer."

Adrian was aware, yet he said, "I am confident enough in my conviction to take that risk."

Miss Fontaine gulped down a breath. "Very well."

Noting how fiercely Miss Fontaine's hands trembled, Samantha felt compelled to say, "There's another way around this. If you prefer not getting involved, we can wait outside and keep watch until he returns."

"But that could take days, during which I'll wonder and fret. Plus, if you're right about him, he might hurt additional people by then."

"There's nothing to suggest he will do so. However, if our theory is correct, we are dealing with a dangerous man," Samantha warned her. "You need to be aware that in helping us you will be taking a risk."

"Then I'd best pray I'm as good an actress as I believe myself to be." Miss Fontaine went to collect some writing supplies. Her unsteady voice and hasty movements conveyed a degree of nervousness that made Samantha think she might have started believing them. "What should I tell him?"

Adrian gave Miss Fontaine clear instructions, which she followed to the letter. When she was done, a shimmer of hopefulness lit her eyes. "Does this mean I've earned more than five pounds?"

"You most certainly have." Adrian handed her a fistful of coins along with his card. "Rest assured, we did not come here to deceive you. Our only aim is to learn the truth, which we're a little closer to doing now thanks to your assistance. So if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"That was very good of you," Samantha remarked when she and Adrian made their way back to their carriage. "I think you must have given her more than twenty pounds."

"She deserves every penny for the help she's providing."

Samantha turned to him, her hand catching his arm. "You're sure she's up for this?"

He glanced back toward the building they'd come from. "If everything goes according to plan, Miss Fontaine won't have to face her protector again. He'll be caught before he knocks on her door."

Having reached the carriage, he swung the door open and handed Samantha up. "Go home. Tell Murry to meet me here with Ward and Turner."

"I'll return with them. Lord knows you can use all the help you can get if we're right about whom we're up against." He opened his mouth as if to argue, prompting her to lean forward, one hand braced on the bench beside her. "This isn't up for debate, Adrian."

Despite the stubborn line of his mouth, he gave a quick nod. "In the meantime, I'll find an errand boy to deliver the missive, someone who won't raise any suspicions."

The door closed before she could make a response and the carriage took off. Samantha pressed her back firmly against the squabs, her mind already working its way through the upcoming challenge.

If they were correct in their suspicions, they'd soon be faced with some tough decisions, and she very much feared her husband might make the wrong ones.