Chapter 7

7

I t was still early in the day and Samantha had much to accomplish. Despite every instinct compelling her to keep her distance from Harlowe, she needed him if she was to try and help Isak. Besides, she hadn't visited Clearview since her wedding. That was a month and a half ago, and while she could try to make up excuses about spending time with her husband, that would only get her so far.

A visit would put to rest any potential suspicions that she was deliberately staying away.

So she fixed her hair, collected her bonnet and gloves, and set off. With the servants still absent from the house, she was left with no choice but to take a hackney. Not that she minded. Public transportation had served her exceedingly well in the weeks leading up to her wedding. She took no issue with it though she did believe it might bother Adrian slightly, now that she knew he enjoyed tracking her movements.

She sighed as she settled in for the journey, the vehicle gently rocking as it travelled out of the city. There was no sense in blaming him for a situation that had been entirely of her own making. He was the victim, not her, though she reckoned he'd wallop her if he knew she thought in such terms.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried not to think of the argument they would likely have later when both returned home. One problem at a time.

The carriage turned onto the Clearview House driveway, taking her past the neatly trimmed lawns and tidy flowerbeds. It pulled to a halt and she alit, asked the driver to wait, and climbed the steps leading up to the large front door.

"It's such a pleasure to see you," Harlowe informed her when they met in the parlor. He pulled her into a hug before stepping back. A smile followed, along with a flicker of wry humor. "We feared you might have forgotten about us, yet here you are."

Anyone else would have fallen for his show of paternal affection, but Samantha knew better now. She would no longer be fooled. Nevertheless, she offered a smile in return. "I'm sure you must know I could never do so."

His gaze searched hers and she forced a gentle expression to soften her features. Non-threatening. No hint of animosity. As far as he would know from this encounter, she was still on his side .

Satisfaction sparked in his eyes, like sunshine catching a shard of ice. "How are you finding married life?"

"It's a change, though not an unpleasant one." She crossed to the same chair she'd sat in a hundred times before and lowered herself to the velvet seat. "My husband is wonderfully generous."

Harlowe tilted his head, considering, assessing. "He doesn't suspect anything?"

"No." Another smile accompanied by a sniff of amusement to sell the lie. "He actually thinks the world of me, which is why the decision to stop my pursuit of him is so very frustrating. I'm in the perfect position to continue my work."

"Be that as it may, you have your orders."

Orders Kendrick apparently meant to ignore. She'd keep that information to herself as well. Harlowe deserved nothing from her. "Of course."

"That's not to say things won't change later," Harlowe added. "They often do in these situations. If you're bored, I suppose you could try to gather more intelligence so you're ready when asked to continue your mission."

When , not if . She watched him with heightened awareness as he strolled to his own chair and sat. "Will you ever tell me who's truly behind all of this?"

"You know that's not an appropriate question to ask."

"He's my husband now. Knowing would make this a whole lot simpler. "

"I don't see how." His voice had firmed.

It was time for her to move on before he became suspicious. She sighed. "Truth is, there's a reason I've come to see you. It pertains to the boy I was using to send information between myself and Kendrick. Wycliff is treating him terribly. I'd like to help."

"I trust the boy was paid whatever price you agreed upon while you used him?"

"Naturally."

"Then you owe him nothing. He's not your problem, Samantha."

"But—"

Harlowe leaned forward, his mouth set in a rigid line. "Consider what will happen if Croft discovers your connection to him. Everything you've worked for could unravel. It's not worth the risk."

"He's a ten-year-old boy who's being abused by a fully grown man. All I'm asking is for you to lend me the money he needs to purchase his freedom." She prayed he'd show some shred of sympathy for the child. "I'll pay you back when I'm able."

"The answer is no." There was no budging him, no swaying his stance. As far as he was concerned, Isak would have to be sacrificed. He'd made the decision without even blinking. The heartlessness was unfathomable.

But of course, she could not allow him to know this was how she perceived him. So she dipped her head. A meek show of servitude. "Very well, then. I'll put my attention toward my marriage instead. "

"A wise decision. Keep strengthening your bond with Croft. Gain as much trust from him as you can by supporting him and giving him honest advice when possible." He gave her a frank look. "I trust things are going well for you in the bedroom?"

It took every effort Samantha possessed not to react with outrage. A quick intake of breath silenced her rising anger. She averted her gaze – pretended a moment of shy embarrassment over the issue. "Very much so."

"Good." His smugness made her want to smash his head in with one of his paperweights. "I hope you'll stay for luncheon. We're having your favorite – baked salmon."

Despite everything, she smiled, the irony being that she was now using her training against the man who'd taught her. "Thank you, but Adrian expects me to dine with him, so I probably ought to get going."

"By all means." Harlowe escorted her back to the carriage. "It was truly lovely to see you, even if our opinions on various issues do differ. Hopefully you'll visit again soon."

"I'll do my best," she assured him, already dreading the next time their paths might cross. He was not the caring man she'd believed him to be but rather a calculating employee of the Crown, who saw her as nothing more than an asset.

Several Runners, strategically positioned, were busy keeping the public away from the York Water Gate when Adrian arrived with Orendel. The earl opened the carriage window and spoke to one, who promptly waved them through.

The carriage pulled up behind several others and stopped to let the men out. A stench of rotten algae hung in the air. Sparrows pecking at the ground took flight as Adrian strode forward.

He groaned when he spotted Kendrick, even though he'd known he would be there. The chief constable didn't look happy to see him either. A frown puckered his brow when their gazes met.

Still, cordiality would be the simplest approach.

Adrian stuck out his hand and Kendrick gave it a solid shake. "Didn't expect to see you here today, Mr. Croft."

Kendrick's gaze slid toward Orendel, the look he gave him reprimanding. The earl must have spoken to Kendrick since asking for Adrian's help. It would have been good if he'd warned the chief constable, made sure he knew what to expect.

"Croft has kindly offered his expertise on my daughter's case," Orendel explained. "I'd like him to take a look at the body that's been discovered this morning."

"I've got to say, that's highly irregular." Kendrick's tone brooked no nonsense. He crossed his arms in a solid stance. "Mr. Croft is a civilian. He ought not get involved in this matter. Rest assured, Bow Street can manage. "

"As well as it did with regard to Mr. Clive Newton?" Orendel asked. "He was allowed to kill five women before he decided to off himself. After you failed to catch him."

"Mr. Clive Newton got the best of us." Kendrick glanced at Adrian, who couldn't quite help but respect him for admitting as much. "I've no intention of letting that happen again, which is why I've put more men on this case. We'll spare no resource when it comes to finding your daughter's killer."

"I'm glad to hear it." Orendel held his ground. "If you'd please step out of the way now so we may proceed?"

Kendrick sighed. "I'm trying to restrict the area to as few people as possible for the sake of preventing contamination of the crime scene."

"Perhaps I should have a word with the chief magistrate," Orendel said. "I'm sure he'll agree with my point of view."

Annoyance flickered in Kendrick's eyes but he finally yielded. "Very well. Mr. Croft, I'll show you what's been discovered, but you're not to touch anything. And mind your step."

"Will do," Adrian murmured. He followed Kendrick toward the structure that stood on the edge of the Thames. Four stone pillars with empty windows on either side supported an arched pediment.

Kendrick gestured for his associates, who were busy sketching and taking notes, to move aside so he and Adrian could get a good look at the victim .

The man – no more than five and twenty years old in Adrian's estimation – was sprawled across the water gate's stone floor. He'd been a handsome fellow with golden hair and bright blue eyes, a solid jawline, elegant nose, and full lips. Strongly built, he looked like the sort who would have sent many female hearts fluttering with but a glance.

A bloodied mark marred his forehead where he'd been shot.

Adrian studied him for a second, committing every detail to memory before asking Kendrick, "How do we know he's connected to Lady Eleanor's case?"

"Orendel didn't tell you?" Adrian glanced at the chief constable then, spotting the disbelief on his face. "That man there is Mr. Rodney Jones, a footman in Orendel's employ."

Interesting.

Arms crossed, Adrian let that information settle before he asked, "Do you suppose he might have known who the killer was?"

"Possibly, though one can't help but wonder why he didn't tell anyone if that were the case."

An excellent point. "The two deaths might be unrelated."

"I think you'll agree that's unlikely."

"Hmm…" Choosing to keep his thoughts on that private, Adrian pulled a pencil from his pocket and dropped to a crouch.

"Hey. What are you… Stop that."

Ignoring the good chief constable, Adrian probed the wound with his pencil, pushing it in until it was able to stand on its own. He propped an elbow on his thigh and glanced up at Kendrick. "Judging from the angle at which he was shot, I'd say the deed was done from a superior vantage point."

"From a carriage perhaps?"

"Not the worst guess in the world." Adrian retrieved his pencil, wiped it clean on a handkerchief, pocketed the items, and stood. "Thank you for your time, Chief Constable. I'll let you get on with your investigation."

"That's it?"

Kendrick's question chased Adrian back to the carriage. He raised his hand and sent him a wave while continuing on his way. To Orendel, he said, "I'd like to take a look at Mr. Jones's quarters."

A modest space with room for two beds and a single nightstand between them greeted Adrian twenty minutes later. By comparison, his servants lived like kings.

He stepped forward. "Where did Mr. Jones sleep?"

"How should I know?" Orendel, who remained by the door, wore an expression that clearly suggested he'd never been up here before.

Accepting he'd get no help from him, Adrian opened the nightstand drawers and peered inside but found nothing of interest. He went to work on the beds next, searching beneath each pillow, under each mattress, and in the spaces between the mattresses and the bed frames.

Dropping to his knees between the beds, he lowered his head to get a good look underneath each one and was met by a series of storage boxes. He pulled them out one by one and soon figured out from a couple of tucked away letters that Mr. Jones had slept in the bed on the right.

Focusing on the boxes beneath that particular bed, Adrian riffled through them, discovering mostly clothes until he found a small wooden case, haphazardly placed on top of some shirts as though recently used and hastily hidden away.

He sat, pulled the case into his lap, and popped the lid. It contained some writing supplies – a few sheets of foolscap, a quill, some ink, and a seal. Deciding it was unlikely to hold any clues, he prepared to close the box when a marking on one of the pieces of paper snared his graze.

It almost looked as if…

Brow knit, he studied the ghostly traces of handwriting left behind from a previous note Mr. Jones must have written. One word in particular stood out boldly. It was this that had caught his attention. For it wasn't so much a word as a name.

Eleanor.

Adrian snatched up the paper, pinched it between his fingers, and held it toward the afternoon light falling in through a tiny window. The writing became a bit clearer. Additional words became legible .

I know. Murder. Compensate .

Air hissed down Adrian's throat. Mr. Jones' death was beginning to make more sense. He returned everything to where he'd found it but kept the letter.

"I'd like to take this home for further inspection," he told the earl.

"What is it?"

"A potential clue." Sensing the earl had additional questions, he said, "If I'm to resolve this matter, I'll need to speak with your entire household. That includes everyone who was in this house, or who ought to have been, on the night in question. Not only your servants but also your family."

"I know, but…" Orendel's face twisted, making it clear that he'd managed to hold it together through pure force of will until this exact second.

Sympathizing, Adrian told him softly, "I realize this is a sensitive situation and I respect that, but I cannot help you unless I have all the facts."

"Understood." The earl dabbed at his eyes. "Eleanor's funeral is set for tomorrow. Maybe you can conduct your interviews the day after that?"

Adrian nodded. "Have a message sent round to confirm it. Provide the hour that suits you best and I'll be here. Just keep in mind this will likely be a lengthy process."

They parted ways and Adrian set his course for Number 5 Portman Square, a whole other set of issues pressing upon his mind as he neared his home. Would Samantha be there when he returned or would she be out?

Hands fisted, he stared at the buildings that swept past the carriage window.

It slowly dawned on him that he wasn't sure which he preferred.