Chapter 16

16

A drian returned home from Reed's with dozens of thoughts hovering in his mind. He was still somewhat bewildered by his encounter with Miss Carmichael, and he could not help but give her more thought than he intended. He was intrigued by her and the mystery that surrounded her. Loath as he was to admit it, his curiosity was beginning to take hold.

He entered his parlor and was about to pour himself a drink when Murry appeared in the doorway.

"Yes?" Adrian asked. Murry stepped forward, his eyes flicking to the fire that burned in the hearth before returning to Adrian.

"I may have some information about Miss Carmichael," he said. "Turns out she managed to get the woman who ran the orphanage where she spent the first years of her life replaced. Mrs. Thrush, the widow who currently runs it, even claims that Miss Carmichael helps acquire donations. They received nearly a thousand pounds last year thanks to her efforts."

"In other words, she's kind."

"It would appear so." Murry paused. "But there's something else..."

Adrian sipped his drink. "What?"

"One of Goodard's informants, a Mr. Haines, spotted a woman matching Miss Carmichael's description yesterday morning." Goodard, who owned London's largest employment agency, used the individuals he placed in various positions to track down people of interest. He and the Crofts had a longstanding agreement – an exchange of favors that served both sides well. "Haines was on his way to the Bearded Vulture with a delivery of ale when a woman emerged from the woods, riding at a near gallop. She had to rein in her mount to avoid crashing into Haines's wagon."

"A bit reckless perhaps," Adrian murmured, "though nothing especially noteworthy."

"It's not her handling of the horse that's of interest but rather her seat and attire."

"What of it?"

"She was riding astride, sir, while wearing breeches."

This got Adrian's attention. He straightened his spine, his glass of brandy briefly forgotten. Few people had ever surprised him, least of all in a positive way. Yet somehow, Miss Carmichael managed to do so.

He stilled on this thought and met Murry's gaze. "Are we certain it was she?"

"A female rider estimated to be in her early twenties, with light blonde hair, riding in the vicinity of Clearview House. It's hard to imagine it being anyone else."

Adrian nodded. However intriguing he'd found Miss Carmichael before, he found her doubly so now. While she appeared no more than a typical young lady at first glance, it was becoming increasingly clear that she was a great deal more. With her interest in Euripides, boxing, and now this, he couldn't help but wonder what other hidden depths there might be to her.

Recalling the glass he held, he raised it to his lips and took a long swallow of spiced liquid heat.

"She was at Reed's today," he told Murry. He could not allow himself to be blinded by what she allowed him to see, just in case there was something else lurking beneath the surface. He relayed the interaction while going over every detail in his mind. "The book that fell from her bag just happened to be the same one I'm reading. I need to know if that was indeed coincidental or if there might be something more to it."

"You think she might be trying to gain your friendship by crafting common interests?"

He didn't want it to be true, but he'd never been a big believer in fated encounters or chance. "I don't know, but I'd like to find out."

Murry frowned. "Have you taken your book out in public or mentioned it to anyone?"

"No. I keep it in the carriage to read while I travel about, so the only other person who might have seen it is you."

"Then I don't see how Miss Carmichael would be aware of it, sir."

Neither did Adrian, and yet there was something about the entire encounter at Reed's that somehow felt off, like an elusive memory just beyond reach.

Adrian downed some more brandy. "Thank you, Murry. You've been most helpful. Any other information?"

Murry shook his head. "Unfortunately not, sir. Despite his best efforts, Ward failed to encourage his mark to speak of Miss Carmichael. He was foiled every time he attempted to steer the conversation in her direction."

It wasn't unusual, Adrian supposed. Many households employed loyal servants, though he had to admit he was slightly surprised Ward's skill at obtaining information while seducing one of the Clearview Housemaids hadn't met with more success.

Too bad.

"Thank you for the update, Murry. You can tell Ward to call it quits though he ought to do so slowly so he avoids suspicion. In the meantime, tell Mr. Goodard to put all his informants on alert. And let me know if you find anything else."

"Very good, sir."

Murry departed, leaving Adrian alone with his thoughts.

They would have done well to engage Mr. Goodard's help from the very beginning, but as one of London's foremost employment agents, he ran a larger enterprise and wasn't the sort of man Adrian wished to involve in his own private dealings unless the need called for it.

As he believed it did now.

His personal interest in Miss Carmichael urged him to be wary. Too many people from his past had proven to be manipulative and deceptive, some even traitors. He'd learned some difficult lessons from trusting them, and vowed to avoid such people in future.

He worried Miss Carmichael might be such a person while simultaneously hoping she wasn't. Worst of all, he couldn't quite stop the surge of excitement when he wondered when he might see her again, and this was dangerous.

With a curse, he downed the last of his brandy and set his glass aside. He had far more important matters to deal with right now than a beautiful woman who seemed to cling to his every thought.

After enjoying a quick lunch at his desk, he set off again, returning to St. Bartholomew where he encountered the vicar – a middle-aged man with hints of grey in his dark brown hair. The persistent lines marring his brow made him look like he mourned the loss of better days.

Father Elias had been absent the last time Adrian stopped by. According to what the curate had said, he'd been out visiting a dying parishioner.

"Was anyone else on duty that night?" Adrian asked.

Father Elias plodded between the pews, collecting the hymn books left behind from his last sermon. "I was the last to depart. After locking the vestry at seven, I made a quick round just to be sure the church was empty. Finding it so, I left."

"So no one was here at a later hour? Between ten and eleven?"

"Not as far as I know." Father Elias turned to Adrian and told him bluntly, "I already said as much to the constable charged with investigating that poor woman's death."

"I merely hoped you might have recalled something else in the days since." When the vicar gave no indication that this was the case, Adrian thanked him for his time and departed.

He stopped on the pavement in front of his carriage and swept the street with his gaze. There were townhouses here, more modest in nature than what he was used to, but homes nonetheless, whose residents would have been comfortably hidden away indoors while his poor sister succumbed a short distance away.

"Wait here," Adrian called to his driver before crossing the street.

No one answered the door at the first two addresses. At the third, fourth, and fifth, he was met by solemn head-shakes as each person claimed to have seen and heard nothing. They'd been asleep at that hour.

But the young man he met at the sixth house provided him with additional information.

"I was heading home from The Fox's Burrow that night," the man, whose name turned out to be Adams, told him. "Must have been just before eleven because the clock in the hallway struck the hour right as I entered. I came from that direction, see? Had just turned the corner when a man came striding toward me."

"Did you happen to see if he'd come from the graveyard?"

"No." Adams's expression turned thoughtful. "He might have, I suppose. The entrance wasn't far behind him, but I can't say for sure."

Even if the man Adams had seen wasn't the killer, it might be another witness, and as such, Adrian wanted to find him. "Can you recall his appearance?"

"I only caught a brief glimpse in the dark." Adams frowned. "He was roughly my height, but I can't say anything about his features or coloring."

"Of course not," Adrian murmured while disappointment dampened his spirits. He thanked Mr. Adams, gave him his card in case he recalled anything else, and turned to leave.

"There was something of note," Adams said before Adrian took one more step.

"Yes?"

"He produced a crunching sound."

"A crunching sound?"

"As though he were chewing something hard, like a sugar glass treat." Adams offered the barest hint of a smile and shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not sure it helps."

"It very well might," Adrian said and promptly handed the young man a five-pound note before thanking him once again for his help and returning to his carriage.

The sugar glass treat was inconsequential right now, but Adrian knew it had every possibility of becoming a valuable piece of evidence later. So he tucked it away in the mental archive he'd started creating when he'd found the button, and set his next course for The Morning Post 's offices.

"Mr. Croft," he informed the clerk when the young man asked for his name. He produced his calling card for good measure. "I wish to speak with Mr. Abernathy at once."

"Do you have an appointment?" the clerk inquired, scrutinizing the sharp black lettering that formed Adrian's full name.

"No."

The clerk raised his gaze to Adrian's. "As I'm sure you can understand, Mr. Abernathy is a busy man. I'll see if he's available."

"He will be," Adrian said, hardening the look in his near-black eyes, "if he wants to keep his position as chief editor of this paper."

"Are you blackmail—"

"Just tell him I'm here."

The clerk backed up a step. His brow started to glisten and yet, he still looked on the verge of arguing further before he thought better of it and hastened away.

Adrian took a calming breath. He didn't like resorting to threats and coercion. He'd much rather people comply without issue. Yet here he was, following in his forefather's footsteps, fulfilling a destiny he had been bent on avoiding.

Until he'd gone to the morgue and seen Evie's body.

The rage coiling inside him, a poison luring him to the darkness, had him in its grasp. There was no turning back. He'd do whatever it took in order to find the answers he sought.

I won't let you down, Evie.

I'll make sure the person who did this gets punished.

"Right this way, Mr. Croft," said the clerk when he returned, not quite meeting Adrian's gaze this time.

They strode through a long hallway with offices on each side. A large room at the end of the hallway housed the press. Several men rushed about in there, operating various parts of the printing process.

The clerk took the stairs next to this room and showed Adrian into an office directly above it. Mr. Abernathy was there, hunched over a simple desk while perusing some papers. Adrian had met him a few times before, most recently six days ago when he'd come to demand a retraction of the column the paper had printed about Evie.

Mr. Abernathy looked up when Adrian entered, and promptly stood in order to greet him. The clerk excused himself, closing the door on his way out and leaving the two men alone.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon," Mr. Abernathy said. He gestured toward a vacant chair and offered Adrian a choice between tea and coffee.

Adrian declined the refreshment but accepted the seat. "I want to speak with the person who branded my sister a wanton."

Mr. Abernathy lowered his bulky figure to his own chair with excessive slowness. "As I explained, that would violate their assurance of anonymity. We did, however, look into the matter and found the author within her right. Her source has since been interviewed, and according to her, your sister was indeed seen in the sort of indelicate situation that left little to the imagination."

Adrian gripped the armrests, his nails digging into the polished wood. Clamping his teeth together, he breathed past the tightness in his chest and the tension straining his shoulders.

"Impossible." He glared at Mr. Abernathy with every bit of contempt he harbored for him. "Evelyn's innocence has been determined by the coroner. The source is either mistaken or lying, which obviously means…"

Apprehension surfaced in Mr. Abernathy's eyes. His easy expression fell away, leaving something akin to dread in its place. "Are you implying that something one of our columnists wrote resulted in murder?"

"It's what I warned you might happen when I was last here," Adrian said, his voice soft, gentle, calm, in absolute contrast to how he felt. "Forget the columnist. Give me the source's name and address instead and I'll interview her myself."

"Mr. Croft, I urge you to be reasonable. You cannot honestly expect me to give up such information. To do so would undermine everything this paper stands for. It would caution others against coming forward with newsworthy stories in the future."

"I'll pretend you didn't just make the error of suggesting that protecting the lie this paper wrote about my sister, or the part it played in her death, is of less importance than the paper's reputation." Adrian leaned forward, bracing one forearm upon his thigh while staring Mr. Abernathy down. "Instead, I'll ask if concealing a name is of greater importance to you than your life."

Mr. Abernathy's eyes widened and it looked as though a distinct sheen appeared on his brow. "My…my life?"

"I will not be thwarted in this. Understand?"

"You would have me…killed?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Adrian collected a piece of paper that sat on top of the desk, tore off a blank corner, and pushed it toward the editor. "The name and address, and I vow no harm shall come to you."

It didn't take more than a second for Mr. Abernathy to snatch up his quill and jot down the information. Adrian took it and left, allowing an unhappy smile in response to the sigh of relief that followed him from the room.