Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

H adrian's coach was parked and waiting on Bulstrode Street well before eight that evening. He wasn't going to risk Miss Wren being out alone. As it was, he'd considered walking to meet her, but he'd settled for parking near the corner, and Leach, his coachman, had assured him that he could see Miss Wren the moment she departed her house and walked toward them.

She arrived at the coach at a minute past. Hadrian heard Leach greeting her, then the door opened, and she climbed inside. She took the forward-facing seat, which Hadrian had left for her.

"Good evening, my lord." Her gaze assessed him briefly as she arranged her dark gray cloak about her ebony skirts. She wore the same small black hat she'd worn to the funeral, with the addition of a rather stunted feather atop her red-gold hair, which was fashioned into a simple style.

"Good evening, Miss Wren. Ready for our adventure in the east?" he asked as the coach began to move.

She smiled, her features alight with enthusiasm. "I'm quite looking forward to it, actually. I rarely do anything this exciting."

"What about going to plays?" he asked, referencing his earlier suggestion for what she might tell her grandmother was her destination this evening.

"On a very rare occasion. I've been to the theatre just two or three times."

He could imagine it was not within her budget to do so. He wondered at her unmarried state and had to assume it was by choice. She was attractive, intelligent, and could clearly run a household. "I'd be delighted to escort you sometime—along with your grandmother. If we went alone, people may think we are courting." He smiled.

Miss Wren's gaze snapped to his. There wasn't a hint of amusement in her expression. "But we are not courting."

"No," he agreed, regretting the jest. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable. "I confess I am surprised you aren't wed." And that comment was somehow better? This was a moment in which Hadrian's curiosity had the better of him.

"I'm satisfied as a spinster," she replied. "My grandmother hopes I might fall in love and marry as she did, but I've no interest in such things." A mild shudder passed over her, giving evidence to not only a lack of interest but perhaps an active distaste.

"You never considered marriage? Not ever?" He wasn't sure he'd ever met a woman who hadn't.

"Do you find that odd?" She sounded surprised. "My parents weren't particularly happy together. I suppose that didn't encourage the matrimonial state in my view."

Hadrian nodded. "Mine did not enjoy wedded bliss either."

"You still haven't told me about the mistake you avoided," she said expectantly.

"True." He inclined his head. Though he rarely spoke of that time, he didn't mind telling Miss Wren about it. "I was betrothed several years ago. I caught Beryl, my fiancée, in a…compromising position with another man. We decided it was best to end our betrothal. She married the other man—Chambers—instead, and I am grateful I was not trapped in what would surely have been an unhappy union."

Hadrian had believed he loved her. They hadn't shared a grand, romantic, all-encompassing passion, but he'd held great affection for her and believed they would get on well together. How wrong he'd been. "I've since decided I am content as a bachelor, so I do understand your satisfaction with spinsterhood."

"Well, if we don't make the perfect situation for friendship between a man and a woman, I don't know what would."

"You make an excellent point. We are friends then?" He hoped so.

"Yes, as well as professional associates." Her gaze moved over his clothing. "You're dressed very simply this evening. Are those even your garments?"

Hadrian glanced down. "They are not, actually. I didn't want to look like an earl. My valet quickly assembled something from his own wardrobe. He's a trifle thicker than I am through the middle, so he nipped the pants in at the waist, and the waistcoat has pins at the back."

She appeared impressed. "How enterprising of him."

"I should blend in better with the patrons of the Bell in this costume."

"I daresay I already blend in with this horrid gown." She looked down at her dress and made a face. "No one would mistake me for a lady from the west end. Not until I speak, anyway."

"Should we alter the way we speak?" he asked.

Miss Wren shrugged. "I can approximate a Cockney accent, though that's a little farther east than where we're going." She slipped into it just then, and he was impressed by her yet again.

"I don't think I can do that." He didn't even try. "Perhaps I'll let you do most of the talking."

She arched a brow at him. "Do you think you can? I've noticed you sometimes can't contain yourself."

He chuckled. "That is a fair assessment. My curiosity often controls my mouth. I will endeavor to be more cautious." Sobering, he wanted to make sure they were both cautious about everything, not just their speech. "We are hoping to find my assailant—a man who has killed, if our theory is correct. We must be on our guard. Did you bring your pistol?"

"I did." She clutched her reticule, which sat on her lap, more tightly. "And yes, we must be vigilant. If we find him at the Bell, it may be easier to question him as it's a public place. However, if we can at least obtain his direction, it may behoove us to verify where he lives then return with Inspector Lowther."

"Or Inspector Teague," Hadrian said. "He has become invested in these investigations. Due to my incessant questioning, I'm sure." He chuckled again.

"Either would be fine," Miss Wren said. "I did like Teague's manner when he came to Sir Henry's house the other day after Vaughn was attacked." She glanced toward his pocket. "I plan to use the ring to identify your attacker. Perhaps someone at the Bell has seen him wear it."

"Brilliant," Hadrian said.

They arrived at Fish Street Hill a short while later. Hadrian departed the coach and helped her down. The coachman would await them, but Hadrian had no idea how long they'd be.

Hadrian escorted Miss Wren toward the river and into the Bell, which was bustling with patrons. He immediately looked toward the table where he'd seen the vision of Sir Henry and pointed it out to Miss Wren. They could not sit there, however, as it was occupied.

Instead, they moved toward the bar where a grizzle-faced man in his fifties was serving ale. Hadrian caught the man's attention and asked for two pints.

The barkeep fetched the ale and set the glasses in front of Hadrian and Miss Wren. Hadrian paid the man more than the ale cost and looked toward Miss Wren.

"We're lookin' for a particular bloke," she said in her impressive Cockney accent. "Got somethin' what belongs to 'im."

Hadrian removed the ring from his pocket and showed it to the barkeep. "Tall fellow with a long face and wide-set dark eyes." That was about all Hadrian could say to describe his assailant.

The barkeep studied the ring in Hadrian's palm. "I dunno the man, but there's a chap who comes in sometimes to see Moll, one of the barmaids. She's mentioned him complainin' about havin' lost a ring. Ye could ask her about it."

"Where's Moll then?" Miss Wren asked before glancing about the common room.

"The red-haired one in the green dress over there." The barkeep gestured toward one of the tables where a curvaceous young woman laughed as she stood next to a table of rowdy men.

Hadrian froze. He'd seen that face before. The first day he'd touched the ring and seen visions, she was one of the people he'd seen.

"Thank ye," Miss Wren said to the barkeep with an appreciative smile. Indeed, there was an air of flirtatiousness about it, something he'd never seen from her before. What was she doing?

They turned from the bar, and Miss Wren took his arm. He steered them away from Moll and the table of men. "I know her," Hadrian whispered urgently. "Not her, but her face."

Miss Wren locked her eyes with his. "In a vision?"

Hadrian nodded. "The first day I had them, I saw her, but I didn't know who she was."

"Then we can surmise she definitely knows the man who was wearing that ring." Mis Wren's eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"My assailant," Hadrian said grimly, his pulse hammering.

"Just so." Miss Wren sipped her ale and wrinkled her nose.

Hadrian sampled his and decided it was worse than when he last visited. "Why did you smile at the barkeep like that? Were you flirting with him?"

"I'm playing a role, and that includes charming the barkeep. It is a useful skill in conducting investigations."

"You are rather good at it. Not just being charming." Though she was particularly good at that, and he found himself wishing it was directed at him. Was he jealous? Perhaps a little. "The role-playing in general. You were excellent at Dr. Selwin's and tonight, you are nothing short of marvelous with that accent."

She blushed. "I have been conducting investigations for about four years now. I am glad to hear that I have some measure of skill."

"You do indeed. I am most fortunate to have made your acquaintance."

Moll left the table of men and moved behind the bar where she spoke with the barkeep for a moment. Then she came directly over to them. "I'm Moll. I 'ear you wanted to speak with me?" She most definitely had a Cockney accent.

Miss Wren smiled at the barmaid. "Evenin', Moll. My friend 'as a ring what may belong to someone you know."

"Lemme see," Moll said, pivoting slightly to look at Hadrian.

He held the ring out on his gloved palm once more. Moll picked it up and squinted at the gold. "That an M?"

"Yes," Hadrian said.

Moll nodded and dropped the ring back onto Hadrian's glove. "Looks like the one Fitch used to wear but he lost it awhile back—some time after Epiphany, I think."

Hadrian exchanged a look with Miss Wren. That timing aligned with when he was attacked, which was a couple of weeks after Epiphany.

"Ye know Fitch well then?" Miss Wren asked.

"Aye," the barmaid replied. "We spend some time together now and again."

"Do you know where 'e lives?" Miss Wren flashed a coin at the woman. "We'd like to return the ring."

Moll took the coin and tucked it into the pocket of her patched gown. "'E lodges over the cheesemonger up on East Cheap. Just past Pudding Lane. On the first floor overlookin' the street. 'E may not be there, as 'e's out most nights, but ye can try."

Miss Wren cocked her head and squinted one eye at Moll. "Is 'e a friendly sort, or will 'e not take too kindly to us showin' up at 'is door?"

"Depends on 'ow much 'e's 'ad to drink," Moll said with a faint curl of her lip. "Jes tell 'im straightaway ye 'ave 'is ring, and 'e'll be thrilled. Losing it made 'im right angry, said it was a special gift."

"Do ye know who from?" Miss Wren asked.

Moll shook her head. "'E wouldn't say. Fitch was private-like about his work. Doesn't like to talk about it. Doesn't like to talk much at all," she added with a glint in her eye and a heated smile.

"Do you know what kind of work he does?" Hadrian desperately wanted to know the answer to this question. Was it possible someone had hired him to attack Hadrian, or perhaps more accurately, to kill Crawford?

"Why does it matter?" Moll asked almost crossly. "Ye're askin' a load of questions."

"Jes curious is all," Miss Wren said with a wave of her hand. "My cousin likes to talk." She sent Hadrian a quelling glance. He nodded almost imperceptibly in response.

Miss Wren gave Moll a wide smile. "Thank ye, Moll. We appreciate yer 'elp."

Tucking her hand around Hadrian's arm, Miss Wren pulled him toward the door. He opened it for her as she stepped outside and followed her into the brisk night. A stiff breeze whipped around them, and Miss Wren pulled her cloak more tightly around her.

"My apologies," Hadrian said. "I was only trying to learn as much as we could."

"I know you were," Miss Wren replied without a trace of Cockney. "But it was clear to me that she doesn't know the specifics of Fitch's work."

"I thought so too, but I wanted to make every effort."

Miss Wren pivoted away from the river, and they started up Fish Street Hill toward East Cheap. "Do we think Fitch is the man we're looking for?" she asked.

"He must be, particularly since I recognized Moll from a vision."

She sent Hadrian a fiery look. "I am most eager to question him."

Hadrian paused and touched her elbow, drawing her to stop. He turned toward her. "But should we? Perhaps we should return with Teague now that we know where Fitch lives."

"We could, but you heard what Moll said. Fitch may not even be home, in which case we could search his lodgings." Her eyes glittered with excitement, and it was most infectious.

"That would be most helpful." Still, he wanted to be very cautious. "We must be prepared for violence."

She lifted her reticule slightly. "I will have my pistol at the ready when we knock on his door. Perhaps I should do the talking again. I'll do as Moll suggested and inform him from outside the door that I have his ring. I'll also say that Moll sent me."

Hadrian wondered why he hadn't thought to bring his own pistol. "As soon as he opens the door, he's likely to recognize me." Hadrian frowned.

She was quiet a moment, her features pensive. "We should have thought of that. I don't think you can come with me."

"What?" Hadrian's heartbeat was already fast with anticipation but now it jumped into a near panic. "Absolutely not. You can't face a killer on your own."

"You can stand just out of sight," she said far too reasonably. How did she not appear even slightly agitated? "Let us assess the situation. If we can't do this safely, we'll leave and return with Teague."

"I'm thinking we should do that straightaway," he said, though with less heart than he ought to have. The truth was that he wanted to confront his attacker, and he was very close to doing that.

Her brow creased, and the way her lips pressed together, he could tell she was thinking. "What we are most hoping to learn is why Fitch attacked you, killed Crawford, and how he knows Sir Henry. Given where he lives and what we learned of him from Moll, I think it's logical to deduce that he did not act without direction."

"No, I don't think he did. Why go all the way to Westminster to stab people?"

"Except we must consider that his motive was indeed theft since he stole items from Crawford. Perhaps he didn't steal from you because you'd surprised him by fighting back."

"But why stab me without even asking for my valuables?" Hadrian argued. "And why kill Crawford?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps he's bloodthirsty?" Exhaling, she shook her head. "That was somewhat in jest. All right, we believe he was carrying out a directive from someone else. That someone is our true villain."

Hadrian experienced a thrilling jolt. " Yes. " His mind worked quickly. "What if I offer to compensate him for telling us who directed him to stab me?"

Miss Wren started walking toward East Cheap once more. "Whilst I'm sure Fitch would be eager to take your money, we can't trust what he will say. He may misdirect us. We must assess the situation when we arrive."

"You make an excellent point." Hadrian was gladder than ever to be in her company.

They passed several people, some with their heads down as they went about their business. One trio was loud and jolly as they staggered past.

They turned onto East Cheap, and Hadrian noted Pudding Lane was just up ahead. As they neared the intersection, he saw the sign for the cheesemonger's shop. It was the second storefront after Pudding Lane.

"Where do you suppose the entrance is to the lodgings above the shop?" Hadrian asked as they approached the cheesemonger.

"I shall hope it's just to the side of the store entrance. Otherwise, it may be in an alley behind the building."

They were fortunate because it was indeed to the right of the cheese shop entrance. Hadrian opened the door, and the hinges creaked. A stairwell rose before them. It was dark, save the light from the street lamp filtering in through the open door.

"I am making a mental notation to carry a candle and matches for our future endeavors," Miss Wren said.

"A wise plan. For now, let us leave the door open for the meager light we can glean from the lamp outside. Can you see well enough to go up?"

"I believe so." She put her hand against the wall as she climbed the stairs and moved slowly. "My eyes are adjusting."

He followed just behind her, ready to catch her should she misstep. But she made it to the landing without incident.

There were two doors on the landing. The one on the left clearly led to the lodging that faced the street. And it was ajar.

Hadrian grabbed Tilda's arm. "The door," he whispered.

She nodded. "I see," she replied, her voice barely audible. She removed the pistol from her reticule.

There was a noise in the lodging that sounded like a piece of furniture moving. A muffled curse followed. Then the door opened wider, and a young man rushed out.

Upon seeing them, his eyes rounded. "I didn't do anythin'! He were like that when I got here!" He pushed past them, nearly stumbling down the stairs in his haste.

"Wait!" Hadrian called, the young man's words settling into Hadrian's brain: he were like that when I got here .

Like what? A chill ran down Hadrian's spine.

He exchanged a charged look with Miss Wren. "Tread carefully," she whispered, lifting her pistol.

The other door opened to reveal a petite woman with a mess of dark hair pinned atop her head. "Wot's the racket?"

"You may want to go back inside," Miss Wren said with barely a glance toward the woman. Miss Wren's focus was entirely on the open door of Fitch's lodging.

Hadrian stayed close to Miss Wren as she crossed the threshold into Fitch's room, for it was a single room.

"Oh no." Miss Wren gestured to a small table near the window that overlooked the street below.

"Bloody hell." Hadrian left her side and strode to the table where a body was seated in a chair and hunched over onto the table. He quickly removed his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket.

Grimacing, he grasped the back of the corpse's collar and lifted his head, heaving him back against the chair. Hadrian shuddered as recognition gripped him. The man's lips were slightly apart, his eyes open and unseeing. "That's the man who attacked me."

"You're certain?"

Hadrian hated the shaft of terror that ripped through him as he recalled the moment of the blade slicing into his side. "Yes. I won't ever forget his eyes."