Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Fortune's Den

Aldgate Street, London

Aaron strode into the dining room, brushing road dust off his clothes and breathing deeply to calm his racing pulse. He was late. An hour late. On the bright side, his family were lucky he wasn't on a boat to Southend. Lucky he had come home at all.

Nine heads turned towards him.

Nine gasps echoed through the room.

Nine people stood, voicing their fears all at once.

"Where the hell have you been?" Christian cried.

Making love to the woman who owns my heart, he said silently. Riding home, wondering how I'll cope without her.

"We've been out of our minds with worry," Theo complained. "Did you not think to consult us? Why didn't you take one of us with you?"

And spoil a treasured moment? Aaron wanted to say.

Aramis thumped the table with his clenched fist. "We thought you'd been arrested. Taken against your will. I was about to march to Hart Street and drag Daventry to every police office in London."

Oh, I've been taken, but not against my will.

The memory of Joanna sitting astride him, taking him deep—her golden hair falling wildly about her shoulders like a waterfall of sunlight—brought a smile to his face. One destined to be short-lived.

"Are you ill?" Christian said, glancing at his wife Isabella as if his eldest brother were mad. "I fail to see what's amusing when Berridge is baying for our blood."

"Let him catch his breath." Delphine cast Aaron a knowing grin. "He's not slept a wink. Can you not see he's exerted himself? Pour him coffee and butter a triangle of toast. I fear he's expended all his energy."

Aaron winked at her.

He never winked at anyone.

Mrs Maloney chuckled. "Who are you, and what have you done with my eldest boy? You're pedantic when it comes to timekeeping, yet you don't seem the least bit fazed."

Aaron shrugged. "Some things can't be helped. But I'm here now and haven't much time. I trust Delphine updated you all on recent events."

Aramis was the first to respond. "Yes, though she refuses to explain why Miss Lovelace locked herself in the room next to yours and won't come out."

"Miss Lovelace isn't here." He glanced at the mantel clock. She would arrive in Southend soon, the distance between them widening by the hour. "It wasn't safe for her to remain in England." His stomach twisted at the memory of her crying as they said goodbye. "We must keep the secret until tonight. Then she'll be on the last leg of her journey, out of harm's way."

Christian paled. "But they'll hang you for aiding her escape."

"Not if we stick to the same story." Aaron sipped his coffee. " I have nine hours to prove she's innocent. It's a tall task, but I will drain my personal account and draw blood if necessary."

Amid the tense silence, Aramis said, "What do you want us to do? I speak for all of us when I say we are at your disposal."

They would not like the answer.

"You're to remain here and promise you won't leave." Aaron raised a calming hand at the first grumbles of protest. "I cannot work quickly if I'm worried about your safety."

"What about your safety?" Mrs Maloney said.

"I'm invincible, remember." Stomach rumbling, Aaron reached for a slice of toast. "I've made huge sacrifices for this family. I'm asking you all to do one small thing for me."

No one argued.

How could they?

"There is work you can do in my absence." Aaron reeled off the list that would keep his brothers occupied. "Compare the handwriting on the letter Rothley received to the one delivered to Mrs Flavell, and the one sent to the treasury. They're in my desk drawer. And study the list of men's names Miss Stowe sent. Mark any with a gripe against me."

"Anything else?" Aramis said.

"Search the ledgers from The Burnished Jade. Look for names you don't recognise. A woman who joined the club recently but has no connection to anyone in society. And write to Ballingers Auction House. We need to know who bought our father's watch all those years ago. It's a distinctive timepiece. A clerk may remember the sale."

"I'll send Sigmund."

"He's not here. Send Baptiste. We need the answer today."

Flynn spoke up. He thought like an enquiry agent and offered valuable insight. "We must consider how Venus is connected to the Earl of Berridge. Did Berridge meet her at one of Mrs Flavell's lavish parties? Might Mrs Flavell be the earl's mistress? "

Aaron was forced to reveal another secret he had kept to himself. "I've had men watching Berridge since the thugs shot Theo. I'd know if he had a mistress. He spends his nights alone at home. It begs the question: how did he meet Venus if he rarely leaves the house?"

"Logic would suggest the earl is innocent," Flynn said.

"Then we're missing a vital clue." Aaron scoured his memories for the lost piece of the puzzle but kept returning to the same question. Why now? "Berridge has threatened us for years but has never dared to act."

"His son and heir is dead," Theo said. "What has he to lose? Though, why the elaborate plot? Why have you chasing your tail?"

Hatred for the Berridge family surfaced. "Killing me isn't enough. He wants to make me suffer. He wants to hurt me by threatening the people I love."

Delphine jumped at the opportunity to force a confession. "Then why involve Miss Lovelace if she's nothing more than your competitor?"

Like a soothing melody, Joanna's words drifted through his mind.

We're the best of friends, Mr Chance. Nothing will ever change that.

I'll never forget you. I'll never forget what we had.

His grief was a crushing sadness that sucked the life out of every breath.

He coughed to loosen his throat. "Because I'm in love with her. Someone knows she means everything to me." Saying the words aloud felt good. For once, his heart and mind were aligned.

A stunned silence ensued.

Then Aramis clapped his hands and laughed. "Praise the Lord. I feared we would have to tolerate a lifetime of brooding. "

"Self-flagellation can be tiring for those forced to watch," Christian added. "I would rather not see you add to your scars."

Mrs Maloney sobbed into her handkerchief. "Your love could move mountains. You'll find a way through this. I know you will."

He didn't say he might leave England if he failed to prove Joanna was innocent. He didn't say it was becoming increasingly difficult to live without her.

The mantel clock chimed the half hour.

A reminder every minute was precious.

"Flynn, I need to borrow your vehicle." Aaron stood, snatching one of Baptiste's pastries from the plate Aramis hogged. He would eat it slowly, savour every bite and think of Joanna. "I'll be back by eight o'clock." He faced Aramis. "At seven, help Miss Bryant escape over the back wall. I cannot risk her being arrested. She will need her brother's vowels. You know where to find them."

Aramis frowned. "Miss Bryant?"

"Delphine will explain." Aaron turned to the family he would die for and firmed his tone. "No one leaves here. To disobey my orders is to say the beatings I took meant nothing."

Everyone nodded, though apprehension lined their brows.

"Be safe," Delphine called. "We love you. More than you know."

Muttered words of agreement echoed around the table.

Money had been the means to end their suffering.

Their suffering had brought a gift greater than wealth.

Despite his eagerness to leave, Aaron paused at the door. "My love for you all knows no bounds." He looked at them, compelled to utter words he'd never spoken. "I'm glad our father died. Being head of this family has been the greatest honour of my life."

Home of Thomas Parker

Dean Street, Soho Square

Aaron found Daventry sitting in Parker's worn leather chair when he barged past the irate butler and stormed into the grimy drawing room.

"You're late." Daventry scanned Aaron's creased clothes and grinned. "You look dusty and dishevelled. Like you've journeyed fifty miles on a farmer's cart and have barely slept a wink."

Ignoring the comment, Aaron glanced at Lucia, perched on the cluttered sofa like a prim debutante, hands clasped in her lap, knees shaking. "I trust Miss Stowe had no objection to you borrowing her maid," he said.

"Miss Stowe wanted to come, but I refused. There's too much at stake to risk her interference." Daventry motioned to the maid. "Lucia insists she's innocent, even when I shouted at her in Italian."

Aaron silently cursed. He knew when a punter was bluffing at cards, but the maid was skilled at adopting different identities. It took courage to wear a costume and sing opera, yet she acted like a timid mouse now.

"Where the hell is Parker?"

"In bed. He has ten minutes to dress before I drag him downstairs." Daventry drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "How is Miss Lovelace faring?"

The question caught Aaron off guard. He flinched as an inescapable anguish flooded his chest. "Distraught. As any innocent woman would be when accused of murder."

"Murder?" Lucia inhaled sharply. "But Miss Lovelace is innocent. Where is she? Miss Stowe will want to see her. She will want to help."

"You can help by telling the truth," Aaron snapped. "How long have you worked for Miss Stowe?"

Lucia's bottom lip trembled. "Six months."

"Six months? Where did you work previously?"

The colour drained from Lucia's face. "At Lord Hutton's house in Manchester Square. Miss Stowe found me crying in the market and took me home. I have worked for her ever since."

Daventry looked at Aaron and arched a brow. "I suspect Hutton couldn't keep his hands to himself."

"No, his lordship was kind," Lucia protested. "His friends were wicked. One lady beat me for spilling a drink. She came to my room at night and hit—" A sudden sob escaped her. She put her head in her hands and wept.

Parker chose that untimely moment to amble into the room, scratching his stubbled chin, stinking of brandy and still half-sotted.

"What is it this time?" Parker tightened the belt on his silk robe and pointed at the tearful Lucia. "Is this the woman who claimed I assaulted her at The Burnished Jade? I assure you she is lying."

"This is Venus," Daventry said, insisting the maid raise her head.

"Venus?" Parker stepped back. "Are you sure? She looks a little young."

Aaron lost his temper. "You should know. You kissed the woman. Are you saying this isn't her?"

Parker shrugged. "It was dark, and she wore a mask. You know how it is at Mrs Flavell's parties. One's mind becomes fuzzy. I need to hear her speak in that sultry foreign voice." He beckoned the girl to stand. "Show me those delightful hands, darling. I'll never forget the feel of those."

Lucia stood on shaky legs and obeyed Parker's order. When asked to speak, she said, "I have never met you before, sir. People confuse me with Venus, yet I have never been known by that name."

Parker scratched his head. "I suppose asking her to kiss me would be inappropriate. A man never forgets the taste of a mysterious woman's lips."

Aaron's heart lurched.

Would it always be this way? When people mentioned love and kissing, would he always think of Joanna and wish he were somewhere else?

"You'll not lay a finger on her." Aaron grabbed Parker by his fancy robe. "Look at her. Is she Venus or not? Don't test my patience. Not today."

"It c-could be her," Parker stammered. "Venus was spectacular. This girl lacks that special something that makes her attractive to men. She looks too pure, too timid."

The reprobate made Aaron's skin crawl.

Why had Venus targeted this degenerate? Probably because he was gullible enough to do her bidding. Was insulting a lady who stuttered his only prank?

"You were so desperate to bed her you'd have done anything," Aaron cried.

Daventry spoke up. "So desperate she persuaded you to demonstrate your loyalty by accepting a dare. We know what you did," he bluffed. "And why she chose a man who makes silly wagers."

Parker's agitation escalated. "For heaven's sake, you can't tell Mrs Flavell. She'll revoke my membership. I'll be barred for life. It was a prank. I was going to return the dagger. Venus was supposed to give it back when I met her at The Cock Inn."

The permanent knot in Aaron's chest eased slightly, though the confession only proved Venus had handled the murder weapon. He prayed the meek maid wasn't Venus. It reinforced the theory Joanna and Lucia were in cahoots.

Daventry stood. "You will put that in writing."

Parker threw his hands in the air. "I can't. Mrs Flavell will flay me alive. Look, I've told you everything I?—"

"I will have your testimony now," Daventry boomed. "Or I will haul you to the Thames Police Office and charge you with theft and conspiracy to commit murder. The Mughal dagger was used to kill a man. You could hang for the part you played."

Parker heaved and retched. The threat of the noose caused him to deposit his breakfast and a bellyful of brandy on the floor behind the chair.

Lucia covered her mouth with her hand.

Aaron dragged the fool to the study and stood over him while he committed his confession to paper.

"You're a disgrace," Aaron said through gritted teeth as he was leaving. "You may not have abused a guest at The Burnished Jade, but you've abused your staff and your brother's generosity. I shall make sure Sir Geoffrey knows of your antics."

He left Parker on his knees, begging for mercy.

"I'll meet you at the pawnbroker's in Regent Street," Aaron said, handing Daventry the statement. He craved time alone. Daventry would bombard him with questions. Aaron couldn't speak about Joanna and keep the mindset needed to catch a killer.

The pawnbroker was just as clueless. He rubbed his hands over his paunch and stared at Lucia. "She may have been a bit taller. I mean, she looks similar. I want to say it's her, but I can't be sure. I mainly spoke to the gent." He studied Lucia and shook his head. "No, she had a special kind of confidence, if you take my meaning. There was nothing feeble about her."

Daventry thanked the man and left his card on the counter.

"How hard is it to identify one woman?" Aaron grumbled as they left the pawnbroker's and lingered on Regent Street. He turned to Lucia. "You'd better be telling the truth. An innocent woman's life is at stake."

The maid started crying.

Aaron felt like an ogre, the beast he professed to be, but made no apology. Tears dried. The maid would recover. The noose awaited Joanna.

What happened next proved an odd twist of fate.

The pawnbroker appeared at the shop door and beckoned them closer. "I've remembered something. It's a silly thing but might be important."

Blinded by a desire for the truth, Aaron turned his back on Lucia.

"The woman had a mole," the pawnbroker began as a group of political zealots came darting past, carrying placards and complaining about a corrupt Whig government. "I remember because my wife had one the same on her left wrist."

The clacking of rattles brought ten constables charging along Regent Street in pursuit of the zealots. Panic ensued. Bystanders took to their heels and ran in the opposite direction. Somehow, Lucia got swept up in the chaos and disappeared amidst the crowd.

Aaron ran the length of the street, pushing people aside and grabbing strangers, but couldn't find the devious vixen.

Daventry searched shops, darting from the barbers to the perfumers, but Lucia knew to blend into the background.

Both breathless, they returned to stand outside the pawnbroker's.

"It's fair to assume Lucia is Venus." Aaron braced his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. "For people to believe she is Madame Rossellini, she must be versatile and skilled in deception."

"Either way, Lucia absconding hinders the investigation." Daventry craned his neck and scanned the crowd. "She had the dagger and was present at the murder scene. It suggests Miss Lovelace conspired to kill the man who took her virtue."

Aaron's heart sank like a brick in a well. "Tell me this isn't happening. I don't know how to help her. There's no time to fix this."

Daventry gripped Aaron's shoulder. "We'll take a statement from Miss Stowe. She will write something in support of Miss Lovelace. I'll speak to the Home Secretary. Ensure they postpone the trial for a week or two."

"It's too late." Aaron wore his failure like a heavy cloak, the damn thing swamping him. "I can't prove Joanna is innocent before the magistrate calls tonight."

Silence ensued.

"Don't blame yourself," Daventry said, his tone gentle, reassuring. "I would send Sybil away, too, if I thought her life was in jeopardy. If the authorities can't find her, it gives us time to catch the culprit. I can manipulate the truth a little if necessary."

"What the hell am I missing?"

"Nothing. The villain is cunning enough to cover his tracks. We know Lucia is Venus, but we don't know why she framed Miss Lovelace for murder or who else is involved. That must be our focus."

"Berridge is involved." The name brought bile to Aaron's throat. How could he adopt the title and keep his self-respect?

"Then we must find proof. We'll visit Fitzpatrick first. If he paid someone to ruin his sister, that man may have been Lord Howard. It gives Miss Fitzpatrick a possible motive for murder. It won't explain how she obtained the murder weapon, but the magistrate will have a second suspect."

"Very well," Aaron said, glad someone could think logically. "Casting doubt on Joanna's guilt may appease the magistrate and convince him to give us more time."

"I'll ride with you." Daventry removed a small book and pencil from his pocket, scribbled a few notes and handed the slip of paper to his coachman. "I've instructed my agents to look for Lucia," he said as the carriage pulled away. "They'll make it a priority. I've told Sloane we need to know who complained about your sister-in-law stealing from the museum."

A niggling in Aaron's gut had him suggesting a change of plan. "We should visit the earl first." Berridge was guilty. No one else would dare goad the devil. No one else wished to hurt Aaron and erase a whole family from existence. "What if Lucia warns Berridge and he flees to his country estate?"

Giving it some thought, Daventry reluctantly agreed. "You'll be professional. Berridge is in his sixties and incapable of taking one of your punches. We need solid evidence before accusing a peer and forcing him to name his accomplice."

Aaron couldn't afford to make a mistake. "Something tells me I'll find answers there. I'll keep my rage on a tight leash."

They were about to leave when an imposing black carriage, pulled by a team of muscled black Friesians, came to a crashing halt on the street. The crest on the door was unmistakable—a gold dragon flying above crossed swords.

Rothley alighted, vaulting from the vehicle like he'd escaped from the underworld. Staring from beneath hooded lids, he strode towards Aaron, his greatcoat billowing. "Where the hell is she? I visited Fortune's Den, but your brothers refused me entrance. Something is amiss because Aramis threatened to flatten my nose."

Aaron had no choice but to add to Rothley's torment. "I'm afraid I can't tell you. Joanna's life depends upon me keeping the secret."

A dark cloud passed over Rothley's features. "If she comes to any harm because of you, I'll kill you myself. The law be damned."

Aaron clenched his fists at his sides. Threats always brought out the devil in him. "Come to Fortune's Den tonight at eight o'clock, and I'll tell you everything. I'm trying to help her, but time is short." While he longed to put Rothley on his arse, he knew it would upset Joanna.

Rothley considered him through narrowed eyes. "This better not be a ploy to appease me. You'd better be there tonight, or there'll be hell to pay."

Blood rushed to Aaron's fists, but he kept control of his temper. "I'll be there. In the meantime, there's something you can do to help."

"Name it."

"Find Fitzpatrick. I need to know if he paid Howard to ruin his sister. I need to know what Howard was doing at The Burnished Jade. I need a motive for murder that doesn't involve me or Joanna."

Rothley nodded. "I have your assurance she is alive?"

"She's alive." Or else he would be drowning in despair.

"She's not missing?" Rothley said, more a plea than a question.

"No. I know exactly where to find her."

The marquess released a weary sigh. "I'll get what you need."

Rothley made to leave, but Aaron called after him.

"What is it, Chance?"

"A word of warning," Aaron said darkly. "No man threatens to kill me and lives to tell the tale. Lucky for you, I'll make an exception, just this once."

Rothley said nothing.

Aaron watched Rothley's carriage charge away before turning to Daventry and voicing his fears. "Rothley is in love with Joanna. His actions border on obsession." Aaron should know. There was a reason the rug near his study window was threadbare.

"Rothley is in love with Kate Bourne and has been since he was nineteen. He feels duty-bound to protect Miss Lovelace. That's the cause of his frustration. "

Aaron had never heard of Kate Bourne, nor was he interested in the reason for Rothley's gruff temperament.

Nothing mattered now.

Nothing but saving Joanna.

Upper Brook Street

Mayfair, London

"Lord Berridge is indisposed," the butler said, raising his chin as if expecting an argument. "A strict mourning period is being observed. If the matter requires immediate attention, I suggest you contact his secretary."

Aaron kept the rim of his hat pulled low and said nothing.

"We must speak to his lordship today." Daventry removed a letter from his coat pocket and gave it to the lean fellow guarding the door. "We're investigating a crime on behalf of the Home Secretary."

It was a small lie that left the butler shaky on his feet. "I'll speak to the housekeeper, Mrs Lowry. We've been instructed to turn all visitors away. Call again later, and you'll receive a reply."

"We'll wait," Aaron insisted. He imagined storming into the house and informing the servants they would answer to him when the earl was dead.

The butler nodded politely when he should have been firm.

"We've no valid reason to be here," Daventry whispered as they lingered on the steps. "I can't barge into his home demanding answers, not when there's no evidence to tie him to the case. I need to justify my actions."

Sadly, Daventry was right.

"Then wait in the carriage and have Flynn's coachman move around the corner. I'll deal with Berridge alone."

"You'll do something rash."

"I need to see Berridge, that's all." He needed to stare into the earl's soulless eyes to find the truth. "I'll know if he's guilty. He'll gloat if he thinks he's hurt me."

The butler appeared, returning the Home Secretary's letter. "His lordship is upstairs, resting. It's a difficult time. Contact his secretary."

And with that, he closed the door.

"A difficult time?" Aaron mocked. "Berridge doesn't know the meaning of hardship." He glanced at Daventry. "Wait for me in the carriage. I'll be a few minutes."

"Don't stoop to his level. Think with your head, not your heart."

"Have faith. I can't help Joanna from a gaol cell."

Muttering his reluctance, Daventry left.

Aaron waited beneath the portico until the carriage was out of sight, then hammered the brass knocker loud enough to wake the dead.

The flustered butler yanked open the door. "If you don't move, I will call a constable."

"I'll move."

Aaron barged into the hall, almost colliding with the bespectacled housekeeper, a sturdy woman in her fifties whose weary face looked vaguely familiar.

"His lordship is asleep in bed," she cried, raising her hands like she might perform a miracle, urging him back like Moses had the Red Sea. Her faith may have prevailed were she not fighting for the devil. "You need to leave, sir."

"You're a terrible liar," he said when Mrs Lowry, a name wholly unfamiliar, made the mistake of glancing at the drawing room door.

Two scrawny footmen, their black armbands stark against the green livery, arrived to throw Aaron out.

"Lay a hand on me, and you'll have assaulted the earl's heir and nephew. You know who I am." He had no intention of pleading to the King but enjoyed seeing the flare of panic in the footmen's eyes when they realised they were threatening Aaron Chance. "Touch me, and I have a reason to retaliate."

Aaron left the servants quivering. He stormed into the drawing room and found the grey-haired earl sitting in a chair, a plaid blanket draped over his lap, his gaze absent as he stared at the floor.

Aaron stood before him, cold fury filling his heart. The memory of the earl's hatred, the vile comments made to a boy, fuelled his temper. "You evil bastard. Villainy is in your blood. You lacked the strength to kill my father but think hurting women and children makes you a man."

Berridge looked up slowly, a sinister smile forming. "Have you come begging again, boy? Do you think expensive clothes and a clean face change anything? You'll always be a filthy delinquent. You'll always be your father's lackey. His brave little whipping boy."

The last remark cut deep, but Aaron remained stoic. "When you're dead, I shall take what is mine. I'll live in this house and dine at your table. While you rot in the ground, weeds will swamp your grave. Your memory will pale in my shadow."

"You killed my son," he said in a raspy voice.

That's when Aaron knew the earl was guilty.

That Berridge was the orchestrator of his downfall.

He would never get answers.

There would never be a truce.

One of them would die soon.

"Your son was selling forged bank plates and was killed by his accomplice. The culprit confessed to the murder and their criminal misdeeds. I had no part to play." Aaron stepped closer, gripping the arms of the chair and looming over the fool. "But I will bury you. The time for reckoning is nigh."

Aaron left before he did something stupid. But the visit had not been a waste of time. He knew Berridge must be using his servants to deliver messages. That the housekeeper slotted into the puzzle—a missing piece from the past. That if he wanted to save Joanna and his family, he had to kill the Earl of Berridge.