Chapter 15

Hannah would not read the note. Again. The folds in the paper were becoming alarmingly thin. She could recite it from memory.

Killian had been gone two days. He wouldn't return for another two if his note was true.

Hannah pulled the parchment from her pocket and ran her fingers over the ink on the front. His long, clever fingers had formed six simple letters.

Hannah

She wouldn't think about what things those fingers had done to her.

Thank God Philippa had left the same morning Killian did. Hannah would never be able to hide her feelings, and she had done the one thing she promised Philippa she wouldn't. She'd fallen in love, putting her stupid heart and her fickle happiness in grave danger.

No good could come from this. Killian might hold her heart in his hands, but what future would they have? Their night together was transformational, but it was also a soul-rendering lesson in impossibilities.

For a shining moment, Hannah had thought perhaps she could have it all. Love, friendship, a family. But then reality crashed in right when he began blathering about making sacrifices for the greater good. Adding painful insult to emotional injury, instead of meeting with her the next day, offering profuse apologies and professing his undying love, the bastard beat a hasty retreat to London.

A single note didn't repair the damage. And yet Hannah couldn't stop wondering what was in his mind when he penned the insidious words capturing her thoughts and distracting her from the mission the blasted Queen of bloody England expected her to complete.

My dearest Hannah,

Last night was more than I could have hoped for and far less than you deserved. I must leave immediately for London on business, but I shall return the day of the ball and hope you will reserve a waltz for me. There is much we must discuss. Until then, I will hold you in my thoughts.

Killian

His damnable missive created a world of questions with no answers. What did he think she deserved? Would he offer it? Why did he return to London? Was it about Sarah Bright? What on earth did he wish to discuss with her? Most importantly, while she might engage his thoughts, did any part of her capture his heart?

Betty broke into Hannah's maudlin thoughts. She bobbed a quick curtsey, almost losing her cap.

‘Good morning, miss. Miss Cavendale and Miss Whittenburg are in the main salon if you'd like to join them?' The maid clutched her hands together over her crisp apron.

‘You look worried, Betty. Is anything amiss?'

Betty untangled her fingers and smoothed her hands over her skirt. ‘It's only… you don't seem yourself, miss. If you don't mind me saying.'

Hannah huffed out a breath and turned to the looking glass. Betty stepped closer and began twisting Hannah's hair in a neat chignon with tendrils framing her face. Hannah's cheeks were pale, her eyes were unfocused, and her brown dress was ever so… brown. ‘I don't feel myself, Betty.'

‘It's no wonder. After everything you've been through. Do you miss him?' Betty immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. She spoke through her fingers. ‘It's only I know I shall miss Sam terribly when we leave. We've only known each other a few days, but it feels like forever. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you.'

After Hannah's night with Killian, Betty stripped Hannah's bed and laundered her linens. She would have noticed the blood. And known the cause. In a way, it was a relief for Hannah to be able to share her misery with someone.

Hannah smiled, but she felt a hundred years old. ‘Yes, Betty. I imagine I do miss him. The insufferable bastard.'

‘Is he coming back?'

‘He says so.'

Betty shook her head like a school marm scolding a naughty child. ‘Lady Philippa will make him do right by you, miss. She'd shoot him dead before letting him abandon you.'

Hannah wiped the tear rolling down her cheek. ‘That's just it, Betty. I don't want him if he must be forced.'

Betty patted Hannah's shoulder. In lieu of words, she clucked her tongue in a comforting sound. Hannah wanted to dissolve into a puddle of misery. But wallowing would accomplish nothing.

Hannah stood, brushing out her skirts. ‘I'll be fine, Betty. Don't worry about me. Could you please let the ladies know I shall join them in half an hour? You can tell them I decided to have a lie-in this morning. There's work to be done, and I've let myself be distracted for too long.'

Betty nodded and bustled out of Hannah's room.

Hannah tucked her note away and straightened her shoulders. The men had gone on a hunting trip, and the other ladies were in the village shopping. The house was empty save Ivy and Millie. She might not get another opportunity to search the bedrooms. She would start with the most likely candidate: Lord Cavendale. Perhaps he kept some incriminating correspondence tucked away in his private chambers.

Hannah walked swiftly down the hallway. Alfred had a suite of rooms closer to his father, and at the far end of the eastern wing was Lord Cavendale's door. Before she was halfway down the corridor, she heard the unmistakable clack of shoes on the wood floor. If anyone found her in the family wing, there were sure to be questions. Questions she would struggle to answer. She ducked into Alfred's suite of rooms and quietly shut the door behind her.

Betty had been keeping track of the servants' schedules. This late in the morning, they should have completed their tasks in the bedrooms and be having their breakfasts or working in the public areas of the house. Part of being good at Hannah's job was improvising when things didn't go to plan. She was already there. She might as well do a little snooping before she risked venturing back into the hallway. After Alfred's abominable behaviour toward Killian, she wouldn't mind finding him guilty of a crime.

Hannah crept deeper into Alfred's private domain.

The space was silent and still.

Hannah explored his sitting room first. It was organised more like a private office than a place to sip tea and read books. The activities of men differed greatly from women. So full of purpose and intent while the ladies were expected to needlepoint cushions and paint flowers.

Ridiculous! As if we aren't just as capable. More so in most cases.

Hannah used her irritation to heighten her focus. She searched his desk and found numerous papers, but after scanning them quickly, they were all related to horseflesh.

The drawers weren't locked and contained nothing more nefarious than a secret cache of aniseed drops in a linen bag. So, Alfred had a sweet tooth. Hardly criminal.

She moved on to his closet, then his bedroom. After twenty minutes of industrious investigating, she knew his valet neglected to dust the top shelves of Alfred's closet, and the young man had an alarming addiction to cravats. She counted at least thirty, all in varying shades of snowy white. Unless he was using them to strangle his victims, it hardly helped her cause.

She hadn't really expected to find anything. It was his father whom she suspected, and she was running short on time. Every stray creak or quiet shuffle could be a servant returning to the room or Alfred himself. What a horrible prospect. What if he got the wrong idea and thought she was there to propose an illicit assignation? Banish the thought. While engaging in physical intimacy with Killian consumed far too much of her mind, the thought of anyone else, especially Alfred Cavendale, made Hannah queasy.

Alfred didn't seem the kind capable of killing a spider, let alone several women. Still, that was no excuse for shoddy work. She would search his bedroom quickly, then move on to the real target.

His bedroom was undeniably masculine. The walls were papered in a deep blue with a geometric pattern of dark-grey diamonds. Windows looked out to the expansive lawns. His bed was a mahogany beast dominating the room. Sandalwood, smoke, and a hint of lemon oil created a pleasant scent.

Hannah began with the nightstands, carefully shifting and replacing the objects. She moved on to the credenza sitting between two large windows. One of the drawers was locked, but it only took a minute with her hairpin to spring it. Her hand shook as she removed a velvet jewellery box.

Oh my God. The lily necklace!

She opened the box, and a jewel-encrusted locket caught the light. Hannah blew out a frustrated breath. This was certainly not the simple gold necklace Sarah Bright had been given by her mother. Hannah opened the locket and discovered a small picture of a woman who could have been Ivy's twin pressed into one side. The other side was empty. Lady Cavendale, Hannah wagered. She recalled the woman had died not long after her youngest daughter's birth. Alfred must miss his mother to keep her likeness in such a valuable memento. She carefully closed the locket and laid it gently in the box. Putting it back in the drawer, she picked up a folded parchment paper sitting next to it. The broken seal was unusual. The head of a crow, the body of a wolf, and the tail of a snake. Scanning the letter, Hannah's heart quickened.

Dear sir,

We shall endeavour to keep any evidence hidden as you requested for a compensation of five thousand pounds. We shall send a second note detailing the transfer of funds in a fortnight.

If whispers were to reach Scotland Yard regarding your connection to the tragic victim, a terrible line of inquiry might unravel what has been a lucrative investment for us all. While we hold loyalty to our brotherhood as paramount, under these regrettable circumstances, we would be forced to ensure the immediate elimination of any member who threatens the safety of our community.

We expect a prompt response acknowledging your receipt of this communication and agreement to our terms.

Sincerely,

No signature indicated who wrote the letter. Instead, there was a stamp with the same image as the seal. Hannah took a notebook from her pocket and copied down the letter. Before she could return it, the door to Alfred's study creaked open.

Buggering blast!

She hastily tucked the letter into her pocket, looking madly around for a hiding spot. Kicking aside the duster, she shimmied under the bed. If the valet had been neglecting the top shelves, the state beneath Alfred's bed was disastrous. Thick dust clogged her nostrils. She pressed the back of her hand against her nose and willed herself not to sneeze.

While the dark-blue duster almost met the floor, obscuring her from view, a small gap allowed her to see a pair of shoes stride into the room. Hannah held her breath. She had no room to fight were she discovered. If the shoes belonged to Alfred and he chose to lay down on the bed, she would be smothered. Hannah fought back panic.

The shoes stopped in front of the desk. Drawers slid open, then slammed shut. A wild shuffling of papers and muttered curses indicated whatever the man was looking for was not in the desk.

Is that because it's in my pocket?

Seconds ticked by like hours as his search became increasingly more desperate. He strode around the room, opening drawers and tossing the contents out before moving on to the next piece of furniture. Hannah's heart pounded so loudly, she was sure he could hear it. His shoes approached the bed as he searched one nightstand, then walked around the bed to search the other.

Don't look under the bed. Don't look under the bed.

Hannah couldn't reach the Queen Ann pistol in her pocket, the dagger strapped to her thigh, or the throwing knifes hidden in her sleeves. She was a sitting duck waiting to be discovered.

Another round of vicious cursing indicated his search of the nightstands came up empty. His shoes were right next to her head. For a terrifying moment, Hannah could imagine the man bending over, grasping the coverlet with his hand, and pulling it up to reveal Hannah's wide gaze and pale face.

Instead, he strode out of the room as quickly as he entered.

Hannah sneezed loudly, banging her head on the bedframe.

Bloody fucking hell.

She shimmied from under the bed and looked at her brown dress turned grey by dirt. It was nothing compared to the mess created in Alfred's room. If she were caught now, there would be no explaining herself. She rushed out of the room, through the closet, and into the sitting room. The door to the hallway was ajar. The mystery man certainly didn't care about hiding his trail. She poked her head out of the door and glanced down both hallways. Empty.

Glancing at her reflection as she walked past a window, her hair was a nest of tangles dulled by a layer of dust. She made a hasty retreat to her room, breathing a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her.

Reaching into her pocket, she fingered the vellum edge of Alfred's letter. She was wrong about Lord Cavendale. Alfred was now number one on their list of suspects. The note was damning, but it wasn't irrevocable proof.

Looking down, Hannah sighed at the horrific state of her dress. ‘Betty's going to kill me.'

But Philippa would be thrilled. They were one step closer to solving this case.

Killian fought between admiration and infuriation with young Billy. The boy was going to skin Killian for a significant sum and, in the process, ensure his sister received justice. Not bad for an eight-year-old boy who was more bones and scabs than anything else.

‘How much is your information worth? Name your price, Billy. I could give you my purse right now. But it will only last you a few months. Maybe a year if you're careful.'

Billy's eyes grew wide. ‘A year is more than a lifetime 'ere. No guarantees I'll live that long anyways. I reckon your purse would be 'nuff to loosen my lips.'

Drake made a gruff sound in the back of his throat. ‘What about a job? Not as much upfront, but it would give you a steady income. A place to live. Food in your belly three times a day.'

Killian's eyes widened as he looked at his friend. Drake was not cruel, but neither was he kind. His offer was out of character for the war-hardened man.

Billy's laugh was high-pitched, and his whole body shook with mirth. ‘You're just as loony as your friend. Nutters, the lot of ya. No one's gonna give me a job. Not for a bit of information 'bout my sister.'

‘I would.' Drake looked just as surprised by his words as Billy. He blinked furiously before continuing. ‘You could start tomorrow.'

Killian raised an eyebrow. It would appear underneath Drake's scarred skin was the oozy middle of a cream puff.

‘Caw!' Billy threw a thumb at Killian, then Drake. ‘It's a wonder you don't both end up in the Red 'ouse if you ain't careful.' He shook his head like an old man disgusted with the frivolity of youth. ‘Can you even imagine? Billy Bright working for a cove like you? Not likely.'

Drake leaned down, so he was eye level with Billy. ‘Would you steal from me?'

Billy sat back in his chair. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. He stuck his chin in the air. ‘I'm no thief.'

‘Would you ever lie to me?'

Billy's brows came down, creating a wrinkle above his nose. ‘I ain't no liar neither if that's what you're tryin' to say.'

‘Do you promise to work hard and not laze about?'

The boy sucked air through his teeth. ‘Me dad didn't raise no layabouts. I ain't 'fraid of a day's labour.' He crossed his thin arms over an equally scrawny chest.

‘Then you sound like the exact man I need.'

Billy opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes darted from Drake to Killian and back again.

‘What do you think, Billy? You tell us your information, and Drake here will give you a job.' Killian rested his hand on the table. It might be a mad plan, but the idea of this boy sleeping in a soft bed with three meals waiting for him every day filled Killian with an unfamiliar warmth. Perhaps the world was not quite as hopeless as he feared.

‘Would I get to send the money 'ome? Me family depends on wot I bring in.'

‘Your wages would be yours to do with as you please, though I hope you would put some away to save,' Drake answered.

‘'Ow do I know you ain't fibbing?' His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Drake straightened. ‘I give you my word as gentlemen.'

Billy snorted. ‘That ain't worf nuffink.'

‘You will soon learn it is worth very much indeed. But I will also give you this.' Drake twisted off the signet ring on his pinkie and held it between his thumb and index finger. The candlelight glinted off the emerald set into a thick, gold band. ‘This ring was given to me by my father. It has been passed down for generations in my family. It is very important to me. I leave it in your hands as a token of my honour. You'll return the ring to my butler when you come to my house tomorrow to begin your new job.'

A thrill of alarm coursed through Killian. Maybe the boy was right. Maybe Drake was a barmy toff. That ring had survived with Drake through the war. He swallowed it when they were captured to ensure its safety. Killian knew how precious it was to his friend. ‘Drake, perhaps…'

Billy's gaze was captured by the ring. Drake reached over and took one of the boy's hands, turned it palm up, then plunked the ring into his dirty appendage.

Billy swallowed. ‘W-wot if I fence it?'

‘You said you don't steal, and you don't lie. So, tell me now, are you going to steal my ring?'

Billy stared at the ring, then looked at Drake and blinked his owlish eyes. ‘I'm no thief, nor no liar neither. Your ring is safe with me.'

This was a terrible idea. Even if the boy was honest, putting such a valuable possession into his hands was like balancing the ring on the edge of a ship's railing. One dip of the tumultuous waters surrounding young Billy's life, and it would be gone.

‘Then share what you know about your sister. Think on my offer, and if you accept, bring the ring to my address tomorrow. I won't be there, but I will leave instructions with the butler.' Drake rattled off his address and made sure Billy knew exactly where to go. ‘If you don't want the job, bring the ring back, and I'll compensate you with money. Whatever sum you feel is fair. Cook will give you a meal before you leave. What say you, Master Bright?'

Billy wrapped his small fingers around the ring and squeezed it. ‘I say you're one daft cove, but I'll think about your offer. I need to talk to me mum and dad. They depend on me, you know.'

‘You would get one day off a week to see your family. But if that is not amenable to you or your parents, fine. Return the ring, and I will pay you for your information.'

Billy nodded, and with the deal done, he heaved another world-weary sigh. His skinny chest deflated like a wine bladder emptying its contents. ‘I know 'oo killed my sister. When Penny came to see my parents, she told 'em Sarah was s'posed to go for an in'erview at another gentleman's 'ouse. The man's son was doin' the in'erviews 'imself. A real poncy toff 'e was. So says Penny.'

Killian leaned forward. ‘Who was it, Billy? Who was interviewing Sarah?'

Billy tucked the ring into his pocket and looked at Drake, then Killian. ‘Lord Alfred Cavendale.'