“It is of no great importance, sir. It merely struck me that the bargain you intend to offer Swan strongly resembles the one you made with me.”
He looked both irritated and baffled. “The devil it does.”
She shrugged. “Salvation from the noose in exchange for assistance in your inquiries? It sounds familiar enough to me. But I must warn you, I do not think it will work in Swan’s case.”
Anger crackled briefly in Edison’s gaze. It was gone almost instantly, concealed beneath the layer of icy control that he wielded so effortlessly.
“There is nothing about what I am proposing that is akin to the arrangements you and I have made,” he said evenly. “Leave that aside and tell me what makes you think it won’t work?”
“I believe that he really did love her,” Emma whispered. “He may have killed her. But I do not believe that he will sell you any information about her that will besmirch her memory, not even to evade the hangman’s noose.”
“You sound very certain of that.”
She tightened her hands in her lap. “I am.”
“Your faith in true love is quite touching,” Edison said. “But it has always been my experience that most people are extremely practical about things such as life and death and finances.”
“Mark my words,” Emma said. “You will not be able to bribe Swan. But if he is not the one who killed her, you might be able to secure his assistance by making him a promise.”
“What sort of promise?”
“Give him your oath that you will try to find the person who actually did murder the woman he loved.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
You will not credit it, Emma, but everyone is saying that her exceedingly odd servant, Swan, returned to the house yesterday afternoon and shot Miranda dead,” Letty announced with ghoulish relish.
Emma put aside the stack of daily papers she had been perusing in hopes of discovering news of The Golden Orchid. As usual, there was no report of a late ship returning with a fortune for its investors. She studied Letty, who was glowing with excitement.
The news of Miranda’s death had struck the Polite World shortly before breakfast. It was uncanny, Emma reflected, how gossip traveled through the ton.
“Are the authorities certain that it was Swan who killed her?” she asked carefully.
Although she had suggested precisely the same thing to Edison, she was not entirely satisfied with the explanation. In fact, the more she considered the possibility that Swan had murdered Miranda, the less she liked it.
It was not that she could not imagine Swan killing Miranda in a fit of rage and jealousy, she thought. Intense passions had been known to provoke dangerous reactions in unstable people. The problem was that such a ready answer did not feel right in this case. It struck her as too simple and a bit too convenient, given the bizarre affair of the Book of Secrets.
She suspected that Edison held the same opinion, although he was determined to find Swan and talk to him.
“Indeed. In fact, Calista Durant informed me that Basil Ware was talking about hiring a Bow Street Runner to track down Swan and bring him to justice.” Letty helped herself to another cup of tea and sat back on the yellow sofa.
She had removed her bonnet a few minutes earlier when she had rushed through the front door with her news of murder most foul and titillating. But she was so eager to impart the latest on dit that she had not taken the time to change. She was still dressed in the gown she had worn when she had set out to pay her afternoon calls. It was a purple and yellow muslin confection trimmed with a neckline that dipped so low her much vaunted bosom threatened to spill out of it.
Emma had spent the day at home waiting impatiently for word from Edison. It was nearly five and he had still not arrived with news of the results of his search for Swan.
“Do the gossips say why Miranda’s servant would wish to kill her?” Emma asked.
Letty’s eyes gleamed. “According to her housekeeper, it was no secret that Miranda dallied with the man on a regular basis. Difficult to believe, is it not?”
“Not particularly,” Emma said dryly. “When I took up my career as a companion, I was amazed to learn how many ladies of the ton enjoy a fling with a handsome footman.”
“Yes, of course, dear, that is common knowledge. Swan, however, was anything but handsome.” Letty broke off and pursed her lips as she contemplated the matter. “Nevertheless, I will admit that there was something quite fearsome about him, which might well have appealed to a woman such as Miranda.”
“A woman such as Miranda?”
“I always thought her tastes tended to be somewhat low when it came to that sort of thing.”
Emma raised her brows. It was not so very long ago, she reflected, that Letty had hailed Miranda as “all the crack” and “the very mirror of style and fashion.” It sounded as though the ravenous jackals of the Polite World were already turning on their newest victim. One could not even die in Society without becoming a subject of unpleasant gossip.
“You were saying, Letty, that Miranda and Swan had an affair?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to dignify that sort of casual sport as an affair, dear. But, yes, apparently she invited him into her bed from time to time when she had no other lover conveniently at hand.”
“That does not explain why he would kill her.”
“Word has it that she became angry with him and dismissed him out of hand on the night of her ball. Turned him off without a reference, apparently. The servants report that he packed his things and left the house before dawn. They all claim that he was in a seething rage.”
“I see.”
“The assumption is that Swan has been lurking near Miranda’s house ever since, awaiting his opportunity for revenge. Yesterday, when he saw the servants leave for the afternoon, he ran inside, shot Miranda dead, and stole the silver.”
“Hmm.” Emma forced herself to pour a cup of tea in what she hoped appeared a calm, steady manner; “I wonder why Miranda sent her entire staff off for the afternoon. Rather odd, don’t you think?”
“Oh, there is no great secret about that. The butler told the authorities that Miranda gave her staff the time off to go to the fair.”
“How very generous of her,” Emma murmured. “And so very unlike her.”
Letty chuckled. “If you want my opinion, I suspect Miranda wished to entertain her newest lover in private, so she got rid of the servants for the afternoon.”
“Why would she insist on privacy for a tryst? She never sought to hide any of her other lovers. In point of fact, she was inclined to boast of her affairs.”
“Perhaps it was her new lover who insisted on complete secrecy,” Letty said.
It was clear that the gossips of the ton had already worked the entire plot out to their satisfaction. Poor Swan did not stand a chance, Emma thought. She hoped for his sake that he had had the good sense to leave Town.
Then again, perhaps he had not yet heard that his beloved Miranda was dead. In which case, Emma thought, Edison might be able to find him before Basil Ware’s Bow Street Runner did.
“Why the devil should I believe you this time?” Edison folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. He looked at One-Eared Harry with something less than enthusiasm.
It was not the fact that Harry had recently sold him out to the Vanza fighter that annoyed Edison. He knew his old associate well enough to expect that sort of thing from time to time. What irritated him this afternoon was that Harry had just come from the docks. He had brought with him a great deal of mud and muck, which he had managed to deposit on the expensive Oriental carpet that covered the floor of the library.
Harry had turned up on Edison’s doorstep within hours after the word had gone out that it was not only Bow Street who was looking for Lady Ames’s ex-servant.
He shuffled his feet on the other side of the desk and had the grace to look abashed. “I know yer probably a bit put out by what ’appened the other night. But I swear
to ye again, Mr. Stokes, I never knew the bugger meant to kill ye. It was just a business deal, ye see.”
“Of course.”
“I knew ye’d understand.” Harry managed a weak, gap-toothed smile. “I was just tryin’ to make a bit sellin’ information to two parties what seemed to ’ave a mutual interest in each other. ’Ow was I to know that cove meant to beat ye to a pulp?”
“Forget it, Harry. I do not have any time to waste on your apologies, heartfelt though I’m sure they are.”
“That they are, I swear it on me mother’s ’onor.”
“Well, I suppose that is a step up from your sister’s honor. Is she still making money hand over fist with that brothel she opened last year?”
“Doin’ real well,” Harry assured him. “Thank ye for askin’ after ’er. The whole family is right proud of Alice. Any’ow, I know I owe ye for pullin’ me outa the river. A man’s gotta repay a debt like that and that’s why I’m ere.
“I assume you came in response to my inquiries?”
“Right ye are. And there’ll be no charge for the information, which should tell ye I’m serious about get-tin’ things square between us.”
Edison was interested now. “What have you got for me?”
“’Eard ye was looking for a cove named Swan what used to work for a dead lady.”
“Well?”
“I think I know where ’e is,” Harry said earnestly. “Leastways, where ’e was early this mornin’.”
“And where was that?”
“Down at the docks. ’E was askin’ around for work. I didn’t think nothin’ of it at the time. Told ’im I didn’t need any ’ands. But later when I got word ye was lookin’ for ’im, I tried to find ’im again.”
Edison’s instincts and experience told him that Harry was telling the truth this time. “Were you successful?”
“Not exactly. But Moll at the Red Demon told me she saw ’im later. She said ’e looked real strange, sort of angry and sad at the same time. Swan told ’er ’e was leavin’ town right away. Something bad ’ad ’appened, ’e said, and ’e’d likely get the blame for it.”
Edison frowned. “Did he say where he was going?”
“No.” Harry turned his greasy cap between his fingers. “But ’e did tell Moll that ’e ’ad to see a lady afore ’e left.”
Edison flattened his hands on the surface of his desk. “Did he mention a name?”
“No. Just said a lady.”
An ominous chill went through Edison. He got slowly to his feet. “Did he say why he had to see this lady before he left town?”
“Moll told me Swan said somethin’ about ’ow ’e’d promised ’imself that he wouldn’t risk ’is neck for any other female ever again as long as ’e lived but this one was different. She’d been nice to ’im, ’e said. And she was in danger.”
Late that afternoon, having not had so much as a word from Edison, Emma retired to the privacy of her bedchamber to reread the letter that had arrived in the morning post. She did so with a mounting sense of unease. She knew her younger sister very well. Daphne was definitely on the brink of doing something rash.
My Dearest Emma:
Your latest letter tells me that you will soon have all the money we need. I pray you are correct because I vow I cannot remain here at Mrs. Osgood’s School for Young Ladies much longer.
I must tell you, Mrs. Osgood grows odder by the day. You will never believe what happened last night. I was unable to sleep so I went downstairs to fetch a book. (Mrs. York’s latest horrid novel arrived yesterday and we have all been taking turns reading it aloud.)
As I went down the hall to the library, I noticed that the door was closed and I saw a gleam of light beneath it. I put my ear to the panel and heard the most peculiar noises. It sounded as though some wild animals had got inside and were rooting about among the books.
The most dreadful grunts and groans issued forth. And then I heard a terrifying shriek. I feared that Mrs. Osgood was being murdered so I took my courage in both hands and opened the door.
The sight that met my dyes was even more astonishing than the fireworks we saw two years ago at Vauxhall Gardens.
Mr. Blankenship, a respectable widower who owns a farm in the neighborhood, was on the sofa. He was lying on top of Mrs. Osgood, if you can imagine. His trousers were down around his ankles and his very large, very bare backside was in the air. Mrs. Osgood’s equally bare legs were flung out on either side.
Fortunately neither of them noticed me. You may be certain that I closed the door with great haste and rushed back upstairs.
I must tell you, dear sister, that I suspect that what I witnessed was what is known as lovemaking. If so, I fear that all the charming poetry and novels we have enjoyed and even Byron’s exciting tales have sadly misled us both. It was, I assure you, the most ridiculous sight ….
Emma refolded the letter and looked out the window at the park on the other side of the street. She had not felt at all ridiculous in Edison’s arms, she thought wistfully. Those moments of passion in the carriage would warm her for the rest of her life.
A brisk knock on her bedchamber door brought her out of her reverie.
“Enter,” she called.
The door opened. Bess, the maid, bobbed a brisk curtsy and held out a small slip of paper. “I’ve got a message for ye, ma’am. A boy brought it to the kitchen door a moment ago.”
Excitement unfurled inside Emma. With any luck it would be news from Edison. Perhaps he had made some progress. She leaped to her feet and rushed across the room to seize the note.
“Thank you, Bess.”
She opened the paper and read the short, inelegantly scrawled message.
Miss Greyson:
Please come into the park. I must speak with you. You are in great danger.
Yrs.
Swan.
“Good heavens.” Emma looked up. “I am going to take a walk in the park, Bess. If Mr. Stokes comes to call, kindly ask him to wait for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emma hurried past her through the doorway. She dashed downstairs, grabbed her bonnet off a hook, and let herself outside. She went down the steps, crossed the street between two lumbering hay carts and walked swiftly into the park. A crisp little breeze ruffled the leaves.
She came to a halt when it occurred to her that she had no way of knowing where Swan was. She assumed that he was hiding in the nearby foliage. He had very likely been watching the house, she told herself. He would have seen her come down the steps a moment ago.
“Miss Greyson.”
She spun around at the sound of the rasping voice.
“Swan.”
She frowned at the sight of him standing in the shelter of a leafy tree. He was a sad picture. He no longer wore Miranda’s spectacular blue livery. Instead, he was attired in an old ragged shirt and a tattered coat and pants. He had a sack slung over one shoulder. She suspected that it contained all of his worldly possessions. It was obvious he had not shaved for several days.
But it was the expression of despair in his eyes that wrung her heart.
She went toward him quickly and stopped directly in front of him. Impulsively she put a hand on his stained sleeve. “Are you all right?”
“They’ve set a Runner on me, Miss Greyson.” Swan rubbed the back of his hand across his brow. “But I reckon I can stay out of his sight until I’m on the road north.”
“Did you kill Miranda?”
“God help me, I thought about it for a while after she sent me away.” Swan squeezed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them a second later, his gaze was stark. “But I swear I did not do it. Someone else murdered her.”
“I see.”
“You were kind to me at Ware Castle, madam. You weren’t like the other ladies. You didn’t laugh at me or ask Miranda if you could borrow me for a night. That’s why I came to warn you, Miss Greyson.”
“Warn me about what?”
“You are in grave danger. Yo
u must believe me.”
“Me?” Emma stared at him. “Why on earth would I be in danger?”
Before Swan could reply, the bushes behind him rustled softly. He gave a startled gasp and whirled around. His pack slid off his shoulder and fell to the ground.
Edison stepped out of the cover of a leafy copse. His eyes were cold and watchful.
“Yes, Swan. Tell us why Miss Greyson is in danger.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I did not kill Miranda, I swear it.” Swan fell back a step. He put out a trembling hand as though to ward off the devil himself. “Please, you must believe me, sir. I’m no murderer. I don’t deserve to hang.”
Emma gave Edison a repressive frown. Surely he could see that if he frightened Swan too much, they would learn nothing. Edison ignored her. He continued to pin Swan with a relentless stare that clearly intimidated the younger man.
“You had what some would call an excellent motive, did you not?” he asked much too casually.
They would get nowhere this way, Emma thought. She took a step forward, putting herself between Swan and Edison. “Mr. Stokes does believe you, Swan.” She glared at Edison. “Is that not true, sir?”
Edison hesitated. Then he shrugged. “I’m willing to consider other possibilities. Convincing possibilities.”
Swan did not look reassured. Emma slanted Edison a speaking glance before giving Swan another determined smile.
“Mr. Stokes is going to find the real killer,” she said.
Swan’s eyes widened. “He is?”
“Yes, he is. Now you must help by answering his questions.”
Edison kept his gaze fixed on Swan. “I did not ask you if you killed Miranda. I asked you why you think Miss Greyson is in danger.”
“But that’s what I was trying to explain to her, sir.” Swan’s huge, grimy hands knotted and unknotted in a spasmodic manner. “I fear the same person who murdered Miranda will be after Miss Greyson next.”
“But why would he want to kill me?” Emma demanded.