The Paid Companion

  Jeremy’s defiance collapsed. “Very well,” he said, striving to maintain some dignity. “I suppose there is no reason why I should not tell you where I heard about your true intentions toward Miss Lodge.”

  “Where was that?”

  “At the Green Lyon.”

  Elenora frowned. “What is the Green Lyon?”

  “It’s a hell off St. James,” Arthur said. He did not take his attention off Jeremy. “How did you happen to go there, Clyde? Or is it one of your frequent haunts?”

  “Don’t be insulting.” Jeremy drew himself up to his full height. “I went there on a whim last night because I was rather bored and someone suggested that it might be amusing.”

  “You just happened to go there last night and you just happened to encounter someone who told you about Goodhew and Willis? I don’t think so. Try again.”

  “It’s the truth, damn your eyes. I was feeling out of sorts and someone suggested that we go to the Green Lyon. We went there together and played at hazard for an hour or so. Somewhere in the course of the evening, he mentioned the rumors about Goodhew and Willis.”

  “This person is a friend of yours?” Arthur asked evenly.

  “Not a friend. An acquaintance. Never met him before last night.”

  “Where did you encounter him?”

  Jeremy looked quickly at Elenora and then just as swiftly away again. “Outside an establishment in Orchid Street,” he muttered.

  “Orchid Street.” Arthur’s mouth curved humorlessly. “Yes, of course, that would be the address of the brothel operated by the old bawd who calls herself Mrs. Flowers.”

  Elenora made a tut-tutting sound. “You patronize brothels, Jeremy? That is very distressing news. Does your wife know?”

  “I just happened to be in Orchid Street on business,” Jeremy mumbled. “I know nothing about any brothel there.”

  “Never mind,” Arthur said. “Tell me more about the man who introduced himself to you last night and suggested that you go to the Green Lyon.”

  Jeremy tried to shrug. He was only partially successful due to the fact that Arthur still had hold of his coat. “There is not much to tell. I think he said his name was Stone or Stoner or something like that. Seemed familiar with the Green Lyon.”

  “What did he look like?” Elenora asked.

  Jeremy’s features contorted with puzzlement. “Why the devil does that matter?”

  Arthur pushed Jeremy harder against the statue’s rear. “Answer her question, Clyde.”

  “Damnation, I cannot recall any particulars about his appearance. I’d had several bottles of claret by the time I met him, if you must know.”

  “You were in your cups?” Elenora was surprised by that bit of news. During the time Jeremy had been courting her, she had never known him to be a heavy drinker. “There is nothing worse than a drunkard. Your poor wife has my deepest sympathies.”

  “I’ve got a bloody good reason to want to forget my troubles,” Jeremy snarled. “My marriage is not what anyone would call a love match. It’s a living hell. Before we were wed, my father-in-law implied that he would settle a considerable portion on my wife, but afterward he reneged. He controls our income and he insists that I dance to his tune. I am trapped, trapped, I tell you.”

  “Your marital woes are of no concern to us,” Arthur said. “Describe the man you met in Orchid Street.”

  Jeremy grimaced. “I suppose he was about my height. Brown hair.” He rubbed his forehead. “Leastways, I think it was brown.”

  “Was he fat?” Arthur prompted. “Thin?

  “Not fat.” Jeremy hesitated. “Seemed very fit.”

  “Were his features unusual in any way?” Elenora asked. “Did he have any scars?”

  Jeremy glowered. “I don’t recall any scars. As far as his looks go, he seemed to be the type that women find attractive.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  “Expensively,” Jeremy said without hesitation. “I remember asking him for the name of his tailor, but he made some joke and changed the subject.”

  “What of his hands?” Elenora said. “Can you describe them?”

  “His hands?” Jeremy stared at her if she had asked him to an extremely complex question in mathematics. “I don’t recall anything unusual about them.”

  “This is useless.” Arthur let go of his coat. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, be sure to send word to me immediately.”

  Jeremy adjusted his coat and cravat with angry movements. “Why in blazes would I bother to do that?”

  Arthur’s smile was as cold as the outer rings of Hades. “Because we have every reason to think that your new acquaintance has killed at least three men in recent weeks.”

  Jeremy made a gargling sound, but no actual words emerged. Under other circumstances, Elenora thought, she would have found the sight vastly amusing.

  In any event, she did not have long to savor Jeremy’s shocked expression because Arthur steered her away from the circle of statues and back toward the ballroom.

  “What the devil were you doing out here with Clyde in the first place?” he growled.

  “I thought I saw someone who might have been the killer.”

  “Damn it to the Pit. He was here?” Arthur halted so suddenly that Elenora tripped over his boot. She would have stumbled to her knees had he not held her upright. “Are you certain?”

  “I believe so, but I must admit that I cannot be positive.” She hesitated. “He touched my back, just below my neck. I could swear it was quite deliberate. The sensation made me go cold all the way to my bones.”

  “Bastard.” Arthur pulled her close and wrapped a possessive arm around her.

  It felt very pleasant to be pressed against his chest like this, Elenora thought. Warm and safe and comfortable.

  “Arthur, it could very well have been my imagination,” she said into his coat. “Heaven knows I have been somewhat tense of late. We must concentrate on what we learned from Jeremy.”

  “Yes.”

  She raised her head reluctantly. “There are very few people other than you and me who knew the name of the agency where you went to employ me. Of that number, Ibbitts is the only one who would have willingly related the information to anyone else.”

  “And the person he gave the name of the agency to was likely the man who killed him.” Arthur loosened his grip on her and resumed making his way back toward the terrace steps. “Come. We must hurry.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You are going home. I am going to the Green Lyon to keep watch for a while. Clyde said his new acquaintance seemed familiar with the club. Perhaps he will be there tonight.”

  “No, Arthur, that won’t work. I must go with you.”

  “Elenora, I do not have time to argue about this.”

  “I agree. But you are not thinking logically, sir. I must go with you tonight to keep watch. Poor witness that I am, I am still the only person who might be able to identify the killer.”

  31

  An hour later, Elenora wrapped her shawl more snugly around her shoulders and adjusted the blanket across her knees. The night was not especially cold, but one felt the chill when one sat in an unlit carriage for an extended period of time.

  “I must say, this business of keeping watch is not nearly as exciting as I had expected it would be,” she said.

  Arthur, enveloped in deep shadow on the other side of the vehicle, did not take his eyes off the entrance of the Green Lyon. “I did warn you, if you will recall.”

  She decided to ignore that. Arthur was not in one of his more mellow moods this evening. She could hardly blame him, she thought.

  They were seated in an aging carriage that he had instructed Jenks to hire for this venture. Elenora understood his reasoning in the matter. It was, after all, quite likely that his own carriage would have been recognized if it sat parked for any length of time in the street outside the Green Lyon. But unfortunately the livery stable had had only one o
ld vehicle left at that late hour.

  It had quickly become obvious why none of the stable’s other clients had selected it. When it was in motion, the heavy carriage jolted and lurched in an extremely uncomfortable manner. In addition, although the seats had appeared to be clean at first glance, it had quickly become apparent that the accumulated odors of years of ill use had saturated the cushions.

  Elenora stifled a tiny sigh and finally admitted to herself that she had anticipated that the time spent with Arthur in the dark, intimate confines of the carriage would be pleasant. She had envisioned the two of them talking quietly for an hour or two while they watched gentlemen come and go from the club.

  But immediately after they had taken a place in the long line in the street outside the hell, Arthur had sunk into one of his deep silences. All of his attention was fixed on the door of the Green Lyon. She knew that he was reworking his master plan yet again.

  She studied the entrance to the hell, wondering what it was about the place that drew such a steady stream of men. It was certainly an unprepossessing establishment, in her opinion. The single gaslight in front cast a weak glare that illuminated the faces of the patrons who came and went from the premises.

  Most of the men who tumbled out of the carriages and hackneys that halted at the front steps were clearly drunk. They laughed too loudly and told bawdy stories to their friends. There was a feverish look of expectation about some of them as they made their way into the hell.

  Most of those who emerged from the club wore very different expressions. One or two appeared positively jubilant. They boasted of their luck and instructed their coachmen to take them to another place of amusement. But a far greater number walked back down the steps with an air of dejection, anger or deep gloom. A few looked as though they had received word of a death in the family. Elenora knew that they were the ones who had just gambled away a house or an inheritance. She wondered if any of them would put a pistol to his head sometime before dawn.

  She shivered again.

  Arthur stirred. “Are you cold?”

  “No, not really. What will you do if we do not spot him tonight?”

  “Try again tomorrow night.” Arthur rested one arm along the back of the seat. “Unless some new information falls at my feet in the meantime, this is the most significant clue that has come my way thus far.”

  “Does it disturb you that the killer chose to confide the information about my connection to Goodhew and Willis to Jeremy of all people? It cannot have been a coincidence.”

  “No. I am quite certain he intended to create some mischief by telling Clyde that you actually did come from the agency, and that the rumors were not a jest after all.”

  “What sort of mischief?”

  “I do not know yet. Remember that he still believes that we have no way to identify him. He no doubt feels that the secret of his true identity is secure.”

  She tugged on her shawl. “I only hope that I will be able to make him out from this distance.”

  Another silence ensued.

  “Arthur?”

  “Yes?”

  “There is something that I have been meaning to ask you.”

  He did not turn his head. “What is that?”

  “How does it come about that you guessed the name of the brothel in Orchid Street when Jeremy mentioned it?”

  For a second or two he gave no sign that he had even heard the question. Then she saw him smile in the darkness.

  “Such establishments have a way of making themselves known,” he said. “Men gossip, Elenora.”

  “I am not the least surprised to hear that.”

  He glanced at her, the amused smile still etching the corner of his mouth. “What you really want to know is if I am familiar with that brothel because I have had occasion to visit it.”

  She raised her chin and kept her gaze on the front door of the Green Lyon. “I have absolutely no interest in that aspect of your personal life, sir.”

  “Of course you have, and the answer is no.”

  “I see.” She felt suddenly quite cheerful for a moment, and then she recalled the other, related question about his private life that had been bothering her from the start of this adventure. Her briefly elevated spirits immediately deflated somewhat. “Well, I suppose you did not require the services of such an institution.”

  “There is no other woman in my life at the moment, Elenora,” he said quietly. “As a matter of fact, there has not been anyone else for some time. Is that what you want to know?”

  “It’s none of my affair.”

  “Ah, but it is, my sweet,” he said in a low voice. “After all, we have formed an intimate connection. You have every right to know if I am romantically attached to someone else.” He paused a beat. “Just as I would expect to be told immediately if you decided to form such an attachment to some other man.”

  Something in his tone raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. He was making it clear that he would not share her affections.

  “You know better than anyone that there is no other man in my life,” she said quietly.

  “I will expect matters to remain that way as long as you and I are involved with each other.”

  She cleared her throat. “I will expect the same sort of loyalty from you.”

  “You shall have it,” he said simply.

  He turned his attention back to the door of the Green Lyon, leaving her to analyze in silence the combination of satisfaction and wistful longing that welled up inside her. She would have him to herself for the length of time that they were bound together in this odd affair, she thought. But that realization only heightened her awareness of how painful the eventual parting would be.

  She was trying very hard to keep her thoughts focused on the future and all of her grand plans, but it was becoming more difficult by the hour to imagine life without Arthur.

  Dear heaven, I’ve fallen in love with him.

  The realization filled her with a bright euphoria that transformed almost instantly into dread. How had she allowed this to happen? This was a miscalculation of enormous proportions.

  “Hell’s teeth.” Arthur straightened abruptly, leaning closer to the carriage window. “What is this about?”

  His urgent tone yanked her out of her morose thoughts. She sat forward quickly.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Arthur shook his head, his gaze never wavering from the scene outside on the front steps of the club. “Damned if I know. But this cannot be a matter of chance. Take a look. Might that be the man you danced with the night Ibbitts was murdered? The one who touched you this evening?”

  She followed his gaze and watched a handsome man in his early twenties walk purposefully out the door of the Green Lyon. In the glare of the gas lamp his hair appeared to be a light brown in color. He was slender, and he moved easily.

  Her pulse began to thud heavily in her wrists, and her mouth went dry. Was she looking at the killer? Was that the man who had touched her so intimately tonight and on the night of Ibbitts’s death? From this distance there was no way to be certain.

  “He is about the right height,” she said, hesitating. “And he appears to have long-fingered hands. I cannot see from here if he has a ring.”

  “He is wearing Hessians.”

  “Yes, but as you once pointed out, a vast number of gentlemen favor that style of boot.” She squeezed her fingers together tightly in her lap. “Arthur, I’m sorry, but I cannot be sure from this distance. I must get closer to him.”

  “He is not getting into any of the carriages.”

  She watched as the man in the Hessians turned at the bottom of the steps, lit a small lantern that he carried at his side, and walked off along the dark street. He was alone.

  “Stay here with the carriage. Jenks will watch you.” Arthur opened the door and jumped down onto the pavement. “I am going to follow that man.”

  Anxiously, she leaned forward. “No, you must not go after him alone. Arthur, please,
this may be exactly what the villain intends for you to do.”

  “I want to see where he is going. I will not let him see me.”

  “Arthur—”

  “I am very curious to discover what business he has in this neighborhood so near the Green Lyon.”

  “I do not like this, sir. Please take Jenks with you.”

  Arthur turned his head toward the rapidly diminishing point of light that was the lantern his quarry carried. “It will be difficult enough as it is to keep my quarry unaware of my presence. He will surely spot two men following him.”

  He made to close the door.

  “Wait. You recognize that man with the lantern, don’t you?” she whispered.

  “He is Roland Burnley. The man who eloped with Juliana.”

  Arthur closed the door before Elenora could recover from her astonishment.

  32

  The weak illumination supplied by the small lights of the carriages and the gas lamp at the door of the Green Lyon faded rapidly behind Arthur. He moved more quickly, trying to keep Roland’s lantern in sight. He had to concentrate to keep his weight on the balls of his feet so that the heels of his boots would not sound a warning on the paving stones.

  Roland, on the other hand, was making no particular attempt at stealth. His steps were swift and sure; a man who knew where he was going.

  The cramped, twisted street was lined with small shops that were all closed and shuttered for the night. No lights shone in the rooms above the business establishments. It was not a particularly dangerous neighborhood in the light of day, but at this hour only a fool would come here alone.

  What drew Roland here?

  A few minutes later his quarry came to a halt in front of a darkened doorway. Arthur moved into a vestibule and watched as Roland let himself into a small, cramped hall. The lantern light flared briefly and then disappeared entirely when the door closed behind the young man.

  It occurred to Arthur that Roland might be visiting a woman in this street. There would be nothing unusual about such a situation. It was common for gentlemen, even those who had been recently wed, to keep a mistress on the side. But that type of indulgence was expensive. By all accounts the Burnley finances were in exceedingly poor shape.