Lorraine Heath - Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

“Follow her at a discreet pace.”

As the driver sent the vehicle into motion, she scurried from her hiding place and gave similar words to the driver of the hansom she entered. “Follow him.”

Just as he had, she disembarked on another street. She carefully made her way to the lodging house, again keeping to the shadows, until she spotted him observing the building. Eventually he went to the door.

After he left, she remained as she was for another hour before she saw the signal in the window-the draperies drawn closed-to indicate that Mrs. Potter had retired for the evening. It was safe to come in.

Once inside her room, she hugged Eleanor tightly. “You were accosted. I saw.”

“And I was rescued. Did you see him?” Eleanor asked, working herself free of Emma’s clinging embrace.

“Yes, of course.”

“His name is James Swindler.”

“You went with him! Do you know how dangerous that was when we know nothing about him?”

Eleanor sat in a nearby rocker, staring at the empty hearth. “Was he the man who’s been following me?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter. We must stop this madness of trying to avenge Elisabeth on our own. We should go to the police.”

“He may very well be the police. Do you not see how this works to our advantage? If he’s following you while I do the deed, we have our alibi. I can’t possibly be at two places at once. It’s what we planned all along, only better. The word of a policeman will be above reproach. The perfect crime.”

So they had decided to try to seduce him, to bring him even closer. But it was Emma who had been seduced. As the train took her farther from London, she wondered how she could have not known how much she would come to care for James in such a short time.

She tried to imagine his reaction when he arrived at Mrs. Potter’s, and discovered that Emma-or Eleanor as he knew her-was gone. Even Mrs. Potter had been unaware there were two sisters sharing the same living accommodations. They’d timed their comings and goings so no one was the wiser. They would have taken rooms in different lodgings but money was scarce and it seemed silly to spend money that didn’t need to be spent.

Along with Elisabeth, they’d had a lifetime of fooling people, of arranging pranks where they pretended to be each other or caused others to question who they’d really seen.

It had been so incredibly easy in London because their father had never taken all three daughters there, and apparently had never even announced that he’d been graced with three daughters. As they weren’t sons, he’d deemed them insignificant.

Until it came time to send one to the city for a Season. Then suddenly he’d had hopes of a good marriage and money being available for his other daughters. Emma had loved her father dearly, but his head had always been in the clouds. She didn’t even know exactly what he’d done for the Crown to be honored with a title.

Now, watching the passing rolling hills, she wondered what James would think of them. It had been so difficult to say good-bye to him, knowing it was forever, knowing she would never again taste his kiss or feel his touch. Knowing she’d never again hear his voice or look into his eyes.

“What if he tries to find us, Eleanor? That man at Scotland Yard said he was the best.”

“You told him we live to the north, didn’t you?” Her sister shrugged. “He’ll give up long before he thinks to look to the south.”

Would he give up? Would he even begin to search for her? Or would he simply accept that she’d left?

Emma had become so good at living a life of deception. She’d even lied to Eleanor with such ease that it had been almost frightening. As far as Eleanor knew, she and James had simply ridden around London in the carriage until dawn. Her sister had no idea that she’d sacrificed her virginity or spent the night in James’s bed.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, wondering if she might be carrying James’s child, surprised to discover that the thought brought her a great deal of joy. She didn’t think she’d ever feel for another man the way she felt about him.

He was so generous, so giving. She was grateful for every second she’d spent in the company of James Swindler.

Still, just once Emma would have liked to have heard him whisper her name.

She’s gone.”

It was the first time Swindler had voiced the words aloud since they’d begun echoing through his mind two days ago. Spoken aloud, they sounded incredulous.

“I beg your pardon?” Sir David asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Miss Watkins. She packed up her things and left her lodgings.”

“What do you make of that?”

Swindler sighed, the truth of the situation difficult to admit. “I may have been duped, sir.”

Sir David arched a brow. “The lady wasn’t with you that night?”

“She was.”

“Then maybe she was simply unsettled about the murder of Rockberry and being arrested.”

“There may be more to it than that, sir.”

“Explain.”

“In Rockberry’s library there were two glasses of unfinished wine, which leads me to believe Rockberry may have known his murderer.”

Sir David nodded. “Go on.”

“I went to the morgue to study the body. The dagger that killed Rockberry-I’ve seen it before. That night at Cremorne Gardens.”

“Did it belong to one of the swells who attacked Miss Watkins?”

“No, sir. It belonged to Miss Watkins herself. I’m afraid, sir, that she may have had an accomplice.”

“Damn it, man! How did you miss that?”

“I was focused on the lady. I believed as long as she was within my sight, Rockberry was safe. I believe it’s imperative that I find her, and my search may take me outside of London.”

Sir David stroked his thumb and forefinger over his mustache. “Could still be the brother. He could be the accomplice.”

“Possibly, but I know I must find the lady.” If not for the crime, then for himself. It made no sense to him that she’d leave unless she was trying to hide something.

“You have leave to do what you must, Swindler. Report to me when you have something.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned to go.

“Swindler?”

He glanced back.

“You don’t look yourself. Do whatever you need to do so you’re back to snuff. I need my best man at his sharpest.”

His best man. If Sir David knew how easily his best man had been duped, he’d have demanded that he leave Scotland Yard.

As though following his thoughts, Sir David added, “You’re not the first to be fooled by a pretty face.”

Swindler took no consolation from the words. It was more than her pretty face. It was everything about her that had fooled him.

“Viscount Watkins’s estate, you say?”

Swindler watched as Greystone’s brow furrowed. It didn’t sit well with Swindler that he’d needed to come to Frannie’s husband for assistance, even though he respected the lord more than he did most. Greystone had proved his worth by putting his life at risk for Frannie last year.

“Unfortunately, until recently I was so absorbed by my own wants, I paid very little attention to anyone outside my father’s sphere of influence. I can make some inquiries. Someone is bound to know where his estate lies.”

“The land wasn’t entailed, so that might make it more difficult.”

“Still, someone must know him.”

“Eleanor told me they lived to the north, by the sea. I suspect all or part of it is a lie.” What other lies had she told? Had her feelings for him been false as well? If not, then how could she have left?

“I could always ask the queen,” Greystone said.

“I’d rather not involve her majesty.”

Greystone gave a little shrug. “I can be most discreet.”

“You should have him ask, Jim,” Frannie said. “Now is not the time to be stubborn. If she were in London, you’d have already found her by now. No one can follow a scent like you can.”

“Where she’s concerned, I’m all turned about, Frannie. I can think of no logical reason for her to have left as abruptly as she did.”

“It can be quite unsettling to be arrested. Perhaps she was simply frightened.”

He shook his head. “She was with me. She had no reason to fear being arrested again.”

“Perhaps she simply wanted to go home.”

Swindler shoved himself out of the chair. “Without even leaving me a note?” He strode toward the window, stopped, plowed his hands through his hair. “My apologies.”

“It’s all right.” Frannie came up behind him and placed her hand on his back. “You grew to care for her. Even I could see how much during the ball. Come back and sit down. Tell us how we can help.”

He glanced back at her. “I’d rather pace.”

She smiled. “All right. So where do things stand?”

“I’ve had no luck finding the lads she hired to carry her trunk. I suspect she took the train. I tried to draw a portrait of her, to ask at the ticket window if anyone had seen her, but I’ve never been skilled at drawing people. I can sketch a room to the smallest detail to help me solve a crime, but Eleanor…I can’t draw her likeness to save my life.”

“Sterling can. He’s an artist. Do you remember her well enough, Sterling?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Her husband got up, went around to the desk, and opened a drawer. After pulling out some paper, he sat down and immediately began to sketch.

Swindler thought it might be the first break he’d had in two days. He gave his attention to Frannie. “Did you notice anything that might be helpful while you were visiting with her?”

“I’m afraid not. I only spoke with her in the parlor.” Her face suddenly brightened. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Agnes went to her rooms to alter the gown.”

Five minutes later a very nervous Agnes was standing in front of Swindler and wringing her hands.

“Did you notice anything?” Swindler asked.

“Like wot?”

“Anything unusual.”

The young lady shook her head, then scrunched up her face. “Well there was one thing I thought odd. She changed into the gown in her sitting room. The door to her bedchamber was closed. We didn’t go in there. But then, when I was finished with my sewing, she opened the door and went to look at herself in the mirror.”

“Did you see anyone else in there?”

“No, but…I could see a dress draped over a chair in the corner. The thing is, it looked exactly like the dress on the sofa in the sitting room-the dress she’d taken off to put on the gown. I thought maybe it was her favorite dress, so she wanted two of them.”

“You probably have the right of it. Thank you, Agnes. That’s all I need,” Swindler said. He walked to the window and gazed out on the night.

“What are you thinking?” Frannie asked.

“I don’t know what to think. Do you have dresses made that look the same?”

“Before I was married, when I spent my night at Dodger’s, my dresses were very similar.”

He remembered. Drab and blue.

“Jim, what if Elisabeth didn’t die as Eleanor claimed?” Frannie asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No, the grief over the loss of her sister was not false. I know true grief when I see it.” He’d seen it in his eyes often enough as a lad.

“Here you are,” Greystone said, holding out a sketch.

The likeness was uncanny. Swindler felt as though someone had reached into his chest and torn out the heart that had started to grow there. “Perfect,” he said, and he could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

“What are you going to do, Jim?” Frannie asked.

“I’m going to find her, if it takes me the remainder of my life.”

Standing near the edge of the cliffs, Emma Watkins watched the whitecapped swells from the sea and the darkening sky herald the approaching storm. With the strengthening wind surrounding her, she breathed in and absorbed the fury of the tempest. She almost wanted to fling herself into the turbulent water just to be surrounded by something other than the dull, somber nothingness that had become her life since she returned from London.

It was as though she and Eleanor had left behind their laughter, their joy, their very essence, as though they were little more than empty shells going about their daily rituals only because failure to do so would bring them a slow agonizing death.

Food contained no flavor, greeting the day no joy. Sleep came in fits and starts. In the two weeks since they arrived at their small home, she’d lost track of the number of nights she heard Eleanor cry out when her sister eventually found sleep.

Fear of discovery didn’t hammer at them. Emma thought it might even be a relief to face up to what they’d done. No, to their everlasting surprise, remorse was making a banquet of them. Where once they’d laughed and shared silly secrets, their shared dark secret weighed them down.