Page 11 of Taken to the Grave
“I’ve been. He’s not there,” Thornton said.
“You should go to Bedford Street. He could be there by now,” Audrey suggested, pressing her hand to Hugh’s arm before releasing him and stepping aside. He hoped she was correct.
“I’m not interested in supper any longer,” Cassie said.
“I don’t think any of us are,” Hugh agreed. He took Audrey’s hand and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “I’m sorry the evening turned out as it did.”
He was sorry for more than just the lost evening, though. Disappointment flooded his gut when he thought of what Mr. Gye had indicated—that Bow Street officials had agreed to keep the murders at Vauxhall from the public. Sir Gabriel Poston had not wanted to investigate the disappearance of his own niece, and now Hugh questioned if the chief magistrate was the “connection” Mr. Gye had spoken of.
“As am I,” Audrey replied. “I will send word about my meeting with Miss Bertram.”
She took Cassie’s arm and started for the exit, leaving Hugh and Thornton to stand there and watch them go.
“I would say I’m sorry the evening concluded early,” his friend said after draining the dregs of his glass. “But had I known Audrey would bring Lady Freeze, I would have made other plans.”
Hugh clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure Cassie feels the same way.”
Thornton gave a passing waiter his empty glass. “What the devil was Givens doing here? I thought he was working security at the Seven Sins.”
The gaming hell in Temple catered to the upper crust, or at least to anyone who could afford the exorbitant membership fees, be they male or female. The proprietor, Mr. Lars Vance, did not much care, so long as his members were flush.
It had taken Thornton’s connections there to arrange a job for Givens, an offering that had been made to look as if Hugh had held no part in it. The arrangement hadn’t been an act of charity for Givens, but rather for Sir’s mother and younger sisters. Not that the position had cured the man of his many shortcomings. In early February, quite some time after securing the job at the Seven Sins, Givens had shown up at 19 Bedford Street one late afternoon. Mrs. Peets had complained loudly about a visitor at the back door, drawing the attention of Whitlock and Basil. Givens had been half-pissed, and he’d refused to leave until the master of the house spoke to him. Sir had been out, thankfully, and not wanting him to return to find his father present, Hugh had gone to the kitchen’s back door.
“You’ll no longer give Davy his allowance,” Givens had said, slurring his words. “He’s just a lad and as his father, that blunt should come to me. I’ll see fit what’s to be done with it.”
Had Mrs. Peets not been looking on in shocked awe at the exchange, Hugh might have clocked the bastard in the jaw. Instead, he’d regulated his temper and replied evenly, “I won’t be handing you a single farthing, and neither will Sir. If I ever learn you’ve touched his earnings, you will find yourself in a cell at Newgate. Do I make myself clear?”
He’d then slammed the door on the man’s face. That was the last he’d seen of Harlan Givens. Until tonight.
“I am not convinced he was killed at the Cascade,” Hugh said, thinking back to the insignificant amount of blood pooled underneath the body.
“You think his body was brought there?” Thornton asked as they now started for the gate. They’d given Audrey andCassie a decent enough start for the coach field. To be seen leaving together might have inspired too much gossip for one evening. More importantly, it could inspire corresponding gossip involving Thornton and Cassie.
“I don’t know, really, and I suppose it isn’t my job to,” Hugh answered. Though, he couldn’t deny the bit of envy he felt for the work Tyne and Stevens had before them. “Let’s go back to Bedford Street. It’s far step across the river to take on foot, but he’s resourceful.”
“He’ll be fine,” Thornton assured him.
Hugh hoped his friend was right.
Chapter
Four
“This illustration looks nothing at all like me.” Audrey crumpled the small pamphlet Greer had brought her just before they’d set out for Fitzroy Square. The ink on the newest scandal sheet in town,All the Chatter, had barely dried before it was left in print shop windows, coffee houses, and tea shops, and delivered to the homes of those who subscribed. A cartoon depicting Audrey and Hugh strolling together at Vauxhall would not have upset her. Letting London society know that they were courting had been the aim, after all.
However, the cartoon also included an unsavory background scene—sprawled on the walk behind the smitten and oblivious couple was the prone figure of a dead body. The caption read:The dowager has cast off her black…but should Lord N beware the Bad Luck Duchess?
“Bad Luck Duchess?” She tossed the crumpled paper onto the cushion next to her. “Who writes this rubbish?”
“Someone who was at Vauxhall last evening,” Greer suggested. “Or perhaps an informant. I imagine all the rags in town have someone in society that they pay for gossip.”
She was correct, of course, as no Fleet Street reporter would ever have personal access to such things as balls and society events. They depended heavily upon informants. Those who loved gossip. She thought of Lady Dutton’s friend, Lady Stanwick, and grimaced. The pairing of her and Hugh’s first public outing alongside the discovery of a dead body was grossly unfortunate. But perhaps the cartoonist had been correct in calling her the Bad Luck Duchess.
She certainly seemed to have an abundance of it.
“As if I am not already treated as a pariah,” she sighed. But then felt guilty. She should not be thinking of herself or her tenuous reputation. It was not nearly as important as the situations at hand.
The morning newspapers Michael subscribed to had been delivered before breakfast, and as expected, all of them had lurid headlines about the body found at Vauxhall. However, one newspaper,The Morning Post, had an even more shocking headline inked onto the front page:The Secret Vauxhall Murders. Three Bodies in One Month!
