Page 77 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“His identity remains a mystery. But I know he owns you, body and soul. And through you, he hopes to own me.” A beat. “I won’t let him.”
Phillip scrubbed his face. “That’s good. That you won’t let him, I mean. I didn’t want that . . . I was just?—”
“Trying to win what you’d lost so you could pay him back.”
“Yes.”
“He’s not interested in money, Phillip. He seeks power, control. Through you, he hopes to control me.”
Phillip’s gaze snapped back to mine. “I didn’t know that when I first played. It was just cards. I thought if I played enough, I could win it back.”
“But you didn’t,” I said, stepping forward. “So they asked for something else.”
His silence confirmed it.
“What did they ask for?”
He hesitated before he confessed. “They needed a name. A gentleman with connections. Someone respectable.”
“And they chose you.”
He nodded, shame etched across his face. At least he could still feel that emotion.
“For what reason?”
“A gentleman I knew needed an introduction to a wealthy family. He was courting a girl—an heiress. Said her father was old-fashioned. Wanted a name he trusted.”
“And you gave him ours. What’s the gentleman’s name?” I asked, although I already suspected.
“Henry Vale. I didn’t say yes right away. I knew what he was.” Phillip’s voice cracked. “He told me he was trying to change. That he’d fallen for her. He said he was finished with wild behavior, that he’d—” He stopped himself. “I believed him.”
I waited a beat before asking the next question. “Did you know about the household maid he seduced?”
Phillip paled but answered honestly. “Yes.”
“You didn’t think that mattered?” I asked quietly. “You thought that story ended there?”
“I thought . . .” He folded his arms tightly, as if bracing against the memory. “He told me she’d been taken care of. That it was behind him.”
I stepped forward, forcing him to look up at me. “She’s dead.”
His face paled. “What?”
“Her name was Elsie. She gave birth at St. Agnes. She was lured out by a note and murdered in the street.”
He sank into the chair like his bones had given out, hands dangling between his knees. “I didn’t know. I swear to you, Warwick, I didn’t know.”
I studied him for a long moment. “How much?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your debt.”
He swallowed. “Five thousand. Give or take.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose. “I’ll pay it, once I find the bastard who holds your debt. Is there more?”
“A thousand or so. From friends.”
