More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 10

Three days had passedsince they’d left the disgruntled council members at Trēowith and returned to London. Three torturous days spent with the delightful Miss Gambit. They had compiled a list of Lord Meyer’s staff, visited the cook’s sister in Romford, the chambermaid’s mother in Windsor. Neither were hiding a newborn babe.

Much to Miss Gambit’s relief, they discovered Jacob Hanaway was visiting his brother in Shoreham. They had been granted permission to interview David Scrivens in Newgate. The lad kept to his story. In a blinding rage, the shopkeeper snatched a longsword from behind the counter and drove the blade into his stepfather’s chest.

For three nights, they’d returned home tired and exhausted. They’d shared intimate evening meals in the dining room, sat before a roaring fire, drinking port and discussing the case. For three torturous nights, Eli had paced the boards in his bedchamber, fighting the urge to give in to temptation and seduce the woman who had broken through his barricade.

Now, they had taken command of the study. Eli sat rigidly behind his desk while Miss Gambit lounged on the small sofa, her stocking feet dangling over the padded arm.

She continued flicking through her notebook.

Eli was supposed to be reading the copy of Belton’s statement given to him by the magistrate at the Hatton Garden office, but Miss Gambit kept wiggling her toes, an action as enticing as a lover’s beckoning finger.

“Hunter?” She didn’t face him, but continued examining her notes.

“Yes?” he said, as if focused on work and not the attractive turn of her ankles.

“Based on the number of bruises on David Scrivens’ body, he must have taken regular beatings. When we visited him in Newgate, he flinched at the mere mention of his stepfather.”

Since kissing her, he had developed the ability to predict her thoughts. “You mean he lacked the strength and the courage to fight back.”

As she straightened, he glimpsed a shapely calf. “Many times, I’ve thought about murdering Jacob Hanaway. But I would have poisoned his food, drugged him, suffocated him in his sleep. I wouldn’t have the strength to wield a longsword, let alone drive it into his chest.”

Regardless of whether or not it served the case, Eli would venture to Shoreham and beat Jacob Hanaway to within an inch of his life.

“Scrivens is shy of six feet, weighs less than eight stone.” Eli suspected the lad had been starved as well as beaten. “His limbs are like spindles. Let’s make a plea to the magistrate. We’ll have him wield the weapon and try to thrust it into a grain sack.”

“Yes, I’m confident he’ll struggle to perform the task.”

Pride filled his chest. “Well done, Miss Gambit. I’m surprised Young or Swanson hadn’t thought of it before.” Both men seemed keen to save Scrivens, yet a re-enactment would have proven the lad was too weak to carry out the task. They were not usually so incompetent.

Miss Gambit closed her notebook. “I know we planned to question Lord Meyer today, but perhaps we should visit Belton’s Emporium. Did you find any discrepancies in his statement?”

Eli shifted in the seat. “I’ve not read past the first paragraph.”

Miss Gambit frowned. “Then what have you been doing for the last thirty minutes?”

Creating a host of fantasies in his mind. Fantasies involving an imposing black poster bed and a golden-haired angel come to tame the devil. Fantasies involving sucking tiny toes and finding other ways to ease the unbearable ache.

“Thinking.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Well, read through the statement while I race upstairs and make myself presentable.”

“You look fine as you are.” A golden wisp of hair had escaped her simple up-do to stroke the elegant column of her throat. Her pale pink gown carried an innocence so opposed to the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Fine, as in it doesn’t matter what I look like? Or fine, I look quite remarkable today?”

“You always look remarkable.”

She narrowed her eyes, waiting for him to follow with a witticism, but blushed when she realised he’d spoken in earnest.

“If you’re not careful, sir, you’ll get a reputation for being charming, not dangerous.”

“I doubt it. I’m only charming when I’m with you.”

The air between them thrummed with the same electrifying energy he’d felt many times since sharing a kiss. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

A nervous laugh escaped her. “The last time you gave such a compliment, you kissed me like you’d been deprived of affection since birth.”

Yes, and he’d thought about nothing else for days.

“I tasted the same desperation on your lips.”

She stepped closer and braced her hands on the desk. “Well, what’s to be done about it, Mr Hunter? Are we to continue passing pleasantries while secretly wishing for a more intimate relationship?”

“Daventry will disapprove.”

“Does he need to know?” She shrugged as if there was nothing illicit about conducting an affair. “You’re in love with your work and have sworn never to trust another woman as long as you live. I plan to leave for the Americas when I gain my inheritance, start a new life in a new world.”

The Americas!

A boulder of a lump formed in his throat. When this was over, he’d assumed they would still be friends. Indeed, he didn’t want to think of her thousands of miles across the ocean.

“If I were to have a dalliance with anyone,” she continued, “I’d want it to be with you. There’s no man I respect or admire more.”

The compliment touched him deeply. “Not even Lucius Daventry?”

“He doesn’t count. Besides, I have no desire to kiss him.”

“But you have a desire to kiss me?”

She smiled. “We’ll talk about our growing attraction during dinner this evening. For now, we must take a trip across Blackfriars Bridge and visit the emporium. If we’ve time, we will call at Lord Meyer’s abode.”

Reluctantly, Eli pushed all romantic inclinations from his mind. He reached for the note Daventry’s man had brought an hour earlier.

“Daventry has friends in high places. This is a letter from the Home Secretary, granting us permission to question all the witnesses, including Lord Meyer. He’ll have no option but to comply with Peel’s request.”

Most of the time, it wasn’t what a suspect said that made one doubt his version of events, but the way his eyes shifted, the way he held his body tense. Without Peel’s letter, there’d be no way to study Meyer.

Miss Gambit clapped her hands. “Then let’s be on our way. The quicker we achieve today’s objectives, the quicker we can discuss our personal affairs.”

* * *

Of the many shops along Surrey Street, only one had a queue of customers that stretched almost as far as Blackfriars Bridge. A tangible excitement hummed in the air. Ladies giggled hysterically, captured by a frenzy that left them in a mad state of agitation.

Eli led Miss Gambit to the back of the queue. “We’ll not reveal ourselves to Belton until we’ve seen what’s causing the commotion.”

Miss Gambit craned her neck and observed the crowd. “To some, murder scenes are more fascinating than rare finds in a museum. Mr Belton will have seen an increase in profits since the horrific incident.”

One glance at the Quality in the queue said Miss Gambit’s observations were correct. Those waiting in line came from the middle and upper echelons. Carriages rolled to a stop outside the curiosity shop. The elegant occupants received preferential treatment and breezed past the eager souls desperate to gain entrance.

“Look, Hunter.” Miss Gambit clutched his upper arm with a familiarity that no longer unnerved him. “That lady swooned straight into her beau’s arms. He’s had to carry her to the carriage.”

The sight should have left him pondering what frightful scene they’d find inside Belton’s Emporium. Instead, Eli imagined playing the gallant hero to the inquisitive beauty beside him. He imagined scooping her up into his arms as he’d done at Vauxhall, carrying her to the safety of his bed.

Hellfire!

In a matter of days, he’d lost all sense and reason.

“Do you think Mr Belton has staged a re-enactment of the crime?” Her fingers wrapped around his bicep. Her essence burned through his coat sleeve, through the fine cambric shirt.

“Judging by the hysteria, it’s the only explanation.”

The gentleman in front glanced over his shoulder. “Like my wife, I presume yours has no interest in Belton’s trinkets.”

Eli looked at Miss Gambit. “Mine has a fascination with the macabre.”

Mine!

Possessiveness surged inside him with the force of Poseidon bursting from the sea. Eli would never marry, never trust a woman with his heart. So why did he feel a need to claim Miss Gambit as his own?

Miss Gambit quickly fell into the role. “My husband is the best of men, sir. He has no interest in trinkets or the macabre and stands here as the strong arm of support.”

The gentleman arched a brow. “A man will endure the fiery pits of hell for his lady love.” He turned back to his wife and clasped her hand.

The comment sent Eli hurtling back to the past. Betrayal flowed like poison in his veins. His bitterness had nothing to do with losing Felicity. Theirs was not a love that moved mountains. Theirs was not love at all.

Eli was still lost in thought when they reached the front of the queue.

A stocky man dressed in mourning and with dried blood splatters on his face greeted them. “Who dares step into the shadows of Lucifer’s lair?” His dramatic voice rang with intrigue. “Who dares venture inside to witness a scene of sheer brutality?” He held out his grubby hand, leant forward and whispered, “That’ll be two shillings apiece, gov’nor.”

“Two shillings to enter the emporium?” Eli challenged.

“Since the murder, I’ve had to hire staff to cope with the crowds. A man has to make a living.” He gave a sly wink. “Don’t you want to see the gruesome scene?”

Ah, so this stout fellow was Mr Belton.

“Indeed.” Eli paid the fee and escorted Miss Gambit into the emporium.

Gone were the china plates, landscape paintings and knickknacks filling the sideboards. Long black curtains hung from rails on the ceiling to make dark, narrow walkways. A young boy dressed in an oversized tailcoat and dusty top hat greeted them.

“Welcome to Belton’s Emporium.” The boy gave a sweeping bow. “Scene of the brutest murder committed this—”

“You mean the most brutal,” Miss Gambit said.

“That’s wot I said.” The boy resumed his performance. “Scene of the most brutest murder committed this century.” He raised a lit lantern and beckoned them to follow him through the makeshift tunnel.

Miss Gambit reached for Eli’s hand. “Don’t let me go, Hunter.”

“I’m here as the strong arm of support, remember.”

As he clasped her hand, pressed his palm to hers with nary a hair’s breadth between them, his mind skipped forward to them catching the traitor. Soon he would have to let her go. Soon they would say their goodbyes, part ways for good. Eli would return to his empty house and empty life, and Miss Gambit would sail away to new horizons.

“Was the second day in January when the devil appeared,” the boy recited as he led them through the tunnel. “Like all good Christian folk, the Beltons were busy workin’ behind the counter when Satan came to threaten their livelihood.” They stopped at a small trestle table, and the boy picked up a tatty, blood-stained waistcoat. “This ’ere belonged to the cove wot met a grisly end.”

It did not. Miss Gambit had insisted on examining the victim’s clothing when the magistrate refused to let a woman inspect the body.

Miss Gambit glanced at the stained garment. “Then you should take the waistcoat to the Hatton Garden office as evidence. Keeping it here means you’re hindering an investigation. That in itself is a crime.”

The boy paled. “Well, it ain’t the real waistcoat.”

“Then you shouldn’t advertise it as such.”

A high-pitched squeal came from somewhere behind the curtains.

“Pay it no mind, miss.” The boy jerked his head for them to follow. “The ladies always scream when they see the body.”

“The body is in the mortuary,” Miss Gambit countered.

The lad shrugged. “It ain’t the real body.”

“Is there anything here that isn’t staged?” Eli asked.

“The bloodstain is real.”

“Then take us to the bloodstain.”

They weaved through the dark walkways and came to a trunk of rusty old weapons. With his lantern raised, the boy pointed to red marks on the boards.

“So the victim was stabbed here?” Eli asked.

“That’s what old Belton said.”

Eli considered the scene. The stab to the heart required precision and upper body strength. The youth who had suffered systematic abuse at his stepfather’s hands possessed neither.

“For there to be this amount of blood, the perpetrator must have thrust the sword into the victim’s chest and removed it instantly.” An impossible feat for someone as slight as David Scrivens.

“Best ask Belton. I’m paid to take punters around, gov’nor.”

“Where is Mrs Belton?”

“With the body. It helps calm the ladies. Belton wants us to get through the punters quickly and don’t want anyone swoonin’ and holdin’ up the queue.”

Because money mattered more than seeking justice for a murdered man.

With a firm grip on Miss Gambit’s hand, Eli pushed past the boy and strode to the end of the walkway. A stout woman stood over a tailored mannequin. Trousers stuffed with straw acted as the victim’s legs. The head was fashioned out of a grain sack filled with old clothes. Belton had thrust a longsword through the padded chest and must have hit it with a mallet to secure it to the boards. Blood pooled around the entrance wound and trickled onto the floor.

Mrs Belton began her dramatic narrative, but Eli raised a hand to silence her. “Newspaper reports say your husband wrestled Scrivens into the pantry.”

Taken aback by the comment, it took her a few seconds to nod. “Yes, the blighter was like a rabid dog, snarling and snapping and foaming at the mouth. He’d have killed us both had we not acted so quickly.”

“Where is the pantry?” Miss Gambit said.

“Through the door behind the counter.”

“May we see the murderer’s temporary prison?”

Mrs Belton frowned. “It ain’t on the tour.” She tried to usher them on. “Move along, else you’ll hold up the queue.”

“Did you see Scrivens stab his stepfather?” Eli asked.

The woman winced and recoiled. “Oh, it was a gruesome sight to behold, sir. It haunts my dreams, torments my waking hours, too. I can still see the devil charging, can still hear the sword slicing through cloth and skin.”

Being a woman of keen mind—unless when in her cups—Miss Gambit pounced on the glaring inaccuracy.

“Scrivens took the sword from the trunk of weapons, did he not?”

“That’s right, dear. Best we keep them locked in a cupboard from now on.”

“The body was found next to the trunk. So why would Scrivens need to charge at his victim?”

Mrs Belton’s eyes widened, and her double chin sagged. “Well, it’s obvious, ain’t it?”

Miss Gambit shrugged. “Not to me.”

“He charged to the trunk and snatched the sword. Yes. Yes. The blighter had been pestering his stepfather to buy one. That could be why he killed the man.”

Scrivens pestering a man who beat him most days? It was highly unlikely.

It was Eli’s turn to apply a little pressure. “The murder weapon measures three and a half feet. Judging by the width of the trunk and the other weapons stored inside, the sword is too long and had to be stored elsewhere.”

This time, Mrs Belton gulped. She stood dazed, her face a perfect picture of guilt. Then panic set in, and she called for her husband.

“Harold! Harold! Come quickly!”

The man, whose neck was as wide as Eli’s waist, came bounding through the tunnel. “What is it, woman? I’ve got a queue a mile long. There’ll be riots if no one’s guarding the damn door.”

Mrs Belton stabbed her finger at Miss Gambit. “These people ain’t leaving.”

Mr Belton gave a frustrated sigh then firmed his jaw.

Fixing them with a menacing glare, he leant closer. “Now listen ’ere. Be on your way else I’ll have to remove you myself.”

Blood pumped through Eli’s veins as he squared his shoulders. “I could kill you where you stand, Mr Belton. Best not let matters get out of hand.” For fear of them packing up shop and fleeing into the night, Eli decided not to accuse the couple of murder and perjury. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “But we’ve seen enough and will be on our way.”

With a guiding hand on Miss Gambit’s back, Eli led her out of the emporium. He waited until they reached his carriage, parked on the opposite side of Surrey Street, before relaying his suspicions.

“Now I’m certain Scrivens is innocent of the crime.”

Miss Gambit climbed into the carriage. “Mr Belton is guilty, and his wife is his accomplice. We just need to discover why and be able to prove it in court.”

Eli told his coachman to take them to Lord Meyer’s abode in Upper Brook Street, then settled opposite Miss Gambit. As always when they were alone together, his thoughts drifted from the case to the woman who haunted his dreams.

If I were to have a dalliance with anyone, I’d want it to be with you.

Eli could commit to nothing more, yet every nerve in his body said it wouldn’t be enough. Indeed, one taste of her lips had left him with an undeniable craving only she could sate.

“Hunter? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, but what motive could they have for killing a customer? And why would a member of Themis think it so important they’d risk their life and reputation to steal the case notes?”

“Now Mr Daventry has returned from visiting Lord DeVille, we should ask if his agents could investigate Mr Belton’s background. Honora and Eliza haven’t been assigned cases. Perhaps they could help.”

“I assume they’re the ladies Daventry hired.”

“Yes, but he’s very particular about who they work for.” She gave a curious hum. “When you told him you wanted to hire an agent, did he mention the other ladies?”

“No, he insisted on sending you.”

Daventry demanded Eli give her an opportunity to prove her worth.

“Perhaps he knew we’d work well together. I’m rather forward of manner, and you’re quite reserved. We complement each other. It’s what’s needed in a case.”

Eli thought to tease her. “You think me reserved? I’m more than free with my affections when I’m with someone I like.”

A coy smile played on her lips. “Based on the wild kiss we shared at Trēowith, it’s clear you like me, Mr Hunter.”

“Based on the kiss we’ll inevitably share soon, you can be certain of that, Miss Gambit.”