More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 17

Rachel was ratherproud of herself, truth be told. Lemon juice stung the eyes, but one had to have a perfect aim for it to be a suitable weapon. Eli looked impressed, and so she gave a confident smile and pointed to the blackguard groaning on the floor.

“It’s not Jacob Hanaway,” she said with utter relief upon noting the man’s thin frame. She picked up a piece of strewn paper and examined the markings. “It seems our intruder is keen to steal all evidence of the coded letter.”

Eli closed in on the miscreant. He grabbed the fellow’s wrists and dragged his hands from his face. Despite the darkness, Rachel recognised him instantly.

“If you’re so desperate for information, might I suggest you call at a respectable hour.” Eli hauled the Council member to his feet. “Truscott wishes to know whether you’re close to breaking the code, Miss Gambit.”

“And I would have happily told him had he made an appointment.” After Mr Truscott’s interference at Trēowith, Rachel wasn’t at all surprised he’d taken matters into his own hands.

Mr Truscott shrugged out of Eli’s grasp. “I knew it!” He rubbed his eyes, but had trouble opening them fully. “The two of you are in cahoots.” He glanced at Rachel’s nightgown. “You’re lovers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Rachel snatched the blanket off the floor. One couldn’t protect one’s modesty and hurl lemon juice with such precision. “Mr Daventry insisted I stay here for my own safety. Mr Hunter woke me to inform me of an intruder in the house. My poor maid is still snoring on her trundle bed if you’d like her to bear witness.”

Jacobs appeared in his robe and nightcap. He raised his candle. “Forgive me, sir. I failed to hear the bell and only woke upon hearing the commotion. Am I to send for a watchman?”

“No, Jacobs. But if you’d light the lamps in the study and fetch a pitcher of water and a linen square, you may retire to bed.”

“Very good, sir.”

Eli turned to Mr Truscott. “Don’t move.”

Rachel knelt and gathered her scribbled notes. “You must see how this looks, Mr Truscott. You object to me investigating the theft of the case files, then you break into Mr Hunter’s home and attempt to escape with the evidence.”

“I came to steal evidence.” He jabbed a finger at Eli. “Evidence he’s the damn traitor.”

Eli laughed. “Perhaps if you’d spent the last few days investigating the Meyers, you might be closer to learning the truth. As it stands, we met with Daventry yesterday, and he asked we visit you to discuss the case. You’ve saved us the trouble of traipsing halfway across town.”

The glow of candlelight in the study preceded Jacobs leaving the room.

“As temporary master of Themis, Miss Gambit, you may sit behind the desk.” Eli waited for her to take her position before forcing Mr Truscott to sit opposite and settling into the chair beside him. “Miss Gambit? Is there anything you’d like to ask Truscott?”

Rachel straightened. “Are you the traitor, sir?”

“Certainly not!” Mr Truscott’s cheeks ballooned with outrage.

“Then perhaps you might explain why you failed to investigate Dr Baker.” Rachel informed him what they had learnt in Brighton. “It took no more than ten minutes to gain the doctor’s confession.”

Mr Truscott rubbed his red eyes. “I sent a man to Brighton, but Dr Baker was away in Eastbourne. I wrote asking if he might comment on his examination of Lady Meyer but received no reply.”

“The best way to learn the truth from a deceiver is to join the game,” Eli said. “Now we have evidence to support Mary’s statement.”

Jacobs appeared with a pitcher and washbowl.

“Wet the linen, Jacobs, and give it to Mr Truscott. Then you may retire.”

Jacobs obliged and left Mr Truscott pressing the damp cloth to his eyes.

“What has this to do with catching the man who stole the sacred seal?” Mr Truscott groaned. “Surely breaking the code is the priority.”

Rachel explained the connection. “The thief’s objective was to steal the files, not the seal. Therefore, the traitor must have an interest in one of the current cases.”

“Lady Meyer’s footman, the one who testified against Mary, is currently hiding in a cottage past Mile End,” Eli informed the man. “We have an agent investigating as we speak.”

Mr Truscott snorted. “Even if the footman retracts his statement, no judge in the land will call a peer’s wife a liar. If we’re to save Mary Harcourt, we must force Lady Meyer to confess.”

“We?” Eli said with some amusement. “Am I to understand you no longer believe we’re conspiring against the Council?”

“I doubt the traitor would work so hard to solve the case.” Mr Truscott paused. “Unless you’re diverting attention away from Belton.”

“Belton is guilty of murder.” Rachel felt the truth of it to the marrow of her bones. She was confident Mr D’Angelo would find the evidence needed. “Tomorrow, we seek to gain his confession.”

Mr Truscott dabbed the cloth to his eyes. “Is the coded letter your only clue to finding the traitor’s identity?”

“Yes.” Rachel gestured to the pile of scribblings. “Hence why I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to decipher the symbols.” And most of the evening solving a more important riddle. She was in love with Eli Hunter. It wasn’t infatuation or an addiction. It was a meeting of souls, hearts and minds.

With some hesitance, Mr Truscott said, “Might I examine the letter?”

Rachel sought Eli’s approval, and he gave a curt nod.

“Of course. We have nothing to hide, sir. It’s time you accepted we’re on the same side.” She reached under the desk and flicked the secret switch. The top drawer clicked open, revealing the coded letter. “We know some are alchemical symbols.” Rachel handed Mr Truscott the document. “Some are astronomical symbols, and some are invented to make it difficult to decipher.”

Mr Truscott studied the letter beneath the lamplight. “Yes, the circle with the dot and arrow is the symbol for Uranus. It was created shortly after the planet’s discovery some forty years ago.”

Unable to contain her excitement, Rachel found the list of deciphered images and added Uranus. “We assumed the first letter of the word is relevant.”

“The upside-down triangle with the line cutting through is the alchemical sign for Earth. I remember it from Greek studies at Eton. It’s one of the primordial elements.”

Heavens! Mr Truscott was extremely knowledgeable. Or was he the traitor feeding them false information?

Rachel filled in the corresponding spaces with the letter E and stared at the paper. “The first word contains four letters and can only be meet.”

Mr Truscott shook his head. “Offhand, I cannot recall any more. But I may have a book or two at home relating to old alchemical symbols.”

“That would be most helpful, sir.”

Eli cleared his throat. “As I said, the best way to learn the truth from a deceiver is to join the game. I have an idea. Once we’ve broken the code, we’ll construct a letter—one arranging another meeting. We’ll send a copy to Lady Meyer and to every council member. Then we’ll gather at the arranged point and see who appears.”

It was an excellent idea. “Only those who know the code will be able to understand the message.” And judging by the letters they had in the first line, it definitely referred to a secret liaison.

“I believe I owe you both an apology.” Mr Truscott squirmed in his seat. The man disliked admitting he was wrong. “It’s evident you’ve been working tirelessly to find the devil who stole the sacred seal.” He pressed his hand to his heart as if about to make the pledge. “You must understand, my great grandfather first served Themis and instilled the importance of truth and loyalty in all things.”

“My father was of the same mind,” Eli said. “But our faith in loyalty can often blind us to the truth.” He referred to the situation with Felicity. “We’re your friends, not your enemy, and serve to protect Themis.”

Mr Truscott pursed his lips and nodded. “Then I’ll help in any way I can. From what I know regarding the case at Belton’s Emporium, I’d say Swanson and Young have been slack in their approach. Both men are usually so thorough.”

“I must agree,” Eli said.

Rachel listened with interest. The men couldn’t have visited the emporium. Else they would know the sword was too big for the chest. And why hadn’t they questioned the boy’s ability to commit the crime?

“Young is suspicious of Swanson after the theft of the key,” Mr Truscott added. “He said Swanson doesn’t seem interested in proving the boy is innocent. Cantrell offered to work with Swanson, but Young refused and said he didn’t want Daventry to think him incompetent.”

One stolen key and Themis had become a hive of mistrust.

“With luck, we’ll have solved the Belton case tomorrow,” Rachel said.

“Assuming the traitor isn’t colluding with Belton.” Eli stood. He seemed keen to bring the conversation to an end. “I’ll send word when we’ve finished at the emporium. When this is over, I suspect Daventry will want to reassess who has a place on the Council.”

Mr Truscott nodded and came to his feet. “May I help with the letter? Help identify the symbols?”

Eli cast Rachel a wary glance.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you take the letter, Mr Truscott, but will copy a few symbols for you to study at home.”

He seemed appeased, so she snatched a piece of paper, drew three signs, and gave it to Mr Truscott.

“Well, sir, we have much to do tomorrow. I shall bid you good night.”

“Yes, yes. I should let you get to your beds.”

Thankfully, Mr Truscott failed to notice Eli’s wicked grin or the twinkle in his eyes that said he longed to return to the privacy of his chamber.

Eli escorted Mr Truscott out of the house and returned to the study ten minutes later. “Truscott underestimated me. He thought he could enter my home, rummage in my desk, and I’d be clueless.”

“It’s difficult to know if we can trust him.” Standing in front of the desk, she turned to examine the words they had deciphered so far. “Meet noon Monday. They’re definitely the first three words.” She pointed to the last word in the sentence. “Do you suppose it’s a place or a person’s name?”

Eli came behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and peered over her shoulder. “It will be a place. There aren’t many in London beginning with G and containing nine letters.”

“Thanks to Mr Truscott, we now know the sign for E.” Rachel filled in the blank spaces. “It starts with green.”

“Greenford.” He kissed her shoulder. “Greenwich. Green Park.”

“The fact the code contains astronomical symbols suggests it might be Greenwich, home of the Observatory.”

“It’s a logical assumption.” Eli kissed the sensitive skin below her ear.

“Judging by the hard length pressing against my buttocks, it would be logical to assume you’re not thinking about the Observatory.”

“Not in the least. It can wait until tomorrow.”

Excitement shivered down to her toes. “Is there something else you wish to study, Mr Hunter?”

“Yes. Clear the desk.” He drew her around to face him, bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers. “I wish to make a thorough study of my favourite subject.”

“Your favourite subject?” she teased, perching on the edge of the desk.

“Hmm. I always preferred anatomy to astronomy.”

* * *

Belton’s Emporium

Surrey Street

“Move along! The emporium is closed today.” Mr Daventry’s man, Mr Bower, waved his rattle and told those queuing in Surrey Street he was a constable from the Hatton Garden office and would arrest anyone causing a disturbance. His hulking frame was enough to terrify the most hardened villain. “Move along!”

“We’ll not warn you again!” Mr D’Angelo sounded equally menacing. “Go home!”

A panicked Mr Belton turned to Eli. “What’s this, sir? We can talk elsewhere. There’s no need to close the shop.” He called for the boy wearing the dusty top hat. “Mind the door. It’s two shillings apiece. Two shillings, do ya ’ear?”

“We’re closing the shop indefinitely,” Rachel informed him. “It’s the scene of a heinous crime.”

“Aye, but they have the murdering devil behind bars.”

“We’ll discuss the matter inside, Mr Belton.”

A handsome coach with a team of matched greys clattered to a stop outside. Mr D’Angelo exchanged words with the occupants, and the vehicle charged away.

“No! Wait!” Mr Belton darted across the pavement and waved frantically at the coachman. “We’ll be open again in ten minutes. Come back.”

Mr Belton had every reason to panic. Having met with Mr Daventry and Mr D’Angelo in Hart Street this morning, Rachel had learnt that the shopkeeper owed a substantial sum to a notorious moneylender in St Giles.

“We’ve permission to search these premises.” Eli showed him Peel’s letter, which looked tatty around the edges. “You’ll come inside, Belton, or I’ll drag you over the damn threshold.”

Resigned to his fate, Mr Belton beckoned them inside while Mr Bower and Mr D’Angelo attempted to disperse the crowd.

Eli rounded up the patrons in the makeshift tunnel, ushered them outside, then closed the door.

“What’s all this?” Mrs Belton braced her hands on her hips as recognition dawned. “Not you again. We ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

“Then I shall do the talking.” Rachel removed her pocket book from her reticule—merely for effect—and flicked to her expenses sheet. “I shall present the evidence beginning with Mr Belton owing the Cartwright brothers five hundred pounds.”

“What? I don’t owe them a penny,” he spat. “I paid them in full last night.”

Last night? Typical.

Rachel kept a stern expression while scrambling for a way to unsettle these devils. “You paid the outstanding balance but failed to pay the interest.”

It was a blatant lie.

Baring rotten teeth, Mrs Belton turned on her husband. “You said you’d paid ’em. You said we’ve nothin’ to worry about no more.”

“I did pay them. They’ve made a mistake.”

“According to Mr Cartwright, the interest is two hundred pounds.”

Mr Belton gulped. “He said the sum covered the interest.”

“He lied.”

“You idiot!” Mrs Belton punched her husband’s arm.

“Shall we move to the next piece of evidence?” Eli said now they were rattled. “The spate of thefts that occurred in December. You reported the crimes, and your neighbours say you complained about a group of light-fingered rogues who work out of The Clifford Inn in Holborn.”

The milliner next door had informed Eli of the fact only this morning.

Mr Belton shrugged. “They’ve caused mischief up and down this street.”

“It ain’t got nothing to do with the murder,” his wife protested.

Eli stepped forward. “It has everything to do with the murder. The first witness to the scene has changed his statement and swears you repeatedly called David Scrivens a thief after locking him in the pantry.”

“That’s because you thought the boy had stolen a knife from the old chest.” Rachel decided to tell another lie. “That’s what the witness said he heard you shouting.” She looked at her book again. “I believe the words used were—you’ll swing, you dirty little thief.”

“Would the boy not swing for murder, Mrs Belton?” Eli said.

“You see, the sword couldn’t have been in the old chest. It’s far too long. Your testimony to me was false, Mrs Belton.” Rachel looked the woman keenly in the eye. “In a moment, an expert will come to look at the bloodstains.” She recalled the ramblings of the chemist who frequented the pawnbroker shop, something about science being the means to understanding the world. “A Frenchman made a recent discovery, a chemical that can be used to identify the presence of blood.” All working folk feared the French.

Being attuned to her thoughts, Eli said, “Our expert will prove Scrivens didn’t carry the sword to the pantry, but that you picked it up, Mrs Belton, and threw it on the floor before locking the door.”

“Me!” Mrs Belton jumped back in shock.

“You picked it up because the boy didn’t murder his stepfather.” Eli’s stern voice conveyed his anger. “A re-enactment of the crime proved Scrivens was too weak to wield the sword.” He scanned the woman’s sturdy frame. “You could wield a sword, Mrs Belton.”

“Me!” She clutched her hand to her chest.

Mr Belton saw an opportunity to escape punishment. He turned to Eli. “The woman lost her mind, sir. One minute she’s behind the counter. The next, she’s charging at the burly fellow. Stabbed him straight through the heart she did.” He lunged and grabbed Eli’s arm. “I’ve been in fear of my life ever since, sir.”

“Me! Me!” Mrs Belton’s face turned beetroot red. “Liar!”

“See, sir, do see how angry she gets?”

“You said the brute was a thief, said you’d teach him a lesson.” In a fit of temper, Mrs Belton grabbed hold of Rachel and shook her. “He snatched the sword from under the counter. He’s been hiding it there since them crooks from Holborn stole a rare porcelain figurine.”

Eli shoved Mr Belton to the floor and glared at the man’s wife. “Release my colleague, madam. Release her else I shall whip up the devil’s own fury.”

“You can’t come in ’ere makin’ threats.” Mrs Belton locked her fat arm around Rachel’s throat. “Happen, you’re the only ones what’s heard the confession. Happen, we’ll run you both through.”

Eli gave a confident grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It wasn’t the first time Rachel had been choked, but Mrs Belton lacked Jacob Hanaway’s determination. Rachel thrust her hand into her pelisse pocket and reached for her knife. She drew the blade, then sank her teeth into the woman’s arm and stamped on her toe.

Howling, Mrs Belton released her.

“Fetch the constable, Mr Hunter.” Rachel pointed the tip of the blade to Mrs Belton’s throat. It took effort not to imagine she was Jacob Hanaway, not to thrust the blade and get rid of the villain for good.

Eli refused to leave but whistled for Mr Bower and Mr D’Angelo, who came charging into the shop. The latter kept hold of Mr Belton while Eli tied the shopkeeper’s hands with rope. Mr Bower ran to fetch a constable, and soon men eager to take the Beltons into custody flooded the emporium.

Having agreed to use his carriage to ferry the Beltons to the Hatton Garden office—though both villains continued blaming each other—Eli left with three constables and Mr D’Angelo in tow.

“I’ll take you home in Mr D’Angelo’s carriage, Miss Gambit.” Mr Bower escorted her out into Surrey Street so the remaining constable could secure the shop. “Mr Hunter insisted I wait at Blackstone until his return.”

“Thank you, Mr Bower, though I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I gave my word, miss. Mr Hunter’s not a man to cross.” Mr Bower opened the door to Mr D’Angelo’s elegant equipage. “You must be relieved, miss. Relieved you’ve solved one case as it brings you closer to finding the traitor.”

“Indeed.” Rachel failed to rouse a smile as she climbed inside.

Relief was not the overriding emotion.

For the first time since finding the strength to leave Lady Hanaway’s home—though after her godmother’s death, she’d had little choice in the matter—uncertainty and fear had a grip on her heart.

She was one step closer to catching a deceiver.

One step closer to leaving Eli Hunter for good.