Sin With A Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club)

Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

R ichard climbed the narrow staircase to the heavy door at the top and entered the dark, smoky room. There was a large table in the middle of what were somewhat austere surroundings. The windows were opaque with dust, and lit candles threw flickering shadows. The five men who called themselves the Guardians sat, all but one of them puffing on cigars; all but one looked up as he entered. Sir Henry Arlington, the gentleman at the head of the table, shuffled his pile of papers and spoke in a quiet but commanding voice.

“Ah, Richard. Lock the door. We are all now in attendance.”

Richard bolted the door and sat down at the far end of the table, as far from the smoke cloud as he could. For a moment no one spoke, and there was some important throat clearing.

Here in this room were some of the most influential men in the government. They dealt with the shadowy issues, matters the British public were completely unaware of, matters that could undermine society and potentially bring down the Prime Minister and his cabinet. That was the reason they were called the Guardians. They were faceless, nameless, beavering away in secret. And that was how they liked it.

Richard’s father and Sir Henry had been in the same regiment during their army days, but Richard had known nothing of the Guardians until a family tragedy drew him into their shadowy realm. In the aftermath of that tragedy Sir Henry had asked him to join, to take his dead brother’s place.

Now Sir Henry cleared his throat one last time. “Any further unrest in the East End?” he demanded.

“All quiet at the moment,” he was reassured by one man. “I’m keeping an eye on things.”

“Sir Henry, we should discuss the Bossenden Wood riot,” another of the men spoke up, younger than the rest.

“Oh nonsense, Jackson, surely that’s all done with!” butted in an older man, with a large white mustache, lush enough to draw attention from his completely bald head. “They’ve shot the chap—a lunatic—and put the rest of them away. It’s over with.”

But young as he was, Will Jackson was not easily crushed by his more important companions. “I hardly think it’s completely done with, Lord Montague. Eleven men died. The fact that it happened at all is something I think we need to consider. And was Thom really the organ grinder or merely the monkey? Sir Henry?”

Richard watched Sir Henry lean back in his chair and prepared himself for the usual wait while their commander considered the matter. He tended to agree with Lord Montague— the small riot that took place in Kent in May was over and done with. John Thom, a Cornishman, had styled himself as Sir Thomas Courtney and claimed to be the Messiah. He drew people to him with his speeches and even displayed evidence of stigmata. When the authorities began to show an interest in him, he led a rising against them and was shot dead, although not before he’d killed Lieutenant Bennett, who was politely asking him to surrender. Those who didn’t die in the ensuing battle were arrested.

Sir Henry interrupted his musings. “What Lord Montague says makes sense, Will. I think it was more a problem with this particular chap’s brain than any real civil unrest. An aberration. Besides, there’s always discontent among the peasants, what? Surely that can be dealt with at a local level? Richard, you have connections in Kent, what do you think of this Bossenden Wood business?”

All the men turned toward him.

Richard’s life was currently in London, but his family was originally from Kent, where Eversham Manor had been home to generations of Evershams. The house belonged to him now but he rarely visited. He had made a solemn promise to himself when his brother died that he would not live in the family home, he would not claim his rightful place, until his brother’s death was avenged. He meant to honor it.

“Richard?”

Richard roused himself. These men expected him to know what was happening in Kent, and he took his position at this table seriously.

“It’s true Thom was considered an imposter and a lunatic, but there must be a considerable amount of dissatisfaction for him to have gained such a following. These were men who were willing to die for him. Was there someone else behind him, pulling the strings? I don’t know. But I can find out if that is what you want me to do.”

Sir Henry nodded with sudden decision. “Yes, we need to be sure. Remember the Captain?”

A shudder went around the table. Richard felt a pain deep in his chest.

The Captain had been a mysterious figure who had set about causing dissension among the laboring classes in Suffolk and worked his way up to the minor gentry. By the time Sir Henry and his men made the connection between the numerous riots and bouts of lawbreaking, the mysterious Captain had slipped through their net and disappeared. But not before one of their own had died. They’d been made to look like incompetent fools, and they still didn’t understand the Captain’s motive for what he did, or even if he had a motive. It was a very sore point with Sir Henry Arlington and his men.

“Richard, I think any answers you could find to our questions would be helpful. For now we will treat Bossenden Wood as possibly linked to the Suffolk riots. Yes, yes, Montague, I know it’s tenuous, but we can’t be too careful. All agreed? Can we have a show of hands?”

All of the Guardians but Lord Montague raised their hands and agreed with the motion.

“Anything else to discuss, gentlemen?”

Richard shifted in his chair. “I have some information of sorts on Lord Horace Gilfoyle. You are all aware of my . . . more public occupation.” Several men guffawed. “Yes, I see that you are. Well, a young lady has asked for my assistance in gaining the attention of Gilfoyle.”

It had been purely accidental that Richard fell into the game of teaching seduction. A friend had asked for his help with a difficult lady, and soon afterward he was swamped with requests. When he explained the situation to the Guardians, Sir Henry had decided it was as good a cover as any for a spy, and besides, what better way to hear all the latest gossip about town?

“An introduction, do you mean?” asked Sir Henry now. “Surely you’re not that well acquainted with Gilfoyle?”

“No, no, not an introduction. In fact the young lady is well acquainted with Gilfoyle herself. It’s more that she wishes to attract his attention in a romantic way. In fact she imagines she wishes to marry him.” He ended with a serious note in his voice.

There was a moment’s silence as they all considered the possibilities. Horace Gilfoyle had been a man of interest to the Guardians for some time, for although he was from a respectable and wealthy family himself, he had a penchant for living on the edge of society and rubbing shoulders with rascals. They had been following his exploits and noting his friends and contacts. And of particular interest was the news that he’d been in Suffolk during one of the Captain riots.

“I take it this young lady is an unattractive piece?” Sir Henry’s eyes narrowed through the smoke, but there was a twinkle in them that made Richard uncomfortable. The other man had always been adept at reading his mind.

“No, she’s far from unattractive, but that isn’t the point, is it?” He hesitated but decided to keep his indecision to himself— it was none of their business that after a long night wrestling with his conscience, he wasn’t sure whether he could abet Miss Smythe in her plan to marry a man who might be a murderer. “I’ve accepted her commission. It will give me a chance to discover more about Gilfoyle. The lady’s brother is a longtime close friend of Gilfoyle’s, apparently, so she sees quite a bit of him.”

“So the brother may be of interest as well?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“Good. You may have some things to tell us the next time we meet, Richard. Gentlemen!” He looked about the table. “I think we are done.”

They began to leave, but catching a meaningful glance from Sir Henry, Richard lingered until they were alone.

“How long since you’ve been back to your home in Kent, Richard?” his superior asked in an even tone. “Your brother has been dead for years. The house is yours, is it not?”

“Yes, it is. My sister- in- law lives there.”

“And yet you stay away?”

“There’s nothing for me to go back for.”

“I understand how keenly you feel the need to find your brother’s killer, whether or not it was this Captain. But surely you don’t still blame yourself? Anthony knew what sort of work he was involved in. Just as we all do. You cannot blame yourself for what happened to him.”

“I have always believed I could have prevented his death. If I hadn’t fallen out with him. If I’d been there for him. He might have spoken to me— come to me for help.”

“Romantic nonsense. You were not your brother’s keeper!”

When Richard didn’t say any more, Sir Henry shrugged his burly shoulders. “Well, keep your secrets if you must. As long as you do your job. You must remember that the work we do here is far more important than any personal considerations, Richard. It is vital. Sometimes we are all that stands between order and anarchy. We are the guardians at the gates.”

“I will do my job, sir,” Richard said quietly. “I always do.”

Sir Henry nodded and finally released him.

Outside, Richard took several deep breaths. He hadn’t planned to return to Kent. Not yet. Sir Henry was right; Richard had a promise to keep before he resumed his life as a country gentleman. He had to find Anthony’s murderer. He had to put the restless spirit of his brother to rest.