Chapter 27
Peter Kendrick was well past the point of exhaustion.
He’d barely slept since the fire, and what little rest he’d managed to get had been found in his chair.
There was simply too much work to take care of.
He’d had no choice but to interview every person who’d watched Croft House burn — anyone who might have witnessed what happened. How it all began.
This had taken an eternity, even with Gabriella’s help.
She’d been magnificent. A priceless asset during a difficult night.
He glanced across at the cot he’d told Anderson and Lewis to set up in his office.
Gabriella had refused to use it at first. If Peter wasn’t going to rest, then neither would she.
Until he’d suggested she lie down for only ten minutes — that he’d do the same afterward.
This had been roughly five hours ago, a little after six in the morning.
A smile pulled at his lips as he watched her sleep. So quiet and peaceful, her features softened by slumber. Entirely different from the spirited bossiness she so often gave way to when she disagreed with someone else’s opinion. Mostly his, of course.
Yet despite this aspect of her personality, Peter could honestly say that he’d never been happier.
Marrying her was by far the best decision he’d ever made.
And somehow, they managed to make their differences work.
In a way, these added color to their relationship.
Perhaps because when they argued, they did so with the utmost respect for each other.
He yawned and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
The reports he’d been writing remained half-finished.
Once complete, he’d have to head back to Portman Square and assess the scene in the light of day.
This would lead to yet another report, beyond which there were other crimes for him to deal with, starting with Lady Edwina’s continued disappearance and the violent deaths that happened a few evenings ago at The Albion Hotel.
One would think that figuring out what occurred there would be straightforward, yet finding witnesses was proving a chore. So was identifying the body of one of the victims.
When he’d asked Croft about it the day before last, he’d said he knew nothing about it. Although he’d sounded convincing, Peter wasn’t sure he believed him. The level of violence that greeted him at the scene had Croft’s signature all over it.
Especially when combined with the fact that Croft was actively trying to find Wrengate’s sister.
But why would she remain missing if Croft had spirited her away from her abductors? Why would she not have returned home yet?
Peter expelled a weary sigh and scratched the back of his head.
He’d get back to that later.
As of right now, he intended to find some breakfast for when Gabriella woke. The bakery down the street would have warm pies ready for luncheon at this hour. He’d purchase a few, then prepare a fresh pot of coffee for himself as well as some tea for her.
He pushed himself upright and stretched, then threw on his jacket and headed toward the door.
No sooner had he opened it than he spotted Gordon, the most inexperienced of his Runners, and Croft. Gordon’s fist was raised as though he’d been ready to knock.
“Forgive me, Mr. Kendrick but—”
Peter set his index finger over his lips as a sign for him to be quiet, then waved both men back and pulled the door shut.
“My wife is sleeping in there,” he explained, keeping his voice low. “I’d rather not wake her yet. It’s been a long night.”
“Indeed it has,” Croft agreed. He glanced along the length of the corridor. “Is there another room in which we can talk?”
“I was actually on my way to the bakery,” Peter said. “Why don’t you accompany me?” To Gordon he said, “I’m still waiting for The Globe’s preliminary report on the fire. If you could please follow up on that, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll see to it right away.” Gordon hurried off, and Peter started toward the front of the building with Croft at his side.
“As I mentioned last night, I’m terribly sorry this happened to you,” Peter said as they exited the building. “I can’t even fathom your loss.”
So many memories destroyed. Over seventy years’ worth of family history turned to ash. According to the property records Peter had reviewed, the home was built in 1748.
“It still feels so unreal,” Croft said. “Even after seeing what is left of my house earlier today, I almost expect to find it untouched when I return to Portman Square later.”
Like waiting for a loved one to walk through the door after they’d died.
“I trust you’re staying with Marsdale for the time being?” Peter could already smell the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread. His stomach clenched in anticipation.
“Yes. He’s been very hospitable.” They walked another few paces. “I did not come here to exchange such inane information with you, however.”
Peter sent Croft a sidelong glance. “Do you finally wish to tell me what happened at The Albion?”
“As I’ve already said, I know nothing about that, nor Lady Edwina’s whereabouts.” Croft halted and turned toward Peter, his hand on Peter’s arm, staying his progress. “Finn O’Leary was there last night.”
Peter blinked, then spoke an inaudible curse because of what this implied. The hell that would likely ensue. “You’re certain?”
“You know I wouldn’t have mentioned it unless I am.”
The firm look that followed sent a cool sensation of unease sliding across Peter’s skin. No good would come of this. “Why are you mentioning it to me?”
A question he didn’t want answered, yet one he felt compelled to ask.
“Because I’m going after him, and I want your help.”
Peter recoiled, then glanced around, fearful someone might have overhead. Seeing no one else within earshot, he hissed, “I am an officer of the law. You cannot ask me to help you” – he dropped his voice to a whisper – “do away with someone.”
“What I’m requesting is manpower. Nothing else.” When Peter prepared to protest some more, Croft leaned in, his face set in stone. “You owe me, Kendrick. For Gabriella.”
Heat shot to the top of Peter’s skull. He gritted his teeth, the anger that flashed through his body obliterating any previous diffidence felt toward this man. “That was you repaying me for when I helped you cheat death. I thought we were square.”
“We will be once this is over.”
“Or what?” Peter glared at Croft while wishing he’d had the good sense to let him hang.
Instead of answering, Croft leaned back on his heals, released Peter’s arm, and flicked a piece of ‘something’ off Peter’s lapel.
“Meet me tonight at the coffee shop on Gosfield Street. Eight o’clock.
And bring your men. They’ll need to cordon off all the streets surrounding Hanson Street.
No one gets in or out of that area after that hour without being stopped and searched. Clear?”
“I’ll not be party to murder,” Peter informed him.
Croft angled his head. “You’re awfully righteous for someone who was willing to plant evidence and change a few facts to protect the woman you love.
” A soft chuckle accompanied a firm pat on the shoulder.
“I expect you to be there tonight. If you’re not and O’Leary escapes, I’ll hold you personally responsible, Kendrick. And that’s not something you want.”
* * *
“Have you considered asking Croft to help us with the Albion case?” Gabriella asked Peter. He’d been in a rotten mood since she’d woken. Probably due to his lack of sleep. “Seems like the sort of thing he might know something about.”
Although she knew her husband’s relationship with the man was difficult, and while she herself had initially disliked him, there was no denying the way in which he’d come to her aid. She would without doubt have been sentenced to death for murder had it not been for him.
“No.” Peter spoke firmly. “I’ve marked that case as strictly confidential for now.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” Gabriella confessed. He’d made no mention of it until this moment, and now…
Peter’s gaze snared hers. “Two men were killed, including Mr. Henshaw, who happened to be one of the wealthiest businessmen in London. That means other powerful men might be involved, so for now, the interviews we’ve conducted and other pertinent details remain between us.”
Gabriella’s pulse leapt. She swallowed while fidgeting with her skirt, aware of the admission she now had to make and the argument that might follow.
A wave of heat pricked the nape of her neck. “I, um… I may have mentioned our lack of progress regarding this case to my godfather when we—”
“What?” Peter stared at her as though she’d confessed to a crime.
“He often asks me about the work I’m doing.”
“And you thought you were at liberty to share information about open cases with him?” Disbelief thinned Peter’s voice.
“We’re speaking of a prominent member of the peerage. A trusted family friend who’s been concerned about my well-being after what happened with Sally Finch. Much like Papa, he just wants to make sure I’m staying safe.”
“Your father is the Chief Magistrate, Gabriella.” It sounded like Peter struggled to grasp her explanation. “You cannot compare others to him when it comes to Bow Street matters.”
“You’re right,” she whispered, guilt pouring through her. “I’m sorry.”
He answered with a brittle laugh. “As if I’m not already enough of a laughing stock.”
“That’s not true, Peter. You’re an excellent investigator.”
“Who is still doing his best to make up for past blunders. The last thing I need is for others to know I’m struggling.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated while trying to think up a way in which to right the wrong she’d made.
“I shouldn’t have to provide a detailed outline of what you can and cannot do in this line of work,” Peter said. He scrubbed his face with his hand. “As for me, I didn’t expect my wife to share my shortcomings with others.”
For the first time in her adult life, Gabriella felt like a child. Yes, she admitted she’d made an error in judgement, but getting chastised for it by Peter – the man she loved and admired – made it much worse.
“If it makes any difference,” she tried, “the focus of our conversation was mostly on Croft.”
“So that’s why you want to know if I plan to involve him? So you can reveal my intentions?”
“No, I…” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “Given the nature of our agreement with him, it is a valid question.”
“Right.” He scratched the back of his head, then sighed.
“In future, if anyone who isn’t directly involved in a case wants to know about it, tell them you’re not at liberty to discuss it.
Or if for whatever reason you find that difficult, just say you don’t know and then point them in my direction so I can deal with it for you. All right?”
Gabriella nodded. “Yes.”
The truth was she should have known better, but there were certain people in her life – family mostly – with whom she’d always been open and honest. Because she knew she could trust them.
And while they weren’t directly related, her godfather was one such person. He’d always been there for her, ready to offer advice if needed. She had no doubt she could count on him to keep her confidence.
The problem, however, was that in doing so, she’d broken Peter’s confidence in her.
So when he came toward her, slowly closing the distance, a knot formed in her throat as emotion took over.
She gulped down a breath, the wretchedness that accompanied the awareness of her wrongdoing spiraling though her.
“And if you ever want to just talk a case through,” Peter said while enveloping her in his arms, “I’m here, ready to listen.”
“I feel like such a fool,” she said, hating that this was how he might see her from this moment onward.
“A little careless and inconsiderate perhaps in this instance,” he murmured, “but not a fool.”
He kissed her then, assuring her that despite what she’d done, he forgave her. Most likely because he realized she wouldn’t so easily forgive herself. As such, there was no chance this would ever happen again.
From this moment onward, she would do better.