Chapter Thirteen
W ith Logan by her side, Amelia made her way along fog-draped streets to a rough-hewn workman’s tavern. A gas lamp on the corner cast hazy light over the pub’s massive door. Instinctively, Amelia lifted a hand to cover her face as a fetid stench wafted from the gutter beside the stone and brick building. Good heavens, the place was dismal, far worse than she’d imagined. What measure of desperation had driven Helen Tanner, a woman who had displayed a taste for elegance and expensive surroundings, to take refuge in this putrid place?
As they neared the entrance, a slovenly man stumbled out of the place, muttering foul words with each uneven step. He cast his bleary gaze at Amelia, leering at her until he glanced at her imposing escort. Mumbling a vulgarity under his breath, he turned on his heel and drunkenly staggered away.
Steps beyond the building, a rustling in the shadows unleashed a shiver down Amelia’s nape. Was a creature scavenging in the darkness? Or was something more threatening waiting to strike?
She dragged in a low breath, as if that could steady her nerves. Goodness, she was letting her imagination run away with her, wasn’t she? Seeming to sense her twinge of fear, Logan reached for her, placing his fingers on her arm in a light but steady touch. Odd, really, how his presence reassured her. Days earlier, she could not have imagined taking comfort in his nearness, in the strength of his determination to watch over her.
“I suspect someone connected with the rotter who came after ye is waiting to finish what he started.” His voice was low and rough-edged as he gestured to the crudely painted image of a jester on the tavern door. “Any woman Paul might have fancied would never take up residence in this hellhole.”
“She’s here.” Amelia looked up to the windows on the upper floors. “I’m quite sure of it. Helen would not deceive me.”
He cocked a brow. “Ah, that’s right, a fortune teller who cheats gullible fools. Honest as the day is long, she is.”
“Actually, this tavern may be a clever choice for a hideaway. No one would think to look for her here.”
“With good reason.”
“I must admit, I am thankful I do not have to face what lies within this place all on my own.”
He caught her hand within his long, warm fingers. “So, Amelia, ye did not wish to wander alone into a lion’s den.”
“Lion’s den? A wee bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?”
“I know what I’m talking about, lass. Stay with me.”
“You think I don’t know how to deter an overly amorous gent?”
“Not when ye do not have yer growling little beast to defend ye.”
“An excellent point. Just think, if I’d brought Heathy along, you could be at home, asleep in your bed.”
“There is not a chance in Hades I would see ye venture into the night on yer own, wee guard dog or not.” His jaw hardened. “Don’t let yerself get separated from me. By this time of night, even the blokes still on their feet are deep in their cups.”
Taking in his somber expression, she bit back a retort to his commanding tone. They were heading into a world he knew well. She’d be wise to take him at his word.
He opened the door and led Amelia through the entrance. Gas lamps on the wall cast sparse light over the patrons. Staying close, Logan’s possessive stance sent an unspoken signal that she was under his protection. A man who stank of liquor and sweat grinned at her from a table, his ugly expression betraying the gist of his thoughts. Another towering drunk ambled toward her. This one boldly reached out, daring to try to touch her.
Logan clamped a hand over the man’s forearm. “I’d think twice if I were ye.”
Though taller than Logan by half a head, the drunk’s eyes betrayed a flicker of fear. With a nod, he waited for Logan to release him, then beat a hasty retreat.
Steadying her resolve, Amelia scanned the crowd. She spotted a gaunt-faced scarecrow of a man sitting by himself in the corner. His eyes gleamed with interest as he motioned to her with a slight crook of his finger. When she met his gaze, he nodded, confirming his action had been intended for her.
Logan had seen the gesture as well. He nudged her protectively behind him before escorting her to the table.
“She’s waiting for you.” The straw-haired man inclined his head toward the spiral staircase. He shot Logan a glare beneath hooded lids. “But only the woman.”
“I’ll take no orders from ye,” Logan shot back, voice hard as flint.
The man’s shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “I am only the messenger,” he said, his attention drifting to the ale in his glass. “Look for the crest.”
Curving a hand over her wrist, Logan led Amelia to the stairs. “Stay alert,” he warned as they began their ascent. Despite his comforting presence, Amelia’s mind raced. Was Helen Tanner the key to uncovering the truth behind Paul’s death? Or was this another attempt to prey on Amelia’s still-raw grief?
As they reached the landing, Amelia saw that each room bore a sign on its door that depicted an animal—a crudely painted lion, a bear that looked decidedly unhappy, a rooster depicted with overly ornate feathers. She spotted a vivid emblem on a door at the end of the corridor, a coat of arms in shades of blue and gold. The painter’s work displayed a precise talent, unlike the other rather crudely rendered images.
Keeping his dagger at the ready, Logan scanned the hallway as they proceeded to the room. Amelia lifted her hand to knock on the ebony-enameled door, but before she made contact, it swung open.
Helen stood in the doorway. Behind her, an oil lamp on the table of the small, shabby room cast scarcely enough light to illuminate her features, her familiar green eyes now shadowed against her ashen, hollow-cheeked complexion. Wrapped in a plain cloak in gray wool, she’d covered her hair with its unadorned hood, but she could not hide all of her abundant curls. Helen’s hair had been a glorious copper-red. Now, the tendrils were dull as ashes in a hearth. Had she deliberately disguised the vibrant hue?
Amelia bit back her little gasp of surprise. It scarcely seemed possible that this wraith of a woman was the vivacious beauty who’d once laughed and smiled as she told Amelia’s fortune. What had she suffered since Paul had been killed?
“You were to come alone.” Helen’s whisper-quiet tones confirmed her identity. “You’ll get us both killed, you little fool.”
Amelia met her cold stare. “You will have to trust him. Or I will have to be on my way.”
“I know better than to trust anyone. Even you.” Helen’s mouth thinned to a hard slash, but she stepped aside, allowing them to enter. She closed the door and bolted it behind them. “But I want the bastards to pay for what they did.”
“Ye know who murdered her brother, do ye?” Logan questioned.
“I do not know who killed Paul.” The despair in Helen’s voice seemed a warning. “But I know who wanted him dead.”
“Then tell us,” Amelia pressed. “Please, I must know the truth.”
Helen laced her fingers into a knot. “What did Paul tell you about his last trip to Paris?”
“As I understood it, he went to acquire a painting for one of his clients.”
Slowly, Helen shook her head. She tipped back the hood, allowing a better look at her overly thin features.
“He lied to you.” She twisted her hands, as if the words she spoke were a misery. “I only wish he had lied to me as well.”
Logan pinned her with his gaze. “Tell us what ye know, Miss Tanner.”
“Your brother did not go to France in search of an artist’s work. He was there to perform a very specific task for... shall we say, an unusual client. After he returned, he was not the same.”
Amelia dug her fingers into her palm, battling the apprehension welling within her. “What happened to him?”
“A man was murdered.” Helen dropped her gaze to her linked fingers. “In cold blood.”
Pulling in a low breath, Amelia fought for calm. “Surely Paul was not involved.”
“He played a role.” Helen’s voice cracked. “He didn’t think there would be violence. The plan was sophisticated. No one would even know a crime had been committed. But something went wrong.”
“Please, Helen, tell us what happened,” Amelia implored.
“One of Paul’s clients was a criminal—the man calls himself Mr. Hawk. He deals in art forgeries and... worse. Much worse. This time, he’d schemed to pass off a painting as a newly discovered Rembrandt. He paid your brother to provide authentication of the piece.”
“But how could Paul have allowed himself to be deceived in such a way?” Amelia asked, grasping onto a faint hope that he’d been an unwitting participant in the plot. “He had a thorough knowledge of Rembrandt’s works. How could he have believed it was genuine?”
“He didn’t.” Helen’s voice was little more than a rasp. “Paul knew it was not real... he knew what he was doing.”
“Why?” The world tilted beneath Amelia’s feet. “Why would Paul involve himself in such a reprehensible scheme?”
Helen stared down at her hands, seeming to search for the answers. “He owed Mr. Hawk quite a large sum. Hawk had some sort of connection with the gents at one of the clubs Paul frequented. Paul had always had a taste for playing cards. But it turned into something he didn’t want to control. Especially when it seemed he couldn’t lose.”
“But his luck turned.” Logan’s tone was grim.
“Ah, that is an understatement.” A rueful expression thinned her mouth. “At the time, I wondered if the games had been rigged. To my eyes, it seemed he was being manipulated by a masterful cheat. I suspect I only knew the half of it. Through an associate, Hawk advanced Paul funds to cover his losses. Enough to avoid ruin.”
A terrible understanding washed over Amelia. “But then the debt came due.”
“Paul knew he’d lose everything. He would be destroyed. When Hawk’s representative offered an arrangement that would settle his debt, Paul believed he had no choice. He traveled to Paris and offered an appraisal that was an utter lie.” Helen sighed. “If only that had been the end of it.”
Logan studied her, questions in his eyes. “You believe Hawk had Paul killed?”
“I don’t believe Hawk ordered Paul’s death. I know .”
“You have proof?” Logan demanded.
“There is evidence.” Helen moved to the window, brushed back the drapes, and peered down to the street below. “After he returned from France, Paul learned of a murder in Paris. The collector he’d deceived had been murdered. The killers stole a fortune in jewels from a safe in the unfortunate man’s home.”
Amelia’s blood chilled. “Dear God.”
“Paul suspected Mr. Hawk’s involvement.” Helen’s slender shoulders trembled. “But he was afraid to go to the authorities. If he’d confessed what he’d done, he would have been sent to prison. Or worse. The guilt tormented him. There was no escaping it. He needed the truth. So he confronted Hawk’s representative.” Miserable regret colored through her tone. “Oh, God, I should have stopped him.”
Logan allowed Helen a moment to collect herself before pressing for more. “What happened then?”
“Mr. Hawk’s representative claimed Hawk had no part in the murder, but he offered Paul an incentive,” Helen said. “In exchange for his silence.”
“An incentive?” A raw bitterness rose to the back of Amelia’s throat. “Of what sort?”
“Paul would not tell me what they had discussed. He thought I would be safer that way. But he spoke as if the man had offered him a rare treasure.”
Treasure. The word echoed in Amelia’s thoughts. The man who’d attacked her in the library had demanded answers she had not possessed.
Where is the bloody treasure?
Where is the blasted diamond?
Had Paul accepted a precious gem as payment from a killer? Dear God. Suddenly, the floor seemed to sway beneath her feet. She pulled in a breath to steady herself.
“Please tell me Paul did not accept the bribe,” she said, though the look of sadness on Helen’s face was all the answer she needed.
Helen stared down at her hands. “If only I could.”
A muscle in Logan’s jaw clenched and unclenched with tension. “He took the bait.”
Helen brushed a tear from her cheek. “He planned to use it as evidence against Mr. Hawk.”
Logan pinned her with his gaze. “Tell me where I can find the man who works for Hawk.”
“I can’t.” She turned away from the window. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Do ye possess Paul’s correspondence?”
Helen gave her head a miserable shake. “Only the letters he’d trusted me to deliver to your hands.”
“Surely he gave some hint as to where Mr. Hawk’s associate could be found,” Amelia persisted gently.
“I don’t know. Now, the cold-blooded bastard who sent his thugs after Paul wants me dead.” Helen’s words seemed to catch in her throat. “And I suspect they will come after you as well.”
“So that’s it, then,” Logan said. “Hawk—whoever the bloody hell he really is—wants the bribe he’d given to Paul.”
“Paul assured me he’d hidden it away somewhere safe, in a place where Hawk’s thugs would never think to look,” Helen twisted her hands in a miserable knot. “But now I fear he lied to me.”
Amelia met Helen’s stricken gaze. “Please, tell us where he hid it.”
“I can’t.” Helen laughed, the sound low, nearly crazed. “You see, Amelia—he entrusted the treasure to you.”
*
Amelia reached for the back of a nearby chair, bracing herself as the shadowed walls of the cave-like room seemed to close in on her. She dragged in a breath to ease her racing pulse. “You’re mistaken. My brother gave me nothing for safekeeping.”
“I know what he told me.” A small sob cracked Helen’s voice. “I saw the fear in his eyes. He knew Mr. Hawk would try to silence him. But he thought he had more time.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “When did Paul give ye the letters ye sent to me?”
“He left the letters with me on the night he died. He knew Amelia would likely be in danger... he knew he would need your help.” Helen went to the window and eased back the curtain again, just enough to peer into the darkness. “Paul told me to hide them away. Until they were needed.”
Amelia joined her at the window. “Where did you take refuge?”
“This was not the first time I’d had to stay out of a dangerous man’s reach. I know how to disguise myself, how to hide in plain sight. That skill has aided my survival as much as my knowledge of the tarot.”
“How did you know to deliver the letters?” Amelia asked gently. “Why now?”
“I heard talk on the street that a man was looking for me.” The curtain shimmied from Helen’s hold. She turned to Amelia. “And for you.”
“Thank you for alerting Mr. MacLain.” Amelia clasped Helen’s hand in hers. “You may have saved my life.”
“Your brother meant the world to me. He regretted everything he’d done. It tore at his heart to think he’d put you in danger. I could not live with myself if something happened to you.” Helen’s eyes glistened with tears. “These days and nights since he’s been gone have been hell on earth. Soon, I will be away from this place.”
“Paul loved you, Helen. Tell us how we can help you.”
“Don’t worry about me. In the morning, I will be on a steamer sailing far away from here. Far from the bastard who wants me dead. And you—you must do what Paul would’ve wanted you to do. You must leave this city. You must go away, far out of Mr. Hawk’s reach. If you don’t, even a man like MacLain won’t be able to save you.”
*
As they made their way from the tavern to his carriage, Logan drew Amelia nearer, even as he held his senses on high alert. Detecting no sign of a threat on the hazy street, he led her to the carriage where Finn Caldwell awaited their return, lounging against the conveyance as if he didn’t have a bloody care in the world.
“I don’t understand.” Amelia’s voice was raw with fresh grief. “Not any of this. Why would Paul do such a thing?”
“Yer brother was a good man. But if the woman is telling the truth, desperation can drive a man to cast aside his principles.”
“If only he’d told me what he was going through.”
“He feared ye’d think less of him.”
An all-too-familiar tension clawed at his insides. God only knew he’d had a bitter taste of shame. He’d spent his youth looking for a quick path to riches. Until his arrogance in a cesspool of a pub nearly led him to an early grave.
Paul had saved his neck that night.
Bloody shame he had not been able to return the favor.
He’d never told his father what happened that night when Paul had taken the shot that saved his life. In Da’s eyes, Logan had been a wastrel. God only knew he hadn’t needed one more reason to be ashamed of his son.
Months after that bitter night, Logan had confided the truth to his older brother. Ewan had listened to the tale without judgment. He’d understood Logan’s hunger for a life beyond Da’s notion of a respectable existence.
Logan shoved the bitter memory to the back of his mind. Bugger it, he’d no cause to dwell on regrets best left buried. He had to focus on protecting the woman who walked at his side.
Her expression had turned pensive. “I would have stood by him,” she said. “I would not have looked upon my brother with scorn. But he wanted... I suppose he needed to shield me.”
“Paul would’ve done anything to protect ye, no matter the cost.”
“I don’t believe Helen was lying. But perhaps she’s got it wrong. At least some of it,” Amelia said. “The notion that Paul gave me a treasure to hide is pure folly. Surely he would not have wanted to put me in danger.”
As they neared the coach, Finn opened the door and let down the metal steps. With a tip of his hat to Amelia, he climbed onto the driver’s bench.
Logan assisted her into the carriage. How on earth was she able to navigate the narrow treads while her cumbersome skirts swayed about her legs? As she settled herself on the upholstered bench, Logan confirmed their destination with Finn, then joined her inside the compartment.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned closer. “Amelia, did yer brother give ye anything before he was killed?”
“Nothing of great value. There was one thing, a gift I truly cherished.” Amelia’s eyes went wide, and her body tensed, as if every nerve in her body had fired at once. “Good heavens! The doll!”