Chapter 15
“I still don’t see why you couldn’t have waited until I was back in London,” Effie said. “It was only one more day, for heaven’s sake. Given the chance, I might have prevented this disaster.”
Nell was seated beside her friend on the blue silk-upholstered sofa in the Royces’ sunlit drawing room. Effie had seized her hand the moment they’d sat down, holding it tight as Nell related the events that had led to her marriage to Miles. She hadn’t let go yet.
Mr. Royce was by the drawing room window, far enough removed to give Effie and Nell the illusion of privacy, but not so far away that he couldn’t hear every word. Miles had, meanwhile, paced to the fireplace, where he now stood, facing them, his arms folded across his chest.
“It’s done, love,” Mr. Royce said to Effie. “Leave it be.”
Franc hopped up on the sofa next to his mistress. He pawed at her elbow. Effie put her arm around the little poodle in answer, absently drawing him close. “Can it not be undone?” she asked. “Such things are possible.”
“No,” Miles said.
Nell’s gaze jolted to his. It was one of the few times he’d spoken since they’d retired to the drawing room. Thus far, he’d been content to leave the talking to her. One would think he saw no need to justify their situation to their friends—or to anyone.
Effie’s eyes blazed. “And that’s to be that, is it?” she demanded of him. “We must just accept—”
“I’ve accepted it,” Nell said. “Truly, I have.” She hesitated. “Unless Mr. Quincey—”
“So have I,” Miles said resolutely.
Some of the tension in Nell’s muscles eased. She had no wish for this visit to devolve into an outpouring of misery and recrimination over a situation that none of them could change. What on earth would be the point?
“There, you see?” She pressed Effie’s hand. “I know it’s a shock, dearest, but after such a public catastrophe, marriage really was the only solution that would answer.”
Effie gave Nell a kindling look. There was plainly much more she wanted to say. It was equally plain that she wasn’t at liberty to say it in mixed company. Not if the subject of her ire was Miss Corvus.
Nell returned her friend’s gaze, silently promising her that they would speak candidly at the first opportunity. Whatever issues they had with Miss Corvus and the running of the Academy weren’t to be aired in public. Not even in front of their husbands.
“I blame Pettiman,” Effie said. “The infernal hypocrite. What I wouldn’t do if I saw him.”
“Likewise,” Nell replied. “But we have larger concerns than Reverend Pettiman at the moment.” She looked to Miles. “Tell them.”
“My gossip columnist, Lawrence Cowgill, disappeared on Monday,” Miles said. “At the same time, an orphan named Flora Brent was lured from an East End railway platform by a procurer.”
“Miss Brent was on her way to the Academy from a workhouse at my instigation,” Nell explained to Effie. “A special girl, I’ve been told.”
Effie looked at Nell intently. She knew very well what that meant. “Is her fate connected to that of Mr. Cowgill?”
“Their paths crossed at a Whitechapel brothel,” Miles said. “Miss Brent escaped. Cowgill was less fortunate. The girl may well have been a witness to his murder.”
“We need to find her,” Nell said urgently. “And we must find out what Mr. Cowgill knew that led to his death. We’re hoping you and Mr. Royce might be able to help us.”
“What can we do?” Effie asked. “I’m unfamiliar with Whitechapel, but perhaps Gabriel—?”
Mr. Royce stepped forward from the window. “I know a few people there. I could put the word out about Miss Brent and this reporter of yours.”
“For Miss Brent, assuredly,” Miles said. “As for Cowgill…It’s the gentry we’re interested in. His murder may have some connection to the Fawn-Purvis family in Hertfordshire.”
Effie’s ebony brows lifted. “You’re not talking about the newly anointed Lord Amstead?”
“What do you mean ‘newly anointed’?” Miles asked.
“He’s recently ascended to the barony,” Effie said. “I heard Lady Belwood mention it.”
Nell was familiar with Lady Belwood’s name, though she’d never met her in person.
Some months ago, Miss Corvus had arranged for her ladyship to sponsor Effie’s entrance into society.
It had been the first step in the Academy’s plan to ruin Lord Compton.
Lady Belwood had been an unwitting part of that plan—a useful society figure who owed a mysterious debt to Miss Corvus. She’d had no choice but to help them.
“He’s hosting a house party at his country estate next month,” Effie went on. “It’s well in advance of his year of mourning being over. There are some who find the timing in poor taste.”
Nell immediately thought of the third date in Mr. Cowgill’s notebook. She exchanged a charged look with Miles. “When next month?”
“I’m not sure,” Effie said. “I daresay I could find out.” She smiled suddenly. “I know. Why don’t you remain here this afternoon? We can call on Lady Belwood together. It will give us ample time to talk.”
Nell glanced at Miles. His face was absent expression. “I would like to,” she admitted, “but I’m not sure—”
“Nonsense,” Effie said. “Mr. Quincey can certainly spare you.”
Miles straightened from the fireplace. “I do have a great deal of work to attend to at the paper,” he said. “If you preferred to remain here until this evening, it wouldn’t be inconvenient.”
“Not so long as that,” Nell objected.
“My days run late,” Miles said. “I don’t expect I’ll be back at St. James’s Square until after dinner.”
“Splendid.” Effie beamed at Nell. “You can dine with us as well.”
“We’ll see her home in the carriage afterward,” Mr. Royce said to Miles. “She’ll be safe enough.”
“If that’s what she wants,” Miles said.
Nell could detect no insincerity in his offer. No sign of annoyance or impatience. Even so, she had the oddest feeling that he wasn’t entirely pleased by the prospect of leaving her behind.
Nevertheless…
“It is,” she said.
· · · · ·
Miles crossed the drawing room to join Gabriel at the inlaid table by the window. A tray sat upon it, holding a set of cut crystal glasses and a decanter filled with gleaming amber liquid. Brandy, perhaps. Or—knowing Gabriel—more likely whiskey.
The ladies had absented themselves but a moment before.
Gone upstairs, ostensibly so that Nell could assist Mrs. Royce with her unpacking.
There had been reference to gifts bought in Paris, and something about a new hat.
Miles doubted the truth of any of it. Nell and Mrs. Royce had clearly wanted to be private with each other, presumably to discuss Academy business.
Or to discuss the business of Nell and Miles’s marriage.
Miles burned at the thought of his private life being laid open for Mrs. Royce to remark upon.
But there was no avoiding the indignity.
Not when Nell was bosom friends with the woman.
Where Nell was concerned, Mrs. Royce’s interference was inevitable, just as was the unsolicited commentary of Miles’s own childhood best friend.
“Married,” Gabriel said as he poured himself a drink. “And to Miss Trewlove of all women.”
Miles exhaled. “Yes. I know.”
Gabriel poured a second drink for Miles. He passed it to him. “She’s an uncommonly attractive specimen.”
Miles accepted the glass. “I’m aware.”
“And you’re—”
“Not.” Miles acknowledged the fact with ruthless pragmatism. He knew he wasn’t strikingly handsome. Just as he knew he wasn’t warm, overtly sentimental, or suavely romantic. Nell knew it, too. She’d said as much on the train after they’d married.
Given the chance, she’d done just as Miles had predicted she’d do yesterday evening. She had chosen to stay with Mrs. Royce rather than remain with him. This time it was just for the day. Next time…
Who knew.
Miles downed a swallow of his drink with a grimace. It was whiskey, after all. He didn’t normally partake this early in the day, but needs must. “It hardly matters,” he said. “We didn’t wed because of an attraction on either of our parts.”
Gabriel chuckled. “If you say so.”
Miles glowered at him. “What are you implying?”
“That you’re flesh and blood.”
“And have been for many years. I’ve never succumbed to temptation yet. Not when it went so thoroughly against my own inclinations.”
“But this time…the temptation was great indeed.”
Miles finished the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. He set down his glass on the tray. “As productive as this conversation is, I’m due back at the paper.” He turned to go.
Gabriel’s voice sounded at his back. “You should have taken my advice and let the subject of the Academy drop.”
Miles stopped where he stood. “This is my fault, is it?”
“Entirely.”
Miles turned back to face his friend. “Because once a member of the Academy enters the picture, mortal men don’t stand a chance, is that it?”
Gabriel took a drink. “Something like that.”
“That may be the case with your wife—”
“Careful,” Gabriel said.
Miles ignored the warning. “My own is a different matter.”
“I don’t doubt it. Unlike mine, yours chose to make the Academy her life. She was in a position of power. If you imagine you can file her away in a corner while you go on as if nothing has changed, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
Miles stiffened at the charge. It was too uncomfortably close to what he’d originally intended to do. “What do you know of the Academy? Or about my wife’s role there?”
“I know some of the locals in the neighboring village call it the Crinoline Academy. An apt description, I thought—all the ladies girded in steel. Other than that…” Gabriel shrugged. “I know nothing more than you do yourself.”
The Crinoline Academy.
It was indeed an apt description. But as information went, it was nothing like the sort Miles was interested in.
“What has your wife told you about the place?” he asked.
Gabriel leaned back against the windowsill. He swirled his whiskey in his glass. It sparkled like melted gold in the sunlight. “Precious little.”
“Nothing about their curriculum?”
“Ah.”
“Then you do know.”
Gabriel raised his glass to his lips. “I know they can defend themselves.”
Miles recalled Nell raising her cane to Mrs. Pritchard’s chest with a practiced flick of her wrist. “And that’s all?”
“What else? I’ve not yet met Miss Corvus. I’ve never even been permitted inside the gates.”
“No?” Miles’s mouth tipped in a humorless smile. “Perhaps my wife does have more power than yours.”
Gabriel’s pale gaze sparked with immediate interest. “You went inside?”
“I did.”
“To the manor house?”
“I was allowed no further than the gardens. It’s where I proposed.”
“With the charity school looming behind you? And Miss Corvus herself somewhere inside?” Gabriel gave a derisive snort. “I’m amazed you could maintain your focus on Miss Trewlove with an unfinished story to tempt you.”
“I told you, I’m not a slave to temptation.”
“There’s temptation and there’s temptation,” Gabriel said. “So long as you have your priorities straight.”
Miles’s smile took on an edge. “You’re lecturing me about priorities?”
“From a place of experience. Not three months ago, I was ready to sacrifice everything to solidify my position in the Rookery. And look at me now.”
Miles didn’t require a reminder. He’d witnessed his friend’s transformation firsthand.
Gabriel had given up his underworld throne in order to marry the woman he loved.
He no longer ran the Rookery, not in any official capacity.
He now had a completely respectable position on the St. Giles District Board of Works.
A wife, a home, a future in politics. A future, full stop.
And all because he’d lost his heart to a complicated, vexing, and wholly unsuitable female.
“You can’t compare my marriage to yours,” Miles said. “You proposed to your wife out of love. I proposed to mine out of necessity.”
“Very gentlemanly of you, making such a sacrifice.”
“I was thinking of my reputation at the paper.”
“Naturally, you were.” Gabriel finished his drink. “What was Miss Trewlove thinking of, I wonder?”
“She was more reluctant to accept than I was to ask,” Miles answered him. “If that doesn’t explain our relationship, I don’t know what does.”
Gabriel’s mocking smile dimmed with understanding. “So, it’s like that, is it?”
Miles didn’t answer. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, weary of the conversation.
“I must get back to the office. I’ve been out since Wednesday.
It’s inexcusable at any time, let alone with a reporter just murdered.
” Again, he turned to leave. This time, he didn’t stop until he reached the hall, and only then to retrieve his hat and coat from Kilby.
Gabriel followed Miles to the door. “Surely, the owners of the Courant make allowances for a honeymoon? You’re a newly married man.”
“And have spent all of yesterday exploring Whitechapel brothels with my new bride.” Miles settled his hat on his head.
“The honeymoon is over. I’ve a paper to run.
” He glanced back at Gabriel as Kilby opened the door for him.
“See that my wife doesn’t venture into the slum without me, would you?
And if you could exert yourself to finding Miss Brent before anyone else gets themselves killed? ”
Gabriel bowed. “I shall do my utmost.”