Chapter Twenty-Six
Lady Mary
Ernest was not pleased with me. “We should go back home and pick up Burton.”
I frowned. Yes, we were well into the night, and with the waning moon it was quite dark, but my driver had never wanted me to have a bodyguard before I’d hired Mr. Burton.
Probably because most of the other servants were older than me and would provide little to no protection.
But I didn’t appreciate that Ernest was now questioning my movements where before he would just take me where I asked.
“I don’t need a keeper,” I reminded him. And besides, I’d set Burton to another task this evening.
I leaned farther out of my carriage window, glad Ernest’s presence partially blocked my surveillance from view.
He stood next to the carriage door, and I had to peer around him.
My quarry had been enjoying a drink at a public house down the street from his lodgings for nigh on an hour.
When I’d decided to follow one of my suspects this evening, I’d forgotten how dull the enterprise could be.
“It would be cheaper for him to get his own carriage than to let one for entire nights,” Ernest muttered. My driver didn’t approve of George Platt, I could tell. It might have been because of the pinch we’d witnessed Platt apply to a barmaid’s bottom through the window.
I jerked backward. “Quick,” I whispered. “Back to your seat. He’s on the move.”
I ignored Ernest’s put-upon sigh and kept my gaze fixed on the hackney Platt climbed into. It rolled down the street and turned right at the next intersection.
We followed. Platt’s next stop was a coffeehouse. He was only in there for a few minutes and emerged with a sack in his hand. He lifted a pastry to his mouth as he spoke with his driver.
I swallowed, my mouth dry. I should have brought refreshments. It might be a long night, and it had been some time since I’d taken tea at the club.
We started forward again. Ernest was quite good at keeping the other carriage in sight without getting too close. I might have to increase his salary.
The next building we stopped at was not so innocent as a coffeehouse. There were no windows on the front of the building, and the door was manned by two burly men whose faces appeared carved from stone in the light from the lone gas lamp to the side of the door.
Mr. Platt nodded to them as he scuttled inside.
Ernest stopped the carriage across the street and hopped down from his perch. “A hell, I think. He could be here the rest of the night.”
And Ernest didn’t want to wait that long.
Neither did I.
I pushed out of the carriage, hopping the short distance down. “Damn and blast. Why is the establishment plastered up like a prison? Not a window in sight.” I peered at the doormen. “You don’t think I’d be able to talk my way inside?”
Ernest fell into a paroxysm of coughing. “No, milady.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that would be allowed.”
“Perhaps if you cause a distraction….”
“No, milady,” he said firmly.
The hell sat at the corner of the street, and I strolled to the intersection. The cross street wasn’t busy so no one saw me clap my hands together when I saw three windows on this side of the building.
I trotted to the first one and looked up. It was high on the first floor, and there were no handy crates or boxes to stack underneath to reach it.
I turned to call to Ernest and pulled up short. He was standing right behind me. “Oh. Ernest. Can you pull the carriage up onto the pavement? Set it underneath one of these windows?”
He scratched his jaw. “I suppose I could. If I go slow enough, it shouldn’t hurt the axles none. Why would we do this?”
“So I can stand on the carriage and look in the window.” Obviously.
He groaned. “Lady Mary….”
“Oh, just go get the carriage, will you?” Two night watchmen strolled across the next cross street, and I huddled back into the shadows. I shooed Ernest, flapping my hands at him. “Go quickly.”
If he rolled his eyes, it was too dark for me to notice. It wasn’t a minute later when he drove my carriage around the corner and headed toward me.
I scooted out of the way. The horses hesitated at the edge of the pavement but with Ernest’s prodding pulled the coach into position.
“Good job.” The carriage was too close to the building’s wall for me to climb up on the driver’s side. I hurried around to the other side and called up to Ernest. “Help me up.”
It wasn’t gracefully done, but I found myself on the driver’s seat. I sidled past Ernest so I could rest my hand on the building’s wall. Carefully, I stepped up onto the roof of the carriage.
“Ma’am, I’m not sure that’s safe.” Worry coated Ernest’s words. “The roof isn’t meant for walking on.”
“Nonsense. We carry heavy trunks up here.” My pulse leapt as the roof seemed to sink beneath my boot.
Of course, the weight of those trunks was diffused among a larger surface area.
I pushed that worrying thought from my head as I took another step and found myself face to window.
I eagerly peered down into the high-ceilinged room below.
It was carpeted in red from wall to wall with twinkling crystal chandeliers dotting the ceiling.
I don’t know what I expected. Dancing ladies in scanty gowns frolicking among the patrons?
Fist fights breaking out when someone lost at a table?
Instead, it all looked so orderly. Ordinary.
Men sat around several tables. More stood along a bar, conversing and drinking.
I squinted. There was a woman sitting half on one gentleman’s lap, but she was fully clothed and modestly attired.
I sniffed. My club was much more entertaining.
“Well? Do you see him?” Ernest asked.
I scanned the men’s faces. It took me a moment, but I found Mr. Platt speaking with two men near the front door. “I see him.”
“Begging your pardon, Lady Mary, but what do you expect to see? He’s not about to start shouting ‘I’m a killer’ among his chums, is he?”
That was a good point, but I was tired of passively tagging after my suspects. At least I felt like I was doing something. And one never knew. “He might meet with someone suspicious.”
A man did approach, sending my pulse tripping. My shoulders sagged. It was only his friend, Mr. Randall. After a bit more conversation, one of the two men Platt was speaking to pulled a leather pouch from his pocket and handed Platt some coin.
I couldn’t hear them, of course, but I could see Platt mouthing words of thanks and clasping the man’s hand warmly.
“Well, if Platt killed his brother-in-law for money, he did a poor job of it. He’s still borrowing from his friends.
” And being reckless with those funds. Platt headed straight toward one of the gaming tables.
With that pile of coins now in his possession, this could very well be a long night, and I didn’t want to be standing atop my carriage for the duration. “All right, Ernest, help me—”
I ducked. The heel of my boot punctured the roof of the carriage, and I reached for Ernest to steady myself. “Drat. I think he saw me. He looked right at the window.”
“I see you, too,” a deep voice intoned, the barest hint of Irish teasing the edges. “What, Lady Mary, do you think you’re doing?”
Ernest, bless his heart, straightened and puffed out his chest to face the threat.
Unfortunately, that resulted in my losing my grip on his arm and plopping rear end first to the roof of the carriage.
I adjusted my bonnet with as much dignity as I could muster. “Mr. Cooke. How unexpected. How are you this fine evening?”
The crime lord sat upon a large black horse, his figure almost melting into the night. Dark clothes, dark top hat, even black gloves gripping black reins. His horse pawed impatiently at the ground.
“I was doing well until I found two ne’er-do-wells making mischief about one of my businesses,” he said. “A man in my position takes such threats seriously.”
Those words coming from the mouth of that type of man would have been menacing if not for the humor laced through them. It would be a mistake, however, to not take him seriously.
“One moment.” I drew my shoulders back. “You are calling me a ne’er-do-well?”
He inclined his head. “I don’t usually find upstanding citizens crawling about on top of carriages, peering through windows. What are you about, Lady Mary?”
Ernest helped me to the driver’s seat. I tugged on the hem of my pelisse. “I was curious to see what goes on in a hell during its most popular time. I’ve only been in your hell during the day. This one is yours, as well?”
He nodded.
“Are there any that don’t belong to you?” I asked. It seemed all dark roads led back to Mr. Cooke.
“A few.” He stroked his horse’s neck. “If you were so curious, you need only have asked for a tour.”
I paused. “And you’d have given me one?”
He considered for a moment. “For this club, yes.”
That only made me more curious about the ones he wouldn’t show me. But I didn’t want to miss the opportunity he presented. I scooted to the edge of the seat and turned so my abdomen pressed into the bench. I searched for the step below me with my toe, but found nothing but air.
I hissed out a breath. Ernest’s legs couldn’t be that much longer than mine. The horse behind me stamped the ground, as impatient as I was.
Large hands gripped my waist. I was lifted from my perch and set on my feet on the pavement.
My stomach fluttered. “I would have made it down myself.” I shook out my skirts, not meeting Cooke’s gaze. “No need for you to dismount just to assist me.”
“I’ve reached my destination, in any case.” Cooke’s blue eyes pierced the darkness, glittering with humor. “Discomfiting you was merely a bonus. Are you not going to tell me what you were actually doing?”
I pursed my lips. “I think not.” It was about time that I was the one sitting atop private information. It didn’t offset Cooke’s secret lairs, or my servants’ suddenly tight lips, but it helped. “Now, about that tour?”