Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Hugh brought his fist down upon the door. There was a brass knocker provided for a more civil approach, but he wanted to hit something. Hard. Had he been able to flog himself without looking like a maniac, he would have.
How in hell had they gone from kissing, his hand slipping under her skirts, to Audrey questioning their engagement?
When his fingers had slid over the ridge of the scar caused by a bullet, he’d wanted only to bring her closer.
The bullet discharged from Robert Henley’s pistol last summer could have struck her somewhere fatal.
She’d been lucky. But when Audrey had reminded him of the other scar left behind by yet another bullet, which she’d received during their first investigation, a heavy weight had come down onto his chest.
When would her luck run out?
They waited at the door to the Gower Street residence, neither of them speaking. Or looking at one another. An invisible wall had gone up between them and it left him with an irritable, prickly sensation under his skin.
Footsteps approached from inside, and after the sounds of locks being slid back, the door opened to reveal a young woman in flowered muslin, a ruffled white cap, and pinafore. She bobbed a quick curtsey before saying, “May I help you?”
She looked to Hugh to reply, but Audrey beat him to it.
“We are here to inquire about the parcel of land listed in the Times. Is this Mr. Comstock’s residence?” Her voice was tight and sharp. Angry.
Hugh ground his molars. It had been a long time since they’d argued in this manner. A long time since she’d been so damned stubborn. His only wish was to protect her from landing herself in dangerous situations. Why couldn’t she understand that? It had nothing to do with wanting her to change.
The maid’s eyes flared. Indecision stole across her plain features as she looked from Hugh to Audrey. “Oh. Yes, milady, this is Mr. Comstock’s residence, however…” She tucked her chin, which then trembled.
“May we enter, miss?” Hugh asked.
She sniffled and stepped aside, allowing them in. The foyer was trim and neat. No decorative flounces, no touches of femininity. This was a bachelor’s home, much like his own at Bedford Street. And near to the university, he thought it likely Mr. Comstock may have even attended there.
“I’m sorry,” the maid said, touching the back of her hand to her cheek, as if to check for any wetness. Her eyes were red. She’d already been crying recently.
“Perhaps we’ve come at a bad time. Is Mr. Comstock not in?” Hugh asked.
The maid shook her head, more tears forming as her composure quickly deteriorated. Foreboding chilled him as he waited for her to speak.
“Mr. Comstock is…he has died, milord.” Her voice cracked. For the first time since leaving her carriage, Audrey’s deep blue eyes slammed into him. Her lips parted on a gust of breath.
“When was this?” Hugh asked.
“Yesterday morning,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes again.
“What happened?” Audrey asked. The maid started to speak, but then croaked on the first word before it could complete. She shook her head.
“I shouldn’t say.”
Had it been anything natural or blameless, giving the cause of death shouldn’t have been an issue.
Not doing so hinted toward the death being scandalous.
Hugh calculated his approach. If pressed too hard, the maid’s distress could lead her to show them the door.
But if too gently coaxed, they would not uncover any answers.
He laid his hand on Audrey’s back, between her shoulders, hoping to convey that a change of tactic was about to commence. And to go along with it.
“I apologize for our poor timing and our subterfuge, but we have not come to discuss the parcel of land. We came to ask Mr. Comstock about a mutual friend: Miss Bethany Silas.”
Audrey crooked her neck to look at him. The maid cheeks went slack, and her expression revealed that she was cognizant of the name. Shutters quickly descended over that expression, but it was too late.
“I believe you know her,” Hugh said, and then, with a flicker of perception, took another chance. “You met her as Miss Comstock, I believe?”
Blood rushed to the tips of her ears and up her neck. Distress changed instantly to guilt. The risk having paid off, Hugh pressed onward. “But you are not Mr. Comstock’s sister. What is your real name?”
She shifted her afflicted stare toward the door. “I…I think you should leave, milord.”
“You are in no trouble,” Audrey said. “Truly. Our concern is solely for Miss Silas.”
The maid looked as if she might be considering bolting through the door herself in an attempt to escape.
“We know you were with Mr. Comstock the day he took her to Vauxhall,” Audrey said, quickly adding, “However, no one else need ever know you posed as his sister. Surely, you were only trying to help him. How else was he to gain permission to take Miss Silas out for a carriage ride to the pleasure gardens?”
The maid nodded, bobbing her head shakily. “I never did feel right about it, but he said it would only be once or twice, and that Miss Silas wouldn’t be upset once she learnt the truth. He said she’d think it romantic. Clever, too.”
The pleading tone of her voice, and the close knit of her brows, displayed that she knew better now in hindsight.
“What happened once they reached Vauxhall?” Hugh asked.
She frowned. “I don’t know, milord. Once we arrived at the coach field, Mr. Comstock told the driver to take me back here. It was never the plan for me to come along.”
“And did he return later that evening?”
“Of course, milord.”
Hugh crossed a glance with Audrey. Comstock had returned from the Sanctuary. Bethany had not. And now, days later, Comstock was dead?
“Miss…?” Hugh waited for the maid to provide her name. It took a prolonged moment for her to catch on.
“Clark. Miss Lavinia Clark.” She curtseyed hastily again.
“Miss Clark, it’s imperative that you tell us everything you know about his outing with Miss Silas. Did he say anything about her when he returned that evening?”
The maid shook her head, the lace trim of her mob cap fluttering. “No, milord. He was in a terrible state. I thought for certain he was in a high dudgeon because the young lady had spurned him. I didn’t dare ask a thing.”
“And his death, Miss Clark. How did it occur?” Audrey asked.
The maid’s eyes welled again. Her chin quivered. “It doesn’t make any sense, milady. I’ve been tidying his bedchamber for a year, and I’ve never seen the pill box that I found next to him in bed.”
“Pill box? Do you mean to say he died of an opium overdose?” Audrey asked.
Miss Clark nodded. “They were painted gold,” she said, still shaking her head. “I never saw anything like it.”
Hugh had. The drug could be found in multiple forms. From the poppy seedpod itself, to powder, to liquid, to pills. The wealthy could afford gold-coated opium, while lower classes could spring for silver or uncoated.
“Did a physician come to determine if he’d overdosed?” Hugh asked.
“Just the constables, milord. They said they saw the gold on his tongue.”
“Bow Street?” If they learned Comstock was dead yesterday, why the devil had Sir Gabriel not yet alerted Hugh? “Do you recall the officers’ names?”
She shook her head. Hugh wasn’t surprised. She’d been through a shock, and what did the officers’ names matter to her?
“The body has been collected?” Audrey asked.
“Yes. Is Miss Silas asking after him? I swear, I meant no harm tricking her the way I did.”
It appeared Miss Clark did not know that Bethany was missing. Hugh decided to keep it that way. “Miss Silas mentioned a place that your employer may have gone. The Sanctuary.” Hugh watched for any alarm in her reaction, as Gwendolyn had showed. None came. “Do you know of it?”
“No, milord. Mr. Comstock never mentioned it.” She was being truthful; there were no facial twitches or pauses in her speech, no apprehension in her eyes.
“Could we speak to Mr. Comstock’s driver?” Audrey asked.
“There’s no driver,” she replied with a wince. “Mr. Comstock had to let Babson go a few months back.”
The advertisement for a parcel of land started to make sense. If he was in need of funds, releasing servants, and blackmailing a man to increase his daughter’s dowry, would be a way out of the River Tick.
“He took a hackney then,” Audrey said, and as Miss Clark nodded, she reached into her skirt pocket. “Did the carriage that delivered your employer home have this symbol on it?”
She unfolded a piece of paper and held it out to the maid. On it was a sketch of the inverted cross.
“I couldn’t know, milady. Mr. Comstock let himself in past midnight. I only heard him when he stumbled up the stairs.”
Audrey nodded and folded the paper. She started to slip it back into her pocket.
“May I see it again?” Miss Clark asked. Audrey gave it to her, and the maid chewed her bottom lip. “This looks like what’s on his favorite pair of sleeve buttons. He wore them often.”
Audrey brightened as she took back the paper. “These sleeve buttons…would you allow me to take a look at them?”
Hugh knew what she was up to. She had that eager, ravenous look in her eye while biting her lower lip in anticipation. She wanted to see something useful in them. Miss Clark grimaced, confused as to why the lady would want to look at a pair of cufflinks but nodded before going upstairs.
“Sir Oliver Pendleton also wore cufflinks with this symbol last night at the dinner I attended,” she said to him as soon as the maid was out of sight.
“What dinner?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said impatiently, her eyes not meeting his. “I asked Prince Paul about Lord Stromburg, and Sir Oliver glared at me for the rest of the evening.”
Hugh hinged forward as his muscles strung tight, forcing her to meet his eyes now. “You did what?”
She sidestepped his question, and him, as she moved to the other side of the narrow entrance hall.
“The men accusing Mr. Givens of speaking out of turn had a carriage with this symbol. Sir Oliver and now Mr. Comstock both have cuff links with it. We know for certain that Mr. Comstock took Bethany to the Sanctuary. The connection is there all around.”
“What did you say about Stromburg?” he asked.
“Nothing about him being dead if that is what you are worried about. I’m not that much of a simpleton.”
“I didn’t say you were. However, finessing questions to make them sound natural isn’t necessarily your forte.” She was a bull in a china shop most times. “If this Sir Oliver fellow eyed you the rest of the evening, it’s probably because he found your questions suspicious.”
“Maybe because he knows Lord Stromburg is dead.”
And now, so was Comstock. Hugh crushed the brim of his hat in his hand, uneasy with Audrey’s request for the cuff links. He glanced up the stairs and lowered his voice. “You may see something horrendous when you hold them.”
“Whatever I see, I will be fine,” she retorted, still angry. “Do you want answers or don’t you?”
“There are other ways.”
“This is one of mine.” At last, she speared him with a glare. “Or do you not approve of that either anymore?”
“Now you’re just spoiling for a fight,” he replied, his own hackles rising.
Before she could respond, the maid reappeared on the stairs. Audrey turned her back on Hugh and met her at the bottom.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Miss Clark, might we take these to an inquiry agent at Bow Street? We have reason to believe this symbol is connected to Miss Silas’s disappearance,” she said.
“Oh, I’m not sure, milady, they were so very important to Mr. Comstock…” the maid said, her eyes tearing up again as she looked at them, cradled in the bowl of her hand.
“Of course, I understand,” Audrey began, her tone honey sweet.
Hugh narrowed his eyes; she would never give up this easily.
“We will send the inquiry agent here if you would prefer. That way, you can take the opportunity to explain about Mr. Comstock’s involvement with Miss Silas, and how you stood in as his sister—”
Alarm poured over Miss Clark’s expression, drying up her tears instantly.
“No, no, milady, I wouldn’t want to… Oh, but if you could take them and speak to the agent instead, and please, I never meant any harm.
Mister Comstock said it would not amount to anything in the end…
” The maid passed the cuff links into Audrey’s gloved hands, her chin beginning to quiver again.
Audrey slipped them into her skirt pocket, the barrier of her gloves having prevented any visions. “You aren’t to blame, Miss Clark. Truly, you needn’t worry.”
This time, at least, Audrey sounded sincere.
“Thank you for your time,” Hugh said as the maid showed them out. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Without a word or glance toward Hugh, Audrey walked swiftly back to the carriage.
Carrigan handed her up, then sent Hugh an apologetic grimace, as though knowing he and Audrey were at odds.
The driver stood aside and allowed Hugh to climb in.
He secured the door, and Hugh took the bench opposite her.
She wouldn’t look at him. She also did not take the cuff links from her pocket.
Hugh sat back, his body strung tight. “Will you hold them here?”
Audrey hitched her chin, swaying with the rocking of the carriage. “I don’t think so. I…I think I would like to be alone. I can’t think clearly right now.”
Because of their argument.
“Very well,” he said, hating the unexpected barrier between them.
He should have never opened his damnable mouth.