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“You knew her?”
“We had met,” he commented in an even tone.
“Then who is her guardian?”
“She was without a guardian. A woman of…independent means.”
Dianthe felt a blush steal up her cheeks as she met his eyes. Independent means. She suspected she knew what that meant. “Even so, Lord Morgan, someone must care for her. Someone must have brought her here. They should be told.”
Mr. Thayer interceded with an angry glance at Lord Morgan. “You ought not to be carrying on such a conversation with Miss Lovejoy. ’Tisn’t fit for innocent ears.”
“She’s shown more sense than the rest of you,” Lord Morgan said, his appraising gaze sweeping the crowd. “Someone see if you can find Miss Brookes’s escort.” He turned to Dianthe and asked, “Did you come here with Mr. Thayer?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Then leave with him. You will not want to be here for the rest of this, and it will be better if you are not too available. Where is your aunt?”
“She and Mr. Hawthorne have gone to Italy on their wedding trip. They will not be home for another month, I think.”
“Where will you be if the police need to speak with you?”
“The Thayers’.”
“Then I’d advise you to remain quietly with the Thayers until your aunt returns. Do you think that is possible for you, Miss Lovejoy?”
Was he insinuating that she was a rowdy chit who had difficulty behaving? She stood and lifted her chin in the air as she swept her skirts away from him, then went to stand beside the Thayers. Harriett and Hortense each took one of her arms and led her away from the scene. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Lord Morgan watching her, a speculative gleam in his eyes. Could he actually suspect her of murder?
The seedy Whitefriars tavern in a back street was the sort of place few people would even notice. Geoffrey could have bought the whole damn tavern for the sum he’d paid in rent over the last four years. Ah, but it was good to have a safe den in unexpected areas if one needed to go to ground quickly. Or needed to meet with people one would rather not be seen with.
He climbed the back stairs, drew his dagger from his boot, unlocked the door and stepped into the room, ready for whatever was waiting. In this part of town, break-ins were commonplace. But all was well tonight. He slipped the dagger back in his boot, took kindling from a basket, lit the fire and then the oil lantern on the table. A whiskey bottle and two glasses completed his preparations. Nothing fancy here.
Sir Henry Richardson’s knock was right on time. The man was nothing if not prompt. Geoff let him in and locked the door behind him.
“What’s so damn urgent to pull me from Polly’s bed?”
Geoff shook his head. Sir Harry, as the man was widely known, was a true ladies’ man. Tall and lanky, with bright blue eyes and dark hair, he never lacked for female attention, though he was wise enough to confine his amorous attentions to the demimonde. It would never do to have the angry father or brother of some innocent debutante looking for him.
Harry sat and Geoff poured him a stiff glass of whiskey. “Nell Brookes is dead.”
Harry choked midswallow. “Nell? Son of a… What the hell happened?”
“Murdered.”
“Not you?”
Geoff sighed. “I confess the thought entered my mind more than once, but no. If she had made some connection to Mustafa el-Daibul, well, she could have been the best lead we’ve had since the bastard entrenched himself in Tangier years ago. Nell knew women were missing, but I warned her to keep out of it. The stubborn minx did not tell me she was determined to see if she could get to the bottom of it. She knew I’d stop her.”
“A great pity. Nell was an excellent toss in the sheets. Knew all the tricks of the trade,” Sir Harry mused, and lifted his glass in a silent toast. When he’d finished the contents, he slammed it down on the table. “So we’re set back a bit. What’s next?”
“I’m still trying to sort that out,” Geoff told him. “There are…complications.”
“And what might those be?”
Geoff envisioned Miss Dianthe Lovejoy, bent over Nell’s body, holding the knife and smeared with blood. Dr. Worley had said the killer would be covered in blood, and Geoff had watched the gates until damn near dawn. No one had exited with any trace of blood on his or her clothing—except Miss Lovejoy. Surely, despite mounting evidence to the contrary, she had nothing to do with Nell’s death. What could her motive possibly be?
Geoff’s other thought—less likely but more troubling—was that Miss Lovejoy and not Nell Brookes had been the killer’s target. She looked enough like the courtesan to have confused a hired killer, and their gowns were startlingly similar. If that were the case, Miss Lovejoy would need a warning.
“Geoff?” Harry asked.
“Just thinking,” he said, pouring them both another glass of whiskey.
He went back to the table and sat. Lowering his voice, he said, “A young woman who is associated with friends of mine was found bending over Nell’s body. The doctor thought she might have been searching Nell.”
Harry smiled. “But you don’t think so, do you?”
Geoff shrugged. What, really, did he know about Miss Lovejoy, except that she detested him—and not entirely without reason? He had nearly gotten her cousin killed three months ago. “I cannot imagine why she would,” he said truthfully. “She looks to be the same age as Nell, but years more innocent. I would think a young woman of her sheltered upbringing would be too shocked to find a dead body to think of searching it. But after she left with the Thayers, we found a note in Nell’s reticule. It had notations detailing Miss Lovejoy’s address at the Thayers’, and that she would be at Vauxhall Gardens tonight. This gives rise to the question of whether Nell was seeking her out for some other purpose.”
“Could the Lovejoy chit actually have been Nell’s killer?” Harry ventured.
“Again, why?”
Harry shrugged.
“Even more curious, Miss Lovejoy could be Nell’s twin.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “There’s a coincidence! And a rather intriguing possibility. Could Miss Lovejoy and Nell be siblings?”
“Unlikely. Miss Lovejoy has an older sister and a younger brother. The family was country-bound. That wouldn’t leave room for her father to beget a child on a mistress, nor for her mother to stray.”
A slow smile lit Harry’s face. “If Miss Lovejoy is as comely as our fair Nell, she’s bound to be a real stunner. Yes, might have to arrange an introduction.”
“She’s better looking than Nell, fresher and more innocent. But stay away from her, Harry. She’s trouble or my name isn’t Geoffrey Morgan.”
Harry looked speculative. “Are there any suspects?”
“Just Miss Lovejoy, it seems. No one saw anyone else coming along the paths afterward, or reported seeing anyone following Nell. Miss Lovejoy may not have a motive, but that doesn’t seem to bother the authorities. She’s all they’ve got at the moment. I would not want to be in her shoes.”
“She won’t be arrested, will she?”
That thought gave Geoff pause. Although he didn’t actually care what happened to the haughty little chit, he would not want her cousin caused distress. The man had saved his life, after all. “I hope not, Harry, but that’s not our business. Her family will look out for her. We need to focus on el-Daibul. Damn! I thought we were onto something with Nell. Now we’re going to have to scramble for information again. I fear I’m making a career out of this case.”
“Where do you suggest we go from here?”
“Back to the hells.”
Harry grinned. “And back to the demimonde, for me.”
Dianthe perched on the edge of her chair in Lady Annica’s private sitting room, studying the faces around her. Lady Annica, Charity MacGregor and Lady Sarah Travis were staring at her in horror, and even worse, they were speechless! This was bad. She’d never seen them speechless before. These ladies, masquerading as the Wednesday League, a bluestocking group, secretly obtained justice for wronged women. They had seen and heard things worse than Dianthe’s story, but only one had involved one of their own members. Until today.
At last Lady Annica blinked and closed her mouth. She cleared her throat before she spoke, as if she were afraid she’d lost her voice. “Dianthe, dear, that is appalling!”
“There’s more.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from trembling. “Somehow, Miss Brookes knew my name. She called me Dianthe. How could that be?”
“You said you had the same dress?” Lady Annica asked. “Perhaps she asked someone who you were.”
Dianthe shivered, recalling the horror of the scene last night. “Too many coincidences. It defies logic.”
“This entire event defies logic,” Charity declared.
“There is worse. Before I could even leave Vauxhall, the police found a note in Miss Brookes’s reticule with my name and address on it. They stopped me and asked extensive questions and said they would come by the Thayers’ today for a sample of my handwriting.” Dianthe’s stomach clenched with anxiety. “They told Mr. Thayer not to let me out of his sight until they’d had a chance to verify my story, but I slipped away because I knew you all would be frantic once you heard the news. Does that not sound as if they suspect me of something?”
Lady Sarah frowned. “But that is completely absurd. You would not harm a fly.”
“No,” she agreed, “but they don’t know that. All they know is what they saw.”
“Lord Geoffrey Morgan was there?” Sarah asked.
“He advised me to go home and stay there until this was over. Can you imagine?”
“That is good advice, Dianthe,” Sarah said. “But rather than go back to the Thayers’, I think you should come stay with me.”
“Or me,” Annica said.
“Or me.” Charity nodded. “You should be with one of us. I fear Mr. Thayer would not understand what we are about to do.”
“What are we about to do?” Dianthe asked.
“Why, investigate Miss Brookes’s death, of course. Once we prove you innocent, the police will have to leave you alone,” Lady Annica announced with confidence. “And they would not dare to bother you if you are with me and Auberville. He would never permit it.”
Dianthe warmed with the knowledge of how much these ladies would sacrifice for her. But, of course, she could never permit it. She did not like putting the ladies at risk when it was her problem and her future hanging in the balance. Nor could she tell them about Nell’s last words—that she would be next. Or that she’d promised to stop Nell’s killer. They would never let her out of their sight if they knew that little piece of information.
She shook her head. “Auberville is rising in government and I would not do anything to jeopardize that. And Sarah, I know your brother is being considered for Lord Barrington’s vacant post, so I would not have my scandal attached to your name. Likewise for you, Charity.”
Annica frowned, little lines forming between her dark eyebrows. “I appreciate your sensitivity to the matter, Dianthe, but your safety is paramount. We shall write to your sister at once. She and McHugh will return from the Highlands to take charge of this. But that will take two or three weeks. It is possible that Grace and Mr. Hawthorne will return in the interim, but we cannot count on that. Meantime, we must find a safe place for you. And I frankly do not think Mr. Thayer has the necessary connections to provide that. You belong with one of us.”
Dianthe clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. Oh, how she wished she could accept Lady Annica’s invitation. But as terrified as she was, these women had been far too good to her family to taint them with her scandal. She took a deep breath and launched her carefully prepared lie. “I have my own plan. I have already packed a small valise and left a note for the Thayers saying that I shall find lodgings elsewhere. No—” she held up one hand to silence their questions “—I shall not tell you with whom. I do not want you to have to lie should the authorities ask. The arrangements are quite proper and I could not be safer.”
“What will you do?”
Dianthe fought back her encroaching fear. She took a deep breath and lied as if she’d been born to it. “I will keep out of sight until the matter is resolved. Please, there is no need to worry.”
Lady Annica sighed. “We shall begin making inquiries, Dianthe. Now the Wednesday League is fighting for one of our own. Someone is bound to find out something.”
“Do you have the funds you will need?” Lady Sarah asked.
“I believe so.” Dianthe hedged. She had little more than ten pounds, but if they knew her plan to investigate the murder herself, they’d take her in, tie her to her chair and keep her locked up until her family came for her.
Lady Annica frowned. “When, Dianthe? When shall we see you again?”
“Heavens! There may be no need of even a week. The police may find the murderer today and I shall be safely back with the Thayers by tomorrow.”
“Do you promise to meet with us every other day?”
That was a small price to pay for their peace of mind. “Promise. But if the police are looking for me, they will watch your houses. Shall we meet at La Meilleure Robe?”
Charity nodded. “Madame Marie will accommodate us, and we shall put Mr. Renquist on this case at once. A Bow Street runner will be just the thing to hurry this along. Should you need anything—money, shelter or assistance—you know we stand ready to assist you.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know.”
“I fear for you, Dianthe. The streets of London are fraught with danger,” Lady Sarah warned. “All sorts of unscrupulous people are waiting to take advantage of an unwary woman.”
Dianthe stood and smoothed the skirts of her gown. “I shall be wary, Lady Sarah, and quite safe withering away in hiding. If you must be concerned, be concerned over my utter boredom,” she said with a wisp of inspiration.
Chapter Two
“I am sorry, Miss Smith, but I cannot let you a room,” the clerk at the desk of Emery’s Hostel for Women told Dianthe. “It is not our policy to rent to unchaperoned young ladies.”
She glanced around the spotless lobby, which was nearly deserted in the late afternoon, and fumbled with her reticule, wondering how one went about bribing a clerk. “I assure you, sir, that my aunt will be arriving later this evening. I…I will pay extra if that will ease your mind.”
The clerk’s bushy eyebrows lifted at that. “Later? You traveled to town alone?”
“She…ah, sent me ahead.”
“That is most unseemly, Miss Smith. Perhaps you and your…aunt would be more comfortable at Desmond’s?”
He didn’t believe her! He thought she was a woman of questionable virtue. She’d never been refused admittance anywhere, and this was an insult she could scarcely suffer in silence. She’d give the man a set-down if necessity didn’t require discretion. Her cheeks burning, she lifted her valise and walked into the street.
In truth, she’d already tried Desmond’s Hostel and had been refused there, too, and another three hostels besides. She would go back to Aunt Grace’s home on Bloomsbury Square, but returning there would be tantamount to walking into the Bow Street office and announcing her name.
Fighting frustrated tears, she found a vacant bench in the square across from the hostel and sat dejectedly, despairing of finding a safe place to spend the night. Her empty stomach growled. She’d never had to provide for herself or depend on her wits for survival before, and she fought the creeping fear that she was doomed to failure.
After a brief rest, she stood and retrieved her valise. Her last chance for shelter tonight was just around the corner. She prayed the little flat above Madame Marie’s shop was still vacant. If she could stay there for a few days, surely this mess would be straightened out.
She arrived at La Meilleure Robe just as Madame Marie was locking up for the night. The modiste opened the door and admitted her before locking it and pulling the shade over the window. Dianthe glanced around the dimly lit foyer and dropped her valise on a chair to remove her gloves.
Madame Marie peeked out at the street from behind the shade before turning to her. “Chérie! Where ’ave you been? My ’usband ’as been looking for you all day.”
“Mr. Renquist is looking for me? Whatever for?”
“The ladies ’ave told ’im what is afoot. But ’e already knew. Orders ’ave come down from Bow Street that all runners are to appre’end you on sight and bring you to the Bow Street station for questioning.”
“Drat,” she muttered under her breath. “Now I shall truly have to stay out of sight. Is the room upstairs still vacant, Madame?”
“No, chérie. It was let months ago.”
“Then I must leave at once.” Dianthe fought tears of frustration as she began pulling her gloves back on.
“But wait! François will not turn you in. You shall stay with us, eh?”
