With Good Grace (Victorian Vigilantes Book 3) Read online

  ‘Then I fail to imagine what you suppose I can do.’ Olivia lifted her shoulders, furious because she felt a twinge of sympathy for the other woman. Margaret was well aware of her husband’s peccadillos but, providing he was discreet and she could still hold her head up in front of her society friends, she chose to turn a blind eye. So, to be fair, did many of the friends in question. It was not unusual for gentlemen to take their pleasures where they could find them and expect their wives to tolerate the situation. ‘The last time I saw Hubert I made it very clear that I had no wish ever to do so again. That was almost two years ago and I have not seen or heard from him since.’

  ‘I understand you are associated with Lord Torbay.’

  Olivia stiffened. ‘What has that to do with your husband’s disappearance? I hope you are not going to tell me whom I can or cannot have as a friend.’

  ‘Not in the least. But I do know that Torbay helped to prove your own innocence.’

  Olivia made no attempt to hide her disdain. ‘That must have come as a grave disappointment for you,’ she said.

  ‘Please, Olivia.’ Margaret twisted her fingers together, clearly agitated. ‘I know I have no right to ask, but would you please mention Hubert’s disappearance to his lordship. He has connections…he might be able to…to find out where he has gone. And why.’

  Dear God, Margaret’s shoulders were shaking. She was actually crying. That was a sight Olivia had never imagined she would see. In spite of her low opinion of the woman, her heart melted at the sight, even though she knew Margaret’s feelings were affected as much by the possible scandal that would be created if Hubert had deserted her as they were for his welfare. She would probably prefer to see him dead than enjoying the society of a younger woman who had been attracted by Hubert’s unquestionable good looks, mercurial charm and title.

  ‘When did you last see Hubert?’ she asked as Margaret dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  ‘Two weeks ago. He told me he would be staying overnight at his club here in town. He often does that when he has business that brings him into London, but if he is delayed for any reason, he always sends word to prevent me from worrying.’

  ‘Have you made enquiries at his club?’

  ‘Yes, but they have not seen him for over a month.’

  ‘I see.’ Olivia drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, deep in thought. ‘There have been no reported accidents in your district?’

  ‘No. He travelled into London on the train.’ She spread her hands. ‘He has disappeared into thin air and I have no idea where to start looking for him. I am, as you can imagine, at my wits end.’

  No, Olivia thought, you are not. Being at one’s wits ends is being confined to a prison cell for a crime one did not commit.

  ‘You have spoken to his friends?’ When Margaret hesitated, Olivia nodded her understanding. ‘How silly of me to suggest something so obvious. Of course you have not. If you had done so, you would have to admit that your husband had disappeared; possibly deserted you.’

  ‘I dare say you are enjoying this.’ Margaret gathered up her stocking purse. ‘I should not have come.’

  ‘I will speak with Lord Torbay, but that is all I can promise you,’ Olivia said, standing when Margaret did.

  ‘Thank you, at least for that.’

  ‘Go home, compile a list of Hubert’s closest friends and send it to me. Check his appointment book and see if he had any engagements during the days that he has been missing. Send me anything that you think relevant. Check his clothing, see if anything is missing that might imply he intended all along not to return.’

  ‘He would not…’

  ‘But he has, and you must have accepted at least that much, otherwise desperation would not have brought you to my door.’

  Margaret shuffled her feet. ‘As you say…’

  Olivia rang the bell and Green appeared to show Margaret out. Olivia resumed her seat and stared through the window, watching as Margaret climbed into the waiting Hansom and headed off, presumably towards the station. Damn it, now she wanted to know what had happened to Hubert almost as much as Margaret did. Her nemesis was right about one thing. Hubert might be a scoundrel but he was mindful of his wife’s finer feelings and would not disappear in such a fashion without good reason.

  So what had become of him, and why?

  Chapter Two

  White’s was comparatively quiet during the late afternoon, which was why Jake had chosen to entertain his guest at that elite establishment. The fact that politicians formed only a minority of the membership had further influenced his decision. Even so, Jake did not delude himself into thinking that his meeting with a Scotland Yard detective would not reach the ears of his political masters that same night.

  Henderson had asked to see him; Jake had no idea why, but presumed the matter was of a delicate nature. Scotland Yard, from which confidential information leaked more freely than the rusting barges moored on the Thames, was most emphatically not the place to discuss anything of a sensitive nature. Jake sat in a secluded corner, well away from the bow window that overlooked St. James’s Street and the prying eyes of any passer-by who might peer in through it. He produced a half-hunter from his waistcoat pocket to check the time. His guest should arrive at any moment, giving them sufficient time to transact their business before Jake kept his engagement to dine with Olivia.

  He took a sip of his burgundy and shifted his position as he thought of that commitment; one that he had managed to avoid for the past two months on various pretexts. Coward! He recalled just how beguiling Olivia had looked at Isaac’s wedding the previous day and knew then that his noble self-restraint had got him precisely nowhere. He could no more get the lady out of his system than he could reinvent the wheel. She had crept beneath his defences and installed herself directly in his heart, his soul. The futility of trying to deny the fact had been brought home to him yesterday when he noticed some ambitious young buck trying to make himself agreeable to her during Isaac’s wedding breakfast. Fury ripped through Jake and he had wanted to detach the assumptive cove’s head from his body with his bare hands, simply for engaging her in conversation.

  Facts had to be faced, Jake decided with a heavy sigh. He was deeply, irrevocably in love with Olivia. How the devil he had permitted that situation to arise was beyond his understanding—and it changed everything. It was unwise for him to let anyone get too close; to show any weaknesses that his myriad enemies could seize upon in order to hurt him. Damaging one hair on Olivia’s head would be the ultimate revenge. He had tried to make Olivia understand that but she brushed his concerns aside with an airy wave of dismissal. Well, there was nothing else for it. He would now give up taking dangerous assignments from Thorndike, the Prime Minister’s aide, and put his shady activities for an ungrateful establishment behind him. At least that way he would not add further enemies bent on revenge to the existing small army already out for his blood.

  ‘Inspector Henderson, my lord.’

  Deep in thought, Jake had not heard the club’s steward approach him.

  ‘Thank you, Clark.’

  He stood and shook Henderson’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Good of you to make the time to see me, my lord.’

  ‘It’s always a pleasure.’

  ‘Never thought I’d set foot in this place,’ Henderson said, glancing around the room and taking in every aspect of its furnishing, his sharp gaze appearing to miss little.

  ‘We can talk in comfort here. What will you drink?’

  Henderson glanced at Jake’s half-empty glass. ‘Burgundy?’

  ‘It’s drinkable, I think you’ll find. A glass for the inspector, Clark, and I’ll have a refill.’

  ‘Right away, my lord.’

  Jake waved the inspector into the chair facing his. In his mid-forties, with distinctive red hair and sharp blue eyes, Henderson was a decade older than Jake. From a middle-class family, he had joined the police directly from school and thanks to a quick mind a
nd willingness to work all hours he had quickly risen through the ranks.

  They had first met when Jake was attempting to prove that Olivia had not murdered her husband. It had not been Henderson’s case, and the chief inspector to whose lot it had fallen was determined to make a name for himself by charging the beautiful Mrs Grantley, with scant regard for actual evidence. Henderson had slipped a few vital pieces of information to Jake that enabled him to unmask the actual killers and they had been friendly ever since.

  Henderson’s wanting to see Jake today implied there was another miscarriage of justice that required intervention from someone outside of the police force. Jake was well aware that Chief Inspector Drake resented Henderson, felt threatened by his success rate, and was waiting for an opportunity to ruin his career prospects if he stepped out of line. Jake was happy to help his friend, provided he considered the situation worthy. If Drake was juggling the evidence to make it fit a politically sensitive crime then Jake would not lift a finger to help. But if a private citizen had fallen prey to the ambitious chief inspector’s questionable methods then Jake would probably…possibly…see if there was anything he could do to help.

  ‘I can see that you are on your way out for the evening,’ Henderson said, eyeing Jake’s evening clothes as he took a sip of the drink that had appeared at his elbow and gave a nod of appreciation, ‘so I’ll get directly to the point. There’s been another murder, precisely the same as Grantley’s.’

  ‘Grantley was stabbed three times in the stomach,’ Jake replied nonchalantly. ‘Nothing unusual about that method of murder, other than supposing a woman would kill in such a fashion virtually in front of a houseful of guests, as our friend Drake tried to convince the world was the case.’

  ‘I agree, and would not have bothered you with the information, but for the fact that the killing took place in Grantley’s old office in The Strand.’

  Jake sat forward. Henderson now had his complete attention. ‘Who was the victim?’

  ‘A night watchman. Drake seems to think he interrupted a burglary and paid the ultimate price for that intervention.’ Henderson shrugged. ‘I actually think he might be right on this occasion.’

  ‘Possibly, but I doubt whether he has bothered to ask why anyone would choose to break into the office of a theatrical agent—and even if he does, I cannot imagine him thinking it any more than coincidence that it had once been Grantley’s office.’

  ‘Precisely so. You have always believed, as have I, that the rogues who killed Grantley were working at the behest of a third party. They were looking for something and were caught in the act but were too frightened to name their employer. Either that or they did not know who he was.’ Henderson dangled one arm over the side of his chair. ‘The questionable individual whom they claimed employed their services disappeared off the face of the earth when Grantley died, and the perpetrators went to the gallows claiming that Grantley was killed by accident in the struggle that ensued when he interrupted them. Much like this latest case and the unfortunate night watchman.’ Henderson frowned. ‘That is why I brought it to your attention. I thought there might be a connection, you see. I dislike loose ends and would dearly love to know who commissioned the search of Grantley’s house that ended up with his being killed, if only for my own peace of mind.’

  ‘I have often wondered the same thing.’ Jake shrugged. ‘But I don’t suppose we shall ever know for sure. Anyway, you think that two years later the mastermind is still looking for that elusive something?’

  ‘The idea crossed my mind.’

  Jake shook his head. If the suggestion had come from anyone else, he would have dismissed it out of hand. But he respected Henderson’s opinions and knew he would not concern Jake with unsubstantiated theories.

  ‘Grantley was killed in his Belgravia home,’ Jake said. ‘He and a party of friends, including his brother and his wife, had been to the theatre to watch one of his actors perform and returned to the house for a late supper. Grantley and Olivia were heard arguing in an anti-room. Grantley stormed outside for a smoke. Olivia went out to pursue the argument and found him lying in a pool of blood, breathing his last. She lifted his head to see if she could help him, got her gown covered with blood and was found in that position by Grantley’s brother.’

  ‘The fact that Grantley’s study had been systematically searched bore no weight with Drake,’ Henderson added, with a gesture of disdain. ‘You and I have never doubted that the thieves were looking for something specific but seeing Grantley on the terrace outside either scared them into attacking him, or he accosted them.’

  Jake nodded, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair as he thoughtfully rubbed a forefinger against his chin. Two men known to Jake walked into the room and acknowledged him. They sent quizzical glances at Henderson and went to sit elsewhere.

  ‘That’s me put in my place,’ Henderson said, his eyes alight with humour.

  Jake sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Believe me, your place is often preferable.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for that.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to break into a theatrical agent’s office?’ Jake asked, not expecting an answer. ‘I don’t suppose there is anything of sufficient value kept there to make the risk worthwhile.’

  ‘Try telling that to Drake,’ Henderson replied, shaking his head. ‘It was ransacked but the agent says nothing has been taken.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Jake knew frustratingly little about Olivia’s family circumstances. He was aware that her lawyers handled the sale of her husband’s theatrical agency and that she was not on good terms with any of Grantley’s family. Jake couldn’t blame her for that. He had met the brother and sister-in-law at the time of Olivia’s imprisonment and it would be hard to imagine two less supportive individuals. They obviously thought, or hoped, that Olivia was guilty.

  ‘I assume Drake lives in expectation of making an arrest,’ Jake said with a wry smile. ‘Any suitable candidate will do.’

  ‘He doesn’t stand a chance of finding out who did it; not if it really was a random burglary,’ Henderson replied. ‘I don’t suppose there’s much you can do either; not with so little to go on. It’s just that Grantley’s death eats away at us both, still to this day. It was a ridiculous risk to break into a Belgravia house on the off-chance. I know the occupants were not supposed to be at home, but the point is, they came home and the burglars were trapped inside. They could easily have hidden until the house settled for the night, but they didn’t do that. Why?’ He shook his head. ‘If you ask me, Grantley’s older brother Sir Hubert knows more about the entire affair than he ever let on.’

  ‘Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention,’ Jake said, draining his glass and standing, ‘It just so happens that I am engaged to dine with Mrs Grantley this evening. Perhaps I shall ask her.’

  Henderson stood also, his boyish face alight with amusement. ‘Remember me to the lady and send her my compliments.’

  ‘That I will most certainly do.’

  Jake and Henderson shook hands on the steps to the club and went their separate ways. Jake’s coachman was waiting and drove him swiftly to Cheyne Walk. As he alighted from his conveyance he noticed a lady leaving Olivia’s house and climbing into a waiting Hansom. She was gone before he could see her face but he was fairly sure he knew her from somewhere. Before he could decide where, Green materialised and took Jake’s hat and gloves.

  ‘Good evening, my lord. Mrs Grantley is in the drawing room, if you would care to follow me.’

  ‘Thank you, Green.’

  Jake paused on the threshold of the room, taking a moment to drink in the sight of Olivia in her gloriously becoming gown. She was standing with her back to him, muttering to herself, and it was evident that she was agitated. About something her visitor, who had chosen a most unusual time to call, had imparted?

  ‘There you are, Jake,’ she said, turning as she sensed his presence. She sent him a distracted
smile, her face unnaturally pale but for two patches of colour high on her cheeks.

  ‘Olivia.’

  He crossed the room, took her hand and kissed the back of it. ‘You look ravishing.’

  ‘I am very glad your duties have allowed you a spare moment to dine with me, at last,’ she replied, a note of light censure in her tone.

  ‘My duties, you will be glad to hear, are at an end.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Excuse me if I do not believe you. I am well aware that you thrive upon solving governmental intrigues.’

  ‘I am unsure if a government can actually be intriguing, but that is no longer my concern.’ He permitted his surprise at her reaction to show. ‘I thought you would be delighted.’

  ‘I would be if I could convince myself that you really meant it.’ Her expression was resigned but a devilish light took up residence in her remarkable eyes. ‘Oh, I dare say you believe what you say at this precise moment. It is obvious to me that the past two months have been a great inconvenience and frustration for you.’

  Jake choked on a laugh. ‘Precisely so.’ But, he thought, probably not for the reasons she supposed.

  Olivia sent him a challenging smile that somehow managed to arouse every cell in his body. ‘Your intention, I suppose, is to retire to Devon and settle down to a life of tedious respectability, tutting at accounts of the government’s latest scandal in the newspapers and spending your days growing prize roses?’

  Jake shook his head in puzzlement. ‘Roses?’

  ‘Roses,’ she repeated emphatically. ‘But then some dastardly individual will do something to threaten the future of the Empire, Thorndike will call upon your patriotic duty to save the day, and what will become of the roses then?’