Truly Yours

Chapter Sixteen

Rex found himself looking forward to the morning's work with Bow Street. Daniel was not. He grumbled about the dangerous characters they were likely to meet, and Rex nobly refrained from likening Dimm's cutpurses to Daniel's crooked dealers at his favored gambling dens. With the promise of a second beefsteak breakfast afterward, Daniel went along. Someone had to look after Rex, hadn't he? Who knew what crazy notion he'd get next. Helping the war effort was one thing; interrogating pimps and pickpockets was another; acting the mooncalf over an accused murderess was the worst of all. If playing at thieftaker would keep Rex away from leg shackles, Daniel was willing to help.

Inspector Dimm was having his doubts about his new consultant, too. Not about the results of Lord Rexford's so-called experiments; they were a success. Dimm's men had found evidence to convict most of those the viscount had declared guilty, the suspects who hadn't already confessed. Dimm puffed on his pipe in his little office while the cousins stood along the wall. "It's that there's been a pother with my superiors. One of the gentlemen"-he blew out a black cloud of smoke-"accused my department of beating those confessions out of the prisoners."

"Sir Nigel," both of the Inquisitors said at the same time.

"Aye, I expect so. No matter that I swore you never touched a single one of the lawbreakers, afore or after they confessed. I just couldn't explain how you got so good at guessing, is all. Odds were even, guilty or innocent, you'd get half right. But you got 'em all." He tapped the diminished pile of folders and papers on his desk. "And we proved most of them, without a doubt. I couldn't exactly explain the science behind your findings."

"Does it matter?" Rex stared at Dimm, waiting.

Dimm stared back through a smoke ring, as if he'd find an answer in Rex's black-rimmed blue eyes. Then the old Runner shrugged. "There's lots of things I'll never understand, like why it always rains on my afternoon off, or how a woman's mind works. The way I see it, getting the filth off the streets is my job, what I was hired for, any which way I can get it done."

For the inspector's sake, Rex and Daniel decided to sit outside his office, at Dimm's assistant's desk, playing at dice as if waiting for Dimm to be free for luncheon, say, or a visit to the coffeehouse across the street. With his office door open during his interviews, they could still conduct their "experiments."

"What, you don't even have to see the blokes face-to-face? Is it the sweat as they walk past? Do the guilty smell more than the innocent?"

"No, that was great-grandfather's gift-Why'd you kick me?"

Rex ignored his cousin's complaint. "There are many factors, as I said yesterday. Many people, honest or otherwise, will perspire under trying circumstances. So today we will listen to the voices and see what we detect. One rap on the table is for the truth, two mean the suspect is feeding you hog-slop."

There was a bit of confusion at first, what with the dice falling on the wooden desktop, but the system worked wondrously, to everyone's satisfaction except the prisoners and Daniel, who had a rash on both of his ankles.

"Sorry, there must be fleas in here," Dimm's assistant apologized. "Our visitors ain't much for bathing."

Or for speaking the truth.

Every captive and witness was also asked if he or she had killed Sir Frederick Hawley. None had. Did they know who committed the murder, if not Miss Carville? None did.

In a short time the holding cells were empty of the night's arrests. The innocent were set free, the guilty were sent to the courts for indictments.

Inspector Dimm was delighted. "I might get to spend some time at home, my feet up on a stool, a cat on my lap, with a good book to read." He was happy to hand over search warrants and writs making Rex's actions, past and future, legal. He also loaned him the use of a shriveled old man known as Duncan Fingers.

Rex took Dimm aside. "What am I supposed to do with Duncan, beside feed him and find him a place in the sun?"

Dimm laughed. "Duncan used to be the best safe-cracker in all of London. If you want to get into Sir Frederick's secret drawers or vaults, he's your man."

Rex already had a huge dog and his huger, itchy cousin, an ancient nanny, a silent valet, and an alleged murderess. What was a former convict, more or less?

If Sir Frederick's solicitor was disconcerted to have a known thief in his office, stretching his knuckles-"to keep m'fingers nimble, don't you know"-he hid it well. Either that or he was so terrified of Rex and Daniel's reputation that a cracksman was a lesser evil.

He was, truthfully, pleased to see someone looking after Miss Carville's interests. He was even more pleased to see the legal documents, so he was not forced to break his client's confidence.

"Left everything to his son, did he?" Daniel asked.

"Nothing that was not entailed. They had a falling out."

"We heard that. So whom did he name as heir?"

"He refused to name anyone or make a will. He told me that he fully intended to take his money with him. The son will get what is left, eventually."

"But what of the fortune Sir Frederick's second wife brought, which was to have been Miss Carville's inheritance? Surely that does not become part of the man's estate?"

"Bad business, that," the solicitor said. "But all legal. A husband has control of his wife's monies, of course, and no other trustee was named for Miss Carville's mother's own fortune by the late Lord Carville. Another oversight, in my opinion. Sir Frederick had himself declared Miss Amanda Carville's legal guardian, with my office's assistance, to my regret. Her funds were his to dispense as he saw fit, including her dowry. He withdrew all the money and closed the accounts, over my objections that time, I will have you know. He left no wherewithal for me to finance Miss Carville's defense beyond hiring a barrister to represent her."

A barrister who never asked if she was guilty. The solicitor could have used his own brass, Rex thought, to hire a more competent, caring lawyer, but he did not say it. "What did the blackguard do with all that money?"

"He said he was making investments, but not through my firm. It was not my place to ask more questions."

Not his place, when a woman and child were being stripped of their fortune? Rex did not hold the solicitor in high regard. Sir Frederick did not either, it appeared, since he did not confide his plans. "Perhaps his bank will know."

The solicitor looked doubtful. "Very closemouthed he was. I suspected-"

"Blackmail?" Daniel suggested, his favorite theory, after the butler and the burglar.

"Of course not. Sir Frederick was a gentleman."

Rex did not comment on how many gentlemen of title and means were mean as snakes. "What did you think he was doing with the money, then?"

The solicitor cleared his throat, then coughed. "I, ah, considered that he had another family to support. One not sanctioned by the church."

Daniel liked that theory. "And then, when he would not wed his lover, she shot him in anger. Or maybe he was growing tired of her and her demands and she refused to be dismissed."

Oh, lord. Rex changed the subject. "Did you know Miss Carville?"

"I knew her mother, and her father before. Good solid gentleman, he was, despite not making proper provisions. Of course he did not count on dying so young, but no one ever does, do they? He'd be appalled now."

"Everyone is."

The solicitor excused himself, then came back with a locked box. "I have been wondering what to do with this."

Duncan had it open before the solicitor could find the correct key in his drawer. Meanwhile the man of affairs explained that he'd kept the contents safe from Sir Frederick by writing stringent terms into Lady Carville's will, which she had dictated on her deathbed unbeknownst to Sir Frederick. She knew it was too late to save her fortune for her daughter, and her annuity had stopped on her remarriage, but she did have these, in her own name. Gifts from her own mother and her first husband, the box's contents were not entailed to any estate, so were hers to bequeath.

Duncan whistled.

Daniel's eyes opened wider. Even Rex was impressed. The box contained a dragon's horde of jewelry: necklaces, bracelets, brooches, and earbobs, set with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. To Rex's admittedly untrained eye, they appeared elegant and expensive, all in the finest taste and quality. Duncan swore they were genuine.

"They were not to go to Miss Amanda until her twenty-fifth birthday or her marriage," the solicitor explained, "and only I had the key to the box. I wondered if I should let Miss Carville have the occasional loan of them, for parties and such, now that she was attending more social engagements. I feared that Sir Frederick would get his hands on them, however, exchange them for paste copies or claim them to pay for the young lady's Season. He was not a nice man."

Which Rex did not need a wash of color to know for the truth.

The solicitor pushed the box toward Rex. "I am certain her mother would have wanted Miss Carville to have them now. Perhaps they will help."

"I do not see how, but she will be pleased to know that her mother left them safe for her."

"I, well, I thought she might sell them and find a place for herself elsewhere. The colonies maybe."

"She should run away?"

"I would never suggest fleeing the courts of law!"

That was a bright red lie. Financing the flight of a guilty woman was exactly what the man was proposing.

Rex stood. "I shall give them to Miss Carville, that she might be comforted. She can wear them as soon as she is cleared of all suspicion."

"Of course, of course. If you would not mind signing for them?"

"You do not trust me?"

The solicitor looked toward Duncan, who was holding the sapphires up to the light.

Rex signed.

Fine, now he had another worry. Not that Duncan would scarper off with the jewels, but that Amanda might.

"Are you going to give them to her?" Daniel wanted to know as they left the office.

"They are hers," was all Rex replied.

"There will be the devil to pay if she takes French leave."

But more if she hangs.

Sir Frederick's banker nervously licked his lips while he read the official documents. He did not like having his bank invaded by gentlemen of ill repute, or former bank robbers. Nor did he have answers to Rex's questions. He had no record of what Sir Frederick had done with his money, no transfer to another financial institution, only copies of recent withdrawals and fewer deposits, likely from the estate.

"You noticed no hint of irregularity?" Rex asked.

"Not in my bank!"

Which set Daniel to scratching his scalp and gave Rex a red-haze headache. "I wonder what would happen if we got writs to inspect the bank's books."

Mr. Breverton quickly recalled that he had once written a bank draft to a land brokerage office.

Rex was certain that Breverton could find the name of that realtor, and where they were located.

"Yes, of course. But it might take some time. That was over three years ago, I suspect. Gathering the correct books and ledgers out of storage will take a great deal of effort."

"Really?" Rex tapped the official papers he already had, indicating a few more search warrants would not be hard to obtain.

Breverton mopped at his forehead. "I'll have the information as soon as possible."

With the bank behind them, Rex and Daniel considered what they had learned. "Why would Sir Frederick be buying property when he did not care for his own estate?"

"To put his second family?"

"He could purchase a palace for the sums gone missing. I doubt he was setting up orphanages or hospitals, either."

Duncan Fingers made a rude sound. Everyone knew the not-so-dearly-departed baronet was a penny-pincher.

"So what the deuce was the man doing? I pray there are deeds and documents in his office."

There were not. All they found in the fake bottoms, hidden shelves, and locked compartments of Sir Frederick's desk were a small purse of coins, bills, and correspondence that Rex gathered up to read later. In the wall safe Amanda had mentioned-and which Duncan had opened in a flash-were a pair of dueling pistols, not at all similar to the weapon that had shot Sir Frederick; a copy of Miss Carville's mother's will; and a small journal. The little book had sums recorded, with dates and initials beside them, but no indication of income or outlay. Rex tucked the small volume inside his coat, along with the jewelry and the letters, to take with him. Perhaps Inspector Dimm or Harrison could connect the initialed entries to known swindlers or smugglers. Rex knew too few men in town.

"There has to be another secret hiding place somewhere," Daniel swore, tapping walls, moving paintings, lifting the carpet to look for loose floorboards. He avoided the section of the rug that still had bloodstains. Someone had placed a chair over the blotches.

Hareston, the butler, was not being helpful. He'd resigned, in fact, the moment he saw that Daniel Stamfield had returned, with his scarier, scarred relation and court writs. He ignored the introduction to the wizened Mr. Fingers altogether, as being beneath his dignity, but announced he would pack his belongings immediately.

Rex did not think Hareston's leaving, with his dignity or the family silver, was a good idea. He waved the legal papers in front of the fellow. "Do you know what these say?"

Hareston raised his red-veined nose. "I do not have my spectacles at hand."

Which Rex took to mean the butler could not make out the legal terms. "They give the right of search and removal of any evidence, and demand the cooperation of every citizen. That means your cooperation, or you could be held in contempt of the courts."

"I have not been paid. I am therefore no longer employed by the household. You have no right to threaten me."

Daniel's size and Rex's determination gave them the right, and they all knew it. Rex removed a gold coin from his pocket. "If you tell us where your master was hiding his cache, you will be paid, and given this as a bonus."

Hareston did not know, even for the reward. Rex sent Daniel and Duncan up to the baronet's bedchamber to search the clothespress, under the mattress, atop the canopy.

Rex kept looking in Sir Frederick's book room, and kept asking Hareston questions. He had the butler recite the details of the murder scene as he recalled them, and judged the man's statements to be true. Then he asked where the valet had been at the time. Hareston swore he did not know, which was also true. He'd been abed, himself, with a bottle, thinking he had hours still before the ladies' return.

"And Brusseau's current address?"

"I do not have it."

"But I am guessing that you might know where I can find him. Think hard before you attempt to throw dust in my eyes. It will not work, and I shall only get mad. You do not want to see me angry, so do not lie."

The danger in the viscount's voice had the butler backing toward the door. "All I know is that someone sent him to a wealthy shipowner. That's all the Frenchman said when he collected his things. That and the merchant had aspirations of being a gentleman."

"His name?"

"Johnston, or something like."

There was a J.J. noted in the little ledger book. "James? Jonathan? Joseph?"

"I do not know, and that is the truth as God is my witness."

And as Rex saw blue.

Daniel and Duncan returned then, empty-handed except for the dead man's signet ring, his purse, a pearl stickpin, which Daniel retrieved from Duncan's pocket, and a woman's pink silk stocking.

"Did Sir Frederick bring his ladybirds home to roost?"

Hareston pulled himself up. "Never. This was a decent Christian household, until recently."

Daniel and Duncan had not found any hiding spots, and no other safe. "He's got to have one, with all the money he withdrew. Stands to reason a clutch-fisted chap like Hawley would keep some home, even if he was investing most of it. Maybe it's behind the books here," Daniel said, starting to pull volumes off the shelves.

Rex agreed that the solution had to be in the office, where the baronet spent most of his time, alone. He did not entertain, according to the butler, and the servants were not permitted to clean the room, as evidenced by the dust clouds stirred up as the bookshelves were disturbed.

Rex stared around, considering other possibilities, idly trying to spin a large globe of the world on its stand in the corner. Like everything else in the room, the thigh-high globe was dusty and obviously too long without oil, so it barely turned on its axis. "Try the hearth, Daniel. Maybe you'll see loose bricks or a false back."

Daniel came out of the fireplace with his head covered in soot. "It's a wonder the place hasn't burned down, with the chimneys going uncleaned that way."

"He did not wish the bother, or the strangers, or the dirt," Hareston said with a sneer as Daniel shook soot and ashes across the room.

Rex was almost ready to concede defeat. Before they left, however, he asked the butler who he thought killed Sir Frederick, if not Miss Carville. Did he have enemies? Debtors? The butler had no guesses.

"I was not in Sir Frederick's confidence. Brusseau was. Thick as inkle weavers, the pair of them. But that woman has to be guilty, she or her lover."

Rex stopped spinning the ornate globe. "You saw her with a man?"

"I saw her sneaking out of the house after everyone was abed, all right. I knew her by her blue cape. Lined with fur, it is, and sent Sir Frederick into paroxysms when he got the bill. I saw the man in the street lamp's light, too. Fair-haired, he was."

Rex smashed his fist into the globe, which split into two halves: one filled with gold, the other with banknotes.