Dangerous Diana (Brambridge Novel 3) (11 page)

“Oh, I am so sorry, lass,” Mrs. Hobbs sobbed. “We tried so hard to continue your work for you whilst you were on holiday.”

Melissa blinked. The normally battle-hardened Mrs. Hobbs was as soft as a pussy cat.

“It was my fault. I must have left the garden door open. They had already finished in the kitchen and were starting in the front room by the time I arrived. They were quite surprised to see me.” Mrs. Hobbs shook her head, and set off in tears again. “They kept demanding ‘
the book, the book’
and so I gave them that beautiful book that you made. They must have seen it when we were dispensing medicines at the back gate. They were desperate for it.”

“What did they do next?” Melissa asked gently.

“They took the book and left. The young one spat in my face.” Mrs. Hobbs hiccupped. “No one has spat in my face before. I’m so sorry about your house and your book.”

“Do not worry about either. I’ve always hated this house and the book I can write again.”

Mrs. Hobbs sniffed. “I would agree that the house has a rather unwholesome air to it. For the last two weeks it’s been as if there were ghosts here in the night when we’ve been asleep.”

Melissa shivered. She had thought that too.

“Perhaps there have been?” Mr. Hobbs suggested. “If they were combing the house for your book, Miss Sumner, then they wouldn’t have found it. We kept it with us in our room along with your takings. It was too precious.”

“I’m afraid to say that I don’t think that that book was quite what they were seeking.” Melissa inhaled some of the ginger steam from her tea. Momentarily it misted her glasses. Taking them off, she wiped them against her skirts. “Mrs. Hobbs, I’ve just had another visitor in the kitchen. They demanded the book again.”

“Perhaps it is a different person?” Mrs. Hobbs said hopefully, sitting up slightly.

“I’m afraid not. They referred to the mess. And this isn’t the first time they have demanded the book. Including your encounter, they’ve now asked four times.”

“Four?” Mr. Hobbs said. “But…”

“Once after I was going to sell the house, a second time when they demanded I meet them in St. Giles.”

“When you went on
holiday
,” Mr. Hobbs murmured. Melissa nodded.

“The third time was when you met them, Mrs. Hobbs, and a fourth time just now in the kitchen.”

“Were you really on holiday?” Mrs. Hobbs asked, her eyes rounded.

Melissa chewed her lip. The luxurious bedroom, the attentive staff, her discovery of a man that made her want more, and yet who wanted to use her as bait in order to achieve victory against the Viper—

“It sometimes felt like a holiday,” she whispered truthfully. Gaining strength in her voice, she continued, “It was unexpected, and I was with a friend.” If Hades wasn’t, then Carter had been. She stopped and reflected. “Did you say, Mrs. Hobbs, that one of the intruders was young?”

“Yes he was. And he didn’t walk out of the house, he somersaulted!”

Melissa replaced her glasses on her nose. She put down her teacup on the floor carefully. “Was there anything else unusual about him?”

Mrs. Hobbs stared at Melissa and slumped in the chair. “I can’t remember. Just like the other man. I saw him, but I can’t remember anything about him, he just seemed to blend into the surrounding room.”

Before Mrs. Hobbs could collapse into hysterics once more, Mr. Hobbs said quietly, “He walked on his tiptoes. I was coming down the stairs and he passed in the hall at the bottom. It made him look like a ballerina.”

Melissa gasped. The footman who had left her some cake! He too had walked on tiptoes.

“He must have come in through the garden door because I could follow where he had tracked these funny half-moon shaped mud stains through the house. It was probably caused by him walking on the balls of his feet.” Mr. Hobbs scratched his chin. “The other gentleman left normal footprints.”

Melissa had seen the half-moon prints before as well. “It’s the same young man every time. I found the same prints whilst I was trying to sell the house. They were everywhere—he was obviously rummaging for the book.” She paused. “I think he tried to kill me as well.”

Mrs. Hobbs gasped and swooned. With a grunt, Mr. Hobbs grabbed her and pushed her back in the chair.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said, glancing quickly at Melissa. “Never mind Mrs. Hobbs being an old battle-axe, she’s a softie at heart really. You’ve been so good to us, and we would hate anything to happen to you.”

Melissa blinked, a tightness gathering in her chest at Mr. Hobbs’ words. Quickly, she wiped away a rogue tear that threatened to fall down her cheek.

“You know,” Mr. Hobbs said as he supported his wife’s lolling head, “what my missus described sounded very much like an acrobat. We saw one once in Vauxhall Gardens. We were there to see the famed Grande Salvatore knife thrower and the acrobats opened the act. They cartwheeled and flipped everywhere, hanging from branches.”

“That would fit with what Carlos said about the chandelier,” Melissa murmured to herself.

“What are you going to do now then, miss?”

Melissa took one last sip of her cold ginger tea. The strong concoction burnt a trail down her throat and a fire burned bright in her heart. After Eliza and Edgar she had vowed that no one was going to direct her actions ever again, and yet she was still being pushed around by the mysterious Viper and an acrobat. Not to mention the attempts by the high handed but irresistible Hades.

“First, I am going to find that book.”

Mr. Hobbs nodded.

Melissa looked at the kitchen floor where the despicable coal man had lain after she had dealt with him in the only way she had known how. “And then I’m going to find the Viper and I’m going to make him wish he had never tangled with me.”

CHAPTER 13

The gas lighting outside Whites burned a cold and luminous blue. Inside was brighter, but less harsh, lit with candles and mirrors. Gentlemen gathered in small salons, talking, smoking or gaming. Hades stalked through the halls without looking left or right. He headed directly towards where he knew the betting book was kept.

Freddie left him to catch up with some ‘old cronies’ as he referred to them. Hades knew that Freddie hadn’t liked the look in his eye when they had met on the steps outside Whites. Hades had no apologies to make, however. He needed to find out who knew about the Viper and why they were making his mission public knowledge before everything he had put in place was compromised.

Two gentlemen were examining the book when he arrived at its station in an alcove on a desk table by the stairs. He cursed and hung back a little. It was to no avail however; one of the men looked up and spotted him.

“Your lordship!”

Hades groaned. Now they were going to engage him in conversation.

“We were just discussing whether or not we would put a bet on for you against the Viper.”

“Interesting,” Hades drawled. The man who had spoken flushed, but the other gained confidence in his reply.

“Yes, everyone’s heard about how you routed the Frenchies with your little known scorpion strategy in the Peninsular. In fact, the rumors are that you were behind many of our victories. I’ve decided to bet for you.” He turned defiantly to his friend, “I don’t care what you say about the Viper killing everything he dislikes, I think the earl can best him.”

Good God
. It seemed that his notoriety was growing. Someone had even been blabbing about his military service as well. How was he to catch anyone if they all knew that his forte was strategic warfare? They would constantly be trying to second guess him.

“Where did you hear about the scorpion strategy?” Hades asked curiously. Both of the men flushed.

“Old Granwich was in here a couple of days ago. Some bore of a professor from the Royal Society was spouting off about contributing to the war effort and complaining about the fact that if Earl Harding didn’t do it, then he shouldn’t have felt obliged to do it either. Granny was apoplectic. He kept saying that you were the greatest strategist we had ever known, and that we would have lost the war without you…”

Hades grunted. Normally Granwich was the soul of discretion. This man must have really got under his skin.

“I’d be interested in seeing the book, if you don’t mind?” he asked gruffly. With muttered acquiescence, the two young men walked away, throwing covert looks at him over their shoulders.

Hades waited until they had finally re-entered one of the card rooms before turning his attention to the book. Darting a quick glance up and down the hall, he began to read.

The bets were placed across several pages. He had never placed one at Whites himself, but it was easy to see how the book was put together. The oldest bets were first followed by more and more current bets towards the middle of the book. Several middle pages were taken up with bets concerning his mission against the Viper.

In curiosity he counted the bets for and against. Sixty percent were against him succeeding, with some even going so far as to say that he would die a similar death as the others. He smiled grimly. There was no way he would let that happen.

Paging back through the book, he reached the first of the bets regarding his interaction with the Viper. It was an inauspicious one line bet that was made by Mr. Edward Fiske against Mr. Leonard Trump. It said that the Viper would win against the earl.

Making a mental note of the names, Hades paged a little further back in the book, to check that he had not missed anything. He blinked. He didn’t just feature in bets against the Viper, but every page held a bet regarding when he was going to marry (if at all), who he was going to marry, and how many women would die from a broken heart after his conquest.

Devil be damned
. Till now he hadn’t really stopped to think about how others perceived him—a too serious, boring, bookish man. But these bets made him out to be a lothario of the highest order.

Hades made to close the book, but as the pages flicked by, another name caught his eye, appearing again a few years previously. Each bet was for a Miss Melissa Sumner to marry a gentleman of the ton. Dozens of men were listed. Each one was lost. A roaring rose in his ears. Despite Freddie’s explanation of Melissa’s actions, Hades wanted to rip the pages from the book and shred them with his bare hands.

Around him the candles flickered in a short gust of wind as the front door to Whites opened again. Glancing up, Hades caught sight of Edward Fiske. He was deep in conversation with Henry. Hades straightened. Henry was meant to be on his honeymoon. Perhaps Granwich would remove Hades from the case now that the spymaster was back.

Closing the betting book with a snap, he pushed it firmly back onto its table and strode towards the front door. Neither Edward nor Henry noticed him until he was almost upon them. They looked up with a start.

“Harding!” Henry smiled warmly. It seemed that the memory of Hades’ failed seduction of his now wife was in the past. That and the insinuations that he had made about her also being a French spy.

“Anglethorpe.” Hades nodded with a jerk of his head. “Thought you were meant to be on your honeymoon?”

“Some things have come up. I must speak to you about them later.”

“I will leave you gentlemen to it,” Edward interjected softly. “I can see you have much to discuss.”

“Actually, Henry, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to Edward,” Hades said seriously.

Henry raised his eyebrows. “Of course,” he murmured. “I will call on you in the morning. Good evening, Edward, Hades.”

Edward took a step backwards. “I hope I haven’t done anything wrong?” he stammered. “You have the same look that Anglethorpe had when I turned up at a house party with his ex-mistress.”

Interesting. Hades filed that one away for later. Edward hadn’t finished babbling. “However, he has turned out to be a very good business contact.”

Hades snorted. The spymaster was a good business contact because Edward didn’t realize that most of the information was going in Henry’s direction. He knew Edward to have a brilliant business brain but it certainly seemed that his conspiracy acumen was low.

“I’d like to talk to you about a little bet you made with Mr. Trump.”

Edward’s face turned blank. “Bet with Mr. Trump?” he said, frowning. “I’m not sure I remember that bet.”

“It was regarding an entity called the Viper versus myself.”

Edward’s expression cleared. “But there was no bet!” He stopped and reconsidered. “I might have said that I bet you would win against such an entity, but I did not put it in the betting book. It was a figure of speech!”

“Can you remember who you were talking to, and how it came up?”

Edward frowned, and stared over Hades’ shoulder. Glancing back, Hades could see a group of men gathering behind them, picking up their cloaks, hats and canes.

“Perhaps we should go into the sitting room? It might be quieter.” Hades nodded to the little used salon door opposite where they stood. It was usually the room in which the owners of White’s served coffee during the day should any of their club members drop by, or in some cases, not leave the night before.

Edward seemed to pick up the seriousness in Hades’ voice. He nodded once and crossed the hall to the salon. Opening the door quietly, he stepped into the salon and quickly looked from left to right. He turned and held the door with his fingertips. “We’ll be able to speak here,” he said.

Hades stood back to let the party of gentlemen pass.

“Not dead yet then, Harding?” one good-natured, drunken voice shouted.

“My bet’s on the Viper!” another slurred.

Hades stepped forward and surveyed the group. They shrunk back as one.

“Shut up, Johnnie! Don’t you know the earl is a dangerous man? It’s said he keeps dangerous dogs and will take your woman if you so much as look in his direction.”

“He won’t take my Regina!” the hapless Johnnie slurred back.

Hades had had enough. He tapped his cane thoughtfully on the floor. “Hmm, Regina? That wouldn’t happen to be the lovely Regina who resides at the Lamb and Flag, would it?”