The Spider's Touch (33 page)

It was nearly dark. He did not need his watch to tell him that it was near ten o’clock. Colonel Potter and his friends could stay for hours in the bawdy house, unless—and on a sudden hunch Gideon grew hopeful—unless they ran through their money and had to leave.

Now that he had a moment to reflect, he recalled that Mother Whyburn’s was not the obvious choice for an officer who had been cashiered. Since she offered only the cream of harlotry, Mother Whyburn also charged the highest fees. As a gesture of her piety, she donated money to the Church, but Gideon could be fairly certain that her charity did not extend to her customers, not when famous courtesans like Sally Salisbury used her rooms.

A woman costumed in a Quaker’s hood with a high-draggled petticoat spied him and started towards him, alerting him that he had stood too long. He ignored her cry, “Don’t leave me, my charmer!” and made his way back along Little Russell Street.

Luckily, the Mollies in the seedy taverns that filled Clare Market revealed no appetite for anyone disguised as an older man. But Gideon knew that no disguise would be sufficient to discourage their female counterparts, so he tried to find a place where he could sit and watch through a window for Colonel Potter’s return. He saw the sign of the Postboy in Russell Street and headed towards it, until he recalled that Button’s, the new coffee house which had opened beneath it, was said to be patronized by Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, both Whigs with Court appointments.

That left the older brick house behind him on the corner of Bow Street, which had for a long time been famous as Will’s Coffee House. Will’s had been a haunt for Addison and Steele, too, but its true fame had been as a gathering spot for poets. Dryden and Pope, among others, had both composed verses at its tables, but ever since Will’s heirs had died off, its custom had dispersed.

The current tenant had not even bothered to remove the old sign. Gideon peered into the dirty windows, and not seeing anyone he knew, went in. The house was almost empty, which did not bode well for the new owner’s success, but it did suit Gideon’s needs very well.

He took a seat at the end of one of the long oak benches facing Russell Street, ordered coffee, and settled in to wait.

Chapter Fifteen

So Man, who here seems principal alone,

Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown,

Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal;

‘Tis but a part we see, and not a whole.

I. ii

Gideon was lucky. After scarcely an hour, having sipped at several dishes of coffee and avoided the distractions that spilled in from the street, he spotted Colonel Potter and only one of his friends making their way down Russell Street towards the Piazza. Night had fallen completely, and he would not have seen them in the dark if they had not hired the services of a linkboy. Alerted to their approach by the torch, however, Gideon was easily able to recognize the man he sought.

He paid his reckoning as quickly as he could and caught up with his quarry as they turned left towards Maiden Lane. He had hoped that Colonel Potter would part from his friend before reaching his door, and was trying to figure out how to accost two men, when the second officer bid the Colonel goodnight, and continued with the linkboy towards the Strand.

Gideon’s pulse was rapid as he paused at the corner of Maiden Lane, pulled off his wig, and stuffed it into a deep pocket of his coat. He hurriedly dusted the ashes from his brow, before pulling a black half-mask from his other pocket and tying it on.

The transformation took only a few seconds, before he was following the Colonel’s trail, but he had to stop the Colonel before he reached his lodgings and hope that no one interfered.

Striding so fast as to be almost at a run up the deserted street, Gideon caught up with him just two houses shy of his door.

“A word with you, Colonel Potter!”

The man turned instantly, and with one look at Gideon’s mask, waited only a split-second before drawing his sword.

His reaction came as no surprise to Gideon, who rapidly drew his own. He would rather have talked to Potter first, but when faced with a stranger in a mask, most men would fight—and pose their questions later.

Potter revealed even less hesitation than most. Almost before Gideon could be on his guard, Potter lunged with an accuracy that reminded Gideon that he had faced off with an officer trained in his Majesty’s Foot-Guards.

His quickness saved him as he leapt to one side. Potter lunged again, and then again, keeping him on the defensive, but after the first few moves, Gideon could read his opponent fairly well. He parried every subsequent attack, and before long had the satisfaction of seeing his opponent start to flag. Colonel Potter’s breaths came louder. His face registered astonishment, and even a touch of concern, when he realized that the man who had accosted him was no footpad, but someone highly trained in the duello.

Keeping his focus on Potter’s eyes, Gideon could almost divine the thoughts running through the man’s head. He did not dare give in or he might become a victim of treachery. He had no choice but to fight to the death.

Growing shorter of breath, himself, Gideon got out, “I did not come here to kill you. I came to question you about Sir Humphrey’s murder.”

Surprise made the Colonel falter. Gideon was careful not to take advantage of the moment, knowing that he would get no answers from a corpse.

The moment passed so suddenly that he was grateful for the caution Maître Andolini had preached. In a fury, the Colonel lunged again. But this time his thrust was so wild, that with one fluid movement, Gideon was able to evade it, nick him on the sword hand, and grab him as the weapon clanged onto the pavement.

Gideon held on to the struggling officer by his neck. It was far from easy, since the man knew how to fight. But Colonel Potter’s resources had been sapped, first by the spirits he had drunk and then, presumably, by his activity at Mother Whyburn’s house. He was bigger than Gideon, but since Gideon could breathe and the Colonel could not, he eventually succumbed.

As soon as his captive started to go slack, Gideon lowered him to the pavement. Then, he stood over him, pressing the point of his épée to Potter’s throat, while waiting for him to recover consciousness.

Gideon’s own breathing was coming very hard. He could not recall ever being in such a hard fight. He was relieved that neither of them had been killed.

“Who are you?” was the first phrase that Colonel Potter managed to gasp out. He was holding his wounded hand to his throat, which made Gideon believe that he had already forgotten it, if the pain in his throat was worse.

“It doesn’t matter. But I do have a few questions for you.”

The Colonel cursed and struggled to sit, but the tip of Gideon’s sword on his chest convinced him to stay down.

“I shall not harm you again, unless your answers fail to satisfy my curiosity.”

Colonel Potter still refused to be reconciled. “What was Humphrey to you? Why should you care how he was killed?”

“I know
how
he was killed. It is the name of his murderer that interests me.”

“Well, it wasn’t me. You’re wasting your time if you think it was.”

“I’ll decide if my time is being wasted or not. I understand that you were angry with Sir Humphrey because he informed a member of the Hawkhurst household that you had been cashiered from the Foot-Guards.”

Colonel Potter cursed again. He tried to catch Gideon’s ankle to make him fall, but Gideon moved too quickly. He pinned the Colonel between his blade and the pavement.

“More of that,” he said, through gritted teeth, “and I shall assume your guilt and save the hangman the trouble.”

“I didn’t do it! I was angry—yes! Who wouldn’t be? Humphrey was an old fool! He couldn’t keep anything to himself, even if he were locked alone in a closet. He told that interfering spinster—what’s her name?—Mrs. Kean. And the next word I get from Lord Hawkhurst’s agent is that he’s
very sorry,
but his lordship has no need for my services.”

His sarcasm had already started to grate on Gideon’s ears, before he ended with in disgust. “Meddling old busybodies—the two of them! What business was it of theirs?”

“So, you killed him,” Gideon said. He did his best to hide his anger at hearing Mrs. Kean referred to with such disrespect, but he must not appear to know her. She would not be safe if Potter knew it was she who had asked for his help. Her reputation would suffer, at the very least.

“No! I’ve already told you. I did not kill Cove! What would the sense have been in that? I hardly think it would have made Lord Hawkhurst change his mind.”

The logic of his argument was sound. More importantly, he seemed to believe it. Gideon wondered if a person who would kill for a grudge or revenge would be able to state the reason against it as clearly as Colonel Potter just had.

His doubt about the man’s guilt disappointed him. He could not like him. Not as sullen and distempered a man as the Colonel was. He seemed the sort of person who was always quick to blame his own ills on someone else.

Gideon gave a hasty look up and down the street, but still no one was coming. He would have another few minutes at most.

He moved on. “Tell me what you know about Menzies.”

The Colonel gave a huff of disgust, before he started. Then, after a loaded pause, he said, “Tumbled onto his real name, have you?” Evidently he had realized that it was too late to pretend ignorance of Blackwell’s identity.

“Could Menzies have killed Sir Humphrey?”

“Maybe.” His tone was indifferent. “He’s an arrogant bastard.  But I don’t know why he would.”

“He left before the opera was over. Why?”

“How should I know?” the Colonel said, angry again. “If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him.”

“I will as soon as I can find him. Would you happen to know where he is?”

The Colonel shook his head, and Gideon could hear the weariness in his voice. “I don’t know where he stops. I don’t like him, I tell you! So why should I care where he lives?”

“Because he’s a Jacobite agent, and so are you. I know what he does.”

“There are more of us than you think.”

“How many?”

Gideon held his breath for the answer, but the Colonel retreated. “Nobody knows,” he grumbled. “But there are enough that I’ve no cause to live in Menzies’s pocket, I assure you. I doubt that anyone on this side of the water likes him. He treats us English Jacobites like lazy bumkins. He’s always demanding more money then cursing us when we can’t come up with it.

“I’d like to see
him
come up with all we have! Or risk his life. He thinks it’s easy! And he thinks he’s better than us because he’s closer to his Majesty. Sometimes I wonder if they realize how dangerous it is for us. Look at what Walpole’s doing now!”

“Is that why you wanted the position with Lord Hawkhurst? You were hoping to get more money for the cause?”

Potter made a motion that might have been a shrug. “Lovett’s been trying to turn him.  He thought that putting a Jacobite at his elbow might help to speed things up, fool that Hawkhurst is.”

Ignoring the slight to his name, since this was a fairly good description of Harrowby, Gideon pondered the news grimly. He wondered if the strategy would have worked. Harrowby was certainly persuadable, but when it came to politics, his first consideration would always be his own safety, and there was nothing safe about supporting James. There was nothing quixotic about his cousin.

Something else was bothering him, though. Mrs. Kean had said next to nothing about Lord Lovett.

“What about Lovett? Had he any animosity towards Sir Humphrey?”

Potter laughed. “Not he! They’ve been friends a long, long time.”

“But surely if Cove could not keep a secret, he was a danger to all of you. Particularly now, when the government is making so many accusations of treason.”

Colonel Potter shook his head again. “It wasn’t Lovett. He’s been too careful. And so have I. Humphrey could have spilled his guts in the Lords, and there would be nothing to back up his story. And who would bring a prosecution on the word of a man like him?

“Besides, they were friends, I tell you.”

“Then, if neither you nor Lovett did it, who did?”

Colonel Potter barked a laugh, but a hint of guilt was in the way he moved his head. “I hear the money’s on Dudley Mayfield. Why don’t you waylay him, if you want a confession?”

“Did you see him do it?”

Potter squirmed, and Gideon prodded him again.

“No!” After an inward struggle, he added, “But he’s the only one that makes any sense. The fool can’t hold his drink. He gets violent. He’d already attacked Humphrey once.”

“You didn’t see him. But I hear he left the box with you.”

He felt as much as saw the Colonel go tense. “Who told you? Who hired you to prove I killed Humphrey?”

“No one’s hired me.” Gideon ignored his first question. “You left the box with Mr. Mayfield—then, what?”

It took a bit more prodding, but at last the reason for Potter’s guilt came out.

“Yes, so I took young Mayfield to get a drink—what of it?” he admitted grudgingly. “That doesn’t mean I wanted him to kill Humphrey. I’m not saying I would have minded if he had dealt him a good blow—not after he betrayed me like that! Humphrey deserved it. But how could I have known that Mayfield was carrying a knife?”

His voice was as sullen as usual when he said, “I just thought it might be amusing to see the yokel go after him. But it wasn’t my fault if he killed him.”

“How much did he drink? I shouldn’t have thought there was enough time for him to get very drunk.”

“Oh, the boy can put them away. Still, no more than three or four, before he was off down the stairs after a harlot. She took his fancy, and he ran right after her.”

“Did you see where they went?”

The Colonel scoffed. “Did I follow him, do you mean? That’s not how I get my entertainment. And after spending ten minutes in his company, I was glad to see him to. The fellow’s a boor. I talked to a friend, drank another glass or two with him, then walked back to the box.”