'Til Death Do Us Part (28 page)

S
OMETIME
LATER
HE
became vaguely aware that Calista was no longer tucked against him. He opened his eyes to the fading afternoon sunlight and found her standing beside the bed.

“I was just about to wake you,” she said.

“I wasn't asleep. Just resting.”

“The hour grows late.” She tied the tapes of her petticoats with quick, efficient movements. “People will wonder what has happened to us.”

“Damn.” He groaned and sat up on the side of the bed.

Evidently the passion that had so thoroughly relaxed him had produced the opposite effect on Calista. She appeared astonishingly energetic as she went about the business of getting dressed.

“I rescued our clothes from the stairs,” she said.

She tossed his trousers at him. He grabbed them out of the air and removed his watch from one of the pockets. He groaned again when he saw the time.

“You're right,” he said. “I suppose we must return to Cranleigh Hall before everyone becomes alarmed.”

Not the words he wanted to speak at that particular moment, he thought. But nothing more suitable came to mind. He watched Calista adjust her stockings.

The sight of her elegant leg almost did him in again. But he summoned his willpower and got into his trousers. He picked up his shirt and smiled.

“What is amusing you, sir?” she asked with some suspicion.

“The thought of you collecting our clothes from the stairs.”

“Thank heavens there was no one around to witness the scene. Really, it looked quite . . . quite scandalous.”

“How odd. It did not feel scandalous.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You
are
laughing at me.”

“Not at all.” He crossed the room, caught hold of her chin, and kissed her lightly. “I was just amused by the thought of our clothes scattered along the staircase. It would certainly have made an impression on the other members of our families.”

Calista gave him a repressive glare. “You're right. But that being said, I am very grateful that we are alone.”

“So am I.” He smiled again. “I was correct about one thing, you know.”

“What was that?”

“I knew you would look very good in my house. You look even better in my bed.”

He found his tie draped over the newel-post at the bottom of the stairs. He slung it around his collar and knotted the strip of silk while Calista retrieved a missing glove from the bottom step.

When he chanced to catch sight of himself in the mirror above the console in the front hall he noticed that he was grinning.

“Trent?”

He met her eyes in the mirror. She looked unexpectedly serious.

“Mmm?” he said.

“Eudora thinks that the reason you lost your first love—a young woman named Althea—was because of the acid scars. Your sister is convinced that your heart was broken and that is why you have never married.”

He turned around and put his hands very firmly on Calista's shoulders. “I love my sister but she has a flair for the melodramatic. Yes, I was very fond of Althea—but not so fond of her that I did not leave England and set out to see the world. And yes, perhaps I would have married her eventually had matters developed in a different way—and if she had been willing to wait, which I very much doubt. But it was not my scars that put an end to our association.”

“What, then?”

“When word got out that my inheritance had vanished her parents whisked Althea off to London. She was launched into Society and was very soon engaged to a wealthy young man. As far as I know, they are happy. More to the point, so am I.”

At least for now, he thought.

E
UDORA
TOOK
A
dainty bite of mashed potatoes and gave Trent and Calista a knowing look.

“While the two of you were out interviewing the medium and apparently enjoying some healthy exercise in the excellent weather,” she said, “I went through the portion of Kettering's household journal that covers the past six months.”

Calista concentrated on forking up a bite of salmon. “How very efficient of you.”

“It wasn't like I had anything better to do,” Eudora said. She smiled. “You will be pleased to know that the expenditures for the items he purchased from Mrs. Fulton's mourning goods shop are all there, but aside from those, most of the other entries are quite ordinary—the sort of expenses one would expect given Kettering's financial status. Bills to various tailors, and so forth.”

Trent ate some of his salmon while he contemplated that information. He discovered he had worked up an appetite that afternoon in his bedroom. In spite of the dangerous situation in which they were
all embroiled, he was savoring everything on his plate. Something to do with Calista being seated at the opposite end of the table, he decided. He could easily become accustomed to the sight of her there. He met her eyes and smiled.

She blushed and concentrated on her potatoes.

Andrew was the only one at the table who seemed oblivious to Eudora's innuendos concerning the afternoon's activities. He was busy cleaning his plate with enthusiasm.

Trent focused on Eudora's comments.

“I suppose it would have been too easy to find payments to a hired killer listed amid the bills to his tailor and the fishmonger,” he said. “What about expenses that were entered as miscellaneous?”

“Nothing like that,” Eudora said. “I can report, however, that although he was decidedly stingy with his servants, Kettering appears to have been rather generous to his wife. Her quarterly allowance is quite handsome.”

Calista paused her fork halfway to her mouth, and frowned. “Well, it was her money, after all.”

Andrew looked thoughtful. “That small fact needn't have stopped him if he had been inclined to be less than generous. We know that her father's will protected Mrs. Kettering to some extent but that does not mean that she actually controlled the money on a day-to-day basis.”

“True,” Trent said.

“No, indeed,” Eudora said. “My mother's second husband succeeded in going through her inheritance in a matter of a few short months.”

Calista gave that some thought. “So, what does Kettering's unexpected generosity to his wife tell us?”

“That he wanted to keep her quiet?” Andrew suggested.

“I agree,” Trent said. “For whatever reason—perhaps simply to maintain peace in the household—he was willing to give Anna Kettering a sizeable allowance.”

Calista tapped her fork absently against her plate. “Perhaps he had other reasons. It occurs to me that a large quarterly allowance could mask a wide variety of expenses.”

“Yes, it could.” Eudora put her fork down so quickly it clanged on the delicate china. “What if Kettering used the allowance money to cover the expenses of the hired killer?”

“Huh.” Trent pondered that.

Andrew was equally thoughtful. “But why bother to conceal such expenses?”

“Because they could constitute evidence in a court of law,” Trent said. “If the hired killer is ever captured and he names his employer to the police, a record of a series of payments from Kettering would be damning.”

“So he concealed the killer's fees as his wife's quarterly allowance?” Eudora said. “That is an interesting theory.”

“At this point it is only a theory,” Trent said.

He watched Eudora help herself to some more vegetables. It was not just his appetite that had increased of late, he realized. She was eating more heartily than usual, too. It was as if both of them had been hibernating for some time and had finally emerged from their dark cave.

It was good to be among friends, he thought. Good for the body and the soul.

“There was only one other expense that caught my eye,” Eudora said. “Kettering purchased a house in Frampton Street—Number Six. Evidently it was an investment. But there is no record of any rent having been paid by a tenant and no indication that it was sold.”

Trent, Calista, and Andrew looked at her. Eudora smiled somewhat smugly.

“You were saving that bit of information as a surprise?” Trent asked.

“Sorry,” she said. “Couldn't resist.”

T
RENT
AND
A
NDREW
sat at a table in a small neighborhood pub at the end of Frampton Street and watched the front door of Number Six. They were the only customers. The balding proprietor was happy to chat so long as he got paid for his time.

“Aye, there's a lodger at Number Six,” he said. “Never comes in here. You won't see him out and about much during the day. Never had a good look at him. He sometimes leaves his house after dark but he goes out the back and through the alley. Good neighbor, though. Never had any trouble at Number Six.”

“Does he ever have visitors?” Trent asked.

“Not as far as I know.” The proprietor rocked a little on his heels. “Well, except for one night earlier this week. It was after I closed up for the day. I was upstairs with my wife. We were in bed. Heard a hansom stop in the street. My wife was curious to see which of our neighbors was coming home at such a late hour. She went to the window. When she saw the passenger go up the steps to Number Six, she called me.”

“Was the visitor male or female?” Andrew asked.

“Male. Carried a black satchel, the sort of bag a doctor carries. He stayed about half an hour or so. When he left he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. No surprise, I suppose, given the late hour.”

“Do you happen to know why the lodger at Number Six needed a doctor late at night?” Trent inquired.

“None at all.” The proprietor rocked back and forth a few more times. “Expect he had an accident or maybe came down with a fever. I'll tell you one thing, though. Doctors don't make calls at two in the morning—not unless they're well paid for their services.”

“Thank you,” Trent said.

He put some coins on the table. The proprietor made the money disappear and went back behind the bar.

Andrew looked at Trent, excitement sparking in his eyes.

“It's him, isn't it?” he said. “The man who attacked you with the knife. He must have summoned a doctor after you whacked him with the wreath stand.”

“It seems likely,” Trent said. “With luck we will find out for certain later tonight.”

“We're going to follow him if he leaves?”

“You are going to follow him at a very discreet, hopefully very safe distance. We are dealing with a killer, Andrew. Our goal is to acquire evidence we can give to the police. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When I get word from you assuring me that Number Six is empty, I'll go in and have a look around.”

Andrew nodded wisely. “Good plan. Just the sort of scheme that Clive Stone would concoct.”

“What an amazing coincidence.” Trent paused. “Listen closely, Andrew. You must make absolutely certain that the lodger in Number Six doesn't see you. But just in case, be sure that you take your revolver with you.”

“Of course. I always carry it these days.” Andrew patted the pocket of his overcoat and then turned very serious. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Do you think there might be a future in this line of work?”

“What line?”

“The private inquiry business.”

“You call this a business?”

“I am thinking of becoming a private inquiry agent—like Clive Stone.”

Trent exhaled slowly. “Stone is a consultant. And he has a private income from some rather vague investments, if you will recall.”

“Properties. He invests in properties.”

“What I'm trying to say is that I doubt very much that you'd be able to make a good living at the private inquiry business.”

“It occurs to me that if I worked by referral—the same way that Calista does—I might be able to attract clients who are willing to pay well for a guarantee of very discreet service.”

“It's one thing to make discreet inquiries into the backgrounds of your sister's clients,” Trent said. “It would be quite another to set yourself up as a consultant who is willing to get involved with missing persons or situations such as the one we are in at the moment.”

“The thing is, I rather like discovering secrets.”

“I suspect that it would be a rather dangerous career path. In my experience everyone has secrets. Some will go to extreme lengths to protect those secrets. If you will recall we have turned up a number of dead people in our own investigation, and at this very moment we are sitting in a pub a few doors down from a man who quite possibly enjoys cutting ladies' throats.”

Andrew gave that some brief consideration. “I admit I don't like the fact that Calista is in danger. But when this case is resolved and she is
safe, I think I might see about going into the private inquiry line. It's not like I haven't had some experience.”

Clearly the prospect of danger was not going to be a deterrent. Trent considered his options. There were not a lot of them.

“I doubt if your sister would approve of your career plans,” he ventured.

“I'm sure I can convince her that I would be successful. I told you, I will be very careful when it comes to taking on clients.”

“Andrew, your future is none of my affair; however, I feel an obligation to advise you. I am a few years older than you and I've had some experience. Believe me when I tell you that—”

“Enough about my future. What about your future with Calista? I think it is time I inquired into your plans.”

Trent looked at him. “What?”

“It's obvious that the two of you are involved in a romantic relationship, sir. I'm all the family that Calista has. It is my duty to see to her best interests.” Andrew squared his shoulders and elevated his chin. “I want to know your intentions.”

There was a little steel in his voice and more in his eyes.

“My intentions,” Trent repeated.

“Yes.”

“An excellent question,” Trent said. “All I can tell you at the moment is that my intentions will depend entirely on Calista's intentions.”

Andrew's brows scrunched together. “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

Trent got to his feet. “It means that, although I respect your desire to protect your sister, in the end she will make her own decisions. Meanwhile, we must tend to the matter at hand. I'm going to leave you here to keep an eye on Number Six. Send word immediately if our suspect leaves the house. That will be my cue to commit another act of burglary.”