CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BARNABAS STOOD OUTSIDE IN the cold rain, shivering in front of the earl’s love nest. He had no idea what he should do next. He’d talked to everyone he could find. He’d damn near harassed to death the earl’s staff he questioned them so often. And he had nothing. No suspects, no motive, no woman.
He and Henry were done. She wanted nothing more than to convict Coleraine, and he wasn’t certain she had ever been interested in him. He’d tried to enlist her aid, but her disdain for him had been palpable. Far be it for him to pursue a woman who didn’t want him.
He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He just wished he could make himself stop wanting her, and stop remembering what it was like to hold her, touch her, taste her.
Across the street, Coleraine paced the parlor, sometimes sitting at the table at the far end of the room. Oddly enough, for having installed Miss Hall in his house and staying there with her, the earl didn’t seem to have much interaction with her. Barnabas was glad he had company in his frustration, even if the earl didn’t know it.
Last night, with the assistance of a crude telescoping double-mirrored device he’d confiscated from a thief, Barnabas had been worried that he might be caught being a Peeping Tom on the earl’s amorous exploits. But nothing had been further from the truth. Miss Hall had escaped to her bedroom directly after supper, while Coleraine had cared for the baby.
Tonight the two weren’t even on the same floor. Coleraine was downstairs, while Miss Hall had gone to her upstairs room hours earlier.
Barnabas wasn’t certain what he was hoping for—the killer to strike again while he was watching Coleraine, or for the earl to do something that would show his guilt. Or maybe he should just hope he didn’t catch his death of cold standing in the icy rain that was seeping through his shoes, up his trousers, and had found a way to drip down the back of his neck in spite of his hat and great coat. With a hand that shook badly, he moved his notebook to an inside pocket in the hopes that it wouldn’t get wet, but at this point he didn’t have any faith in the pages staying dry.
Barnabas followed the earl’s lead, pacing to generate some warmth and tamp down his frustration. He had to solve this murder, but he was tilting at windmills. Either the murder was random or Coleraine was at the center of it. Either as the perpetrator or perhaps as the reason. The only thing he knew to do at this point was keep tabs on the earl day and night. He assigned Murdock to watching the earl in the day.
Coleraine approached the window. The light inside the room should make it near impossible to see out. His reflexes half frozen, Barnabas stumbled as he tried to switch directions and step into the shadows.
The over-topping gutters doused him with a stream of cold water. He gasped as the frigid rain ran down his neck under his coat. A massive shiver racked his body.
Coleraine leaned closer to the glass and cupped his hands around his eyes. After a minute, he darted out of the room.
Barnabas shook off the rain. Last night, when Miss Hall went to close her curtain, he’d deliberately stepped into the light of a street lamp and waved. He wanted her to know he was watching, but letting Coleraine see him hadn’t been smart.
He was freezing, tired, and frustrated. Had he let his interest in Henry distract him from his investigation? Had he missed something? Coleraine seemed to be a man who had great compassion for others—not only—women suffering hardships, but the motherless baby he had on his hands, too. Or could Henry be right and the earl was adept at using others’ needs to manipulate them?
Every now and again, he and other policemen ran across rare individuals who were devoid of compassion, who saw no difference between killing another or shaking hands. Some said they had a moral insanity, while suffering no delusions or other signs of madness. They didn’t seem to suffer any remorse, but they also didn’t have the normal range of emotions with regard to others. While they could get outraged at any slight to themselves, mostly they didn’t feel the softer emotions. Certainly, they never were outraged on behalf of another. Which didn’t fit with a man who rescued women. The only way Coleraine could be guilty was if he was one of those people.
Barnabas needed to test that. Somehow.
The front door opened. Coleraine stood in the opening with Miss Hall behind him. They seemed engaged in a terse discussion.
Coleraine turned toward him. “Harlow,” he shouted. “Come inside. You don’t have to stand out there in the rain.”
Miss Hall pulled away from Coleraine. Following her with his eyes, he swiveled. A frown pulled the corners of his mouth down.
She slipped past him, a cloak held over her head. “Mr. Harlow, would you like a cup of tea?”
Would he ever. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand outside in the frigid rain.
Coleraine came out after her. His hand hovered behind her back. He squinted into the darkness. The gesture was protective, while the way he searched the dark crannies suggested he was worried about the killer being out there ready to attack Miss Hall. He didn’t exhibit the same caution when walking the streets alone.
Barnabas splashed across the street. “I would appreciate that, Miss—”
“Smith,” Miss Hall interrupted.
Her insistence on the fictional name amused him. Everyone present knew exactly who she was.
Coleraine continued to scan the empty street, while Barnabas crossed it. Even a murderer probably had the sense to stay in on this night. Barnabas shook his head. Again he saw Coleraine’s actions in the light of innocence. He had to pursue this investigation as if the man was guilty, even if the thought left a sour taste in his mouth.
After his experiences with Henry, he had to question if he truly was as adroit at reading emotions and unspoken indications of thoughts as he’d thought he was. Henry had completely fooled him.
Coleraine stepped closer to Miss Hall, as if to claim her as his. Then he put his hands behind his back, as if trying to distance himself from what his initial move indicated. After Barnabas reached them, the earl led them both inside and turned to lock the door behind them.
A bone rattling shiver plowed through Barnabas.
The door to the servants’ area opened and the two older maids entered the narrow hall. The ex-harlots were none too happy to see him. After his repeated questionings that bordered on badgering, he could hardly blame them.
Coleraine looked at his odd servants with the exasperated air that a parent might look at a misbehaving child. Truth be told, both of the women would probably be dead if they’d continued in their prior occupations as prostitutes. They were too old and would have had to service diseased and dangerous men. That Coleraine was willing to put up with their incivility was just another marker of his generosity and compassion.
Surprisingly, Miss Hall was the one who took charge of them with a firm voice and clear directions. Or perhaps not so surprising given the disorder of her cousin’s household after she’d left. She said something about fixing the tea and left Barnabas alone with Coleraine.
Unfortunately when Barnabas tried to talk, his teeth chattered. His hair had sprung into annoying corkscrews he couldn’t smooth and probably erased any authority in his appearance. His shoes squelched as he walked into the parlor where the modest coal fire beckoned him with the promise of thawing. Before he knew it, his shoes were being carried off and he was forced to put his feet into the earl’s slippers. At least he’d managed to keep his trousers, even though he wondered if he should have accepted the earl’s offer as the wet material clung to his calves.
Miss Hall returned carrying a tea tray. The atmosphere charged. Coleraine’s attention was glued to her. She looked around and then turned to set the tray on the table in the adjoining dining room.
For all their distance, there was obviously a strong pull between the two of them. Barnabas might as well have been invisible. Leastwise, they probably weren’t noticing his cherubic curls.
She looked in his direction. “How do you take your tea?”
“Hot.” At this point he’d drink ditch water if it were hot. Once he warmed up he’d have to figure out a way to push Coleraine to a breaking point.
Miss Hall responded with a polite smile.
Some twitch of Coleraine made Barnabas turn in his direction. There was a mixture of longing and jealousy on his face. Were the smiles for Coleraine few and far between?
Coleraine moved to the table and gathered the cards that were laid out in a one-player game. “We could play a three-handed game of whist.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve never played whist.” Miss Hall walked toward the fire holding out a cup of tea.
“I could teach you.” Barnabas wished she hadn’t given him a saucer, because he couldn’t wrap his fingers around the cup to warm them. But then he was back among the upper classes, and they tended to shun simple comforts like the sturdy stoneware mugs that commoners liked to use—that he liked to use.
He took a second glance at Miss Hall. She had a decent pedigree, but it was odd she didn’t play whist. Or was she merely trying to get out of spending more time with the earl? Barnabas didn’t sense any animosity in his direction, but she did appear to be avoiding eye contact with the earl... So she didn’t want to spend time with the man. Interesting.
Coleraine’s mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened on the deck of cards. “We could play something simpler. Pontoon perhaps.”
Jealousy might not be a good indicator of moral insanity, because if the earl thought he owned Miss Hall, he could want to keep her for himself. Miss Hall was an attractive woman, but too quiet and reserved for Barnabas’s taste, much like the marriageable misses his mother kept introducing to him. Still, there had to be a way to use the earl’s interest in Miss Hall to see if his emotions extended to empathy.
The earl’s nostrils flared as he took a chair to the side of Miss Hall and aggressively shuffled the cards. Miss Hall’s breaths were more rapid than they should be. Barnabas had to work to keep the amusement from his face. She wasn’t as unaffected by the earl as she wanted to pretend. And the earl—well, his animal interest in Miss Hall was easy enough to read. Enough that Barnabas might as well be a piece of the furniture.
He took a seat across from her and agreed to play Pontoon. Miss Hall tried again to excuse herself by saying she couldn’t afford stakes and the house was too low on matches to use matchsticks for stakes anyway. Interesting that she was segregating herself from the earl.
“You should play.” He wrapped his cold fingers around the warm cup and lifted it off the saucer. He needed her around to measure Coleraine’s emotional response to another person. “Otherwise, I would have to bear his glares when I best him.”
“Oh, do not be fooled. He only glares because he likes people to think he is wicked.” She slid a cup of tea across the table toward the earl.
Coleraine stared into his cup and then looked up at Miss Hall with something akin to adoration. Her cheeks bloomed, but she ignored the earl and instead favored Barnabas with her attention.
“Then let us play for answers.” Barnabas said on a low note. “You can afford those stakes because you have nothing to hide.”
She gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach her alarmed eyes. From her response, obviously she had secrets.
Half expecting the earl to object, Barnabas waited. When that didn’t happen, he said, “We are settled then. We shall play for answers.”
The earl shook his head and turned his startled gaze in Barnabas’s direction. “But no questions you have already asked of either of us.”
No doubt about it, the earl was so smitten with Miss Hall he wasn’t paying attention.
Barnabas twisted his mouth to the side as he wondered how personal he could get with the questions. It wasn’t gentlemanly, but he’d eschewed gentlemanly pursuits. But he wasn’t certain how much he wanted to offend his host while his shoes were held hostage. Then again he had plenty of questions that had nothing to do with his investigation. Lord knew if Henry were here, she’d have a surfeit of queries. Probably she had multiple lists.
One thing he’d like to know was the scandal that put Miss Hall in the position she was in. Although there wasn’t any way he could ask directly. He had a theory she had a child outside of wedlock, but he could probably learn the truth by asking the right questions. If he had a place to look, he could put Murdock on chasing down the facts. Or Henry. But he wouldn’t tell Henry, because she’d have no compunction about destroying Miss Hall’s reputation.
Although to give Henry credit, she likely wouldn’t print anything she didn’t believe true. Miss Hall, for all her using an alias, had chosen to live with a man she had no relation to—a man who was very much in the public eye. She would be naive to think her character would remain unblemished if the facts became known.
The card game got underway, and the first question from the earl was innocuous. Favorite place. For Miss Hall, Oxfordshire, but she said it with such a sad note his ears perked forward. For him, he offered anyplace warm and dry.
But when Miss Hall asked where Coleraine’s favorite place was, he said, “Ireland.” That was deuced odd for a man who had rarely been there since he’d inherited his father’s title. His visits were of short duration and only five or six times a year.
“You don’t spend much time there.” Barnabas watched the earl’s body for indications of a lie.
“I would,” answered Coleraine in what seemed an honest, if wistful response. Almost as a person might say they wanted to go home before they died. “I do need to go there soon.”
A strong current of dismay ran through Barnabas. “You can’t leave the city until the investigation is complete.”
“But I’m not under arrest,” protested Coleraine. “I have things I need to do in Ireland.”
The commissioner would never believe that Coleraine would leave the city just to settle his affairs. The last thing Coleraine should do was something that made him look more guilty. Every day Barnabas had to argue against the tide of public opinion. “My superiors would consider it a flight from justice, so you would be charged and a warrant sworn out if you attempted to leave London.”
Neither of them were very happy with his announcement, but if it weren’t for Henry and her ilk, there wouldn’t be so much attention on Coleraine or the murder of Jane Redding. Barnabas could only offer the warning. To do more would be to compromise his investigation. The newspapers had made his life hell, and made his superiors question his conclusions. Although it would help if he had another suspect. But it wouldn’t do any good to ask who Coleraine thought might have killed Jane Redding. The earl had already given his private detective a list of potential suspects. Wilcher had given a copy to Murdock and between the three of them they had eliminated all the names.
The next time Barnabas won he asked Miss Hall, “What part of Oxfordshire?”
“Chipping Norton.” Miss Hall avoided eye contact and after an awkward pause, she added in a rush, “My old nurse has a cottage there, and I’m very fond of visiting her.”
So he only needed a bit of confirmation that the nurse had a child under her care.
“Your question for me?” Coleraine asked.
“Do you have any natural sons?” Barnabas barely kept from rolling his eyes at his own question. His brain must still be frozen. He should have asked about children, not just sons. He knew Coleraine had at least one out-of-wedlock son, and he seemed to be claiming Jane Redding’s baby, although, just like Henry had pointed out, the math didn’t add up.
Miss Hall swallowed and seemed to shrink into herself. He had a location and her uncomfortable response to his question. He’d bet she had an illegitimate son.
On the other hand there was almost a sense of relief that came from Coleraine as he answered in the affirmative. But then he added, “The questions should be appropriate for the company, old boy. I don’t wish to offend, Miss...my houseguest.”
Miss Hall cleared her throat. “I’m not offended. It was just a question.”
The game continued with little controversy for a while. Barnabas realized he’d been cast into the role of chaperone for two people who would rather be alone. The game and polite questions could go on for hours if he didn’t do something to shake things up. He had to challenge Coleraine in a way that would provoke an emotional response in a normal person. At his first opportunity, he asked Coleraine, “Where is your wife?”
“I don’t know.” Nothing in his manner or voice suggested he lied. “Haven’t you asked that before?”
Barnabas shook his head. It was something Henry wanted to know more than he did. “No. I’ve only been looking into Mrs. Redding’s murder.” He turned to Miss Hall. “What did he tell you about his wife?”
Miss Hall pushed her cards across the table. “That he likely drove her away.”
Tucking away that piece of information for examination later, Barnabas took a deep breath and asked her, “Knowing his wife is missing and his previous mistress was murdered, is it worth what he pays you to stay here?”
Coleraine winced, then leaned in as if he meant to throw a punch, but his words were mild. “That was two questions.”
Barnabas kept still, watching Coleraine. His response wasn’t quite strong enough for him to have a good read on him.
Miss Hall, on the other hand, was insulted. “He’s not paying me to stay here.” She stood and clanked the teacups on the tray. “I should like to retire, if you will excuse me.”
Coleraine stood, too. He leaned to touch her hand. “Leave it for Fanny, Tessa.”
She snatched up the tray and held it between them. So in spite of the obvious heat between the two of them, she wasn’t giving Coleraine an inch. She carried the tray from the room.
As soon as she was gone, Coleraine’s mouth thinned and he said in a low tight voice, “What the hell is wrong with you? She isn’t my mistress. Not that—”
“I know.”
“—I haven’t offered. What?”
“I know she isn’t your mistress,” said Barnabas.
Coleraine’s hands fisted. “She was nothing but concerned about you, and this is how you repay her? You were invited in as a guest, not to insult her.”
“I know.” This was the kind of anger on the behalf of another that a person of moral insanity shouldn’t be able to muster.
Coleraine glowered at him. “If I had known you would be such an ass, I would have left you to drown in the rain. What in the hell were you trying to accomplish?”
“Only to help or hinder my investigation,” Barnabas muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, when he was trying to provoke a response, he didn’t feel he should explain his tactics. Although he was back to where he started in that he didn’t think it was possible that Coleraine murdered Jane Redding.
“What?”
Although he had to give some explanation for acting like an ass. “I wanted to see how she’d respond.”
Coleraine’s lower jaw thrust forward and he leaned in until his face was mere inches away. He thrust his finger out with each word. “Don’t you ever treat her like that again.”
Just how angry was he? “Or what?”
The earl’s face reddened and the veins in his neck were distended. “I’ll wring your bloody neck.”
Definitely raw anger and protectiveness on behalf of Miss Hall. Relief flowed through Barnabas. He didn’t want a man he liked as much as he liked Coleraine to be guilty.
Coleraine blanched, as if he’d just realized he’d threatened to kill the man investigating him for murder. “You’re a bastard.”
“Sometimes I have to be to learn what people are really thinking.”
The earl moved stiffly towards the doorway. “I’ll have Fanny fetch you a pillow and blanket. You can sleep on the sofa, but don’t leave without rousing someone to lock the door. Much as I’d like to see you gone, I wouldn’t send a dog out to drown in that rain.”
Even after being thoroughly insulted, apparently Coleraine couldn’t rid himself of his deep streak of compassion.
“I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby,” said Barnabas. Or he would if he could just figure out a suspect to investigate.
*~*~*
Henry tied her hat on her head and left the newspaper office. She had uncovered a detail that she was certain Barnabas should know. It had been a few days since he stopped by her office and asked for help, and she had given up hope he would come by again.
Besides, he’d given her a vital lead on a story. She owed him something for that. Even though he hadn’t given her Miss Hall’s name, Henry had garnered enough to put a few things together when she learned Coleraine had a new mistress living with him.
She tempted one of the maids out of the house and plied her with gin until she revealed a Tessa Smith was staying with the earl. Then she remembered the name of the woman staying with the Avondales was Tessa Hall. It had taken little effort to confirm she was missing from the household. Henry had tried to gain an audience with the oldest Avondale girl, but she’d been shooed away. She was still determined to talk to the girl, but she’d have to figure out another way.
Barnabas wasn’t at Scotland Yard. She twisted her lips and asked several officers where she might find him. Finally a man told her he was keeping watch on the earl.
Dusk thickened the air before she finally turned onto her old street. Barnabas stood on the walkway opposite the earl’s house for his lovers. Her heart kicked up a notch at seeing him.
It took her a second to realize a carriage waited in front of the earl’s house. As she watched, the earl came out and turned back toward the house. The two maids came out and stood on either side of the earl. A woman followed them out and the earl assisted her into the carriage.
Henry squinted at Barnabas to see if he intended to stop them.
The earl tipped his tall hat, gave a slight bow and headed down the street in the opposite direction.
The former whore turned servant held a baby, while Polly, the one Henry had bought several drinks for, handed in a basket. A woman climbed the step and reached back to take the baby. Henry leaned, trying to get a glimpse of the now infamous Miss Hall. Glimpsing a woman with light brown hair in a simple, yet elegant style, Henry puzzled at her appearance. Somehow she didn’t seem flamboyant enough for the earl.
But then if she was leaving after less than a fortnight under the earl’s protection, perhaps she wasn’t. Henry wondered if her article had a hand in the woman leaving. If so, she was glad. The farther Miss Hall was away from the earl the better. Henry didn’t want any other women harmed—not even if it would prove his guilt.
The tall figure dressed in black appeared to be the earl—although something niggled at Henry. She squinted, trying to place what bothered her in the gathering gloom of the evening, when a whiskered gentleman in a gaudy green plaid suit approached her on the walkway.
His pale eyes met hers and he raised his hand to touch the brim of his derby. His hand obscured much of his face, but she did a double-take. His thick whiskers coming down to his shaved chin were fashionable, but oddly trimmed, unusually close to his face. Strange looking. His face was that of the earl’s. Her stomach clenched. He was the earl—in disguise and Barnabas was letting him get away.
The baby let out a loud wail.
“Barn—Inspector Harlow,” she yelled.
The earl quickened his pace and his hand had remained up beside his face far too long. Barnabas had started after the man in black—who was remarkably like the earl. He was the wrong man to follow. But at her call he swiveled around.
She grabbed her skirts and ran toward Harlow when a red-haired man stepped in her path. She bowled into him and he caught her and for a second steadied her, but then he seemingly lost his balance and fell, dragging her down with him.
She banged her elbow on a paving stone and landed mostly on the man. Her breathed woofed out.
“Your pardon I’ll be asking for, Miss,” he said with an Irish lilt to his voice.
She shoved his arms away and scrambled free of him. If the fall had been real, she’d eat her hat.
“Are you all right?” asked Barnabas, cupping her aching elbow.
“He’s getting away!” She shrugged away. “The earl is getting away.”
The man with the Irish accent was brushing at her skirts as if she’d landed in a pile of offal instead of mostly on top of him.
“Stop it or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you dead,” she said to the man. She didn’t know how he was connected to the earl, but he had to be. She’d never seen him before and he was Irish. He was trying to stop her or Barnabas from giving chase.
Barnabas’s eyes had narrowed on the man as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “What are you doing here?”
The red-headed man raised his hands and backed away. “I was sent to carry his lordship’s bags.”
“Then get to it,” Barnabas said in a low growl that made the back of her neck chill.
The man executed a skipping turn and ran across the street with a panicked look on his face.
“The earl is in disguise and getting away,” Henry hissed. Her heart pounded. The man in the green plaid suit had nearly reached the end of the street.
Barnabas frowned at her. “No, that is his brother. They are remarkably like.”
She shook her head. “No.” She pointed to the man in green. “That is the earl.”
“The earl went that way.” He gestured with his head toward the brother wearing black. “I saw him.” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want to let him get out of sight.”
Had she been wrong? She’d just caught a quick look. Either way she couldn’t risk letting the earl slip away. She shook her head and ran after him. She couldn’t wait for Barnabas to figure out what was obvious to everyone but him.
“Henry. Wait.”
“You follow that one. I’ll follow this one,” she yelled back. She grabbed her skirts and ran after the earl in his disguise. She wasn’t going to let Coleraine get away.
“Henry, don’t do anything stupid.” His words fell in volume as she ran in shoes that weren’t meant for running.
She hoped she didn’t break off a heel.
“Don’t try to stop him. Just let me know where he goes,” called Barnabas.