In a time of war, one had to be very careful to be above the taint of collaboration. It sounded like someone at the Austen bank had been foolish. ‘How interesting. Good day to you, sir.’
Tapping his hat brim, Jacob left the office and headed out through the banking hall. His passage did not attract much attention. He had no lofty title to garner respect, and his holdings were modest by the standards of the biggest accounts in this place. Had he been with his eldest brother, he would have witnessed genuflections to the greatness of the Sandys name.
Stepping out onto The Strand was to enter a squall after the becalmed halls of finance. Hackney cabs rattled past, loaded with the well-to-do; wagons pulled out of Covent Garden at the end of the morning’s fruit and vegetable trade, rumbling back to the market gardens on the fringes of London; pedestrians jostled for a place on the pavement, beggars holding out empty palms on the corners, pickpockets weaving between legs looking for an unsecured purse or handkerchief. Flipping a shilling to a wounded veteran (or so the man’s sign claimed– one had to be cynical about these things), Jacob turned in the direction of the Haymarket, cutting through a backstreet so he could avoid the congestion at Charing Cross. London was a flourishing city that hadn’t kept up with the number of people and vehicles swarminginto it, feeling somewhat like a hive about to burst. It made him miss his quiet cottage in the Lakes.
Not so quiet, he reminded himself. Dora and he had returned from there a few days ago after a busy week solving the murder of a magistrate and a string of violent attacks on young men. His brother the viscount had been shot in the business and come to town to consult his doctors. Jacob really should send a note to see if his recovery was progressing satisfactorily.
Striding over a pile of horse droppings, he crossed the road to Piccadilly. He tapped his hat brim to several acquaintances heading for the gentlemen’s clubs of St James. He’d ceased frequenting his club since setting up the business with Dora, preferring to spend time with her, but he should probably make himself go back to Brooks as it was a fine place to gather intelligence. He could ask around about that bank business. If panic spread, contagion in the markets could bring many of the smaller banks to their knees. No one would escape the financial ramifications.
A drink with old friends or a chance to see Dora? With a wry smile, he turned for Bruton Mews. Dora won every time.
He found Dora at the desk writing in their case notebook. She looked up and smiled, her dark curly hair bronze-tinted by the sunlight that came in through the door with him. Approaching the desk, he kissed her and ran a finger appreciatively over the warm brown smoothness of her cheek, feeling the tug in his belly of his attraction to her. Dora’s mother had been a planter’s daughter in the West Indies, so her heritage imported a richer skin tone than was commonly found among the pallid ladies ofthe ton. The sun in the Lakes had darkened it further as she didn’t hold with poke bonnets and parasols.
But he couldn’t act on that attraction now. He was a grown man, not a callow youth who thought of nothing but sex. True, he admitted privately, he thought of it, but he could move on to what they needed to do.
‘All well?’ he asked, taking a seat at the desk beside her.
‘I’ve been enjoying my new room.’ She turned the notebook so he could read the latest entry. ‘And we have a new client– that’s if you agree we should take him on.’
Jacob scanned the notes and felt that stir of excitement at the beginning of a new case. Solving puzzles had become his new addiction, though it was proving as dangerous as his old reliance on opium. ‘How strange– I was only half an hour ago hearing rumours at Coutts that Austen, Maunde & Tilson were looking doubtful. It appears Henry Austen is apprised of the gossip and taking action to prevent a collapse.’
Dora grinned. ‘Then I suggest we get payment up front.’
He tweaked a ringlet. ‘Mercenary lass.’
‘We aren’t running a charity, Jacob.’ Tugging her hair free with a smile, she got up and walked to the cupboard where they kept copies of their contract, filled out by an expert copyist they’d hired for the purpose. She flourished one at him. ‘Shall we? I’d like to meet this French wife of his. She sounds entertaining.’
Jacob added Henry’s details and put in their charging rate. ‘I don’t believe she is French. Eliza Austen, if memory serves, was born in India. Rumour has it that she was the love child of the then governor, Warren Hastings.’
‘India? Good lord: she’s even more exotic than French.’
‘Her mother was one of the fishing party ladies who went out there to find a husband.’
‘Sounds like she found both a husband and a lover.’
‘Don’t quote me on that. It is purely a rumour. Anyway, Eliza then married a Frenchman, was widowed, and came home to fascinate the Austen brothers, her cousins.’
‘How do you know all this? She’s not a former amour of yours, is she?’
‘Hardly.’ Jacob chuckled at her mock-scowl. ‘I don’t tangle with married ladies.’
‘Apart from Lady Tolworth.’ Dora flicked a glance to the house across the mews where his former lover resided.
‘Only when her late husband was already half dead. You’re distracting me.’ He pulled her on to his knee. ‘Teasing me unmercifully for a past before you came into my life. You’re the only lady I tangle with now.’ His fingers danced over the soft skin of her midriff, kept from him only by a summer-weight muslin dress and shift.
‘Then how do you know about Eliza Austen?’ She played with his cravat, pulling the ends from his shirt.
‘Henry’s brother Frank is a friend– one to whom I owe a great debt. He was full of his wonderful sister-in-law and the stories she could tell.’ He frowned. ‘Or was that his sister? I might be getting mixed up.’
Dora glanced at the contract and grimaced. ‘You know Frank, so that is why you are charging the friends and family rate for this task. I’ll have to teach you to be mercenary like me or we won’t turn a profit.’
He squeezed her tightly, enjoying the weight of her on his lap which was doing delicious things to his desire for her. That fire never went out, always ready to flame into passion. Sadly, this was the middle of the working day, and they had business to conduct. ‘Never fear, we are doing well enough. I have that confirmed by my banker who wondered why I was leaving my savings intact. The petty crimes that Alex has been settling in ourabsence have meant a steady flow of income, far more lucrative than solving a murder.’
‘Yes, Alex is proving to be worth his weight in gold.’
Their deputy was a former army officer, Alex Smith, who had left his regiment under a cloud when it emerged that he’d lodged sensitive military plans with the Hellfire Club as the price of his entry to that secret society. He’d been Dora’s brother’s lover before Anthony was murdered a few months ago, an event that had brought Jacob and Dora together for the Hellfire Club investigation. Many would consider belonging to the club a misstep but, with Alex and Anthony’s love being counted a capital crime by the law courts, private societies had been the only safe place for Alex and Anthony to conduct an affair. Pitying Alex’s situation and also mourning Anthony, Dora and Jacob had given him a second chance and he was proving an adept and reliable investigator.
Which reminded him…
