Polly took the note. Breaking the wax seal, she scanned it quickly.
Dear Pols,
Mama has had a spell—don’t worry, the physician says she just needs bedrest. But of course Papa rushed home, and now it will be impossible for me to slip out. Because time is of essence, I must ask you the greatest favor. Will you, my dearest sister, carry out our mission on your own? My future depends upon it.
R.
P.S. Please tell the messenger the month in which you were born. That way I can be sure you received this, and he will get his other half-crown.
With trembling hands, Polly folded the note.
“Well, miss?” The urchin cocked his brown-capped head. “Wot’s your reply, then?”
She inhaled. “February. And you may tell her my answer is ‘yes’.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sinjin stared broodingly out through the slit in the carriage curtains. From his vantage point on a cross street, he had a clear view of Number 12 Castle Street, a tidy building just north of the Covent Garden market. Come sundown, the block would grow raucous due to its taverns and gaming hells, yet the three-storey residence maintained an elegant Palladian façade, well-tended flower boxes blooming beneath spotless windows.
It would take a generous employer indeed to put an employee up in this abode. Which led Sinjin to wonder if Corbett’s relationship with Nicoletta was more than professional. Why would the owner of a bawdy house give a damn about one of his wenches? Could it be a lover’s fury that drove Corbett to pursue justice on Nicoletta’s behalf? Or could Corbett have some other, more sinister involvement in the affairs of that night?
Whatever the case, Sinjin would discover the truth.
Since leaving the Kent residence three days ago, Sinjin had accepted that he would have to rely upon himself to get out of his current predicament. It was not a new state of affairs. With Stephan gone, he didn’t have anyone to take his back. He recalled one of his dark periods when his older brother had come to find him in his apartments. As he’d shut everyone out, including the servants, the place had turned into a pig sty. He hadn’t washed for two days, hadn’t eaten—unless one counted the copious amounts of whiskey he’d poured down his throat.
Stephan had forced Sinjin to bathe and eat. He’d stayed until the fog lifted a few days later.
I won’t always be here,Stephan had said.You have to learn to pull yourself up by the bootstraps. Find some way to beat these monstrous moods.
As Sinjin watched the passers-by on the street, he felt the truth of his brother’s words. Of course, it was always easier during the periods when the devils were sleeping. When he was calm and himself. He had to take advantage of his clear head and advance his plan.
In retrospect, he’d realized that the escape from Mrs. Barlow’s had unbalanced him, the black devil quietly whispering in his ear, seducing him with delusions that sounded like facts. Now that he was thinking rationally, he could see that he had no solid proof that guards were after him—and even if they were, what could they do? Kent’s partner was right. A man couldn’t be locked in an asylum without documented proof of his insanity. He had no cause to worry, he assured himself.
Thus, after leaving Kent’s, Sinjin had returned to his townhouse. Predictably, there’d been no one there but his skeleton crew of servants. He’d been so relieved that he’d laughed at his own folly. His humor died a quick death when he read the letter sent by his father. The terse paragraphs had outlined a threat: return to Mrs. Barlow’s or be cut off financially.
So be it. Crumpling the letter into a ball, Sinjin had tossed it into the fire. He didn’t need the duke’s money. To be certain, he’d paid a visit to Randolph Merrick, his man of business, earlier this morning. He’d inherited Merrick along with a sizeable portion from his mama on his twenty-first birthday.
Catherine Pelham had come from a family of wealthy merchants, and her marriage contract had provided bequests to both her sons, with the stipulation that one would inherit all if the other should pass; if none of her children survived, all would go to one of her distant male relatives. After Stephan’s death, Sinjin had found himself in possession of some four hundred thousand pounds.
Merrick’s job was to ensure that Sinjin kept that fortune—and the man was exceedingly good at what he did. He’d worked for two generations of mama’s family, outliving his clients but ensuring that their financial legacy lived on. A slight, bespectacled fellow with a ring of grey hair, he was unprepossessing in looks and manner and a bona fide genius when it came to money, a fact proved once again when he’d provided a current review of Sinjin’s portfolio.
“That’s an impressive showing, old boy.” Filching the glass paperweight from Merrick’s desk, Sinjin had idly tossed it from hand to hand. “Even I couldn’t fritter that fortune away.”
“Your expenses last quarter did not even make a dint in the interest, my lord, let alone the principle,” Merrick said calmly. As usual, attempts at levity went over the professional man’s balding pate. “My clerk informed me that you paid a visit when I away. Was there something particular you wished to discuss, my lord?”
Sinjin hesitated, the smooth weight heavy in his palm. He’d met Merrick five years ago and owed much to the other. Back then, he’d been living on a meager stipend from His Grace and spending most of it on a trifecta of sin: spirits, gambling, and tarts. He’d lived in a hellhole, had creditors breathing down his neck, and basically let his demons run roughshod over his life. After the years at Creavey Hall, he hadn’t given a damn about anything beyond the gratifications of the moment.
The appearance of Merrick had changed Sinjin’s life. The day after his twenty-first birthday, Sinjin had returned to his dilapidated lodgings, drunk and bleary-eyed, to find the stooped grey man waiting patiently by the door. Merrick had introduced himself, and when Sinjin had let him inside, the man of business had glanced around and said, “We shall ensure that you never live like this again.”
Merrick had lived up to his words. The man not only took care of the money, but he quietly made countless life arrangements for Sinjin as well. In truth, Sinjin was quite certain he could not have managed half as well without the other. Yet as reliable and stalwart as Merrick was, the man kept to a strictly professional role. The closest they had to a personal conversation was when the other reconciled Sinjin’s expenses.
Once, Merrick had queried him about two identical bills received from a jeweler on the same day. The man of business had been certain that an error had been made. When Sinjin explained that he had, in fact, sent identical baubles to a pair of twins in whose company he’d spent the night, Merrick’s eyebrows had inched slightly upward. He’d settled the receipts without further comment.
Today, Sinjin had found that his desire to confide was uncharacteristically strong. Thus, he’d related his present circumstances, battling shame and fear. Setting the paperweight back on the desk with an uncomfortable click, he said, “Well, what do you think I should do?”
Reaching over, Merrick straightened the paperweight. “This is not my area of expertise, my lord.”
“But surely you have some suggestion?” He hoped that the other would not second Kent’s advice for he refused to be a bloody coward and hide behind his father’s coattails.
