With a bow, he said, “Thank you for your time, madam.”
“Already paid me for it. We Gibneys don’t need charity.” It was a measure of the woman’s pride that she didn’t even glance at the amount of the bill.
Emma did, however, and her heart swelled at Alaric’s generosity.
“It’s a gift, Mrs. Gibney. For the little ones,” she said.
The matron hesitated, then gave a gruff nod. “I thank ye, then.”
Outside, Alaric and she were met immediately by the others.
“Well?” Mr. McLeod said. “Did you learn anything?”
“Indeed, thanks to Miss Kent’s ingenuity. Let’s talk in private,” Alaric said.
Once the four of them were inside the carriage, Emma blurted, “We have a new lead. Mrs. Gibney saw Silas Webb with a gentleman—blond, she thinks. She overheard Webb say that he would take care of the business with the shooter while our mystery man was to deal with Billings.”
“What sort of billings? Is our murderer a man of business?” Mr. McLeod said, his brow furrowing.
Emma frowned—then she understood. “I don’t think he was referring to the settling of accounts but to a person. Someone by thenameof Billings.”
“What draws you to that conclusion, Em?” Ambrose said.
She told them about meeting Gabby Billings at last night’s ball. “It could be a coincidence, of course, but Gabby did mention that her father was a banker. And that she had been invited to the Blackwoods through some influential patron who owed her father a rather large favor.” As possibilities tumbled through her head, Emma bit her lip. “I do hope Gabby’s father isn’t mixed up in this. She’s a lovely girl.”
“’Tis as you always say, Kent,” Mr. McLeod said. “Follow the money.”
“Let us pay the banker a visit,” Alaric said.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Billings Bank was located on a small lane a convenient distance from the Bank of England and the ’Change. The squat, grey stone building was unprepossessing, as if designed to be overlooked. As Alaric entered with the others, however, he saw the affluence of the interior. Fine furnishings clustered around a marble hearth, and an ornate bronze chandelier bathed the reception area in a luxurious glow. Beyond, Alaric saw a carpeted corridor leading to a suite of private offices.
A uniformed clerk hurried over and inquired about their business.
“We’re here to see Billings,” Kent said.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“Tell him that the Duke of Strathaven wishes a word,” Alaric said.
“Yes, your grace. Very good. Please have a seat,”—the clerk gestured to the waiting area, bowing low—“while I let Mr. Billings know that you are here.”
Alaric accompanied Emma to a chair. He remained standing, casually assessing the other patrons. Billings clearly catered to rich clientele of a certain class—specifically, the underclass. Though the other clients were dressed in expensive garb, their ruthless expressions and armed guards suggested that they’d earned their wealth the hard way and would do what was necessary to keep it.
The clerk hurried back and announced that Mr. Billings was ready to see them. The suite they entered was spacious, outfitted in mahogany and shades of burgundy. Billings rose from his desk; short and wiry, he had dark, keen eyes and sharp features. His expression was politely smooth, his accent polished.
“Welcome to my humble establishment.” He waved them into the seats facing him. “Tea?”
“Thank you, no,” Alaric said. “We’ve come on an urgent matter.”
“Indeed? I’m not sure how I can be of assistance.”
“We need information on one of your clients,” Kent said.
Billings’ gaze flickered; other than that, he remained perfectly composed. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss my clients. We at Billings pride ourselves on the utmost discretion and confidentiality. I’m sure you understand.”
“And I’m sureyouunderstand that if you don’t talk to us now you’ll find yourself in bluidy Newgate,” Will said.
