Prue accompanied him to the front door, where a footman handed him his hat, gloves, and cane. “Papa considered you a dear friend, Sir Eric. I know he would have wanted me to turn to you for advice. I hope I may do so again, should it be necessary?”
He held her hand to his lips. “But of course, my dear. Anything. Ishall be pleased to speak at the memorial service once the magistrate releases your father’s body for burial.” He took her hands and gently squeezed them. “Do feel you can come to me at any time.”
Through the window, Prudence watched his carriage draw away. “Well, that was a waste of time,” she said bitterly. “I’m sure he knew something, but for some reason, he didn’t want to tell me.”
“You might be misjudging him, my dear,” Gramma said, coming to slip an arm around her. “But how would it help if he did have something to tell you? What would you do with the information? You must leave it to the law to catch the villain and ensure he faces the gallows.”
Prudence hadn’t thought that far ahead. She clamped her teeth together in frustration. Never in her life had she felt so ineffective. She loathed it. “I’m not driven by revenge, Gramma. I want to learn the truth and see justice done,” she said. “For Papa’s sake. People will be wondering what Papa did to provoke such violence. If he was he involved in some shady deal. Roland suggested a gambling debt, which I dismissed out of hand. But this has involved Papa in a scandal he never deserved. I want his name cleared.”
Gramma patted Prue’s arm. “As do I. But I would hate for you to become involved in something dangerous, my dear.”
“No, nor do I want to, Gramma. But I don’t see how I can find out. Women have no power at all,” she said bitterly.
“Perhaps not. But they often find a way around it.” Gramma smiled. “But as we are to return to Richmond soon, you must give up any idea of pursuing it.”
Gramma was right; she would be helpless to continue to search for clues in Richmond. It was doubtful Lord Hereford would come there to see her. But he was her only avenue of hope. “I believe I’ll hire a hack and ride in the park tomorrow at five o’clock.”
Gramma raised her eyebrows. “At the fashionable hour? I wonder whom you wish to meet? You are up to something, Prudence,” shesaid with a wry glance. “Of course, my groom, Phillip, will accompany you, with my instructions not to take his eye off you for a minute!”
*
Since he’d returnedfrom Guildford, Jack had spent the better part of the last two days searching for the man he was now convinced had shot Lord Sedgwick. While it appeared he had acted alone, Jack was confident someone had hired him. Find the culprit, and whoever was behind the murder and his motive for such a dastardly act would become clear. So, it was Jack’s intention to capture the assassin alive.
With little to go on, during the evening, he called at the East End tavern called The Camden’s Head, located in Bethnal Green Rd. It was a little out of the range he had set for himself, but frustration at failing to find any sign of the fellow had made him broaden his search.
After an hour had passed fruitlessly, he deemed it time to go home and change for a dinner engagement. No one of interest had appeared, and he’d never hear the end of it from Damian if he failed to show. He’d accuse him of being a shoddy friend. While he waited for his groom, Joseph, to drive the curricle back to him, Jack chanced to see two men walking toward him. One broad-chested, short in stature with a wild crop of red hair, the other, taller and leaner, his hair as black as soot. Jack had dressed in workmen’s clothes with a shabby hat. He leaned against a lamppost and lit a cheroot, biding his time. They reached him and walked past. The dark-haired fellow glanced back at Jack, a furtive manner about him, as if he were used to checking for trouble. The pair entered the tavern Jack had just left.
Jack signaled to Joseph to walk on. With a kick of excitement due to intuition, which reliably told him when he was onto something, Jack stepped into the gloomy interior, smelling of rancid, male sweat, smoke, and stale hops. The two men sat at a corner table, hunched over it, talking intently, cradling their tankards.
The fellow’s dark hair was longer than most, a red belcher tied around his throat. While he might have fit the bill as to why a young girl would find him interesting, it wasn’t enough for Jack to go on. From his nearby table, Jack searched for a tattoo, but the man’s red kerchief frustratingly hid his neck from view.
Jack ordered another ale and remained seated, hoping to pick up something from their conversation to confirm his suspicion.
The fellow’s carrot-haired companion, called “Benny,” leaned over the table, his voice lowered. “Are you sure it’s done, Will?”
Will glanced sharply around. “Shut your bone box. Don’t blab it about. Do I ever fail? It’s done right and tight.”
“How about we go to a bawdy house to celebrate?”
Will shook his head. “Not until I get what’s owed me.”
They put down their tankards, slid from their chairs, and as Will reached up to put on his hat, the kerchief slipped and bared his throat. The tattoo was exactly as the young woman had described it, Jack noted with a sharp intake of breath. The men left the tavern, and after waiting a few minutes, so did Jack. Ignoring the urge to grab the man and throw him into a Bow Street Magistrate’s cell, he gestured to Joseph to wait, then Jack shadowed them. They turned down an alley, then parted at the next corner. Jack followed Will as he continued on down the street. He kept his distance, but Will didn’t glance back once and seemed deep in thought. On reaching a building that had seen better days, he ran up the steps and disappeared inside.
Jack kicked his heels at the corner in case Will emerged. Candlelight suddenly glowed through an upstairs window, and a short time later, it was extinguished. A half hour later, the man did not reappear.
It seemed likely that Will was tucked up for the night. Jack ran back to join his groom, who waited around the corner with the restive horses eager for a feed and a warm stall. Was this the hired killer he sought? Jack would have him shadowed in the hope he’d lead them to those who’d hired him.
Regrettably, that could take days. His intention to chase Everton before calling upon Lady Prudence and her great-grandmother with any news would require a letter of apology. Jack felt a mixture of relief and regret at not seeing Lady Prudence again, which was hard to fathom. Perhaps the real reason for his reluctance was he had no wish to be reminded of how much he admired and desired her, not when it was clearly impossible to pursue her. He must put her from his mind. His friends’ warm friendship would prove a great distraction. If they didn’t pepper him with questions, he couldn’t answer. Why not join them on their daily ride again in the park tomorrow?
The following day, Jack was advised by the agent consigned to follow the possible suspect that William Darby had breakfasted in a tavern and then returned to his room. It was close to five o’clock when Jack rode through the gates of Hyde Park. Shadows lengthened across the grass, heavy clouds swirled overhead driven by a cool breeze, but that did not deter the fashionable crowd, who drove their carriages along the South Carriage Drive, or rode their mounts in Rotten Row. Only one of his friends was free to join him. His dinner guest the previous evening, Damian Beaufort, Lord Ballantine, who had remained here in London on business. His charming wife, Diana, had returned to their estate to be with their two young children. As they trotted down the Row, catching up with news, a pretty woman in a dashing black hat came into sight riding a mare farther down the Row, her groom following close behind.
“The red-haired lady ahead of us is Lady Prudence Sedgewick, an acquaintance of mine,” Jack said, attempting to tone down his surprise and pleasure at seeing her.
Ballantine, not fooled, glanced at him with a quizzical grin. “Mm? Is she, indeed? Diana told me she is Lady Aldridge’s great-granddaughter.” He chuckled. “Debutantes are not your usual preference.”
“Don’t get any ideas. I am merely helping her after the tragic deathof her father.”
“Oh, that is very magnanimous of you,” Damian said with heavy irony.
