“I’ll join you. If we’re lucky, we’ll have his confession by luncheon.”
The anger flashing in Mr. Benjamin Lawrence’s eyes stood in contrast to the soft tones with which his parlor was furnished. “I should stop granting you entrance when all you do is accuse me.”
He sat in a plush armchair this time, his useless legs propped on an ottoman. Like the rest of the furniture in the room, the pieces were upholstered in cream-colored damask.
“Forgive us, but the evidence does suggest that you ordered the attack and made it look like Stanton’s doing so we would enact our revenge upon him.” Adrian hardened his gaze. “A direct aim at punishing him for not giving in to your demands.”
“And what demands would those be?” Exasperation was evident in Lawrence’s tone. He was either telling the truth, or he was a brilliant actor.
Samantha watched him with careful consideration while Adrian answered. “You wanted his shares in North Atlantic Trade. When your threats against him failed to achieve the desired result, you decided to punish him by pitching me against him.”
“That’s absurd.” Lawrence tried to lean forward, but flopped back against his chair when the muscles in his legs failed to provide the resistance he needed. He gritted his teeth. “If I sent a blackmail letter to Stanton in May as you suggest, I wouldn’t have waited three months before making good on my threat which, according to you, was to reveal his most carefully guarded secret.
“Why would I change my mind and send you afterhim so long after? That makes no sense at all. And let’s not forget, I had no need for Stanton’s shares at the time when the blackmail letter was sent. Not when I stood to acquire Orendel’s the moment I married his daughter. Once added to the ones I already own, they would have been substantial.”
For some peculiar reason, it hadn’t occurred to Samantha that Lawrence might already have his own shares. She glanced at Adrian, who was watching Lawrence with careful consideration as though he’d reached the same conclusion.
Rather than press the point, Adrian said, his voice firm, “In other words, the forged blackmail letter was not sent by you.”
“Of course not.”
Samantha swept the room with her gaze, her interest in Lawrence fading since it didn’t look like they’d find what they’d come for. Not that she trusted a word he said. There was something too weaselly about him. But if he had sent those thugs after them, it would be hard, if not impossible, to prove.
Besides, it was quickly becoming too great a distraction from the far more important task of solving Lady Eleanor’s murder.
“I trust we’re heading down to the docks next,” she said as soon as they’d left Lawrence’s house. Neither of them had questioned Lawrence about the cloaked figure, a deliberate decision to keep from alerting him to the finer points of their investigation.
Adrian confirmed this while leading her back to thecarriage. Once seated inside he asked, “Do you think we’ve gotten the wrong end of the stick where Lawrence is concerned?”
“I’m honestly not sure.” It was the truth. Lawrence had been convincing. The only thing telling her he’d been behind the attack was a needling suspicion that wouldn’t let up. Which wasn’t enough. “His arguments made sense.”
Adrian grunted in response, his elbow propped against the edge of the window while he peered out at the buildings they passed. “You know, there’s someone else who’d want us dead, only we’ve been distracted from it, first by Stanton and then by Lawrence.”
“I don’t believe those thugs aimed to kill us.”
He sent her a sidelong glance. “They didn’t exactly try not to. It was almost as if they didn’t care which way things went.”
“True.” She angled herself toward him and tilted her head. “What are you suggesting?”
“Considering what you and I have been up to – the questions we’ve been asking and it being common knowledge that Orendel wants me to help solve his daughter’s murder – I believe the attack was intended to stop me from doing precisely that.”
“In which case Lawrence would have had every right to be angry with us for accusing him of being involved.” She sank against the corner of the cabin, her spine jolting a little when the carriage bounced over an uneven spot in the road. “We probably ought to apologize to him.”
“Is that what your instinct tells you to do?” When she didn’t respond right away, he said, “Because mine keeps insisting he’s up to something. Which is precisely why we’re going to follow up on the cloaked man Turner saw leaving his home.”
They arrived at the lodging house in question some fifteen minutes later. A young woman, no more than twenty years old, answered the door. Her dark blonde hair was swept into a knot at the nape of her neck. She stared at them. “Yes?”
“Forgive the intrusion,” Samantha said, masking her surprise as she took a small step forward. This was not the thug she’d expected. Then again, this woman might be a wife or a sister. “I’m Mrs. Samantha Croft and this is my husband, Mr. Adrian Croft. We were hoping you might provide us with some information.”
Caution showed in the woman’s expression. “Information about what?”
“We’re helping Bow Street with a special investigation. As part of this, we’re looking into various individuals, one of whom you may be connected to.” A sweet smile accompanied these words. “We’ll pay you handsomely for your time.”
The hazel eyes assessing them flickered with interest, though the woman’s overall expression remained wary. She hesitated as though weighing the pros and cons of granting them entrance – the possible danger. “Do you have some credentials? A letter from the chief magistrate perhaps?”
“I’m afraid not. The nature of our inquiry is toosecretive for those higher up to admit any kind of involvement at present.” Samantha retreated, angling herself away from the door as though preparing to leave. “Again, we apologize for disturbing you. We’ll see if one of the other people on our list has something to impart.” To Adrian she murmured just loud enough for the woman to hear, “I don’t care how much it costs us, as long as we don’t return empty handed.”
Adrian grunted his response, his hand going to Samantha’s elbow, already steering her toward the stairs that would take them down to the street.
