“Patience, I don’t understand. You look ill.”
“Things became a little unsavory.” Mr. Thackery dumped his top hat on the seat. “I think we’ve done enough tonight. If we leave now I can make my standing appointment.”
Jemina and I both must have shot him shocked looks.
He held up his hands. “Fable reading to my daughter before bed. Nothing sinister, but I am a widower, a bachelor for what it’s worth.”
I hated that, to deprive a child of her father, but we were so close to the truth. “Please. We can’t be done.” I folded my arms about me. I was shaking, shaking hard. “This man we just met wasn’t the Sullivan I saw arguing with Colin, nor did he relieve any debts. He can’t be a reverend. He was foul. His cigar, his clothes, his mouth—all foul.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Jordan. But we did learn some things. Your husband was known to gamble.”
That was a nice way to put it. Hearing this Sullivan laugh at how Markham used Colin—taking his money, soiling his good name—I was disgusted.
Mr. Thackery patted his rumbling stomach. “I suggest I take you both back to my aunt’s.”
The barrister seemed quite calm and even debonair as he took the drunken Sullivan’s foul comments on Thackery being a half-breed. The dear man did not strike out as I wanted.
I seethed for him. “We’ve not foundmyA. Sullivan.”
“Yes, but we haven’t been caught, either. My reputation is spotless. I’m not in the mood to tempt fate again. There’s only so much hatred one can take in an evening before something unfortunate happens.”
I saw fury swirling in Thackery’s eyes and understood. This wasn’t retreat but self-preservation. I wondered how much abuse he had to ignore to maintain his position. Colin had been right about Town. At least on this, he’d tried to protect me.
Jemina balled her fists. “No, Mr. Thackery. No, Patience. We’ve come all this way; we have to see this through. We need answers. Let’s go to Piccadilly.”
The duke would see things through. He didn’t wage half battles or come at things unprepared. “Jemina is right. We made it out of here without harming your reputation. Can’t we try the next gaming hell?”
Thackery sighed, a desperate throaty noise. “My reputation is important. I don’t have the luxury of my colleagues to fail. Ladies, my walk has a delicate balance.”
I stared at him but couldn’t fathom why a man, even one of mixed raced, would ever have to be so careful. Men had all the advantages.
When he pulled out his pocket watch I thought about Lionel and Repington. Since working at Hamlin, this was the longest I’d been away from my son. I tired of disguises. I’d done enough hiding with Colin.
“Patience, you’ve heard the barrister. You’ve heard my opinion. What do you think? Is this masquerade done?”
I put my hand in my pocket and grasped my father’s knife. Trailing my thumb over the jewels, I felt my courage rallying. “We must continue. If the inspector at Piccadilly isn’t my A. Sullivan, then we need to start over. I’d rather know that now.”
Thackery held up his hand. “Will it give you peace to know your husband was an extortioner? Some women would prefer their men to be decent.”
I picked up the diary from Jemina’s fingers. “If this is indeed a record of extortion, then I know Markham was involved. You heard the drunken minister’s sermon. Markham’s the controlling one.”
“Or this gambit could prove nothing. There’s that possibility.”
I picked at the buttons of my waistcoat, so pretty the clinking sound of the brass. Pretty wasn’t a shield. Truth was. “I need to know that I tried everything. Let’s go to the gaming hell in Piccadilly.”
Thackery straightened his stylish waistcoat of bright blue, then knocked on the roof of his carriage. “I figured you say that. At least Piccadilly has decent food. You up to pretending to be a man one more time?”
“Yes, Mr. Thackery. I am.”
I’d been able to work the room at this hell, observing everyone without being seen. This was a practiced gift Colin had given me. It saddened me that I’d learned the lesson so well.
* * *
A half hour of my stewing passed as the barrister’s carriage rumbled along the street. Through the window, I saw the scattered stars. My thoughts mirrored the jumbled sky.
Colin, Markham’s dupe—how much did my husband suffer?
How could I have made things better?
