Andrea Kane (42 page)

“A drawing of my house,” Slayde answered smoothly, perched on the edge of the desk. “Which I don’t intend to let you see. If I did, I might suddenly find my home divested of all its worldly goods.” He gave Grimes’s shoulder a shove. “Now get back to work. We’re paying you a bloody fortune for what amounts to nothing more than a few hours of risk-free work.”

“Sure, but it must be pretty important for you to send your henchman on ahead.” He jerked his thumb in Oridge’s direction.

Oridge sighed. “Shall I convince him to shut up and resume working, sir?” he inquired, arching a brow at Slayde.

“Now, now, just calm down,” Grimes answered nervously, bending forward again. “I’ll do your job.”

Courtney bit back her impatience, pacing restlessly about the cramped quarters.

“Tell her to stand still,” Grimes muttered. “I can’t concentrate with her walkin’ around.”

“Learn,” Slayde shot back. “And if you address the lady with anything short of respect, I’ll break your jaw.”

With a sullen look, Grimes resumed his chore.

Another twenty minutes passed.

Grimes was down to the final five or six pages, and Courtney was about to scream in frustration, when the fence sat back in his chair, flourishing a page for Slayde to see. “Here’s your man.”

“You’re certain?” Slayde asked, seizing the paper.

“Hell, yes. ’cuse me,” he added quickly to Courtney, recalling Slayde’s threat. “Look at the curve of the s’s and the half-crossed
t.
Also, there are slight breaks between the first and second letters of each word, and every letter is tightly curved. This is the one. You want it copied?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Slayde tossed a wad of bills on the desk. “There’s our agreed-upon thousand pounds plus an extra hundred. That more than concludes our business.” He gathered up all the papers, crossed over, and yanked open the door, guiding Courtney out and to the phaeton.

The instant Oridge had joined them, Courtney turned to Slayde. “You brought the list, didn’t you?”

“Right here.” He reached into his coat pocket and extracted it, simultaneously glancing at the number atop the page Grimes had designated. “Eight,” Slayde murmured, unfolding the list. “Now let’s see who the hell number eight is.”

Courtney peered over his shoulder, her gaze darting to the appropriate line. “Slayde,” she gasped, gripping his arm. “It’s Miss Payne.”

“R
EMEMBER, NO ONE KNOWS
we’ve been away,” Slayde reminded Courtney, slowing the phaeton down as they neared the rear gates of Pembourne. “To their knowledge, I’m still in my study. We have that fact going for us. Oridge, you divert Miss Payne. I don’t care how. Tell her you need additional pillows. Tell her you found an insect in your bed. Just keep her occupied. Courtney and I will search her room, just in case there’s anything in there to identify her employer.”

“As good as done, sir.”

“After that, I’ll reassemble the staff and tell them the real reason for our writing exercise: that I’ve recently acquired evidence proving the fact that someone inside Pembourne aided in the robbery that resulted in my parents’ murders, that the evidence in question is a note written in the culprit’s hand. I’ll further elaborate that, after careful scrutiny, I’ve been able to narrow the writing samples down to only three possible suspects. I’ll explain that, given the magnitude of the crime, I would never accuse anyone without being totally certain of that person’s guilt. Therefore, I’ll be riding to London immediately to seek out a proper handwriting expert. Having made that declaration, I’ll go so far as to climb into my carriage and ride off. That should give Miss Payne ample opportunity to rush off to either warn or seek refuge with her employer.”

Courtney inclined her head, an admiring smile curving lier lips. “Aurora and I must be rubbing off on you, my lord. Why, that plan is almost as ingenious as ours.”

“Coming from you, I’ll consider that the highest of compliments. Perhaps Mr. Scollard did mean to imply that my wits would be called upon as well.” A shadow crossed Slayde’s face. “Miss Payne has been with my family for decades. ’Tis hard to believe she’s capable of the kind of crimes we’re addressing.”

“Theft and murder are quite different from one another, Slayde,” Courtney reminded him. “All we know for sure is that Miss Payne was involved in the robbery. There’s no indication that she meant for your parents to die, much less that she helped kill them.”

“But they did die,” Slayde said grimly. “And she didn’t exactly come forward and identify Armon as their killer, nor admit her own part in the theft that lead to their murders. Worse, she’s stayed on at Pembourne as a trusted employee, when she should be rotting in Newgate.”

“I’ve not found Miss Payne to be particularly warm or endearing,” Courtney replied. “However, I don’t think she’s ruthless, either. My guess is that whoever she’s working for ensured her silence—perhaps with Armon’s help. They probably threatened her position, her health, even her life if she said a word, or refused to help them in future endeavors.”

“Such as seizing your father’s ship in order to extort the black diamond.”

A pained nod. “And afterward, when I came to Pembourne, she was doubtless instructed to keep an eye on me, see if I told you anything damning about Armon, anything that would implicate them. It would certainly explain why she spent so much time hovering about during my recovery. I never understood her concern, given that nurturing is hardly her way.”

“It also explains why she was in your room last night. Most likely, she was searching for something that would tell her how much information you’d gained during our excursion to London.”

“That makes sense. No one would think to question a housekeeper’s presence in someone’s sleeping quarters—” Courtney broke off. “That explains Aurora’s note!”

“Which note?”

“The one she left you when she went to London. Remember? She found it lodged behind her headboard and assumed it had dropped there on its own. Well, it hadn’t. It was removed, then replaced on the day Aurora returned. Miss Payne must have known of Aurora’s intentions to travel to London and used it to her employer’s advantage. With the absence of Aurora’s written explanation, you had no reason to doubt the legitimacy of the ransom notes and the ‘fact’ that Aurora had indeed been kidnapped. Thus, the ruse was successful, with Miss Payne knowing all the while that Aurora was quite safe, frolicking about London with Elinore.”

“That conniving…” Slayde drew a slow, inward breath. “Forgive me, Courtney, but I can’t be as charitable as you.”

“I’m not charitable. Nor do I expect you to be. Because of Miss Payne’s involvement, my father is gone. As are your parents.” Courtney clasped her hands together to still their trembling. “But Miss Payne did not act alone. Nor did she act solely with Armon, who’s already paid with his life. She acted upon the orders of another. And it’s that person we want to expose, that cold-hearted animal we want to see punished. We can’t let our enmity cloud our reason.”

Slayde’s fingers closed over hers. “Are
you
preaching logic and level-headedness to
me,
Miss Johnston?” he teased gently.

His loving quip found its mark, and Courtney managed a faint smile. “It appears I am, Lord Pembourne.”

“Astounding.” He brought her palm to his lips. “It seems we’ve encountered yet another miracle together.”

Slayde checked the hallway of the servants’ quarters for the third time before beckoning Courtney forward. “Now,” he hissed.

They slipped into Miss Payne’s room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“The desk?” Slayde questioned.

“No,” she countered. “The wardrobe drawers. You go through those on the left, and I those on the right.”

Courtney crossed over, dropping to her knees and pulling open the first drawer.

“Why the wardrobe?” Slayde asked, squatting down beside her. “I’d assume any written material would be in her desk.”

“Not if it’s of a personal nature.” Courtney scanned the contents, then carefully rearranged them before sliding the drawer shut, tugging open the one beneath it. “Women have a tendency to hide private things in private spots—spots no one would be apt to invade. Which is precisely why we’re invading them.” She shook her head, shutting the bottom drawer. “There’s nothing here.”

“Nor here,” Slayde concurred, completing his task. He surveyed the sparse furnishings. “Is the bureau personal enough?”

Courtney grinned. “Yes. I’ll search it. Why don’t you look through the nightstand.”

A wary glance at the closed bedchamber door. “Ten minutes more. Then we leave.”

“But Slayde—”

“You’re the one who told me to employ reason. Well, I’m employing it. If Miss Payne should discover us, our entire plan to get to her employer will be dashed. Therefore, if we find evidence, splendid. If not, we’ll rely upon her to lead us where we need to go. Either way, we’re leaving this bedchamber in ten minutes.”

A reluctant nod. “Very well.” Courtney scooted over to the bureau, gauging the drawer that would hold underclothes. She yanked that one open, lifting a pile of prim nightgowns out of the way and groping behind them.

Her fingers brushed something smooth and flat.

“Slayde,” she said in an urgent whisper. He stalked over just in time to see her remove what was clearly a journal of sorts. “The entries look to be sporadic,” Courtney noted, skimming the pages. “But they begin in 1796 and span the entirety of Miss Payne’s employment here at Pembourne. Look—” Smoothing the page for closer perusal, Courtney indicated the date at the top: 5 January, 1807. “ ’Tis her first entry of the year your parents were killed.”

“Two months prior to their deaths,” Slayde concurred grimly.

Courtney held up the journal and together they read:

I’m growing old. My skin is coarse from scrubbing and my shoulders are stooped from carrying. I came here a young girl, with grand dreams and a romantic heart. Now, I look in the glass and see a bitter spinster with no future and a housekeeper’s wages. The countess is ten years my senior, yet her skin is smooth, her eyes bright. ’Tis easy to see why. She’s bathed in jewels, showered with attention. While I’m alone, without so much as a decent sum put aside for the future. If there’s one thing life’s taught me, it’s that there’s no justice.

Courtney frowned. “Clearly, Miss Payne was a very unhappy woman.”

“Clearly, she still is,” Slayde muttered. “The question is, what did she do about that unhappiness?”

The muffled sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears, and Slayde’s head came up like a wolf scenting danger.

Courtney held her breath, waiting, as the brisk strides grew closer, reached Miss Payne’s bedchamber…and passed it.

She sagged with relief. “I knew Mr. Oridge wouldn’t disappoint us.”

“Even Oridge can keep Miss Payne only so long before she becomes suspicious,” Slayde worried aloud, casting another furtive glance at the closed door. “We can’t take that chance. Nor, obviously, can we take the journal with us and risk Miss Payne’s discovering it missing. So, let’s accelerate this process, skip ahead to dates closer to when the murders took place. Maybe she’ll name names.”

Nodding, Courtney sifted through a few short, inconsequential-looking pages, until she came to the page dated 18 March, 1807, which was covered, top to bottom, with writing.

“Let’s try this,” she murmured.

She hasn’t a clue how humiliating it was for me to ask for that increase in wages. And she refused me. She said I was already earning nearly as much as Siebert. Well, that’s as it should be. I work harder than that aged fool. And to further humiliate me by offering me a loan? I don’t
need
the money; I’ve
earned
it. Far more than she’s earned her wardrobe of exquisite gowns or that treasure chest of jewels the earl keeps locked away in the library. Well, I know just who to turn to, just the person to convince Lady Pembourne of my worth. The Viscountess Stanwyk. I’ll approach her. She thinks highly of me; heaven knows she’s always saying how invaluable I am, what an asset I am to Pembourne. And the countess respects her opinions. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll talk to Lady Stanwyk. She’ll understand. She’ll help me.

And then just beneath that, dated 20 March, 1807:

She’s agreed to see me tomorrow. We managed to chat for only a few minutes before Lady Pembourne returned to the salon, but the viscountess said she had the ideal solution to my dilemma. And she smiled so reassuringly when she said it. Perhaps she intends to offer me a position at Stanwyk. More money, a brighter future. I can hardly wait.

“This tells us nothing,” Slayde proclaimed, “Other than the fact that Miss Payne is brazen as well as deceitful. ’Tis inconceivable that she’d consider overstepping her bounds by approaching one of Mother’s peers for assistance—her closest friend, no less.”

“ ’Tis equally odd that Elinore would agree to see her. Given the circumstances, I should think she’d have gone straight to your mother with word of her housekeeper’s faithlessness.”

“She probably did.”

“Then why wasn’t Miss Payne dismissed?” Courtney frowned, skimming ahead only to find page after blank page, devoid of any writing at all. “Now I’m truly at sea. If Miss Payne was so enthralled by her upcoming meeting with Elinore, why didn’t she pen the results of the meeting?”

“Maybe there were none. Maybe she came to her senses and never went to Stanwyk. Or maybe Elinore thought better of her kindness and threw Miss Payne out the moment she arrived.” Slayde grasped Courtney’s arm, tugged her to her feet. “Put the journal back where you found it. It tells us nothing but Miss Payne’s motivation, which I could have guessed anyway. Theft is usually motivated by greed. Let’s go.”

Courtney shook her head, hanging back. “Slayde, there’s too much here that screams discord. Elinore is the essence of protocol. She’d never agree to a meeting with your mother’s housekeeper. Yet, she obviously did just that—Miss Payne might be cold and greedy, but she’s not delusional. And why do her entries stop here? Don’t you find it a tad coincidental that they break off precisely a week before she becomes immersed in a plot to steal your mother’s jewels? Something had to precipitate her involvement—or rather someone—the same someone who instructed her to draw that sketch and send it to Armon. Whoever that was, Miss Payne would have had to meet with him between the twentieth and the twenty-seventh. Yet, there’s no reference in this journal to any such meeting, or any meeting at all, other than the baffling one agreed to by—” Courtney broke off, all the color draining from her face. “God…no.”