The Sinners Club (13 page)

“Stop at the inn long enough to write a letter to Mr. McEwan and relay the events of our attempt to contact the Keyes family, and then go home.”

“To London?”

Jack forced a smile. “I meant to your home, obviously. I'll probably wait until I hear back from my employer or from Mr. McEwan before I decide what to do next. That is, if you and your sister will be so kind as to continue to offer me a bed.”

“Oh, I'm fairly sure that will suit us both nicely.”

Jack glanced up at the leaden skies. “Perhaps we should eat at the inn as well.”

“Or stay the night again.”

“Don't you want to get back to your sister as quickly as possible?”

“I'm sure she'd rather we took our time and didn't catch a chill. Those clouds do look rather threatening.”

“We can make a decision after we've eaten.” The roof of the inn came in sight and Jack increased his pace. “Now let's get back. I have a letter to write.”

Half an hour later, they were sitting in a cozy private parlor enjoying an excellent repast while he finished regaling Mr. McEwan in his letter with his attempt to meet the Keyes family. Knowing the information would be passed on to Adam at the Sinners Club, Jack went into a lot of detail as to the locale and appearance of the house, and the uncooperative behavior of the woman who'd claimed to be Miss Malinda Keyes. He hoped it would be enough. If Adam wanted him to venture further into the distinctly hostile territory, he'd have to answer the letter and directly tell Jack to do so. Considering what awaited them, he might prefer to send men who knew what they were doing.

“Are you done, then?”

“With the letter, yes. With my dinner, not quite.” He signed his letter and blotted the paper before folding it shut and sealing it with candle wax and his signet ring. “I got the impression from Mr. McEwan that Miss Malinda Keyes was an elderly lady.”

“Unlike the lady we just met.” Simon drank some ale. “Mayhap it is a family name, and has been passed down to a new generation.”

“I suppose that's a possibility.” Jack wrote the direction on the front and put the letter aside. “The good thing is, it's not our problem. Mr. McEwan will have to work out the wrongs and rights of that one.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I'll go and give this letter to the innkeeper to go on the Mail, and inquire if our room is still available.”

Simon picked up the letter, read the direction, and tossed it back to Jack. “That's a wonderful idea.”

“I thought you'd like it.”

Jack found himself whistling as he sought out the landlord. He'd done his best for Adam and the mysterious Earl of Westbrook. He'd found the Keyes house and the fact that the current residents seemed extremely reluctant to admit visitors, which did seem rather suspicious. The rest was out of his hands.

Jack found the innkeeper in the taproom and waited patiently while he poured a few pints for the regulars before handing over the letter and being assured the room was available for one more night. A crack of thunder followed by a flash of lightning made him feel even better about delaying his journey back to Pinchbeck Hall, the house he might never get to call home, but one he would always remember with great fondness.

Rain splattered against the windows as he went back to the parlor to give Simon the good news. It wouldn't be just the house he'd miss either. The Picoults were his sensual and intellectual matches in many ways. It was a pity he'd had to meet them under such false circumstances. If Mary gave birth to a boy, he'd never see them again. If he was honest with himself, it would be too hard to see another achieve what he'd begun to think of as his. If she gave birth to a girl, he doubted she would choose to stay in the area and he'd lose her anyway. A Dowager Countess would hardly want to meet him as the new Earl of Storr....

Damnation.

Jack pushed open the door of the parlor and went in. Simon looked up from his plate.

“What's wrong? Are there no rooms?”

Jack remembered to smile. “Our room is ready whenever we wish to occupy it. After our harrowing day, perhaps we should both take a nap before dinner?”

Simon crossed over to the desk and blew out the candle. “I do believe we should.” He tossed something to Jack. “Don't forget your signet ring.”

“Thank you, I used it to seal the letter.” Jack replaced the ring on his finger and opened the door. “After you, Mr. Picoult.”

 

Hours later, Jack was awakened by the sound of a noisy group of revelers leaving the inn. Their shouting set the dogs to barking and the innkeeper's wife to scolding. It took several minutes for the hubbub to subside.

Simon, who was draped over Jack's chest, stirred and opened one eye. “She's making more noise than the rest of them put together.”

“I know. It's no wonder everyone is scared of her.”

“Women can be quite formidable, you know.”

“I know, your sister, Mary, certainly is.”

“Even when I first met her, she was a force to be reckoned with.”

“She told me she came to live with you and your mother.”

“That's right. Her mother was very frail. After she was evicted from her house, she and Mary ended up with us.”

“And you protected her.”

“I did my best.” Simon sighed. “As I said, she was determined not to be a burden on anyone and, despite her upbringing, resolved to do what she had do to survive.”

“Unless a girl goes into service or trade, there's not much for a young woman to do employment-wise, is there?”

“She did the best she could. I made damn sure she was never harmed or used in any way she didn't want.”

“While she prostituted herself.”

Simon came up on one elbow. “You make that sound like an accusation. What do you think I was doing? Offering her out to my friends and receiving the money?”

“It seems possible.”

“Damn you.” Simon shoved Jack away from him. “Where do you think I learned these skills, Mr. Smith? From Mary?”

Jack remained still and stared up at Simon's furious expression. “You worked together?”

“Aye. It seemed the safest way.”

“You protected each other.” Jack reached forward and stroked Simon's rigid shoulder. “That's remarkable.”

“Or sordid, depending on your point of view.”

“I find nothing disreputable in it. You did the best you could to ensure your survival with the hand life dealt you.”

Simon let out his breath. “I don't have to tell you to keep this to yourself, do I? It seems Mary is right, and I am remarkably indiscreet in bed.”

Jack pulled Simon back down on top of him. “Don't worry, I'll keep it to myself as long as you continue to be as indiscreet as you like in
my
bed.”

Simon kissed him and Jack allowed himself to be persuaded to forget his concerns for a while in the joy of having his cock and balls well sucked.

It was only later, when he still couldn't get back to sleep, that he allowed his mind to sift through the new information Simon had given him so freely. His lover had confirmed Jack's suspicions as to the nature of the initial liaison between the late earl and Mary Picoult. Had the earl always liked young girls? Jack pushed that unpleasant thought to the back of his mind. If, as he suspected, Mary and her mother had fallen on hard times and ended up in Simon's mother's brothel, it was possible that the house might still be in existence.

It was time to write another letter and ask his new acquaintance, Mr. Christian Delornay, who ran the House of Pleasure, if he knew of anyone called Picoult who owned a brothel in London. The name was unusual enough to be remembered, and also of French origin like the original owner of the pleasure house, Madame Helene. If Christian couldn't help him, he'd wager Helene could.

On that positive note and tired out by the exertions of the day, Jack allowed himself to fall asleep.

“Y
ou are not welcome here, Mr. Mainwaring.”

Mary drew herself up to her full height and glared at the unexpected visitor who had been awaiting her in the drawing room. When she entered, he was busy picking up the ornaments on the mantelpiece as if assessing their value.

“I know that, Mary. I didn't come to see you. I came to see Mr. Smith, the new earl's secretary.”

“He's not here at the moment.”

“Good Lord, don't tell me he isn't languishing at your feet and that you haven't managed to wind him ‘round your little finger, lass?” His gaze dropped to her rounded belly. “Maybe he doesn't find you attractive while you're breeding.”

“Mr. Smith is an honorable man. His attentions toward me have been those of a gentleman.”

George laughed. “That's because he doesn't know he's dealing with a hussy yet, does he? I did try to warn him that you'd go after anything with a prick.”

“I'm the Dowager Countess of Storr, Mr. Mainwaring. That is a fact.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” He picked up another piece of porcelain and examined it. “You can give Mr. Smith a message from me. Tell him I'm willing to pay my half of the costs to get you and your misbegotten bastard out of this house once and for all.”

“I'm not leaving Pinchbeck Hall.”

“You might have no choice.” George winked at her. “You'll soon be on your knees, begging me to ask you to be my mistress again.”

“That will never happen! I'd rather rot in the street!”

His face darkened. “Why, you little bitch—”

Behind Mary, the door opened and Mrs. Lowden and one of the footmen came in.

“Do you need any assistance, my lady?” the housekeeper asked.

George's hand dropped to his side. “Oh, don't worry about bringing me refreshments, Mary, love. Just give Mr. Smith my message, won't you?” The figurine fell from his hand and smashed into pieces on the marble fireplace. “Oh dear, it slipped through my fingers.”

“It's of no importance,” Mary said. “I never liked that piece. I believe it was a gift from your wife.”

George turned purple and he took a step back toward Mary. She held her ground, but Mrs. Lowden moved in front of her.

“If you don't want tea, Mr. Mainwaring, James will see you out. Good day to you.”

He left accompanied by the footman. Mary sank down into the nearest chair, her knees shaking.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lowden.”

“The butler was out, and that great lummox James opened the door and let Mr. Mainwaring in. I'm glad he told me, though. I knew he'd make trouble.”

Mary shuddered. “I thought he meant to strike me.”

Mrs. Lowden patted her shoulder. “So did I, lass. I might not agree with what you did, making that old man marry you, but I don't like Mr. George Mainwaring one bit.”

“Thank goodness for that. He makes my skin crawl.”

“He has a very free hand with my staff, a very free hand, if you know what I mean. The maids don't appreciate being fondled, and neither do I.”

“He tried to touch you?” Mary raised her head.

“Not recently, lass, but when I was a parlor maid here, he pinched my backside more than once. He stopped doing it when he followed me out into the servants' corridor and I slapped his face.”

“I had to do the same thing. But it was only after Simon threatened to castrate him that he finally stopped pawing me.” Mary took a deep breath and stood up. “Thank you again, Mrs. Lowden.”

“You're welcome, lass. When is Mr. Simon back?”

“Tonight, I hope.”

“Well then, my lady, I'll have a word with James and the rest of the newer staff and make sure they know not to let that Mr. George Mainwaring in again.” She nodded at the broken piece of porcelain. “I'll send one of the maids to clear that mess up.”

“Thank you.”

Mary walked over to the mantelpiece and fell to her knees beside the smashed figure of the shepherdess. It was damaged beyond repair. She could remember it sitting on her mother's dressing table. Its pair—a shepherd—had sat right beside it. Her mother had told her they were valuable and had come from France with her grandparents. The shepherd had been sold off to pay her father's debts, but her mother had smuggled the other piece out in her luggage, determined to keep at least one beautiful thing from the hands of the rent collector's thugs.

And now it was broken too....

Unaccustomed tears rose in her throat and she fought them back. With so much at stake, now was not the time to be weak. She still had to fight for her future, and for the family she had left. But how was she to survive? Ever since John Smith arrived, she'd felt less sure of herself. Vestiges of her gentle mother's teachings returned to haunt her, to accuse her of being a liar and a thief. But how else was she supposed to survive? She wasn't ashamed of a single thing that she had ever done—up until now....

A knock at the door heralded the entrance of one of the maids, who came over to sweep up the debris. Mary rose from her knees and went to sit in her chair. Despite everything, she'd made her choices, and perhaps letting this last reminder of her mother go was the sign she needed to move on and carry out her plan. Whatever happened, she and Simon would never be beholden to anyone for anything again.

 

The next morning Mary rose after a night of little sleep and found Jack awaiting her in the breakfast parlor. It appeared that he had already eaten and was finishing a cup of coffee. He rose when she came in and walked around the table to pull out her chair.

“Good morning, my lady. We arrived back rather late last night, and decided not to disturb your rest.”

“How thoughtful of you.” She sat down and poured some tea from the pot the footman placed at her elbow. “Did your trip go well?”

“We found the Keyes dwelling, but the occupants were rather unwilling to talk to us.”

“How odd.”

He shrugged. “We did our best. It is difficult to have a conversation when you are being held at gunpoint.”

She put down the teapot. “They tried to shoot you?”

“The lady of the house did, and then she set the dogs on us. Luckily, we escaped without injury.”

“So your work here is done.”

He regarded her steadily across the table, his blue eyes half-hidden behind his spectacles. “Almost. I would appreciate your hospitality for a day or so more until I hear back from the Lennox solicitors and my employer.”

“You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“That is very kind of you.” The butler came in bearing a silver tray. “Ah, here is the post now.”

“I believe they are all for you.” Mary handed the letters to Jack and he thanked her. The butler and the footman began removing some of the breakfast plates, leaving them alone.

“May I make use of the study to attend to my correspondence?”

“Of course you may.”

He stood and bowed. “Simon was here earlier, and is already out visiting the home farm. He sent his love if I should see you.” He paused. “I heard from Mrs. Lowden that George Mainwaring had been bothering you.”

“He came by with a message for you.” She met his gaze. “He wanted you to tell your employer that he was willing to pay half the costs to institute a lawsuit against me.”

“He mentioned that when I visited him.” Jack frowned. “I wonder why he felt it necessary to come here and tell you.”

“He was bursting with the desire to tell me something. He probably wanted to frighten me, and make me suspicious of your motives.”

“And has he done that?”

“Frightened me?” She made a dismissive gesture. “Of course not.”

“And what of your suspicions of me?”

She opened her eyes wide. “Just because we've shared a bed doesn't mean we trust each other, does it?”

For a second something that looked like regret or guilt flickered in his blue eyes. “No, of course it doesn't.”

“My opinion of you hasn't changed, Mr. Smith.”

He bowed. “I understand that, my lady, even as I regret it.”

“Why the regret?”

“Because it would've been far easier if you'd been what I initially thought you were—a fraud and a charlatan.”

She swallowed hard. “But to many people, I am those things, sir.”

“No, you are a woman who has done what she can to safeguard her future. My own mother would've done no less.”

She covered her face. “For God's sake, don't compare me to your mother. I don't deserve—”

He moved swiftly across to her and kissed her gently on the forehead. “Whatever happens, my lady, I swear I will never leave you to the mercy of George Mainwaring. If your child proves to be a girl, I will make certain my employer provides for you in a manner fitting your current station in life.”

“Brave words from a man who relies on his salary to survive.”

His smile was crooked. “I know you don't trust me in all things, but trust me in this.”

She could only nod, and be thankful when he moved away and left the room. The desire to throw herself on his mercy and tell him everything had almost overwhelmed her. The thought of what such a confession would mean almost stopped her heart. Did she want him to recoil from her in disgust? And it wasn't just her story to tell. There were others involved. She had no choice but to shoulder her burden, and hope for some way out of her increasingly complicated dilemma.

 

Jack cursed slowly and silently as he made his way to the earl's study. How could he comfort Mary Lennox when he was masquerading as his own secretary? He wanted to tell her the truth, but for the first time in his life was too afraid to do so. She'd hate him and for some reason he didn't want that. Other than Madame Helene Delornay-Ross, she was the most remarkably resilient woman he'd ever met. Her desire to protect those she loved reminded him of his sister, Violet, who had even offered herself as bait for a killer from love of him. Mary had been forced to sell her body simply to survive, and having finally managed to marry respectably, was now being threatened by a bully.

And by him.

That fact couldn't be ignored. If he hadn't turned up, would George Mainwaring ever have found the balls to start a lawsuit? He doubted it. Jack crossed to the desk, sat down, and put his head in his hands. So much for his lark, so much for amusing himself by rushing into Lincolnshire and finding his ancestral home. He was an idiot who was too old to meddle in other people's lives, especially those of people he'd come to like and admire....

Did he want to end up like his father, alone and unloved? A man who preferred the lure of deception to reality and the love of family? Because his father, John, might have insisted he lived his life fecklessly because he was spying for his country, but he'd never done much of that. Jack had been the information-gatherer from an early age, the one to put his drunken father to bed, to make his excuses to the bill collectors, to charm his way out of situations that made his skin crawl to even think about them again.

He groaned. And what was he doing now? Trying to charm his way out of this mess he'd single-handedly and unthinkingly created. Maybe he was more like his father than he'd ever realized....

He raised his head and stared at the portrait of the last earl that hung on the wall opposite the desk. No, he wouldn't be that person. He'd be honorable and uphold Mary Lennox's claim to the title regardless of what she thought of him later. For once in his life, he'd give up what he wanted for someone who deserved it more. He took a deep, steadying breath and faced his correspondence.

All three letters were ostensibly from the Lennox solicitors. He opened one at random, and discovered a rather agitated letter from Mr. McEwan asking a thousand questions about the legality of the marriage of the late earl and the current countess's pregnancy.

Jack had already stolen down one night, taken the original documents from the hiding place where Simon had concealed them, and left the copies offered to him in their place. He'd also replaced the key in the top drawer and, having heard no more about it, assumed nothing had been missed. In order for the Lennox solicitors to protect Mary, they would need to see the originals of the marriage lines and the deceased earl's will.

The second letter was concealed behind a solicitor's bill, and although unsigned, obviously came from Adam Fisher, who had excellent methods of communication with the far-flung county of Lincoln. These methods were described in detail in the letter to Jack for further use, and involved a new stable boy at the inn who would be more than willing to send anything Jack needed to Adam within as few hours as possible.

He contemplated sending the will and the other documents ahead of him, but was reluctant to entrust them to strangers. The last letter was another one from Adam, but styled as if it came from Jack. It was quite strange to read orders from himself. In the letter, his “employer” expressed surprise and dismay at the discovery of the Picoults at Pinchbeck Hall and asked Jack to return as soon as possible to give him a full report on the matter.

Jack hid a smile at his apparently peremptory manner. That was one of the reasons why he'd never employed a secretary. He found it extremely difficult to give other people orders. He'd never taken them well himself either. Again, beneath the first sheet was a second that promised Jack that Adam would look in to the matter of Mary and Simon Picoult as a matter of urgency.

He extracted the sheets that needed to be burned, and left the other correspondence on the desk. It wasn't worth hiding. If Simon or Mary wished to see what he was up to, they'd find nothing incriminating at all and might perhaps feel more secure.