The Sinners Club (16 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Tyler.” Mary let out her breath and stamped down on her rising guilt. “I cannot tell you how much that means to me, and to Simon.”

“Yes, thank you, sir.” Simon went to shake the vicar's hand.

“If Jack does come back, do you want me to give him the package you brought?”

The vicar glanced over at the table where he'd laid the wrapped parcel. “Perhaps I could send it on to him? Do you have his direction in London?”

Mary picked up the parcel before the vicar could reach it. “You could send it to the Lennox family solicitors. I have the details of their place of business in the study.”

She left Simon in the drawing room, and took the vicar along to the old earl's study. Jack's correspondence with the solicitor still sat on the desk where he'd left it—obviously quite deliberately to make her think he was trustworthy. Anger coalesced in her stomach, making it hard to breathe. She waited until the vicar lit a candle and then sat down at the desk. The key was in the lock and she used it to open the drawer and take out a fresh sheet of paper. Her hand shook as she carefully copied the directions from the top of Mr. McEwan's letter onto the paper.

“Thank you, my dear.” The vicar took the note and folded it in half before putting it back in his pocket with the parcel.

“What are you sending him?” Mary asked.

“I found some of his father's letters. I thought he might appreciate reading them.”

“That was very kind of you.”

“I know you are thinking the worst of him now, but I'm sure things will become clearer when he returns.”

“I'm sure you are right.”

She went to stand, and the vicar held out his hand. “Don't bestir yourself. I can see myself out. I just wanted to have a quick word with Simon. Is he still in the drawing room?”

“Why don't you go and see? I'll just put these letters away.”

“Good night, my lady.”

She nodded, and he departed, leaving her staring at the solicitor's clear handwriting. She picked up the other letter, which was in a different hand, and supposedly from the honorable John Lennox himself. Who had written it? Who else was involved in this charade?

For the first time since her mother died, she'd trusted someone. He'd proved to be as false as the diamonds her father had given her mother and just as worthless.

“The dishonorable John Lennox more like!” she said into the silence. She closed the inkwell, and cleaned off her pen before glancing down at the key in the drawer.

She grabbed the key, shot to her feet, and ran for the door. To her immense relief, the vicar had left and Simon was sitting by the fire, his expression pensive. He looked up as she came in and forced a smile.

“All you all right, love? Fancy the vicar knowing all about Jack.”

He was trying to sound amused, but she knew him too well to be fooled. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to comfort him. She held up the key.

“Did you leave this in the desk?”

He frowned and patted his waistcoat pocket. “I don't think so.”

“Then who did?”

He stared at her. “The last time I remember seeing it was when Jack asked me for some paper to write on and I took out the key to unlock the drawers.”

Mary turned right around and went back to the study. By the time Simon reached her, she was busy unlocking all the drawers of the desk.

“What are you doing?”

She found the ribbon-tied bundle of the earl's will and other documents and dumped them on the top of the desk.

“Mary, calm yourself. They are all still here. Did you think he'd stolen them?”

She ignored his question, untied the ribbon and scanned through the documents before raising her head.

“He has stolen them.” She held up the will. “This is the copy we gave him. He must've taken the originals.”

“When?”

“When he took the key.”

Simon groaned. “I think I remember what happened. I must've left the key in the drawer after he distracted me.”

“And how did he do that?”

He blushed. “Guess.”

“I don't blame you.” Mary sighed. “We've both been fools, haven't we?” She put the documents back in the packet. “But I'm not going to let him get away with this.”

“Mary, you have that look on your face I've learned to dread. What on earth do you plan to do?”

She raised her chin. “We're going to follow him to London and make him wish he'd never been born!”

“T
he Picoult family is quite interesting. Did you know that Mary and Simon are not actually brother and sister?” Adam asked.

“I discovered that while I was at Pinchbeck Hall. I understand that Mrs. Picoult took Mary and her mother into her house when they were homeless.” Jack crossed his booted feet at the ankle and tried to look relaxed.

“That's correct. I still have men working on discovering Mary's identity. She definitely did not come from the same social class as Simon and his mother. I hope you don't mind, but I concentrated my efforts per your original request on tracking down the Picoults.”

“And you found the mother?”

“I did. She is still alive and runs a brothel in Whitechapel.”

Inwardly, Jack shuddered at the thought of Mary growing up in a bawdy house in that particular region of London. It was amazing that she had turned out so seemingly unscathed.

“Did you speak to her?”

Adam sat back in his chair and regarded Jack. “I thought you might prefer to do that yourself.”

“Thank you for your admirable discretion. I would.”

“I also spoke to Christian Delornay, and he was well aware of the Picoult establishment. He wanted to talk to you himself, but he's currently in the countryside with his wife and stepchildren.”

Jack frowned. “I didn't think he liked leaving the pleasure house in anybody's hands but his own.”

“He doesn't, but Elizabeth insisted. She wants to own a house outside of London, and Christian is more than willing to accommodate her every desire. I believe she is expecting his child.”

“When will he return?”

“In a few days.”

“Good. I'll contact him after I've spoken to Mrs. Picoult.” Jack rose to his feet. “Thank you for all your help.”

“You are welcome.” Adam handed him the directions. “Thank you for yours.”

Jack shrugged. “I didn't do much. It seems that you knew where Keyes was all along.”

“I suspected where he was. You merely confirmed it.”

“And almost got shot for my pains.”

Adam grinned. “I'm sure she wouldn't have gone through with it.”

“You didn't see her face.” Jack shuddered. “If Keyes has offended Miss Malinda, she's probably got him locked up in a dungeon somewhere.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“I thought you liked the man.”

“I do, but he's become very hard, and I'd started to worry about him. This little holiday with his family might be just the thing he needs.”

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Adam?”

Adam leaned back in his seat to look Jack in the eye. “There is one thing. Seeing as Keyes is absent, and I have to go away on official business, I was wondering if you'd like to take up residence here for a few weeks and keep an eye on the old place.”

“On the Sinners Club? Didn't you say that the Earl of Westbrook and his wife have offices here?”

“They do, but they don't live here or involve themselves in the day-to-day management of the place anymore. After ten years, they decided to step back and enjoy their lives.”

“I can understand that.” Jack studied Adam's deceptively benign expression. “I do need somewhere to live while I wait to see if the Countess of Storr produces a boy or a girl. This would suit me very nicely.”

“Good. There are three apartments on the top floor—one is vacant, the other belongs to Keyes and the third is mine. You are more than welcome to make yourself comfortable in the unoccupied one. It is fully furnished and the staff here will treat you very well.”

“I'm sure they will.”

“Would you like to see the rooms?”

“If you have time to show me them.”

Adam led Jack up two flights of stairs to the level just below the servants' quarters, and unlocked the first of three doors that led off the circular landing.

“Here you are.”

There was a large, cozy sitting area, a bedroom beyond that, and two other doors that were closed. Adam opened the first of them. “Here is your study. The door at the far end leads down to the servants' stairs and gives the staff access to your rooms.”

“And what's in here?”

“Oh, I think you'll like this. We've had all the most modern conveniences added to this floor.”

“Good Lord, my own bathtub and convenience!” Jack marveled at the large bath and the water closet. “I can soak in there for hours.”

Adam leaned across him and turned the tap. “There is also running water.”

“How modern!” Jack smiled. “I do believe I'll take the place. Now tell me the truth. What will I really have to do to repay such a generous offer?”

Adam gave him the key. “Be on hand for any emergencies amongst the membership.”

“That sounds remarkably easy.”

Adam held open the door that led out of the apartment. “With our membership you never quite know what will come up. Now come down to the kitchens and meet the staff.”

 

Jack consulted the directions Adam had written down for him, and searched in vain for any indication of a street name on the grimy walls confronting him at the crossroads. His boots were covered in mud and his coat was already splashed with filth from a passing horse and cart. He spied a small gaggle of urchins eyeing him speculatively and held up a penny.

“Who wants this?”

A fight broke out amongst the boys. Jack waited until one of them shoved the others aside and approached him. Jack guessed he was at least ten, but he looked half that age due to lack of good food.

“What'cha want, mister?”

“Directions to Leland Street.”

“Leland?” The boy scratched his head and something dropped out and crawled away. “Never ‘eard of it.”

“The Picoult place?”

“ ‘E means the brothel, Jude,” a smaller boy piped up. Jack produced another penny and tossed it to the lad.

“Oh, that place!” Jude turned and pointed back the way he'd come. “It's the third house on the left with the black door and brass knocker.” He leered at Jack. “You want some dick to suck then, Molly?”

“Thank you.” Jack dropped the penny into Jude's waiting hand and smacked another thieving hand away from delving into his pocket. Keeping a careful eye on the boys, he retraced his steps and banged on the knocker of the peeling black door.

“You don't need to knock, sir, you just go on in.” The smaller, helpful lad spoke again, and got his ear cuffed by Jude for his impudence.

“Thank you.” This time Jack threw the boy a sixpence and dived through the door, leaving an unholy mass of heaving bodies on the street outside. He stood with his back against the door, breathing hard, and held it firm against the banging. He hoped the small one survived. He suspected he would.

“May I help you?”

His gaze flew to the young woman who had emerged from the gloom at the back of the house. She didn't look like either a whore or a servant.

“Ma'am.” Jack swept her a magnificent bow. “I am looking for Mrs. Picoult. Is she here?”

“She's sleeping. What do you want?”

“Just to speak to her.”

“Why?”

“When will she be up?”

“When it pleases her.” The woman took a step closer. “This is a brothel, everyone sleeps during the day if they can.”

“But not you.”

“Someone has to be up and making sure everything is ready for the night.”

“Then Mrs. Picoult is lucky to have you.” He tried again. “Do you have any idea when I should return?”

“Not before six.”

He bowed. “Thank you.” The noise outside seemed to have subsided. “Will you tell your mistress that Mr. John Smith wanted to speak to her?”

She nodded briskly. “I will.” She hesitated. “Are you sure I can't help you? I can see if someone is awake and willing to take you upstairs.”

“That's very kind of you, but I'm not here for carnal purposes.” In truth, even if he were, he wouldn't touch any whore in this district without the fear of what he might catch.

“There's no shame in it, sir. Each to their own. Or is it that you like to watch, then?”

“I like to do everything, but not today.”

He cautiously opened the front door, allowing light into the darkened space. She cocked her head to one side. Her hair was reddish in color and in dire need of a good wash.

“I'll tell her you will come back, then.”

“Yes, please do that.”

He escaped through the door and slammed it shut. The ragged band of boys was nowhere in sight. All he had to do was find his way back to Mile End Road, obtain a hackney, and tell Sylvia about his change in lodgings. It was frustrating that he had to wait on answers. He did have some time before the heir presumptive was born, so he wasn't despairing quite yet.

After he washed off the dirt of this neighborhood, he'd set out again for the Lennox solicitors and deliver the original copies of the will, the marriage lines, and the vicar's letter he'd taken from the earl's desk. He didn't feel guilty about borrowing the papers. If Mary were worried about George Mainwaring, Mr. McEwan would be her staunchest ally in the battle to come.

He kept his guard up and his hand on the hilt of his dagger as he walked through the filthy streets. He'd lived in such places when his father was down on his luck, and learned how to pick a few pockets himself when times were tough. No one approached him in daylight, but he knew it would be a different story in the dark. That thought was enough to make him hasten his steps.

It would be interesting living at the Sinners. He'd heard that the second floor of the house was dedicated to the pleasures of life but had never had a chance to participate in any licentious behavior. Perhaps that was about to change. Even if his heart wasn't in it, sexual excess might help him forget about what he'd done. It had always brought him relief in the past.

An image of Mary and Simon flashed in his mind and he was immediately hard. Damnation, he
needed
to forget them. Once he'd fucked another anonymous body, he'd remember who he was, and why he didn't deserve anything better. He was too much like his father and thus incapable of love and fidelity. His parents' misalliance and his mother's abandonment had taught him that. He had no desire to destroy a woman as his father had, dragging her down until she had nothing left to give him.

Not that Mary was like his mother....

He shoved that thought away and held out his arm to hail a hackney.

 

“You can't stay here.” Simon caught hold of Mary's elbow and kept her inside the hackney cab. “It isn't fitting.”

“Don't be silly. I grew up here just like you did.”

“But you're a titled widow now. You can't stay in a
brothel!”

The hackney driver cleared his throat and spat. “Are you getting out or not? I'll charge you extra if you stay in there chatting.”

“We're coming out.” Mary pulled away from Simon's grasp and stepped out into the street. The foul stench of Leland Street immediately surrounded her. She felt as if she'd come home. “Thank you.”

She knocked boldly on the door of the brothel, and when there was no reply, she pushed the door open and went in, leaving Simon to deal with the hackney cab. A faint light at the back of the house drew her and she walked down the long corridor and into the kitchen.

The fragrant smell of baking bread overrode the usual smells of the brothel and Mary smiled.

“Ginny?”

The red-haired woman turned away from the stove and almost dropped the loaf pan in her hands.

“Oh my word! Whatever are you doing here? Is Simon with you?”

“He's just paying off the hackney.” Mary allowed herself to be enfolded in Ginny's warm, floury embrace. “Is your mother here?”

“She should be down at any moment. She'll be right surprised to see you both.” Ginny paused. “Has something happened? Have you both been kicked out?”

Before Mary could answer, the kitchen door slammed and Simon entered bearing their luggage, his expression still grim. She sensed he was about to continue their argument, but luckily Ginny had other ideas.

“Simon!”

He dropped the bags and held out his arms. “Ginny, lass! You've grown!”

Mary couldn't help but smile as she watched the brother and sister hug each other. Simon had obviously missed his real sister more than he'd let on. She sat down at the kitchen table and rested her chin on her hand. She had a terrible headache. After the endless journey on the Mail coach it was nice simply not to be in motion.

“You need to eat.”

She blinked as Ginny thrust a plate of buttered bread and a mug of ale at her. The warm bread did smell delicious. She picked at the crust while Simon sat opposite her and drank a whole tankard of the weak brew down in one.

The kitchen door opened again, and she forced herself to sit upright.

“Well, what have we here?” Mrs. Picoult's familiar dry voice made her look up. “I was told to expect a visitor this evening, but I wasn't anticipating two such familiar ones.”

Simon rose to his feet and went to his mother to kiss her cheek. She had red hair like her children, and wore a black dress with a very low-cut bodice. To Mary, she'd never looked like a woman who ran a brothel, but more like the headmistress of a boarding school or a nunnery, which, considering her clients, made rather good business sense.