Saint's Devils: Devil In My Arms Part 14

"What kind of understanding?"

Hil mentally cursed. Of course he'd ask the one thing he didn't have an answer for. "The kind between a gentleman and a lady who are not married and yet enjoy each other's company."

"Bedding her, were you?" Vickery asked with a lascivious grin. "Bet the others that you were."

"I do not think I like the idea of my intimate relations being the subject of betting between you and your a.s.sociates," Hil said, letting some of his anger show.

Vickery paled. "Wasn't an actual bet," he muttered.

"Too bad," Hil said. "I would have liked to take the money and then beat you into a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp. Do not forget that Mrs. Fairchild is a lady, and will be treated as such. She did not perpetrate this crime, and I will certainly have a thing or two to say to the magistrate about her detention and your behavior."

"Well now, you go right ahead, Sir Hilary," Vickery said. "I've got no qualms about either. I had good reason to arrest Mrs. Fairchild."

"I am interested to know what those reasons are." Hil gave him an imperious stare, but Vickery was not cowed.

"I'm sure you would," he said, and they were at a stalemate.

It was Hil's turn to tap his fingers on the table as he and Vickery stared at one another. Hil blinked first. "She was with me all night."

"Aw, now, Sir Hilary, don't be trying that sort of stuff on me. We're both too good for that."

"Fine," he relented. "I believe he was staying at the coaching inn in order to spirit Mrs. Fairchild away in the most expedient fashion."

"Do you, now," Vickery said. "That was my conclusion as well. The question is why? What do you know about him?"

Hil shook his head. "I have no idea why," he answered honestly. Truly he had no idea what Enderby had been thinking. Taking Eleanor would have accomplished nothing. Enderby had the most to lose should her living state be discovered. The question he should be asking is, who had the most to gain? "Nor do I know much about him other than that he was married to Eleanor Enderby. I believe he recently remarried, or so Mrs. Templeton told me."

"Did he? Well, all right," Vickery said with a smile. Hil was not fooled. He'd been on the other side of the interrogation table too many times. "Now we're getting somewhere. How about this one? Why was Mrs. Fairchild at your house tonight?"

"For the most obvious reason," Hil answered. "After all, I have already admitted we are having an affair. She has often snuck over to my house at night, dressed as a boy."

"According to your servants, she only did that once. After that, you sent the carriage for her."

Hil sighed as if forced to confess something he'd rather not. "Fine. It's true that we fought last week. This was her way of making up. She chose to sneak over to my house in the same fashion she did the first time we were together." He hated having to paint Eleanor and what they'd shared in such a light, as if she were a lady of loose morals.

"Do you think she and Enderby fought as well? Perhaps they were having an affair, too. Wouldn't be the first time a trusted relative slipped in between a man and wife. Maybe Enderby came to drag her back because that's what she wanted. Or had in the past. Only this time she had you on the line, a much bigger fish. Maybe she killed Enderby because she didn't want you to know that about her."

Hil was utterly taken aback at the direction the interrogation was going. "Of course not! Mrs. Fairchild would never stoop to bedding her cousin's husband. Who, might I remind you, has remarried someone else. She is not that kind of woman. And certainly not the kind of woman who will turn murderess to hold onto a man, any man, including me."

"The man is always the last to know," Vickery said sadly. "Don't feel bad that she duped you, Sir Hilary. It happens to the best of us."

"Mrs. Fairchild is innocent," Hil insisted. "Why won't you believe me now, when you routinely seek my counsel and advice on cases such as this?"

"Well, you're not usually tupping the suspects," Vickery said bluntly. "Makes you unreliable."

"That's ridiculous," Hil scoffed. "I have never been unreliable in my life, no matter the circ.u.mstances."

"I've heard that before," Vickery said, nodding his head sagely. "You'll just have to sit this one out, sir."

"I will do no such thing," Hil said, a warning in his voice. "You have falsely accused a woman with whom I am intimately involved with the perpetration of the most heinous crime. Not only will I defend her good name, I will find the culprit and prove you wrong."

"You haven't asked how he died." Vickery brushed some dirt or lint off the table, not looking at Hil.

"All right," Hil played along, but trepidation made the blood pound harder in his temple until it became a headache.

"Stabbed in the back, but that didn't kill him. Wound wasn't deep enough. He was pushed down the stairs. Broke his neck." Vickery was looking at him now. "Sort of thing a woman does."

Yes, yes it was. Men got their hands dirty. They used methods that were a.s.sured of success-a knife, a gun, strangulation. But women more often perpetrated murders of convenience-poison, accidents made possible by a situation.

Vickery sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his hands clasped. His expression was very grave. "She's going to hang," he said flatly. "Unless a miracle occurs, she's going to hang for murder. I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you, but there it is."

The room spun for a moment as Hil's stomach dropped. "You have irrefutable evidence, then?" he asked. His voice sounded far away to his own ears.

" 'Fraid so, sir," Vickery confirmed. "We have the argument, witnessed by quite a few of your ilk, her well-known affair with you, and witnesses who put her near the scene of the crime at about the same time we believe he died. Your Mrs. Fairchild is hiding something, sir, and she was willing to kill to keep it a secret. Mark my words."

"Hil!" Wiley jumped up from the chair he'd been occupying in the entry of the Bow Street offices. It was obvious he'd been sitting there running his hands through his hair. Probably pulling some out, too. He looked frantic. "What did they tell you? They won't tell me a thing. I tried to confess to the murder, but no one will believe me. They've all gone insane."

"They did more asking than telling," Hil told him ruefully. "I believe I have relieved their minds about my own involvement." He wanted to ask Wiley if he really had done it, or found someone who would, but he knew the answer would most likely be no. He hadn't known about Enderby's attempt to kidnap Eleanor from the opera, either, and Hil had told him not to have Enderby killed. In hindsight, that was a decision he regretted.

"Your involvement?" Wiley asked in disbelief. "I thought they were your friends." He fell back in his chair. "Never trust a pig." Hil didn't correct his offensive cant today.

"What has been going on?" Hil demanded. "Where did they take Elean- Elizabeth?" He turned to Vickery, who was standing quietly behind him, watching their exchange. "I want to see her."

"She's in Newgate," Vickery said, "being processed. She'll come before the magistrate on next Friday's docket."

"Ah, G.o.d," Wiley cried out. "They've locked her up, Hil. You know she can't take that. She ... G.o.d." He covered his face with one hand. "Do you know what that place is like?" He tore his hand away and gazed bleakly at Hil. "Lots of locked doors and no windows."

"I demand to see her," Hil told the inspector harshly. "You know I can make it happen, Vickery. Don't force me to call in favors I'd rather leave unused at the moment." He'd go all the way to Prinny if he had to. And he'd tell all the king's secrets this time, if he didn't come through for Hil. He no longer cared if the king revealed his past in retaliation. Let the ton shun him. They were a petty lot of scoundrels, not worth the dirt on Eleanor's slippers. He stood there, glaring at Vickery, daring him to say no.

"It's out of my hands," Vickery told him, spreading his arms out at his sides as if to show his empty hands. "You know once we turn them over, we don't get them back. We don't usually see them again until the trial, unless we need to ask them more questions." He relented. "I can contact the gaol keeper for you."

"Get me in there today," Hil told him. "You owe me that much. You know you do."

Vickery sighed. "You're going to fall hard when she hangs," he said sadly.

"I'm not planning on falling at all," Hil said resolutely. "Heads will roll over this, Inspector, but Mrs. Fairchild's will not be one of them."

Chapter Sixteen.

"Please tell His Majesty that Sir Hilary St. John is here to see him." Hil used his most imperious voice. It usually worked on the sort of underling he was addressing.

"Yes, sir," the man said with a shallow bow, and left Hil alone in the anteroom. He'd been forced to travel all the way to Windsor to see the king, who had been growing increasingly reclusive since the death of his daughter and his mother. Traffic had been congested and slow, as usual, and it had taken half a day to get here from Bow Street. He was hardly dressed for an audience with the king, but he hadn't wanted to take the time to go home to change. Luckily for Hil, he had a standing invitation to see the royal, which most of the king's retainers knew and honored, regardless of the state of his clothing.

After Hil had been left to cool his heels for half an hour, a secretary appeared. "His Majesty will see you now," he said politely, but his manner was decidedly unfriendly. So be it. Hil wasn't here to curry favor with the king. He was here to demand payment of a long-overdue debt.

He followed the secretary down a long, ill-lit corridor and then into another anteroom, where the king sat having supper, while several members of his inner circle lounged about the room eating and talking in hushed voices. As they noticed Hil, one by one, they grew quiet. He stood in the doorway staring at each of them in turn until the silence grew uncomfortable. "Get out," he said to no one in particular.

"See here, St. John," the king said in a fractious tone, "this is my castle, not yours. You've no right to walk in here and take over. Who is king, after all?"

"Fine," Hil agreed flatly. "I don't mind discussing the past in front of them if you don't."

"Get out," the king said as he threw his napkin onto the table and stood up. The gentlemen in the room hastened to file out, staring at Hil in amazement. Clearly they were incapable of handling the spoiled king. Hil had learned long ago how to get what he wanted out of him.

When the door closed behind the last man, the king moved over to sit on a red-velvet couch. "Sit down, Sir Hilary," he said. "I'm too tired these days to stand my guard against you."

He was growing fat and showing his age. Hil remembered when he was bang up to the mark, the finest Corinthian in London. Now his early excesses were taking their toll. "You need never guard against me, Your Majesty," Hil countered smoothly. "Have I not always worked to protect your name and reputation?"

"Only if it meant your own gain," the king countered. He knew Hil as well as Hil knew him. Strange to think their relationship was the oldest and closest in Hil's life, when they couldn't stand each other.

"True," Hil said, "as is the reverse."

At that sally, the king laughed. "True. And don't think I won't be getting my pound of flesh for whatever favor you're asking today." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with Mrs. Fairchild's arrest?"

Hil wasn't surprised he'd heard the news already. It was juicy gossip, particularly considering his involvement with Eleanor. He'd actually counted on it. The negotiations would go much faster this way, since the king had clearly already considered his price for doing Hil a favor. "Yes, it does." He said no more. Let the king say his piece first. It was always better to sit back and let one's opponent lead, to better plan your counterattack.

The king surprised him by suddenly becoming rather maudlin of countenance. "Do you remember when you saved my life, Sir Hilary?"

"I do," Hil said cautiously, not sure where this was going.

"I thought about killing you, to keep my secret. Did you know that?"

"It's what any sane man would contemplate in your position, Your Majesty," he said without anger. It was true. He would have thought about it, too.

"Why do you suppose I didn't?" the king asked. It wasn't a rhetorical question. He waited for an answer, watching Hil.

"I was an extremely charismatic and adorable child at ten," Hil said truthfully. "Perhaps you simply couldn't bear to do it."

"That is true," the king said with a genuine smile. "You were far more clever than me. They never did find Ainsley's body."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sire," Hil said. "I saved you from a stray poacher's bullet. Not that heroic, really," he said, reiterating the story he'd drummed into the young prince's head nineteen years ago, after an irate husband chased the prince through the forest and tried to kill him. The prince had shot and killed the unarmed man, who happened to be the local magistrate. Hil had seen the whole thing. He'd known who the well-dressed young man was; everyone in the county knew it. He'd been attending a house party at an estate not far from the village. Hil had rushed in, settled down the frightened prince, and disposed of the body for him. He kept the prince's secret in exchange for an education.

It had been a very good bargain for him. Over the years the prince had called on him time and again to fix untenable situations in which he'd found himself. That first secret paled in comparison to some of the others he was now privy to. He wished he could stop saving the royal pain, but he knew something about Hil, too. He knew he was the son of the local barmaid and prost.i.tute, a penniless b.a.s.t.a.r.d who grew up in the gutter. By the time he'd saved the prince's life, his mother was dead and he was on his way to becoming the sort of felon he now chased. That fateful day had changed his life. He'd never admit it, but he owed the king everything.

"Over the years I've regretted that decision," the king said ruefully. "Now you are a threat to me. You know too much. I'm told I should have you executed. I'm sure I could find a reason."

"Despite what is written about you, you are not an ogre, Your Majesty," Hil said, not in the least concerned. "It is not in your nature to kill indiscriminately. That, I think, is why I survived all those years ago. What happened with Ainsley was a mistake, an accident. No matter how it would have looked to everyone else."

"d.a.m.n you, St. John," the king said without vehemence. "Even though I know you detest me, you are still the only man who can tell me I'm not awful and have me believe it." He wagged a finger at him. "That's why I keep you around." He stood and walked over to look out the window, his hands behind his back. For a moment he actually looked a little bit like a king. "I made you, you know. The renowned Sir Hilary St. John, brilliant scholar, rake"-at that he looked over his shoulder with a smile and a wag of his brows-"and investigator. Mysterious, enigmatic, and infuriating."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Hil said with genuine pleasure at the description.

"I require your a.s.sistance," the king said without looking at him. "It's a very delicate matter, of course. However, I know I can count on your discretion."

"Of course," Hil said, keeping the contempt out of his voice. They were all delicate matters.

"Good. I shall send a note round to Newgate to release your Mrs. Fairchild. But only until the trial." He turned to Hil and looked as if he genuinely regretted it. "The case has already become too notorious. I cannot acquit her. You must do that, Hilary." He paused. "Did she do it? Did she kill him?"

"No, Your Majesty, she did not," Hil said firmly. "And I have every intention of proving it."

"Good, good," the king said, looking relieved. "That will make it seem as if I was wiser than Bow Street, won't it? I knew she was innocent when they thought she was guilty. I shall be a knight in shining armor, saving damsels in distress." He pointed at Hil. "You make it so, St. John. I don't need more bad press." He rubbed his hands together. "Now, let us discuss my problem and how you are going to solve it. You're the only man around here worth a d.a.m.n."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Hil said, used to his lightning mood changes. "I would be happy to a.s.sist you." He gritted his teeth behind his smile, hoping this wouldn't take too long.

Chapter Seventeen.

Hil saw Roger pacing inside the house through the window when he finally arrived at Manchester Square. It was early morning. The sun had come up as he'd ridden back from Windsor. As soon as he dismounted, the butler, Mandrake, opened the door and stood back so he could enter. He looked very grave. "How are things going, Mandrake?" he asked quietly as he handed over his hat and gloves.

"It is an ill wind that blows through here, sir," Mandrake replied. He sounded like a tragic Greek chorus.

"Nonsense," Hil said with more confidence than he felt. "Has there been any word about Mrs. Fairchild?"

"No, sir, not yet." That worried Hil. The king had better live up to his promises.

When he entered the drawing room, he saw that Roger was not alone. His barrister partner, Edward Lyttle, another Devil from their school days, was there, as were Wiley and Alasdair. At his entrance, they looked relieved. As he shook Roger's hand, the dark circles under his friend's eyes were noticeable. "I've arranged for her to stay with the gaoler and his wife in the press yard, until further plans can be made. Can you get her out?" Roger asked without preamble.

"I can," he said. "The king owes me a favor."

"The king always owes you favors," Wiley said in disgust. "I wish you'd tell me what you've got on him."

"That would defeat the effectiveness of blackmailing him by keeping his secret, wouldn't it?" Lyttle asked. He was a huge man. He stood in front of a window, blocking the light, dressed in somber black, his dark hair wildly disheveled, wearing an expression like an undertaker. "Whatever you do, Hil, don't ever tell a soul. Having a king in your pocket can be very useful."

"He'll only release her until the trial. He says the case is too notorious already, probably due to my involvement. What has happened since I left? Have you spoken with anyone?"

"We were all questioned," Roger told him. "Even Harry and Julianna."

"d.a.m.n," he swore, his fist hitting his thigh in impotent anger.

"What?" Alasdair asked, looking as bleak as Hil felt. He sat on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped between his knees.

"I don't know where to start." Hil made the confession in a tight voice. He'd had hours of riding to think about it, but he had no plan. He had no idea who in London would want to kill Enderby, besides Eleanor and the people in this house. The image of Eleanor locked up in a dank cell in Newgate had haunted him to the exclusion of almost all other thought.