Josephine
An hour later, Josephine wrapped her shawl more snugly around her shoulders and adjusted the blanket across her knees. The night was not especially cold, but one felt the chill when one sat in an unlit carriage for an extended period of time.
"I must say, this business of keeping watch is not nearly as exciting as I had expected it would be," she said.
Hero, enveloped in deep shadow on the other side of the vehicle, did not take his eyes off the entrance of the Green Lyon. "I did warn you if you will recall."
She decided to ignore that. Hero was not in one of his more mellow moods this evening. She could hardly blame him, she thought.
They were seated in an ageing carriage that he had instructed Jenks to hire for this venture. Josephine understood his reasoning in the matter. It was, after all, quite likely that his own carriage would have been recognized if it sat parked for any length of time in the street outside the Green Lyon. But unfortunately, the livery stable had had only one old vehicle left at that late hour.
It had quickly become obvious why none of the stable's other clients had selected it. When it was in motion, the heavy carriage jolted and lurched in an extremely uncomfortable manner. In addition, although the seats had appeared to be clean at first glance, it had quickly become apparent that the accumulated odours of years of ill-use had saturated the cushions.
Josephine stifled a tiny sigh and finally admitted to herself that she had anticipated that the time spent with Hero in the dark, intimate confines of the carriage would be pleasant. She had envisioned the two of them talking quietly for an hour or two while they watched gentlemen come and go from the club.
But immediately after they had taken a place in the long line in the street outside the hell, Hero had sunk into one of his deep silences. All of his attention was fixed on the door of the Green Lyon. She knew that he was reworking his master plan yet again.
She studied the entrance to the hell, wondering what it was about the place that drew such a steady stream of men. It was certainly an unprepossessing establishment, in her opinion. The single gaslight in front cast a weak glare that illuminated the faces of the patrons who came and went from the premises.
Most of the men who tumbled out of the carriages and hackneys that halted at the front steps were clearly drunk. They laughed too loudly and told bawdy stories to their friends. There was a feverish look of expectation about some of them as they made their way into the hell.
Most of those who emerged from the club wore very different expressions. One or two appeared positively jubilant. They boasted of their luck and instructed their coachmen to take them to another place of amusement. But a far greater number walked back down the steps with an air of dejection, anger or deep gloom. A few looked as though they had received word of a death in the family. Josephine knew that they were the ones who had just gambled away a house or an inheritance. She wondered if any of them would put a pistol to his head sometime before dawn.
She shivered again.
Hero stirred. "Are you cold?"
"No, not really. What will you do if we do not spot him tonight?"
"Try again tomorrow night." Hero rested one arm along the back of the seat. "Unless some new information falls at my feet in the meantime, this is the most significant clue that has come my way thus far."
"Does it disturb you that the killer chose to confide the information about my connection to Goodhew and Willis to Jeremy of all people? It cannot have been a coincidence."
"No. I am quite certain he intended to create some mischief by telling Clyde that you actually did come from the agency and that the rumours were not a jest after all."
"What sort of mischief?"
"I do not know yet. Remember that he still believes that we have no way to identify him. He no doubt feels that the secret of his true identity is secure."
She tugged on her shawl. "I only hope that I will be able to make him out from this distance."
Another silence ensued.
"Hero?"
"Yes?"
"There is something that I have been meaning to ask you."
He did not turn his head. "What is that?"
"How does it come about that you guessed the name of the brothel in Orchid Street when Jeremy mentioned it?"
For a second or two he gave no sign that he had even heard the question. Then she saw him smile in the darkness.
"Such establishments have a way of making themselves known," he said. "Men gossip, Josephine."
"I am not the least surprised to hear that."
He glanced at her, the amused smile still etching the corner of his mouth. "What you really want to know is if I am familiar with that brothel because I have had occasion to visit it, innit?"
She raised her chin and kept her gaze on the front door of the Green Lyon. "I have absolutely no interest in that aspect of your personal life, sir."
"Of course you have, and the answer is no."
"I see." She felt suddenly quite cheerful for a moment, and then she recalled the other, related question about his private life that had been bothering her from the start of this adventure. Her briefly elevated spirits immediately deflated somewhat. "Well, I suppose you did not require the services of such an institution."
"There is no other woman in my life at the moment, Josephine," he said quietly. "As a matter of fact, there has not been anyone else for some time. Is that what you want to know?"
"It's none of my affairs."
"Ah, but it is, my sweetheart," he said in a low voice. "After all, we have formed an intimate connection. You have every right to know if I am romantically attached to someone else." He paused a beat. "Just as I would expect to be told immediately if you decided to form such an attachment to some other man."
Something in his tone raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. He was making it clear that he would not share her affections.
"You know better than anyone that there is no other man in my life," she said quietly.
"I will expect matters to remain that way as long as you and I are involved with each other."
She cleared her throat. "I will expect the same sort of loyalty from you."
"You shall have it," he said simply.
He turned his attention back to the door of the Green Lyon, leaving her to analyze in silence the combination of satisfaction and wistful longing that welled up inside her. She would have him to herself for the length of time that they were bound together in this odd affair, she thought. But that realization only heightened her awareness of how painful the eventual parting would be.
She was trying very hard to keep her thoughts focused on the future and all of her grand plans, but it was becoming more difficult by the hour to imagine life without Hero.
Dear heaven, I've fallen in love with him,
The realization filled her with a bright euphoria that transformed almost instantly into dread. How had she allowed this to happen? This was a miscalculation of enormous proportions.
"Fucking hell." Arthur straightened abruptly, leaning closer to the carriage window. "What is this about?"
His urgent tone yanked her out of her morose thoughts. She sat forward quickly.
"What is it?" she asked.
Hero shook his head, his gaze never wavering from the scene outside on the front steps of the club. "Fucks sake if I know. But this cannot be a matter of chance. Take a look. Might that be the man you danced with the night Zach was murdered? The one who touched you this evening?"
She followed his gaze and watched a handsome man in his early twenties walk purposefully out the door of the Green Lyon. In the glare of the gas lamp, his hair appeared to be a light brown. He was slender, and he moved easily.
Her pulse began to thud heavily in her wrists, and her mouth went dry. Was she looking at the killer? Was that the man who had touched her so intimately tonight and on the night of Zach's death? From this distance, there was no way to be certain.
"He is about the right height," she said, hesitating. "And he appears to have long-fingered hands. I cannot see from here if he has a ring."
"He is wearing Hessians."
"Yes, but as you once pointed out, a vast number of gentlemen favour that style of boot." She squeezed her fingers together tightly in her lap. "Hero, I'm sorry, but I cannot be sure from this distance. I must get closer to him."
"He is not getting into any of the carriages."
She watched as the man in the Hessians turned at the bottom of the steps, lit a small lantern that he carried at his side, and walked off along the dark street. He was alone.
"Stay here with the carriage. Jenks will watch you." Hero opened the door and jumped down onto the pavement. "I am going to follow that man."
Anxiously, she leaned forward. "No, you must not go after him alone. Hero, please, this may be exactly what the villain intends for you to do."
"I want to see where he is going. I will not let him see me."
"Hero-"
"I am very curious to discover what business he has in this neighbourhood so near the Green Lyon."
"I do not like this, Hero. Please take Jenks with you."
Hero turned his head toward the rapidly diminishing point of light that was the lantern his quarry carried. "It will be difficult enough as it is to keep my quarry unaware of my presence. He will surely spot two men following him."
He made to close the door.
"Wait. You recognize that man with the lantern, don't you?" she whispered.
"He is Roland Burnley. The man who eloped with Sydney."
Hero closed the door before Josephine could recover from her astonishment.