Hero
The weak illumination supplied by the small lights of the carriages and the gas lamp at the door of the Green Lyon faded rapidly behind Hero. He moved more quickly, trying to keep Roland's lantern insight. He had to concentrate to keep his weight on the balls of his feet so that the heels of his boots would not sound a warning on the paving stones.
Roland, on the other hand, was making no particular attempt at stealth. His steps were swift and sure; a man who knew where he was going.
The cramped, twisted street was lined with small shops that were all closed and shuttered for the night. No lights shone in the rooms above the business establishments. It was not a particularly dangerous neighbourhood in the light of day, but at this hour only a fool would come here alone.
What drew Roland here?
A few minutes later his quarry came to a halt in front of a darkened doorway. Hero moved into a vestibule and watched as Roland let himself into a small, cramped hail. The lantern light flared briefly and then disappeared entirely when the door closed behind the young man.
It occurred to Hero that Roland might be visiting a woman in this street. There would be nothing unusual about such a situation. It was common for gentlemen, even those who had been recently wed, to keep a mistress on the side. But that type of indulgence was expensive. By all accounts, the Burnley finances were in exceedingly poor shape.
Hero watched the windows on the floor above the door that Roland had just entered. There was no sign of lantern light. Roland must have gone to a room at the back of the building.
He would learn nothing standing about in this doorway, he concluded. He lit his own lantern, turned the light down very low, and moved out of the shadows. He crossed the tiny street and tried the door through which Roland had disappeared.
It opened easily.
The dim light of the lantern revealed the stairs that led to the floor above the shops. Hero removed the pistol from the pocket of his coat.
He went up the stairs cautiously, watching for any unexpected shadows on the landing. Nothing moved in the darkness.
At the top of the steps, he found himself in an unlit corridor. There were two doors. A slender edge of light showed beneath one of them.
He set the lantern down so that the weak glare lit the floor but did not throw him into a strong silhouette. No sense making a perfect target of himself, he thought.
He went to the door and tried the knob with his left hand. It turned easily in his fingers. Whatever he was about here, Roland did not seem to be concerned that someone might walk in on him with a pistol. Then again, perhaps he simply did not intend to stay very long and wished to be able to leave quickly without having to fumble for a key.
Hero listened intently for a moment. There was no conversation inside the room. He could hear only one person, presumably Roland, moving around inside.
A drawer opened and closed. A moment later there was a squeak. The rusty hinges of a wardrobe?
When he heard a lengthy scraping sound he used the noise as cover to open the door.
He found himself looking into a small chamber furnished with a bed, a wardrobe and an old washstand. Roland was crouched on the bare wooden floorboards, searching under the bed. He did not hear Hero enter the room.
“Good evening, Burnley.”
“What?” Roland jerked around, staggering to his feet. He stared. “Tiffin! So it’s true.” Anguish leapt in his eyes. It was washed away an instant later by a wave of searing anger. “You did force her into your bed! You fucking bastard.”
He launched himself toward Hero in a reckless fury, both hands outstretched. Either he had not noticed the pistol or he was too enraged to care about the threat it posed.
Hero moved swiftly out of the doorway and into the hall. He sidestepped and stuck out one booted foot. Roland’s momentum carried him forward with such energy and speed that he could not halt his rush.
He stumbled over Hero's boot and flailed desperately in a vain attempt to catch his balance. He did not fall to the floor but he wheeled and collided with the wall on the opposite side of the hall.
Jolted, he steadied himself with both hands. “You should rot in fucking hell, Tiffin.”
“I suggest we discuss this like sane gentlemen, not a couple of wild hotheads,” Hero said quietly.
“How dare you call yourself a gentleman, mother fucker, after the wicked thing you have done?”
Hero slowly lowered the pistol. For the first time, Roland appeared to notice the weapon. Frowning, he followed the motion with his eyes.
“What, precisely, am I supposed to have done that is so evil?” Hero asked.
“You know the nature of your crime very well. It is monstrous.”
“Describe it to me.”
“You forced my sweet Sydney to give herself to you in exchange for your promise to pay off my gaming debts. Do not deny it.”
“Actually, I am going to deny it.” Hero used the tip of the pistol to motion Roland back into the room. “Every fucking word.” He glanced toward the dark stairs. “Come inside. I do not want to conduct this conversation out in the corridor.”
“Do you plan to murder me, then? Is that the final step in your scheme of revenge?”
“No, I am not going to kill you. Come back in here. Now.”
Roland glanced warily at the pistol. Reluctantly he peeled himself away from the wall and edged into the room.
“You never loved her, Tiffin, admit it. But you wanted her, did you not? You were furious when she ran off with me, so you concocted a coldblooded vengeance. You bided your time. You waited until you saw that I was in the dun territory and then you sent Sydney word that you would cover my debts if she would agree to surrender herself to you.”
“Who told you this strange tale, Burnley?”
“A friend.”
“You know what they say: with friends of that sort, you do not need any enemies.” Hero put the pistol back into his pocket and surveyed the chamber. “I presume you came here tonight because you expected to find Sydney with me in that bed?”
Roland flinched. His mouth thinned. “I received a message while I was playing hazard. It said that if I came to this address immediately, I would find proof of your crime here.”
“How was the message delivered?”
“A street boy handed it to the porter at the club.”
“Interesting.” Hero crossed the room to the wardrobe and examined the empty interior. “And did you find proof that I blackmailed your wife into bed?”
“I had not finished searching the room when you arrived.” Roland clenched his hands into fists. “But the fact that you are here would certainly indicate that you are familiar with this room.”
“I had just reached the same conclusion about you,” Hero said.
He turned away from the wardrobe and went to the washstand. Methodically he opened and closed the drawers.
“What are you doing?” Roland demanded.
“Looking for whatever it is you were supposed to discover in this room.” He opened the last drawer and saw a black velvet sack closed with a leather cord inside. A chill of understanding crept through him. “Then again, maybe I was the one who was meant to make a discovery here tonight.”
Hero untied the thong and turned the black velvet bag upside down. Two objects bound in linen fell into his palm.
He set the items on the washstand and unwrapped both in turn.
He and Roland studied the two beautifully enamelled snuffboxes. Each was decorated with a miniature scene of an alchemist at work. Each lid was set with a large, faceted red stone.
Roland moved closer, scowling. “Snuffboxes? What are they doing here?”
Hero watched the lantern light dance on the gleaming boxes in his hand. “It appears that we were both meant to play the parts of fools tonight. We very nearly succeeded in our roles.”
“What are you talking about?”
Hero carefully replaced the snuffboxes inside the velvet bag. “I believe that someone intended for me to kill you tonight, Burnley. Or, at the very least, have you taken up on charges of murder.”
Josephine
The carriage rumbled into motion before Hero had got the door closed. Josephine restrained herself until both men were settled on the seat across from her. She tried to read their faces in the shadows.
“What is going on here?” she asked, trying to ignore the anxiety coursing through her veins.
“Allow me to introduce you to Roland Burnley.” Hero shut the door and pulled down the shades to cover the windows. “Burnley, my fiancée, Miss Josephine Langford.”
Roland slouched uneasily in the corner, slanted him an uncertain glance and then eyed Josephine. She saw both disapproval and curiosity in his gaze.
Roland had heard the rumours that were circulating in the clubs about her, she thought and did not know what to make of this business. Obviously, he wondered if he was being introduced to a respectable lady or a courtesan. Such a situation was bound to plunge any properly bred gentleman into a quandary.
She gave him her warmest smile and extended her hand toward him with cool expectation. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Roland hesitated but confronted with a lady’s gloved fingers and a formal introduction, his early training in manners took over.
“Miss Langford.” He inclined his head over her hand in perfunctory acknowledgement.
He dropped her fingers almost immediately, but not before Josephine had taken the measure of his grip. She looked at Hero.
“He is not the one you are searching for, sir,” she said quietly.
“I came to the same conclusion myself, a short time ago.” Hero tossed a black velvet sack lightly into her lap and turned up one of the carriage lamps “But it would appear someone intended for me to believe otherwise. Take a look.”
She felt the weight and shapes of the objects inside. “Never say you found the snuffboxes?”
“Yes.”
“Good heavens.” Quickly she loosened the cord and removed the small objects wrapped in cloth. She uncovered the first one and held the object up to the carriage lamp. The light gleamed on the enamel decorations and sparkled on the large red stone in the lid. “What can this mean?”
“I have been asking Tiffin just that question for the past several minutes,” Roland grumbled. “He has not yet seen fit to respond.”
“It is a complicated tale, sir,” Josephine assured him. “I’m certain Hero will explain things to you now that you are both safe.”
Hero shifted slightly and stretched out one leg. “The long and the short of it, Burnley, is that I am hunting the villain who murdered my great uncle and at least two other men.”
Roland stared. “What the fuck?”
“I was led to believe that the killer is a frequent patron of the Green Lyon, so Miss Langford and I kept watch tonight. Imagine my astonishment when I noticed you leaving the club and walking off alone down a dark street.”
“I told you, I had reason to think that—” Roland stopped in mid-sentence and glanced at Josephine. He flushed a dark red.
Hero looked at Josephine. “Someone told him that his wife had betrayed him with me and that if he went to a certain address, he would find proof.”
Josephine was shocked. “What monstrous nonsense.”
Hero shrugged.
She rounded on Roland. “Allow me to tell you, sir, that Hero is a gentleman possessed of the most elevated notions of honour and the most refined sense of integrity. If you knew anything about him at all, you would know that it is inconceivable that he would have seduced your wife.”
Roland shot Hero a ferocious glare. “I’m not so sure of that.”
Amusement gleamed in Hero’s eyes, but he said nothing.
“Well, I am certain of it, sir,” Josephine declared. “And if you continue to believe such rubbish, you are worse than a fool. Furthermore, I must tell you that you do your wife an equally great wrong by allowing yourself to think for even one moment that she would betray you.”
“You know nothing about this matter,” Roland muttered. But he was starting to look somewhat hunted.
“You are mistaken in that regard as well," Josephine informed him. “I have had the privilege of making Mrs Burnley’s acquaintance. It was obvious to me that she loves you deeply and would never do anything to hurt you.”
Uncertainty and confusion tightened Roland’s features. “You’ve met Sydney? I do not understand. How did that come about?”
“That is neither here nor there at the moment. Suffice it to say that I have complete faith in the depth of her feelings toward you, even if you do not. I have even greater faith in Hero’s honour.” She turned back to Hero. “Pray to continue with your tale, dear.”
Hero inclined his head. “It is clear that the villain arranged for me to see Burnley here this evening assumed that I would follow him, discover him with the snuffboxes and leap to the conclusion that he is the man that I have been hunting. He no doubts intended the entire affair as a distraction to put me off the scent.”
“Yes, of course,” Josephine said slowly. “Whoever he is, he obviously knows that you and Mr Burnley are not on the best of terms. He was certain that each of you would believe the worst of each other.”
“Huh.” Roland seemed to withdraw even farther into his corner.
Hero exhaled heavily.
Josephine bestowed a bracing smile on both men. “The villain misread the pair of you rather badly, did he not? Then again, how could he be expected to comprehend that you were each far too insightful and intelligent to make such a dreadful mistake about each other's intentions? He no doubts judged you both by how he himself would have reacted in such a situation.”
“Mmm.” Hero was evidently bored by the conversation.
Roland grunted and examined the tips of his boots.
Josephine looked into the faces of both men and felt a disturbing prickle in her palms. At that moment she knew that whatever had transpired between Hero and Roland a short time before, it had been a very near thing.
“Well, then, that’s over and done,” she continued, determined to dispel the grim mood. “We have a good many questions to ask you, Mr Burnley. I hope you don’t mind?”
“What questions?” he asked, looking wary.
Hero studied Roland. “Let us begin with you telling us everything you can about the man who suggested that you go to that room tonight.”
Roland crossed his arms. “There is not much to tell. I made his acquaintance a few days ago over a hand of cards. I won several hundred pounds from him that first night. Unfortunately, I lost the whole of that amount and more in the following days.”
“Was he the one who suggested that you visit the Green Lyon?” Josephine asked.
Roland’s mouth tightened. “Yes.”
“What was his name?” she pressed.
“Stone.”
“Describe him,” Hero said.
Roland spread his hands. “Slender. Blue eyes. His hair is medium brown. He is about my height. Good features.”
“What of his age?” Josephine asked.
“In the same vicinity as my own. That was one of the reasons we got on so well, I suppose. That and the fact that he seemed to comprehend the difficulties of my financial situation.”
Josephine tightened her hold on the velvet bag in her lap. “Did he tell you anything about himself?”
“Very little.” Roland paused as though trying to summon up the memories. “Mostly we talked about how my present financial problems had all been created by—” He stopped abruptly and shot Hero a quick, annoyed look.
“He encouraged you to blame me for your difficulties?” Hero asked dryly.
Roland went back to examining his boots.
Josephine nodded reassuringly. “Do not concern yourself, Mr Burnley. Your financial problems will soon be behind you. Hero plans to invite you to participate in one of his new investment ventures.”
Roland jerked upright. “What's this? What are you talking about?”
Hero gave Josephine an impatient look. She pretended not to notice.
“You and Hero can discuss the matter of your finances later, Mr Burnley. For the moment we must stick with the subject of this man who took you to the Green Lyon to gamble. Please try to recall anything that he might have said about himself that seemed unusual or interesting.”
Roland was torn, clearly wanting to pursue the topic of investments. But he subsided.
“There really is not much else that I can tell you,” he said. “We shared a few bottles of claret and played some cards.” He paused. “Well, there was one thing. I got the impression that he was very interested in natural philosophy and matters of science.”
Josephine caught her breath.
“What did he say about his interest in science?” Hero asked.
“I cannot recall precisely.” Roland frowned. “The subject arose after a game of hazard. I had lost a rather large sum. Stone bought a bottle of claret to console me. We drank for a while, talking of various matters. And then he asked me if I knew that England had lost its second Newton several years ago before the man could demonstrate his genius to the world.”
Josephine’s mouth went dry. She looked at Hero and saw the dark glitter of comprehension in his eyes.
“That reminds me of the question that we neglected to ask Lady Wilmington,” she said. “Not that it is at all likely that she would have told us the truth, of course.”