clerk, saw him still dithering and, exasperated, made a shooing motion with one hand. “Go.”
The clerk went.
Fascinated, Christian eyed Letitia, but her face gave nothing away. Could she really know…? He’d assumed he would have to introduce her, explain his connection to Dalziel…he recalled she’d known he’d been off spying. He hadn’t told her, but she’d mentioned a certain gentleman who’d crooked his finger…somehow she’d found out about Dalziel. He turned to look at his ex-commander’s door.
Just as it was yanked open.
Dalziel filled the doorway. He stared across the anteroom, not at Christian-at Letitia. Not a flicker of emotion disturbed his austere features, yet Christian could clearly hear his mental cursing.
Letitia regarded him with haughty calm. “There you are. I assume you have time to see us?”
Dalziel’s gaze flicked to Christian, then returned to Letitia’s face. “Of course. Pray come in.”
He stood back, holding the door. Letitia swept past him and entered the inner sanctum. Christian followed more slowly. When he drew level with Dalziel, his ex-commander met his eyes.
Dalziel’s eyes were a deep dark brown; reading them was never easy. In this case, however, Christian could see his exasperation-and his resignation-quite clearly.
Closing the door behind his clerk, who scurried out-a mouse escaping the presence of two lions and a lioness- Dalziel waved them to the chairs before his desk. As he sank into the chair behind it, he regarded them stonily. “This had better be serious.”
Letitia raised her brows, haughtily superior. “It is. Naturally. As you’ve no doubt heard, my husband was brutally murdered and my brother is suspected of the crime.”
Dalziel regarded her expressionlessly for a moment, then quietly corrected, “Stands accused of murder.”
Letitia frowned, not understanding the distinction.
Dalziel glanced at Christian. “I heard yesterday afternoon.” To Letitia, he said, “The authorities have sworn out a warrant for the arrest of Lord Justin Vaux. The charge is that he killed his brother-in-law, your husband, George Randall.”
Letitia looked exasperated. “
Glancing from one to the other, Dalziel raised his brows. “From which I take it you’re here to tell me Justin didn’t do it, and there’s some mystery over who did.”
Letitia nodded. “Yes. Precisely. Helpful of you to grasp the facts so quickly.”
There was a hint-just a hint-of sarcasm in her tone; Christian knew her well enough to know she’d intended it.
Dalziel had heard it; he hesitated, but-to Christian’s immense surprise-declined to respond.
Or declined to prod a thus far rational Vaux?
The notion that his ex-commander was well acquainted with the Vaux was confirmed by Dalziel himself. His gaze on Letitia, he said, “You may spare me the protestations regarding Justin’s innocence. I may not know him well, but I know enough of him to accept that it’s highly unlikely he committed the crime as I heard it described.”
He shifted his dark gaze to Christian. “Tell me what you know.”
Christian complied, chapter and verse. Dalziel was particularly interested in Pringle’s report.
“That,” he said, “isn’t common knowledge. Indeed, it weakens the authorities’ case considerably-they can’t have Justin bludgeoning Randall to death in a fit of manic temper on the one hand, only to say that he actually killed Randall first with a gentle, lucky tap on the head.”
“Exactly.” Letitia went on, “Given that, along with everything else, it seems patently obvious that Randall was killed by some mysterious friend who saw him that night between me and Justin.”
Dalziel regarded her, then glanced at Christian. “So who was this mysterious friend?”
“That,” Christian said, “is what we don’t know.” He related what little they’d learned from Justin, and his own observations thus far. “So finding who Randall called friend isn’t as simple as one might suppose.”
Dalziel was frowning. “That’s…very strange.”
“And if you add the suspicion that Randall was attempting to lure Justin into debt, it becomes even stranger.” Letitia regarded Dalziel severely. “But the principal point here is that in order to clear Justin’s name within the ton, we need to not just prove he didn’t do the deed, but, as matters now stand-and I assume the swearing of that warrant will only make things even worse-we need to produce Randall’s real killer.”
Still frowning, Dalziel looked at Christian. “We need to learn who else had reason to want Randall dead.”
Christian caught his gaze. “We?”
Dalziel’s lips twisted wryly. “The royal ‘we’-you, me, and anyone else we can call in. Who else is in town?”
“Trentham. I doubt anyone else will have come up yet.”
Dalziel nodded. “Enough to go on with.”
“We have another problem-Justin is our sole albeit poor source of reliable information on Randall. He’s been closest to him-indeed watching him-for the last several years.”
“Eight years,” Letitia supplied. “Since I married Randall.”
Christian inclined his head. “So we need Justin here, not at Nunchance-”
“But you have nowhere to hide him.” Dalziel held Christian’s gaze for an instant, then looked at Letitia, at her hopeful, expectant expression. He sighed. “Very well-I’ll undertake to house the whelp in secret.”
Letitia flashed him a brilliant smile. “Excellent.”
Dalziel looked back at Christian. “Tell him to come to your club-I’ll whisk him away from there. He’ll need to leave Nunchance in the evening so he’ll reach London in the small hours.” He glanced again at Letitia. “His description will have been circulated to the watch, and very likely to all the posting inns. He’ll need to be careful.”
Letitia nodded. “I’ll write and tell him.”
“As for the rest”-Dalziel transferred his attention to Christian-“I suggest we meet at the Bastion Club.” He glanced at a clock on a nearby cabinet. “Shall we say three o’clock? I’ll see what I can learn from the authorities, if they have any more information that might give us a clue as to who the real murderer might be.”
He rose. Letitia and Christian came to their feet.
“Until three, then.” Letitia gave Dalziel her hand.
He took it, bowed, then released her.
As she turned and swept to the door, Christian caught Dalziel’s eye. “No further sign of our old friend?”
He was referring to a traitor buried deep within the ton; their group of ex-spies had run across his tracks several times over the last year, but despite their-and Dalziel’s-best efforts, he’d managed to evade them, twice by committing murder.
Dalziel shook his head. “Not a whisper.” He looked around the room. “I need to be here for a few weeks more.” His lips twisted as he turned back to Christian. “This latest start of the Vaux should help fill in the time.”
Christian saluted. “I’ll let Trentham know about the meeting. He’ll be there.”
Dalziel nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
He resat at his desk; Christian headed for the door.
Following Letitia into the anteroom, Christian shut the door behind him. He was, he realized, on the cusp of solving a mystery that had plagued the Bastion Club members for years. Dalziel wasn’t Dalziel’s real name. His identity had always tantalized them; although they’d discovered any number of people who knew it, they’d never been able to persuade any to divulge it. Now, although Dalziel-Royce Whoever-he-was-had avoided any mention of his address, presumably where he intended to hide Justin, obviously Justin would shortly learn it, and thus learn his identity.
Even more obviously, Letitia already knew it.
He smiled benignly at the clerk, and rather more delightedly at her. “Come.” He waved her to the outer door. “Let’s find a hackney to take us back to Mayfair.”
“No, I will
Exasperated, Christian slumped back against the hackney’s seat. “Why, for heaven’s sake? It’s patently obvious you know it-that you know him, Royce Whoever-he-is. That quite a few ladies of the ton know who he is. Why can’t we know?”
“It’s not a matter of keeping his name a secret. That’s not the point.”
