The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

“Your bird has flown, has she, Mortimer?” Daniel asked.

Fenton Mortimer swung around, greatcoat billowing, from where he’d been haranguing a young constable and a man in a business suit and bowler hat on the stairs.

“What are you doing here, Mackenzie?” Mortimer demanded. “If you have anything to do with this, I’ll . . .”

He trailed off, his focus moving to the bruise and cut on Daniel’s temple. He decided not to complete the threat. Wise man.

“I’m looking for Mademoiselle Bastien, same as you,” Daniel said. “Frighten her off, did you?”

“Madame Bastien and her daughter owe my family two months’ rent. Of course they fled. I don’t care how fine a show they gave us last night—they’re tricksters and thieves, and I will prove it.”

“What, you don’t believe in the spirit world?” Daniel asked. “And you dragged me here so eagerly.”

“Because I thought you’d like the girl and forgive my debt if you had a night with her. What did you do to make them flee?”

“Not a damn thing.” But then, Daniel thought again of the fear in Violette’s eyes. She’d struck him to the ground, and now she was gone.

She’d apparently dragged him down a few streets to lie alone until someone found him. Lucky for Daniel he hadn’t been quietly knifed to death, though he’d noticed that the wad of cash he’d won last night had vanished. Had a thief rolled him, or had Violette helped herself from his inert body?

Perhaps everything between him and Violette had been false—the spark of passion, the beginnings of surrender, the fear. All contrived so she could smash wealthy, gullible Daniel over the head, steal his money, and slip away to a softer life in another place.

Violette Bastien had admitted to him that she put on a show for the customer, using her fancy devices. He’d felt sorry for her at the same time he’d admired her ingenuity.

But perhaps she was a confidence trickster all the way down, playing upon Daniel’s protectiveness to get what she wanted. And Daniel had walked into it with his eyes open. He was as much of an idiot as Mortimer.

“Let her go,” Daniel said. “She’ll be miles away by now.”

“Let her go?” Mortimer’s eyes were red with rage. “She owes me. The bitch is going to pay every penny of my debt to you as well. I’ll find her, I’ll have her in prison, and I’ll squeeze her dry.”

Mortimer was a bully, plain and simple. Daniel remembered Simon saying that Mortimer owed money to a very bad man. Mortimer was the kind of person who would turn around and take out his fear and anger on those he thought weaker than he. Violette Bastien might have played Daniel for a fool, but he wished her out of Mortimer’s grasp forever.

“How much did she owe you?” Daniel asked.

“Forty pounds. And I want the two thousand I owe you out of her too.”

The businessman cleared his throat. He alone of the three men pretended he didn’t notice the bruises and abrasions on Daniel’s face, although the constable studied them with interest.

“That would be unwise,” the suited man said to Mortimer. “The law will help you gain your rent money, but nothing you incurred with another party.”

Daniel grinned. “And stating you brought me here last night so I’d forgive your debt in exchange for her body makes you a procurer, Mortimer. Not the best thing to say in front of a constable and a solicitor.”

Mortimer’s weasel-like face became even more red. “That is not what I meant . . .”

But he had meant that—Mortimer simply couldn’t control his tongue. Daniel knew as well that Mortimer had come here this morning for more than the rent. A debt of forty pounds to his family wouldn’t have him that hot under the collar, not when he owed someone who would employ a bone-breaker five thousand. Mortimer had come to badger Violette, likely to demand she pay him in another way. He’d no doubt summoned the constable and solicitor only after he’d found Violette gone.

Daniel clenched his fists behind his back so he wouldn’t haul off and punch Mortimer in the face. “Tell you what,” he said, running his gaze along the staircase, to the ceiling, and back to Mortimer. “How much do you think this house is worth?”

Mortimer’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I’ll buy it from you—or whoever in your family actually owns it. That way Madame Bastien’s rent is owed to me, not you. Knock off two thousand from the price, and I’ll consider the amount you owe me paid. Knock off another five, and I’ll buy your note back from Mr. . . . Who are you in up to your neck with?”

Mortimer flashed an uncomfortable glance at the constable and magistrate. “Sutton,” he said, barely audible.

Daniel’s day brightened. “You mean Edward Sutton? Are you a fool? Or just fond of pain?”

“It’s none of your business,” Mortimer said angrily. “It has to do with America, and is between Mr. Sutton and myself.”

Now even the constable looked amused. No constable would dare march to the house of Edward Sutton in Park Lane and tell him to release poor Mr. Mortimer from his debt, which was likely an illegal one. The solicitor, likewise, was pretending he didn’t hear this part of the conversation.

“Figure the price for the house, and then knock off seven thousand from that,” Daniel said. “Give me your note of hand to Sutton, and I’ll run round and pay it for you.”

Mortimer stared in astonishment. “What the devil? Why would you do that?”

“In return, you’ll promise to abandon any chase of Mademoiselle Violette and leave her to her fate.”

Mortimer bristled. “But she—”

Daniel held up his hand. “I buy the house, I pay off Sutton for you, and in return, you leave Mademoiselle Violette alone. The price of assuaging your pride is this house plus me settling your debt. Take it, or I can tell Sutton about this lovely abode you have. I’ll guess he’d take it in lieu. Of course, he wouldn’t give you the money to make up the price of it, and your family might have something to say about that. What a right mess. I’m your best bet.”

The solicitor cleared his throat again. They did that, solicitors, gave a dry cough that preceded sage advice. They must learn it when they apprenticed—morning lessons featuring precise throat clearing.

“Mr. Mackenzie’s offer is good, Mr. Mortimer,” the solicitor said. “One that will save you much trouble in the end.”

Mortimer’s indecision was comical. He so much wanted to lay his hands on the Bastiens to satisfy the bully in him, but likewise he wanted the threat of Edward Sutton out of his life. Would he lord over the weak, or keep the strong from lording over him?

Fear won. Mortimer gave Daniel a nod. “Very well. My solicitor will draw up the agreement. My father will comply. He’s been wanting to sell the house for ages.”

“Excellent,” Daniel said. “Thank you, constable. You can go now. No longer needed, I think.”

The constable touched his hat and backed away, happy to be out of it. Daniel pulled a card from his coat and gave it to the suited man. “Make an appointment with my solicitor, and we’ll sort this out. Meanwhile, I’m off to pay a call on Mr. Sutton.”

“Hum,” Mortimer said, eyes glittering in dislike. “Don’t play fast and loose with me, Mackenzie.”

“I said I’d pay your note, and I will,” Daniel said, taking up the hat he’d left on the hall table. “Sutton won’t be interested in you once he’s been paid, so he won’t send more men after you. The one he sent last night works for me now, anyway.”

Daniel liked the worry in Mortimer’s eyes. Daniel was effectively taking Sutton’s place on the bully scale, and Mortimer, in his way of thinking, now had to placate Daniel.

Whatever he liked. Daniel had no more interest in Mortimer. As long as the man stayed away from Violette, all was well.

Daniel left the house and walked back to his hired carriage, whistling.

Daniel’s errand to Edward Sutton in his Park Lane house didn’t take long. In sharp contrast to the overloaded parlor at Mortimer’s house, the study in which Sutton received Daniel was the epitome of plain elegance. In evidence were the clean lines of the new Arts and Crafts style—everything fashioned by artisans, nothing factory