Charlie frowned. “That is kind, but I am not in the habit of accepting favors.”
“’E said you’d say that. ’E didn’t become the ’ead o’ the mudlarks from being stupid.” Fair Molly’s smile reflected her pride in her leader. “The Prince says it ain’t a favor if you’re doing somefing for ’im in return.”
“And what am I expected to do for your prince, precisely?”
“You’re to bring the villain wot killed that toff Longmere to justice.”
Livy cocked her head. “The Prince has a connection to Longmere?”
“Ain’t my place to question my leader’s connections. I just be passing along the message. Good day, ladies.” Fair Molly dipped her knees and disappeared in a blink.
“That was odd,” Fi said.
“Undoubtedly. But let us concentrate on the task at hand.” Charlie’s gaze homed in on the building. “We’ll make our move when the sun sets. Until then, we’ll monitor the building.”
Shadows bled through the sky and onto the street. No light leaked from the shuttered windows of the house, and Livy hadn’t seen anyone enter or exit. Charlie led the way from the carriage, the darkness and their disguises as male dock workers allowing them to blend in.
They circled around to the back of the building, where the property abutted the Thames. The rickety dock shown in the painting was presently empty. Charlie and the Angels scaled the fence at the back of the building, landing softly in a small courtyard.
No light shone from the back windows. They found the door locked.
“Allow me,” Fi said, taking out her lock picks.
Within moments, they entered. The air inside had a stale, fishy smell. Charlie lit some candles she’d brought, eerie shadows chasing over the cracked walls.
“Let’s split up,” she said. “Glory and I will take this floor, Livy and Fiona the one above.”
Livy and Fi headed up the creaking stairs. The plan of the top floor was like the bottom: three rooms separated by a hallway. The front room held a few worn furnishings. While Fi poked around in the middle room, Livy went to the one at the back. As she held up her candle, the light illuminated a head of black hair.
Heart seizing, she yanked out her pistol; the figure did not move. She inched forward…and realized that she was looking at a dressmaker’s form. A wig of long black hair tied in a Chinese-style single braid sat upon a blank wooden head. Below, the form wore a long tunic over matching trousers.
Fiona came up behind her. “Heavens. Is that…?”
“I think we’ve found Fong,” Livy said grimly.
She shone her light over the desk next to the dummy: the surface was covered in pots of face paint and brushes. As Charlie and Glory came into the bedchamber, Livy pinched a strip of hair between finger and thumb, holding up a straggly black beard.
“Master Fong is a fake,” she said. “Someone is pretending to be the Chinese mastermind.”
“Who?” Glory asked, her eyes wide.
“I have four likely suspects in mind,” Charlie said in a hard tone.
“That makes perfect, diabolic sense.” Fi opened the cupboard, revealing more garments cut in the Chinese style. “One of the Horsemen is supplying the drug, but he is protecting himself by using a false persona.”
“Then if the lethal effect of the drug is uncovered, he can deny having knowledge of it.” Livy picked up the theory. “He will claim that he was an unwitting dupe like everyone else. The upstanding Englishman can blame everything on the evil foreigner…who, of course, will never be found.”
“A stratagem as brilliant as it is despicable. One that society is primed to believe, given its prejudices,” Glory said darkly. “Now, who of the four is responsible for this heinous crime?”
As the others rifled through the room, Livy tried the drawer beneath the desk. When it didn’t open, she crouched and picked the lock. Inside were assorted papers. She pulled out the loose sheet on top and read the scrawled lines.
A favorite of pirating swaps,
And mannered grocers,
I am the cause of a nightdress furor.
To find me, head on yonder towards snails
And swim with the fish beating gills.
“Did you find something?” Glory asked.
Livy frowned. “It appears to be an odd bit of verse. A riddle, perhaps?”
She continued searching through the drawer. She found a note. Unfolding it, she scanned the lavish feminine hand.
My darling,
I count the days, hours, and minutes until I can see you again.
Every moment while I am trapped in this country prison with Hadleigh as my warden is torture. How I loathe my husband. He seeks to stifle my soul with his bourgeois ways. He cannot hold a candle to your manly sophistication, my darling. How I miss you!
I dream of the day we can run away together. Until then, the life you put inside me gives me hope for our future. Come for me soon, my love, or I shall expire from wanting you.
Your loving,
A.
The words sunk in, chilling Livy’s blood. “I have to warn Hadleigh.”
“About what?” Charlie asked alertly.
Livy dashed toward the door. “I think whoever is masquerading as Fong had an affair with Hadleigh’s wife…and may thus have a personal vendetta against Hadleigh!”
The spotted billiard ball dropped into a pocket. Across the baize-covered table, Thorne’s smile was smug as he straightened after taking his shot. “Sorry, old b-boy. I win again.”
Ben knew the bastard wasn’t sorry in the least. Which was why he’d been deliberately letting the other win at billiards all night, with substantial wagers made on the outcome. Men in good spirits were easier to tap for information.
“Where is Stamford tonight?” Ben asked casually as he retrieved the balls.
“He sent a m-message saying he has a head cold or something of the sort. Namby-pamby fellow.” Thorne gave a derisive shrug. “Stamford never managed to fill your shoes. I’ll confess that I wasn’t certain at first about your return, Hadleigh, but now I can
