Kat Boleyn had once called it his passion, his obsession, his self-imposed penance for sins she only half understood. But that seemed a lifetime ago now, and he slammed his mind shut against the thought. He said, “I haven’t been involved in anything of that nature for a while now.”
“I have heard something of how you’ve been spending your time these past months,” she said drily. “Rest assured that I am not asking you to investigate personally. I am merely requesting guidance on how I should go about beginning such an investigation.”
“It’s your intention to investigate these murders yourself?”
“Are you implying that I am incapable?”
“I’m implying that women of your station generally hire Bow Street Runners to do their investigating.”
“That’s not possible in this situation.”
“Because of Sir William?”
“Not exactly.” A flush crept up her cheeks, and he wondered what she was not telling him. “I promised my father I would not approach the magistrates.”
He studied her carefully composed features. “Yet Lord Jarvis has no objection to you pursuing your own inquiries?”
She turned her head away to study a passing row of shops, and Sebastian gave a low laugh. “You haven’t told him, have you? He will find out.” Lord Jarvis maintained an extensive network of spies and agents, which had earned the man a well-deserved reputation for omniscience.
She said, “I have no intention of denying my activities.”
Sebastian knew a brief flicker of admiration. There weren’t many with the courage to cross the King’s powerful cousin. He said, “You also realize that I could use the information you’ve given me to hurt you.”
“You mean, to hurt my father through me.” She met his gaze and held it. “It has occurred to me. It’s a risk I’ve decided I am willing to take.”
“Discovering this woman’s identity is that important to you?”
“I don’t think anything has ever been this important to me,” she said simply.
A tense silence fell between them. He had a dozen good reasons for avoiding this woman and very few incentives to help her. Yes, the temptation to annoy Jarvis was powerful. Yet that in itself might not have been enough to tempt him if he hadn’t been aware of a vague, unexpected quickening of interest. He couldn’t think of anything that had intrigued him—really intrigued him—for eight months now.
He reined in beside her carriage and said, “If it were me, Miss Jarvis, I’d begin by talking to the authorities. See what they have discovered so far.”
For the first time since she had approached him that morning, he saw what looked like a slight faltering in her formidable composure. “But that’s the one thing I can’t do.”
“No. But I can.”
“You? But . . . why would you involve yourself in this?”
“You know why.”
She met his gaze. And in that moment he realized that she did, indeed, know why. She knew he would welcome any chance to discomfit her father. More than that: She had, in fact, been counting on it.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, allowing herself a slight smile as she turned to alight. “You will tell me if you discover anything?”
“Of course,” said Sebastian, and went in search of his tiger.
Chapter 3
Sebastian found Tom waiting for him outside the cutler’s shop. A small scrap of a boy with brown hair, a gap-toothed smile, and a usefully forgettable face, Tom served Sebastian as both a groom and a willing participant in some of Sebastian’s less orthodox activities.
“She said I weren’t wanted,” the tiger exclaimed when Sebastian told him of Miss Jarvis’s deception. “ ’Ow was I to know a starchy gentlewoman like ’er was tellin’ a bouncer?”
“Miss Jarvis would argue that, technically, it wasn’t a bouncer, since she did not want your presence.”
Tom’s brows drew together in a dark frown that augured ill for any future encounters between the tiger and Lord Jarvis’s formidable daughter.
Hiding a smile, Sebastian gathered his reins. “I want you to take a message to Dr. Gibson for me. You’ll probably find him at the Chalk Street Almshouse—I think he volunteers there on Tuesday mornings. Ask him to meet me at the site of the Friends’ Magdalene House in Covent Garden. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve spoken to Sir Henry.”
“The Magdalene House?” Tom’s eyes danced with sudden interest. “Ain’t that the place what burned last night?”
“That’s right.”
“You think there’s somethin’ not quite right about that fire?”
“Miss Jarvis claims it was murder.”
Sebastian found Sir Henry Lovejoy, Chief Magistrate at Queen Square Public Office, sitting at his desk reading the Hue and Cry. “My lord,” said Sir Henry, surging to his feet when the clerk, Collins, ushered Sebastian into the chamber. “Please, come in and sit down.”
A small man with a bald head and reading glasses, Sir Henry had been a merchant before the deaths of his wife and daughter shifted his interest to the law. They were unlikely friends, Sebastian and this earnest magistrate, with his serious demeanor and steadfast adherence to a rigid moral code worthy of a preacher. But friends they were.
“What can you tell me about last night’s fire at the Magdalene House?” Sebastian asked, taking the seat Sir Henry indicated.
Sir Henry peeled the small gold-framed spectacles from his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Terrible business, that. Last I heard, they’d already pulled four bodies from the rubble and there are probably more. According to the Quakers who run the place, seven soiled doves were staying at the establishment at the time of the tragedy, in addition to the woman in charge of the day-to-day operation of the house—a matron named Margaret Crowley. She apparently took refuge with the Friends some ten years ago herself and recently came back to help. She’s believed to be one of the victims.”
“Any sign the women might have been killed before the fire was set?”
“You mean, murdered?” Sir Henry had an almost comically high voice, and it now rose even higher. “Good heavens, no.”
Sebastian frowned. “How many survivors were there?”
“None that I know of.”
“You don’t find that strange? That none of the women managed to escape the fire? It was only—what?—five, six o’clock in the evening when the fire broke out.”
Sir Henry lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. “The house was old and its timbers dry. It would have burned quickly. People frequently assume they have more time to get out than they actually do. They become disoriented and they perish.”
It was possible, Sebastian supposed. But he found it difficult to believe that none of those eight women had managed to stagger out of the smoke and flames into the night. “Bow Street is handling the investigation, I assume?” he asked casually.
Sir Henry nodded. “It’s not far from their offices, after all. I believe Lord Jarvis has requested Sir William take charge of the incident personally.”