Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(56)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

He’d always been a suspicious man, just, it seemed, not suspicious enough.

“Did ye find out how the kitchen fire started?” Mick asked.

The big man scratched his head while regarding the ceiling critically. “ ’Twere a bit ’ard to figure out, truth be told. ’Ole place is a mess and Archie in a right fit about it. ’E said ’e’d gone to fetch some turnips and other victuals from the cellar and when ’e returned the kitchens were boiling with black smoke.”

“The chimney wasn’t stopped?”

Harry shook his head decisively. “Naw. ’Tis drawin’ well now. But me and Bert we found a pile o’ greasy rags—or what were left o’ them—by the back door. They might’ve been lit and left to smolder while the traitor took to ’is ’eels.”

Mick nodded. “Who gave the alarm for the fire?”

Harry screwed up his face, thinking for a moment. “Bran. Or maybe Archie.” He shrugged. “Everyone were shoutin’ at once.”

“And when did you realize we were under attack?”

“We ’eard a scream—must’ve been Fionnula. They came at us as we tried to get back to the baby’s rooms.” Harry shook his head. “The ’all were full o’ them, must’ve been near two dozen or more armed men. We was fightin’ them when ye came from the other way and we finally got to the rooms.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “They must’ve got to Fionnula almost at once. That vitriol doesn’t kill fast like but she was already still when I found ’er.”

Mick nodded. “The guards at the front door were hit from behind—attacked from inside the palace.”

Harry scowled. “ ’E’s a right bastard ’ooever ’e is. Lettin’ men in to kill a babe and a ’armless lass. If it weren’t for Fionnula’s quick thinkin’ Mary might be dead as well.”

“No, not dead,” Mick murmured absently. “The Vicar wanted her alive. She’d be a good hostage against me—she’s me daughter. And the fact that he knows that, means the traitor has been tellin’ him secrets for a bit. The Vicar knew about Mary, knew where she slept in me palace, and knew that I was away tonight. Come to think o’ it, a traitor might be how the Vicar found out that she was hid at the orphanage in the first place.”

Mick steepled his hands before him and stared at the rings sparkling on his fingers while he thought it out. The traitor’s identity was obvious. He felt a small twinge of what might have been grief, but Mick ruthlessly shoved the useless emotion aside. The man had put both Silence and Mary Darling in danger. The only decision to be made was what to do about it. He could expose the traitor, have him killed as a warning to his other men. Or he could let the traitor think he was undiscovered and use the man against the Vicar.

Mick looked up at Harry, still standing patiently in front of the ornate desk. “We’re goin’ to strike fast and hard, mind. I want ye and Bert to see to the repairs to the kitchen. See to it that Fionnula is buried proper with a pretty carved headstone. This news o’ a traitor stays with ye and me—I don’t want it leavin’ this room, d’ye hear?”

“Aye,” Harry said slowly. “But where will ye be, Mick?”

“I’m goin’ after me lasses—Mrs. Hollingbrook and Mary Darlin’.” Mick grinned. “We’re goin’ to double-bluff the bastard. Whisper it about that I think the Vicar will be expectin’ an attack so I’m delayin’ me hand. Me leavin’ London will add truth to the lie. But once I’m gone and he’s restin’ easy I want ye and Bert to attack the Vicar’s gin stills. They blow easily, gin stills, nice and high. The Vicar will be thinkin’ I’d attack his person, not his stills. We’ll strike him where he earns his gold and cripple him.”

Mick stood and began gathering papers on his desk. He still had to have a hasty meeting with Pepper if he were to leave London in the morning. The investments Pepper had made for him were now more important than ever.

Harry was silent and after a bit Mick glanced up at the man, half-expecting a protest.

Instead Harry merely looked sad. “ ’Twould be kinder to let ’er be.”

Mick didn’t pretend misunderstanding. “Aye, and if I could leave me Silence alone, none o’ this would’ve happened in the first place.” He stood a moment, tasting the bitter irony on his tongue. Then he looked at Harry. “Can ye do all that while I fetch her from whatever country wilderness her family has hidden her in?”

“Oh, aye,” Harry said grimly. “We’ll blow that old bastard sky ’igh, never ye fear.”

“FOUR MEN KILLED and you didn’t even get the baby,” Charlie said softly. He looked at the carved marble headstone as he spoke, but he addressed the man at his side.

Freddy was standing close enough to hear Charlie’s murmured words, but far enough away that he could swiftly duck any sudden blows. No fool, he.

“ ’E’d ’idden the babe,” Freddy said.

“You should’ve found her.” Charlie stroked the cold marble. Grace had been a good woman—a loyal woman. “That babe means a lot to me, Freddy. I think I made that clear, did I not?”

Freddy shifted uneasily. “Yes, sir.”

“And the woman? The one you were supposed to kill with the vitriol?”

“She were out wi’ Charmin’ Mickey. Went somewheres in a fancy carriage, all rigged out in silks.”

Charlie glanced up slowly. “Did she indeed?”

Freddy looked alarmed at his tone. “Sir?”

“Now that is of interest,” Charlie mused. “He’s never taken one of his doxies out before, has he?”

“She sits at ’is right ’and at ’is dinner table, too, so our spy says.”

“Ahh. Then I’m glad you didn’t kill her outright after all.” Charlie drew a deep breath and tilted his head back, feeling the dawning rays of the sun on the right side of his face. He felt nothing at all on the left side, of course. He traced the ragged ridges and furrows, the unnaturally smooth valleys, with his fingertips. Not since that day sixteen years ago when a small, beautiful boy with hatred in his black eyes had thrown vitriolic acid in his face.

“I’ve waited years for this day,” he mused.

“For what, Vicar?”

Charlie lowered his chin and smiled into Freddy’s horrified eyes. “For the day that Mickey O’Connor chose a woman of his own.”