Stephanie Laurens - A Gentleman's Honor

I believe you have something of mine.

Tony bit back the words, reined in his temper, and quite softly said, “I believe there’s been a mistake.”

The sergeant paled. “A mistake, m’lord?”

“Indeed.” Tony drew out his card case, withdrew a card and flipped it on the desk. “I’m Lord Torrington, and according to Whitehall I’m in charge of the investigation into the murder of William Ruskin, lately of the Office of Customs and Revenue. I understand two of your men in company with a Bow Street Runner visited a private residence in Waverton Street an hour ago and removed, by force , a lady—Mrs. Alicia Carrington. The taradiddle I’ve been told—no doubt you and your men can explain it—is that Mrs. Carrington is accused of having stabbed Ruskin to death.”

At no point did he raise his voice; he’d long ago learned the knack of making subordinates quake with a quiet and steely tone.

With his gaze, he pinned the supervisor, who was now holding on to his desk as if he needed its support. “I should perhaps mention that it was I who discovered Ruskin’s body. In the circumstances, I would like an explanation and I would like it now, but first, before all else, you will release Mrs. Carrington into my care.” He smiled, and the supervisor visibly quailed. “I do hope you’ve taken exceptionally good care of her.”

The man could barely draw breath. He bowed, bobbed. “Indeed, m’lord—she did mention…we’ve put the lady in the magistrate’s office.” He hurried around the desk, almost stumbling in his haste to conduct Tony thither. “I’ll just show you, then I’ll get ahold of Smiggins—he’s the Runner, m’lord. We was acting under his orders.”

“Very well.” Tony followed the bobbing supervisor.

“What’s your name?”

“Elcott, sir—m’lord, begging your pardon.” Elcott stopped outside a door, and gestured. “The lady’s in here, m’lord”

“Thank you. Please send Smiggins here immediately. I wish to attend to this business and remove Mrs. Carrington as soon as possible. This is no place for a lady.”

Elcott kept bobbing. “Indeed, m’lord. Immediately, m’lord.”

With a curt nod, Tony dismissed him. Opening the door, he walked in.

Alicia was standing by the window, dressed in all her finery for the ball. She swung around as he entered; the pinched look in her face dissolved as she recognized him. “Thank God!”

She didn’t exactly fly to him, but she crossed the room quickly, her hands rising; shutting the door, he grasped them, and pulled her into his arms.

He held her tight, his cheek against her hair. “I came as soon as I could. You needn’t worry about Adriana and the boys—they know I’m here, and Geoffrey’s with them.”

A large part of her tension dissipated; she looked up, pushing back to look into his face. “Thank you. I didn’t know what to do—and I’ve no idea what’s going on. For some reason they think I stabbed Ruskin.”

“I know.” Tony heard footsteps approaching. Reluctantly releasing her, he urged her to the chair behind the desk. “Sit down—try not to say anything. Just listen and watch.”

A hesitant tap sounded on the door.

Resuming his previous, grim expression, he took up a stance beside Alicia’s chair. “Come.”

The door opened; a heavily built man in the distinctive red coat of a Bow Street Runner looked around the edge. He saw Tony; his eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “Smiggins, m’lord. You sent for me?”

“Indeed, Smiggins. Come in.”

Smiggins looked like he’d rather do anything else, however, opening the door wider, he entered, then ponderously shut the door. He turned to face them; meeting Tony’s eyes, he stiffened to attention. “Sir?”

“I understand you saw fit to apprehend Mrs. Carrington this evening. Why?”

Smiggins swallowed. “I had orders to bring the lady in to answer questions seeing as she was said to have stabbed some gentleman called Ruskin. To death, m’lord.”

“I see. I take it Elcott informed you that I have been placed in charge of the investigation into Ruskin’s murder by Whitehall?”

Hesitantly, Smiggins nodded. “That were a surprise, m’lord. We hadn’t been told that.”

“Indeed. Who gave you your orders?”

“Supervisor at Bow Street, m’lord. Mr. Bagget.”

Tony frowned. “I assume a warrant has been issued— who was the magistrate?”

Smiggins shifted; all color fled his cheeks. “Ah—I don’t know about any warrant, m’lord.”

Gaze fixed on the hapless Runner, Tony let the silence stretch, then quietly asked, “Are you telling me you seized a lady from her own house without a warrant?”

Smiggins looked green. Spine poker stiff, he stared straight ahead. “Information came in latish, about six, m’lord. Sir Phineas Colby—the magistrate on duty—he’d already left. It was thought…well, the information was that the lady was looking to leave the country, so…”

“So someone had the bright idea to send you, along with two ruffians, to take matters into your own hands and forcibly remove the lady from her home?”

Smiggins trembled and said nothing.

Again, Tony let silence work for him, then softly asked, “Who laid the information?”

It was abundantly clear that Smiggins wished himself anywhere but there. He hesitated, but knew he had to answer. “From what I heard, m’lord, the information came anonymous-like.”

“Anonymous?” Tony let his incredulity show. “On the basis of anonymous information, you acted to remove a lady from her home?”

Smiggins shifted. “We didn’t know—”

“You didn’t think!”

The sudden roar made Alicia jump; she stared at Tony. He glanced briefly at her, but immediately turned back to the now quaking Runner. “What exactly did this anonymous information say?”

“That Mrs. Alicia Carrington presently residing in Waverton Street had stabbed Mr. Ruskin to death and was likely to do a flit any minute.”

His gaze on the Runner, Tony shook his head. “We already know that whoever stabbed Ruskin was taller than he was and had to have possessed the strength of a man, not a woman. Ruskin was nearly as tall as me—taller than Mrs. Carrington. She could not have stabbed Ruskin.”

The Runner glanced at Alicia, then quickly looked forward.

Tony continued unrelenting, his tone lethally quiet. “You, Smiggins, and your supervisor have acted completely outside the law—the law you are supposed to uphold.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“In a moment, I will be taking Mrs. Carrington from here and returning her to her home. Henceforth as far as Bow Street are concerned, she is to be considered as being under my legal protection in this matter—is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, m’lord.”

“And in recompense to Mrs. Carrington for causing her distress, and to me for disrupting my evening, you will undertake, with your supervisor’s full support, to track down the source of your ‘anonymous information.’ You will do nothing else, take part in no other duty, until you have accomplished that and made a full report to me. Do I make myself clear, Smiggins?”

“Yes, m’lord. Very clear.”

“Good.” Tony waited, then quietly said, “You may go. Report to me the instant you learn anything—Torrington House, Upper Brook Street.”

Bowing, Smiggins backed to the door. “Yes, m’lord. At once.”

The instant the door shut behind him, Tony reached for Alicia’s hand. “Come. I’ll take you home.”

She rose with alacrity, more than ready to leave; as he led her to the door, she glanced at his face, at the hard, set planes, heard again his tone as he’d dealt with the Runner.