Where Love Shines Page 20

  “I don’t understand—Pannier was so clearly touting Windflyer in the inn. And yet he had his own money on Darrow’s Pride.” Jenny pressed her hand to her forehead as she told Dick what they had seen at the betting window and what Pannier had said to Kirkham.

  Dick nodded. “That’s simple enough—he drove the odds down on his own horse and drove them up on the horse he meant to bet on.”

  “Yes, but that would only work to his advantage if he knew Windflyer would lose.”

  “Or that the horse would be disqualified, which is somewhat easier to arrange. For example, by instructing the jockey to jump the gun.” Suddenly Dick’s frown broke into the broadest smile Jennifer had ever seen on his face. “Yes! And when the Jockey Club hears about that and the fact that Legend was confiscated from the Crimea, they’ll certainly affirm my ownership.”

  “But how could Pannier have taken him from the battlefield? He was working in the hospital on the other side of the Black Sea.”

  “He didn’t. Coke did. He was right beside me in the charge.”

  Jenny thought for a moment. “Yes, that makes sense. But the ‘surplus’ supplies at the market—Pannier must have been the one to get his hands on those somehow.”

  Dick nodded. “He probably bribed an official. I believe that’s what you heard him and Gavin fighting about just before Gavin was shot.”

  Jenny grabbed her companion’s arm. “Dick, you don’t think Pannier…”

  Dick shrugged. “It seems possible—even likely. But it could never be proved.”

  Jenny paced a few steps. “It just doesn’t seem possible. Pannier is so highly respected. A doctor. The hardest-working member of the Health Department. I’ve seen him myself treating cholera in the slums, inspecting brothels…” She stopped suddenly. Or was he? “Richard, I’ve heard that much of the worst slum property is owned by wealthy citizens who profit from the sweatshops and worse.”

  “Yes. I take your meaning. Few landlords would be so brazen as to show their faces to collect their own rents, but Pannier had a perfect excuse as Public Health Department doctor.” Dick thought for a moment. “That’s something that could be proven.”

  “Yes, and it would cause him embarrassment. But it’s not illegal to own slum property.”

  “No, but we might at least get a few brothels closed and the mission and Brigade Home reopened.”

  Jennifer grabbed Dick’s hand. “Yes! We must go to London. Tell Shaftesbury everything. He’ll know what to do.” Then she realized she had yet to tell the most startling revelation of all. “But, Dick, that’s not all. You stayed with Legend. You don’t know about Coke.” She recounted the scene in the stable.

  Dick put both hands on her shoulders and seemed to peer at her as intently through his dark glasses as if he could see her clearly. “Pannier gave Coke medicine at the inn. Coke died a few hours later in the stable. And you’re certain it wasn’t apoplexy?”

  “I’m certain.”

  “Then we must find a policeman.”

  “Yes, we must. Dick, I’m worried about Josh. He’s seen everything, even if he doesn’t understand it. Pannier will realize he can’t allow the boy to be questioned.” Jenny saw again Pannier’s viselike grip on the thin wrist as he dragged the boy through the crowd. A heavy coldness grew in her throat. “Dick, Josh is in danger.”

  She struggled to think clearly, her mind in a whirl. Where would they have gone? Back to the Rugeley Arms? Surely not to London. Then she remembered. “Josh said Pannier was staying at the Market Inn.” She looked around for help. “Dick, what shall we do? I can’t drive.”

  “I can.” He pulled off his dark glasses with a single jerk and blinked at the grayness of the cloudy late afternoon. “On gloomy days, I seem to need these less and less.”

  Then he reached to unhitch the quiet-standing bays.

  “Dick?” Jenny put a hand on his arm.

  “Do you trust me, Jenny?”

  “Yes.” She would have said more, but the lump in her throat stopped her. She took his hand, and he pulled her on to the driver’s seat beside him.

  Twenty

  Pannier had a considerable head start, but traffic on the Newcastle road was thinner now that most of the racing crowd had left. Also, the strips of fog that swirled up from the River Trent and the evening dimness closing in would not be the disadvantage to Dick that it was to drivers who relied less on senses other than sight.

  Jenny was amazed at Richard’s skill as he kept the pair’s speed steady, although the horses were so well trained they could have probably made their way on their own. As they sped along the road, Jenny kept careful watch for any place Pannier could have turned out or stopped at an inn, though that seemed unlikely. With every cart and wagon they overtook, she looked carefully at driver and passengers. Pannier, though, would certainly be driving the smart gig she had seen in Newcastle, and they encountered no such vehicle.

  Jennifer could see the intensity of Richard’s concentration and did not want to distract him with conversation. So she prayed.

  It was dark by the time they reached the Market Inn. The wheels of the carriage rang hollowly on the empty cobbled street. Patches of gold shone through the fog from the gas lights lining the now-deserted Stones. The parlor of the inn was vacant. A bored-looking young man came in from the dining room when Jenny rang the bell on the counter. “You have a doctor staying here? I need to see him.” Jennifer ran her hand over her forehead as if she were feeling faint.

  “Room five. Top of the stairs, hall to the right.” The youth turned back to his serving.

  Hand-in-hand, Jenny and Dick ran up the stairs. They paused in the narrow hall outside the dark door with a white number five on it. Small whimpering sounds came from the room.

  “It’s Josh,” Jenny whispered.

  “Drink it, boy.” Pannier’s gravelly voice was distinct.

  “No!” Josh’s whimpers turned to an alarmed cry. “It’s wot you give Coke. I saw what ’appened to ’im.”

  The smacking sound of a hard slap was followed by a sharp cry.

  Jenny beat on the locked door. “Josh!”

  Richard pushed her out of the way and shoved his shoulder against the door. It didn’t give. He stood on the other side of the narrow hall with his back against the wall and kicked at the hinges of the door with well-aimed blows of his boot. The lock burst on his third strike.

  They rushed into the room. It was empty. Lace curtains blew at the open shutters. Jenny ran to the window and leaned out. She heard the clatter of feet jumping from the iron stairway to the cobbles below.

  Dick put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. “Get a constable, Jenny. I’ll follow them.” He stepped through the window.

  She stood for a second. Go for a constable? Where? And how would she find Dick if she did locate an officer?

  She heard the clatter of boots on the fire escape. She didn’t care what Dick told her to do. Everything within her screamed to be with him.

  Jenny gathered her skirt and all but plunged through the window. “Dick! I’m coming!”

  The fog swirled heavily around the fire escape, making the steps wet and slick. Jenny grabbed the rail and clattered down. Her heart was beating so loudly she could hardly hear Dick’s feet just ahead of her in the night.

  As she ran, she wasn’t certain whether she was hearing Dick or Pannier. Occasionally a cry from Josh assured her that Pannier had not escaped altogether. But most of the time Jennifer felt she was rushing headlong into thick, damp nothingness.

  At last a breeze swirled the fog aside. She saw Richard a few yards ahead of her. “Dick!” She plunged ahead and caught his arm.

  “Jenny, I told you to stay back.” Even as he protested, he thrust ahead in the blackness.

  “I don’t want to lose you.” She held on tightly. As the fog closed in again, her only contact with reality was the warmth and firmness of Dick’s hand.

  The velvet skirt of her suit became heavy with damp. She clutched at a
handful of the thick fabric and held it high, wishing she could take it off. Her foot struck an uneven paving stone, and she lurched against Richard. He reached to steady her with his other hand, but he never broke his steady, long-legged stride.

  Once again Josh cried in the blanketed night ahead of them. The smack of a sharp blow followed. At least they hadn’t lost their quarry. But they seemed no closer.

  What if they passed them in the dark? What if they reached them too late? Where was Pannier going? She knew nothing about the lay-out of Newcastle. But Dick did. And in the dark a man used to relying on feel and hearing rather than on sight was at an advantage. All she could do was rely on him. And God. She tried to pray, but her thoughts made little sense.

  Suddenly Dick stopped. Had he lost them? She had heard nothing for several moments—or for much longer. “Dick?”

  “Listen,” he whispered back urgently.

  She could hear nothing. Then she heard. A soft lapping of water. “The river?”

  She sensed, rather than saw, Dick shake his head. “Longport Canal. There would be no better place to dispose of a body. I think we’re on the bridge.” Jennifer held her hand out as they inched forward. The stone capping the brick wall was cold and wet when she found the edge. And her heart was as cold and heavy. She knew what Pannier planned. And if anyone ever found the small body, who could prove it wasn’t an accident? There would be no eyewitnesses. She could only be a few yards from Pannier, and yet she could see nothing.

  It was just the tiniest scrabbling sound. Jennifer would never have heard it had Dick not tensed. She followed him to her left, edging along the waist-high wall. They had gone some distance when Dick stopped. She, too, felt something was wrong. Surely they had gone too far. Had they passed Pannier in the dark? Dick took her elbow and led her to the other side of the bridge. They had been searching the wrong side.

  Just as they reached the far wall, a flutter of breeze shifted the fog. A dark shape loomed in front of them. Solid and stocky, a figure in a dark cape struggled to lift a small wriggling, flailing form over the wall.

  As if they had planned it, Jennifer flung herself forward and reached for the boy at the same moment Dick lunged at Pannier. Jennifer felt her hands close on Josh’s arm and shirt. She clutched the small body to her as the men struggled on the bricks at her feet.

  Twenty-one

  “Another spoonful, young man. No arguing.”

  “Auntie GAL,” Richard protested, but in the end he lapped every drop of tonic from her spoon.

  “And you’re next, young lady.” Jenny knew better than to argue. “As one of Miss Nightingale’s nurses, you will not need anyone to assure you of the efficacy of sulphur and molasses.”

  “Yes, Miss Greyston.” Jennifer closed her eyes and swallowed the foul-smelling, bitter-tasting black liquid.

  “What the pair of you meant, getting soaked and chilled to the bone, I can’t think.”

  “They was rescuin’ me. Coo—you should ’a been there. I thought I was a goner.” Even wrapped in a thick blanket, Josh’s teeth still chattered.

  “Hold still, young man.” Josh held a hand to his mouth as Great-aunt Lavinia’s spoon descended toward him, but there was no defense. “Cannock, you may take him to Martha. Tell her to bathe him with hot water and my best lye soap.”

  Josh made protesting noises as the butler pulled him to his feet, but at the doorway the boy called over his shoulder. “It were a right fair scrapple, eh wot?”

  “Well, now.” Great-aunt Lavinia turned back to Richard and Jennifer. “So after all that chasing, you turned this murderer, kidnapper, and what all else he may be over to the constable and came back to Greyston Pitchers like two drowned rats.”

  “That’s about the size of it, Auntie GAL.” Dick grinned at her.

  “Well, don’t let your success in rescuing that boy put you above yourself. You still have a great deal to answer for, young man. In my day gentlemen did not involve young ladies in a ruckus like this.”

  “I’m afraid I involved myself, Miss Greyston.”

  A sharp rap of the walking stick told Jenny she had made a mistake in calling Great-aunt Lavinia’s attention to herself. “Nor did young ladies of good repute attend horse races.”

  Jenny’s jaw dropped.

  “Be fair, Vina.” From the other side of the drawing room Charlotte Eccleson raised her lorgnette at her elder sister. “You’re the one who told the girl to go to the races.”

  “Of course I was. Always wanted to go when I was her age, but Mama wouldn’t let me. You have spunk, girl. I like you. But as for you, young man—”

  As she turned back to Richard, the door slammed loudly, followed by the clump of boots on the tile floor of the hall and a sharp bark.

  “George, we can smell that animal before we see him. And your boots are muddy.”

  George ignored the matriarch of the Greyston family as he flung himself into a chair. “Beastly day. Thought I’d never get away from the pottery. What in the world did you say to Trenton, Richard? He was bombasting me with facts and figures about improved paint formulas and increased production. Since when is the factory any business of yours? Almost made me miss the race. Just got there in time to see my horse lose. Had a bundle on Windflyer. What a pretty mess.” Bennett growled at Dick from under his master’s legs as if the disaster at the race track had been Richard’s fault.

  But Great-aunt Lavinia did not mean to be disregarded. “George, I am most obliged to you for mentioning the matter of the pottery. I have an item of business I wish to discuss with Richard. As you do not care to hear it, I advise you to make a polite excuse for removing yourself, your muddy boots, and your smelly dog from the drawing room.” Lavinia pointed toward the door with her walking stick. George obeyed.

  Richard came to his feet as well. “Auntie GAL, I realize that my coming to Greyston has caused nothing but trouble. I apologize—”

  “Sit down, Richard,” Lavinia ordered. Richard sat.

  Jenny had a sudden thought. “Legend. George has been betting on Windflyer for months. Why didn’t he recognize him?”

  “Because George has the imagination of an unglazed teapot,” Lavinia snapped. “It is for precisely that reason, Richard, that I have changed my will.”

  “Auntie GAL—”

  “If George had been running the pottery in my papa’s day, we would still be a domestic affair with the kiln behind the coal-master’s house. That’s why I changed my will today. You shall be the one to inherit Greyston Pottery, Richard. George is much better suited to running his wife’s estate in Yorkshire.”

  The coal shifting on the grate was the only sound to follow Lavinia Greyston’s stunning announcement. “Don’t bother thanking me, young man. This is purely a business decision. Don’t think I haven’t been listening to everything that’s been said here in the past week. Your father has done a tolerable job running the factory for me, but it is time for new blood.”

  Jenny pulled herself to her feet as if fighting her way from a confusing dream. Events had moved too fast. She didn’t understand all the family connections, and her velvet suit was still wet in spite of the blazing fire. “That sounds like wonderful news, Miss Greyston. Richard, I congratulate you. But I know you have family business to discuss. Would you please excuse me to change my dress?”

  She was halfway across the room when the door burst open and Livvy flew in. “Dick, there’s a horse in the stable—it looks like Legend!”

  Jennifer took one look at the stolid, familiar form who entered behind Livvy and caught her breath. “Arthur. Hello. I had forgotten…” She made a groping motion with her hand.

  “Jennifer, I tried to explain.” Arthur held his hand out to her in a pleading gesture, but she brushed past him.

  “Please excuse me. I must change.” She fled from the room.

  Jenny was immensely grateful to find Martha on the upstairs landing, just returned from installing a well-scrubbed Josh in bed in the bootboy’s room. “Help me ch
ange, Martha.” Jenny felt unable to cope with even such a simple task as undoing the buttons of her jacket.

  Jennifer had intended to put on something like her green merino and go back downstairs. It wasn’t until Martha slipped her flannel nightdress over her head and tucked her shawl around her shoulders that Jenny realized the maid had prepared her for bed. “There now, miss. You just sit by the fire while I warm your bed for you.”

  Jenny started to protest but when Martha pulled the bell and instructed the upstairs maid to bring a supper tray to Miss Neville Jenny had no energy to countermand the orders. Then the maid turned to shovel some glowing coals into the long-handled brass bed warmer, and Jenny suddenly realized how lovely it would be not to have to cope with anything else.

  Thoughts of Richard and Arthur, of chasing Pannier and of going back to London all blurred in her mind as she sank against the warmed cushions and closed her eyes. There was still so much that had to be sorted out.

  Twenty-two

  “Good morning, miss.” Jennifer blinked when Martha placed a tray on the bed. She had said morning, but surely this was her supper tray. Then the maid pulled the curtain, and the pale sunshine of a winter morning lit the room.

  “What time is it, Martha?”

  “Ten o’clock, miss. I hope you don’t mind my waking you, but Lady Eccleson said it would be best, considering—”

  “Ten o’clock? Oh, no. Has Mr. Merriott left yet?” Jennifer sat upright as quickly as she could without spilling her tea.

  “Yes, miss, about two hours ago.” Martha turned to lay out Jenny’s lilac and beige cotton day dress trimmed with whitework embroidery.

  Jenny groaned and leaned back against her pillows. Now how was she to get to London? She thought of yesterday’s adventures with Richard—of the closeness of thought and action they had shared. If he returned to being distant again today, it would be all the harder to bear after such accord.