Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library (The Rogue’s Alliance #1)

Chapter Eighteen

A shford received a note from Robbie the next day. Two suspicious men had been in the lending library intimidating the patrons, and Mr. Thorne had quietly asked them to leave.

He directed his coachman to Thorne’s Lending Library. When he entered the establishment, Mr. Thorne hurried over to him.

“May I have a private word in the backroom, Lord Ashford?”

He followed the man through a door at the back of the shop. Mrs. Thorne awkwardly curtsied when she saw him before taking a seat at the other end of the room behind a battered oak desk.

“Robbie has apprised me of the notes he sent you and the efforts you have undertaken to help Thorne’s stay in business,” the man said haltingly, a flush on his cheeks. “Your assistance is most appreciated.”

“I have friends who frequent the library,” he replied off-handedly. “I would not have them harmed or molested. Robbie’s latest missive mentioned two men hanging about causing trouble.”

Mr. Thorne nodded. “It was a queer thing. The men looked around the library as if they were taking inventory. It made me most uncomfortable. I mentioned calling for the runners, and they finally left the shop.”

The man led Ashford back to the front of the establishment. Lady Charlotte and Lady Edith stood beside the subscription desk, speaking with young Robbie. The slight musky scent of Tuberose drifted to him. Warmth settled in his limbs as he felt his pulse ratchet up a notch. He was happy to see the lady but frustrated that she had again gone somewhere utterly inappropriate.

His gaze met Charlotte’s. Her eyes widened just the tiniest bit. Could she be as affected by his presence as he was by hers? He must find a moment to warn her about approaching James Landry again.

Ashford exchanged a brief greeting with Charlotte and Edith before Robbie said, “There is an important matter I must discuss with you, my lord.”

Once the ladies had moved away and were out of earshot, Robbie whispered, “The two men that were here yesterday are loitering across the street.”

His first thought was for Charlotte and Edith’s safety.

“I will speak with the men after I advise Lady Charlotte and Lady Edith to quit the shop,” he replied. “Make sure you stay inside.”

Ashford strolled to stand near the plush sopha where Charlotte and Edith were seated, reading. Charlotte was immersed in Female Quixote by Charlotte Lennon, her friend, The Morning Chronicle .

“Ladies, there is a situation outside the library I should like you to be clear of.” Once he had their attention, he added, “It would ease my mind if you both would return to your homes.”

“If you think that is necessary,” Charlotte replied quickly, closing her book and getting to her feet.

“Oh yes, we should go.” Lady Edith put her newspaper aside and stood up.

“I’ll escort you to your carriage,” he said, holding out his arm to Charlotte. “Please go home and refrain from further outings to Cheapside. Mr. James Landry is a dangerous man.”

The lady raised her chin. “I did not visit Mr. Landry. I’m not that reckless. I did, however, have a short conversation with Mr. Jacobsen whilst in the company of Louisa and Edith.”

Charlotte took his arm without further comment. Both she and Edith remained calm, quite the opposite of how society expected young women to behave when faced with a possibly unpleasant situation.

Their small party exited the shop. A black town carriage Ashford recognized was parked a few yards down the street. Knowing it for Charlotte’s father’s coach, he deposited the ladies inside the carriage and saw them on their way.

He looked across the road to see two men watching Thorne’s. The men wore the garb of dockworkers: open coats with filthy white shirts and dark suspenders underneath, caps pulled low around their ears.

Ashford directed his coachman to return home. He then crossed the road, and as he approached the men, they turned to walk down the pavement toward Bruton Lane.

He shadowed the men, not bothering to disguise the fact he was following them. The time for delicacy was well past. The pair paused at the corner of the street, waiting on the coach traffic to allow them to cross.

When the men reached Bruton Lane, they turned left onto the street and broke into a run. His greatcoat flapping about him, his walking stick in hand, Ashford gave chase. Nearby pedestrians moved aside to stand gawking at the three men running along the pavement.

One of the men pushed aside a young maid as he ran, and Ashford paused only a moment to ascertain that the woman was unharmed. Ahead of him, a small crowd was milling around outside a tavern. The two men pushed through the group, clearing the way for Ashford to follow.

The lane veered sharply to the left before he caught up to the men. He put out a hand to collar one before the scoundrel could dart into an alley between a tobacconist and a Turkish coffee house. The man struggled in his grip as Ashford dropped his walking stick and grasped one of the man’s arms so he couldn’t shrug off his coat and escape.

Ashford whispered menacingly, “I would not resist if I were you. Fighting with a peer will get you several years in goal.”

The man stopped struggling. He spat out, “I’m not going to talk to you.”

“I think you will,” he replied, turning the man to face him. “I have several witnesses that will testify that you were attempting to intimidate them in the lending library.”

The man’s foul breath drifted to him when he replied, “He will kill me if I tell you anything.”

“He will probably have you killed either way,” Ashford responded with a growl.

At those words, the man began to struggle again and broke free. He was only a few steps from Ashford when a shot rang out, and the man fell to the ground. Ashford looked up and saw the man’s companion across the road, a pistol in his hand. A wagon trundled down the road. When the wagon had passed, the killer was gone.

Several passersby gathered around him and the man lying on the ground. Ashford bent down and pulled aside one lapel of the man’s wool coat. Blood seeped from the man’s chest, an ever-widening stain on an already soiled shirt. The man lay facing up, his eyes wide and staring. Several voices raised the alarm as a cold rain began to fall.

* * * * *

S omething in Lord Ashford’s tone of voice convinced Charlotte it was necessary to leave Thorne’s as soon as possible. There was no use speculating on the reason why. Not for the first time, she was thankful neither she nor her friends were susceptible to hysterics.

Lord Ashford’s comment about Cheapside had caught her off guard. Mr. Jacobsen’s clerk must have overheard Edith say Charlotte’s name, and the landlord told James Landry about her visit.

“That insufferable man! Lord Ashford is determined to think the worst of me.”

Edith replied softly from her seat across from Charlotte in the carriage, “It speaks volumes that you are more concerned about the marquess’s opinion of you than being warned away from the library. Instead of concentrating on the fact that Lord Ashford wishes to protect you, you are determined to think the worst of him .”

Charlotte was sure Edith was wrong about Lord Ashford wanting to protect her. He simply wanted to control her behavior as he tried to manage his sister’s.

“I’ve told myself a hundred times that I don’t care what others think of me. It doesn’t matter what I feel for Lord Ashford. I must be accepted for who I am.” She took a breath and let it out.

“You’re being far too defensive,” Edith replied with a shake of her head. “Can you honestly say you’ve never judged someone wrongly? And despite recent events, you do not normally act in such a reckless manner. You care what Lord Ashford thinks of you because you feel affection for him. Either speak with him on the matter or let it go.”

Charlotte was at a loss for words. It was unlike Edith to make such a long speech on personal matters. And her friend was right- she did feel affection for the marquess. She hadn’t given much thought to her future. Her parents weren’t urging her to marry. What did she want in a husband? A vision of Lord Ashford came to mind.

The carriage halted in front of Edith’s abode.

“I will let you know if I have news of Thorne’s,” Charlotte called to her friend as Edith alighted from the coach.

When she returned home, Charlotte dashed off a short letter telling Louisa to avoid Thorne’s and that she would send more news when she had some.

Before she went up to dress for dinner that evening, William pulled her aside in the drawing room. “I just received a note from Lord Ashford. We are not to venture near Thorne’s Lending Library until he tells us it is safe to do so.”

“May I see the note?” she asked, for the moment ignoring Lord Ashford’s high-handedness in commanding her to stay away from the library.

Her brother handed over a folded note on the finest vellum. The marquess’s hand was elegant, the letters well-formed.

There was a shooting near Thorne’s today .

She gasped softly. “How dreadful! I must let Edith and Louisa know about the shooting. Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss any of this with Mother and Father. Mother would never let me go near Thorne’s again.”

Charlotte returned the letter to William and raced upstairs to pen notes to Edith and Louisa. She included a request that the girls visit her at home tomorrow afternoon. Once completed, she dispatched a footman to deliver the missives to her friends.

Before she went up to bed that evening, William again pulled her aside. “There is no further news, and I agree that we shouldn’t worry our parents out of hand.”

“It seems I’m getting better at deception,” she replied in a soft voice, trying not to think too much about how Lord Ashford knew about the shooting.

* * * * *

T he body of the dead man was carried into the nearby tavern to await the arrival of the coroner. His collar pulled high, Ashford walked in the rain to number four Bow Street in Covent Garden to visit the headquarters of the runners.

When he arrived at the crowded courthouse he was directed to a tiny office. The sign on the open door read CLERK. He walked in and a young man in a blue uniform rose to his feet from his place behind a small oak desk.

“I’m Lord Ashford and I’m here to give a statement to an officer,” Ashford said with a frown. “The sign on your door says clerk.”

The young man’s smile was apologetic. “Please have a seat, my lord. I assure you I am a constable. What with how crowded headquarters are, most of the offices here have more than one use.”

The constable resumed his seat after Ashford was seated on a hard, rickety chair. The young man opened up a large logbook on his desk and took a pencil in hand. “I will be more than happy to take your statement, my lord.”

Ashford briefly outlined his pursuit of the two men and the harassment that Thorne’s had suffered. “I believe the men I chased today were sent by Mr. James Landry.”

The officer frowned and replied sharply, “That is quite an accusation to make, my lord.”

“I do not make it lightly, I assure you.” Ashford looked over the brief notes the constable had written in the log and signed his own name below the constable’s signature.

“If we need any further information, you will be contacted, Lord Ashford.”

Back outside, Ashford was relieved to see the rain had stopped. He hailed a hackney, eager to return home and change out of his damp clothing.

He would send a note to inform Charlotte’s brother William about the shooting. The lady and her friends must stay away from Thorne’s until he knew the area was safe for her. For everyone.

Ashford returned to the townhouse and his butler informed him Nathaniel and Cecil awaited him in the drawing room. He quickly changed out of his clothes before joining the other men downstairs.

“News of the shooting is all over the city,” Cecil advised him.

Ashford briefly related the events of the afternoon.

“Murder!” Nathaniel shook his head. “Such violence over a lending library.”

“Innocent people could have been hurt,” he replied angrily. “The harassment at Thorne’s must stop now.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. My sister visits that library. What do you propose?” Nathaniel asked.

“Cecil, where would James Landry be this time of day?”

“At his office,” the viscount replied.

Cecil insisted they take his unadorned town carriage accompanied by a coachman and footman in nondescript livery. The viscount instructed the coachman to drive to Landry’s office in Cheapside. As for himself, Ashford realized he was past caring who might see him in such an unfashionable area of London. He must ensure the people he cared about were safe.

Although the curtains of the carriage were drawn, the day outside was bright, allowing the occupants of the coach to see each other. Although the coach ride across London took over an hour, the three men said little.

James Landry was not at his office.

“Mr. Landry left the building to deal with an emergency,” his clerk said in reply to Ashford’s inquiry. The young man looked nervous, not a surprise, as Ashford and his friends were surrounding the lad’s desk.

“What kind of emergency?” he asked impatiently.

“I’m not sure, my lord. Mr. Landry rushed out of his office nearly two hours ago and didn’t tell me where he was going.” The boy swallowed, his face pale.

“I know a few places he might be,” Cecil said as the three men exited the premises.

Their coach made its way to the gaming hell Landry often frequented. The cit was not there, nor had he been seen that day.

“He lives in Hampstead Heath.” Cecil added gruffly at Ashford’s unspoken question, “I’ve been invited, but I have never been there.”

The mansion on a hill was constructed of red brick. It was massive. Ostentatious. The front garden was a jumble of assorted topiary and a large fountain in the shape of a fish. Cecil leapt out of the carriage as soon as it came to a halt. “I will go in alone to make inquiries. I’m familiar with the butler.”

Neither he nor Nathaniel commented. If Cecil had never been to Landry’s home, how was he acquainted with Landry’s butler? Although Cecil had resigned from the Home Office, he still had friends and contacts in the department. Not for the first time, Ashford was reminded that his friend had infiltrated every part of London society.

Cecil returned to the coach a few minutes later. He shook his head at their questioning looks. “The butler hasn’t seen Landry since early this morning. I have an informant on Milk Street from my Home Office days who may be of some help.”

It took several minutes to drive from Hampstead Heath through Camden Town and Holburn. When the carriage arrived on Milk Street, the coachman rolled slowly along the thoroughfare. As the curtains of the coach were drawn, Ashford wondered how Cecil would find his informant.

The carriage came to a halt, and the driver on the box began to whistle Greensleeves. A few minutes later, the whistling stopped.

“Have you a shilling, my lord?” a shrill female voice called from outside the carriage.

“Who asks?” Cecil did not open the coach door.

“Why, Little Mary, my lord.” The female voice was reedy. The woman coughed several times.

Cecil opened the carriage door a crack and handed out a shilling. “James Landry. Where is he? What information do you have to sell?”

“I heard about the shooting I did. There is no word on where Landry is right now. There was a commotion on the docks. It seems like the murderer got murdered hisself.”

Cecil handed out another coin. “Does anyone know who committed the murder?”

The woman outside the carriage laughed, a hoarse wheezing sound. “I would think Landry did it. He likes to hurt people that one does. He doesn’t look like much, but he is as mean as they come.”

“Stay away from Landry,” Cecil said to the woman. “I will not seek you out for some time.”

He shut the door to the coach, tapped his walking stick on the ceiling of the carriage, and their conveyance rolled away.

“Do you think Landry killed the other man?” Nathaniel asked.

Cecil nodded. “A man like that doesn’t pull himself out of the gutter by being nice. He knows how to rid himself of a problem.”

He was sure Landry would count Ashford and his friends among his problems.

“Is there anything else to be done this evening?”he asked wearily. He was tired and hadn’t any ideas on how to proceed if they couldn’t find James Landry.

Cecil shook his head. “He will have run to ground. I imagine there will be a ready explanation for where he was during the murder on the docks and several witnesses to swear him an alibi.”

Ashford believed it. He needed to think of a way to end this chaos. End it without violence. Despite his exhausted state, he had the kernel of an idea. It involved his solicitor, Nathaniel, and Mr. Jacobsen. He just needed some time to sort out the details.

“I think we are done for today,” he said to his friends. “I will contact you on the morrow. If what I have planned works, Landry will never bother the Thorne’s again.”