Amanda Quick - The River Knows

“Hmm,” Louisa said.

“Before we proceed,” Anthony added deliberately, “I have a question of my own. Considering how much I have confided in you, I would appreciate an answer. In fact, I think it is fair to say that I deserve one.”

She sat back in her chair. “You want to know why I am investigating Hastings’s financial affairs.”

“It seems a reasonable question under the circumstances.”

Reasonable or not, she would have to answer it, she decided. If she did not, he would probably refuse to join forces. And it was clear to her now that that was the only way she would be able to pursue the investigation to its conclusion. The lure of reporting two murders in Society was irresistible.

“Very well, I will do so, sir, under one condition.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Louisa, I am not at all certain this is a good idea.”

“Forgive me,” Louisa said gently, “but I feel I have no choice.” She looked at Anthony. “Will you agree?”

“It depends on the condition,” he said evenly.

“If you wish my assistance in this matter, you must agree to a partnership.”

Anthony’s eyes tightened a little at the corners. “You wish to become involved in an affair of murder, Mrs. Bryce?”

“I wish to help you investigate Mr. Hastings,” she corrected evenly. “I am not yet convinced that you are right when you say that he is a murderer twice over. Nevertheless, you have made me sufficiently curious to want to inquire more deeply into the matter.”

“Why the devil would you want to help pursue a killer? It is dangerous work.”

“Yes,” Emma put in swiftly. “Very dangerous work. Louisa, I really don’t think you should go forward with this plan. You take enough risks as it is.”

There was a short silence. Anthony switched his attention to Emma.

He had picked up the scent, Louisa thought. There would be no distracting him now.

“Very well, sir.” She folded her hands together. “I will explain myself, but I must warn you that there really is no choice but to cooperate. If you do not, we will likely continue to find ourselves tripping over each other for the foreseeable future.”

Anthony studied her. “Mrs. Bryce, are you so bored with Society that you seek to take grave risks to your person merely to amuse yourself?”

“I am going to tell you something that very few people know. Emma is one of those people. Another is the editor and publisher of the Flying Intelligencer.”

“That rag? What in blazes can you possibly have to do with a disreputable paper that thrives on the most lurid sensations?”

She had expected that reaction, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she was crushed and annoyed by his casual disdain.

“As it happens,” she said coolly, “I am a correspondent for that disreputable rag.”

Anthony went very still. It was, she reflected, the first time she had seen him stopped cold in his tracks. She tried to take some satisfaction from that turn of events. His opinion of her had no doubt plummeted to a very low point, but at least she had managed to startle him. She had the feeling that did not happen very often.

“You are a correspondent?” he repeated, his voice quite neutral.

“A secret correspondent,” she clarified. “I write under the name I. M. Phantom.”

“Well, it no doubt serves me right.” He shook his head and then his mouth twitched a little.

She glowered. “You find my career amusing, sir?”

“Astonishing would be a better word.” He paused. “My sister would be thrilled to meet you.”

Louisa brightened. “She reads my work?”

“Of course. But that is not the only reason why she would enjoy making your acquaintance. As it happens the two of you have a great deal in common.”

“I don’t understand. Is your sister also a correspondent?”

“No, but she is in a similar profession, one that, like yours, compels her to conceal her identity.”

“What does she do?” Louisa asked eagerly. She had never encountered another woman who had also assumed a false identity.

“She writes plays under the name E. G. Harris.”

“I know her work.” Louisa was barely able to contain her excitement. “Her plays are staged at the Olympia Theater. The current one is Night on Sutton Lane. I went to see it last week. There are several thrilling sensations including the most astonishing scene of a ship sinking at sea.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“One believes the heroine must surely drown because she was involved in an illicit love affair, and everyone knows that illicit love affairs always come to bad ends in sensation dramas. Nevertheless, at the last minute a gentleman appears out of nowhere and saves her.” Louisa sighed. “Unfortunately, he is not Nigel, the man whom she loved.”

“As I recall, Nigel was already married,” Anthony said.

“Yes, but he didn’t know it, you see. He thought his wife was dead when she had actually been locked up in an asylum by her scheming brother.”

“I assure you I have seen the play, Mrs. Bryce. There is no need to describe it.”

She blushed, embarrassed. “Yes, of course.”

Emma chuckled. “Louisa is a great fan of your sister’s plays, sir.”

“So I see.” Anthony raised his brows. “It so happens that I have read some of your news reports, Mrs. Bryce.”

“I’m surprised to hear you admit that you have read anything printed in the Flying Intelligencer.” But a little thrill of pleasure went through her. He had read her work.

“The Intelligencer has two categories of readers,” he said dryly. “Those who will admit to reading it and those who will not admit to reading it. That is especially true since I. M. Phantom’s pieces began appearing. I offer you my sincere congratulations, Mrs. Bryce. You have managed to astound Society on a number of occasions with your revelations of scandal in high places.”

She felt a sudden need to defend herself. “I am not interested in scandal solely because of the sensation it will cause. It is a desire to see justice prevail that motivates me, sir.”

He cocked a quizzical brow. “Justice?”

“Too often people who move in elevated social circles abuse their positions of privilege and power. They take advantage of those who are weaker than themselves knowing full well that it is unlikely that they will pay for their crimes.”

“I see. You feel called upon to mete out justice by exposing such people?”

“There is little else that can be done.” She widened her hands. “Everyone knows that it is virtually impossible for Scotland Yard to conduct an investigation in the Polite World. All the doors are closed, and there is no way to open them. You said yourself, there was no chance that the police would ever be able to search Hastings’s house.”

“True. Nevertheless—”

“Thanks to Emma I find myself in a unique position,” she continued. “I am able to circulate in some of the best social circles without calling attention to myself.”

He glanced at Emma.

Emma poured more tea. “It has been interesting, I must say.”

“I wish to make it plain that I pride myself on accuracy,” Louisa said firmly. “I always investigate quite thoroughly before I write my reports. The last thing I want to do is cause pain or humiliation to an innocent person.”

“Enough.” Anthony raised a hand, palm out. “I do not doubt your zeal or your intentions, Mrs. Bryce.”

She dared to relax slightly.

“I have been wondering how you came by your information,” he continued. “Can I assume that, as a member of the press, you have informants?”

“Yes,” she said, cautious again.

“I would like to know the name of the person who put you onto Hastings’s trail.”

She pondered that for a moment. Miranda Fawcett enjoyed her role as a behind-the-scenes source of secrets for a newspaper correspondent. She could no doubt be persuaded to aid Anthony in his investigation, provided she could be convinced to trust him.

“My informant might agree to assist you,” she said, “but I make no guarantees.”

Veiled anticipation leaped in Anthony’s eyes. “I understand.”

Louisa clasped her hands. “Let me make myself very clear, sir,” she said coolly. “This conversation will end here and now if you do not agree to make me a full partner in this affair.”

His eyes tightened dangerously at the corners. “I do not think that would be wise, Mrs. Bryce.”

“I do not think that you have any choice, Mr. Stalbridge.”

Ten minutes later he went down the steps of Number Twelve, crossed the street, and started through the small park in the center of the square. He was not in what anyone would term a pleasant mood.

Louisa was a correspondent for the Flying Intelligencer. That piece of information had come out of nowhere, blindsiding him. He had never heard of a female reporter, let alone one who did her work from inside exclusive circles.

Astounding as her career was, it did explain much of what had made him curious in recent days, including her secretive forays in the Wellsworth and Hammond households and her interest in Hastings. It also explained the unfashionable gowns, the spectacles, and the boring conversation at every social event she attended. Louisa had gone to great lengths to make certain that people did not take any notice of her. Like it or not, however, she was going to lose some of her precious anonymity now that her name was linked with his. He wondered how she would deal with that.

He walked through a stand of trees and found himself in a small clearing in the middle of the park. He passed two green wrought-iron benches and a statue of a nymph. On the far side of the greenery he crossed another street, turned a corner, and entered a narrow lane. When he emerged onto a busy street, he briefly considered and then discarded the notion of whistling for a hansom cab. He needed to work off some of the frustration Louisa’s bargain had sparked.