The Untamed Mackenzie

Chapter Fourteen

Lloyd Fellows’ flat was in a lane off the Strand in a respectable house that retained some of the elegance of the past. The landlady was gracious enough to let Louisa and Daniel upstairs to Fellows’ rooms once Daniel explained who they were—and charmed her with his smiles and youthful innocence. He portrayed innocence very well.

The flat had four rooms—a sitting room which doubled as a dining room, a small office with a cluttered desk, and a bedroom with a bath chamber beyond. Daniel solved Louisa’s problem of wondering if she would ever dare enter Fellows’ bedroom by opening the door and barging in himself. Of course, Louisa had to follow to make sure he stayed out of mischief.

“He won’t mind,” Daniel said. “I come here all the time for a bit of a chat. Ah, there it is.” He picked up a book from Fellows’ bedside table. “I lent him this a while ago. Thought it might be in here.”

Louisa gave him a sharp look. It would be just like Daniel to pretend he’d given Fellows the book in order to have an excuse for snooping in the man’s bedroom.

She ought to tell him they should leave the room and close the door. But Louisa stood in the middle of it, absorbing everything about Lloyd Fellows.

His bed was large, with low posts and no hangings. Neatly made, the pillows plump, a quilt folded across the bottom. Louisa wondered if his mother had sewn the quilt.

The room was small, most of it taken up with the bed. Fellows didn’t have many decorative touches, except a few photographs in frames on top of the high dresser. Louisa moved to look at them.

One photo was of his mother, taken when she was younger. Louisa had met Mrs. Fellows at informal Mackenzie gatherings—the photograph showed she’d been vivacious and pretty when younger, and her eyes held shrewd intelligence, much like her son’s.

Another photo was a full-length portrait of a very young Lloyd, in his policeman’s uniform, probably taken when he’d first joined the force. He stood stiffly, proud, his helmet tucked under his arm.

The third photograph was of Louisa.

Louisa looked quickly behind her, but Daniel was busy flipping through the book he’d found. Louisa turned back to the photo, her heart hammering.

The photograph was a casual one, taken by Eleanor during one of Louisa’s visits to Kilmorgan—Eleanor enjoyed taking photographs and developing them herself. Louisa stood in the garden at Kilmorgan Castle, sunlight on her face, climbing roses around her. The sepia photo showed the roses as white, but in reality they were very light pink. Louisa’s hair looked a shade of brown instead of bright red, her dress darker than the pretty green it had been, but overall, the photograph was a good one. Because Eleanor was skilled at photography, Louisa wasn’t standing ramrod-stiff, her face and eyes washed out from the light, but was smiling, her pose natural.

How the photograph had gotten onto the dresser in Lloyd Fellows’ London bedchamber, Louisa had no idea. Eleanor might have given him a copy. Or perhaps Daniel, who’d just ingenuously said that he’d been here many times before, had.

Louisa bit her lip as she turned around. The open door beyond the bed led into his bathroom, where she told herself she wouldn’t go. But the window gave full light into the little room, showing her a mug and shaving brush on his washstand, towels neatly hung, a large bathtub with a tap. Fellows was a very tidy man, or else the landlady provided a competent maid. Nothing was out of place.

Louisa wanted to enter the bathroom and touch the shaving brush, an object of masculinity. She wanted to connect to Lloyd through it, feel again his strength, heat, the weight of him on her.

She’d never erase the imprint of his mouth on hers, the taste of him on her tongue. And she wanted more than kisses. Last night, if the constable hadn’t arrived, Louisa would have let Fellows carry their passion on the desk to its conclusion. She’d have slid off her drawers and raked up her skirts, welcoming him into her arms and inside her body.

Louisa, who should go to her marriage bed a virgin, would have thrown virtue aside for the joy of being with Lloyd at least once. By the social rules she lived by, Louisa would then have had to withdraw herself from the marriage mart after that, because no man wanted to discover on the wedding night that his bride was soiled goods.

But Louisa would not have cared. Even now she felt nothing but deep regret that they’d been interrupted.

“We should wait for him in the sitting room,” Louisa said abruptly.

Daniel looked up. “Eh?” He closed the book and shrugged. “Just as you like.”

Daniel led the way back to the sitting room, and Louisa made herself shut the door of the enticing chamber behind them.

Fellows walked home in the dark, his thoughts piling one on top of the other. Hargate’s notebook had revealed much. Fellows had left the book in its box firmly under lock and key at the Yard, but Fellows’ notes on it burned in his pocket, waiting for him to have the time to sit and go over them.

He might be lost in thought, but Fellows knew the placement of every single person on the street with him as well as those lurking in dark passages, what they were doing, and, if he’d seen them before, who they were. Those he hadn’t seen before, he made a note of in the back of his mind to look for again.

Denizens of the night always left Fellows alone, however. Though he wore a suit no different from that of any other businessman returning home late from work, somehow even those who knew nothing about him stayed far from him. Fellows was trouble, they sensed, and they didn’t want to deal with that much trouble.

Fellows let himself into the house with his key, walked up the quiet stairs, and used his flat key to open the door to his sitting room.

Daniel looked up from the sofa where he’d been reading a book. He didn’t spring to his feet, because Louisa was dozing next to him, her head on Daniel’s shoulder.

Fellows stopped in the act of dropping his hat to a chair. Louisa was so serenely beautiful, her face flushed, her body limp against Daniel’s, her red curls across her cheek.

Fellows drew a sharp breath as he imagined her head on his shoulder, better still, on his pillow with him lying next to her. The vision was so sharp, so desirable, that he couldn’t move. He needed it to be true.

Daniel touched her shoulder. “Louisa.”

Louisa frowned in her sleep, moved against his arm, then she opened her eyes. She stared in puzzlement at Fellows a moment, then she came fully awake, and sat up, pushing her hair from her face.

Fellows closed the door behind him. “You can’t be here.”

Daniel put his book aside and got to his feet. “A fine way to greet your family.”

Fellows finally set his hat on the chair, stripped off his gloves, and dropped them on top of the hat. “I meant Louisa. She can’t be seen anywhere near me until this investigation is closed.”

Louisa rose, still trying to press her hair back into place. Fellows wanted to tell her it looked much better mussed—he wanted to go to her and muss it some more.

“I am in the room with you, Chief Inspector,” she said. “You may tell me directly that you want me to go.”

Fellows fixed his gaze on her and her alone, and wished he hadn’t. “I want you to go.”

“Not yet,” Daniel said. “We didn’t come for a social call. We came to tell you something.”

Fellows still looked at Louisa. Her gown today was a brown broadcloth she’d covered with a jacket of burnt orange, autumn colors that went with her pale skin and red hair. She was a confection he wanted to eat.

It took a moment before Fellows realized Louisa was speaking to him, her eyes full of anger. “The Bishop of Hargate was blackmailing Mrs. Leigh-Waters. I told you he tried to blackmail me into marrying him, but I’ve learned that he also tried to blackmail Daniel.”

“I know,” Fellows said.

Louisa stopped, surprise pushing aside her anger. “You know? How?”

“Not about Daniel.” Fellows shot his nephew a look, which Daniel returned with a guileless one. “But I know about Mrs. Leigh-Waters.”

“This is interesting,” Daniel said. “Was Hargate blackmailing any others?”

“I’m not discussing the case with you, Daniel.”

“No?”

“No.” But Daniel was perceptive. Hargate’s book, once Fellows had deciphered his somewhat simplistic letter and number substitution code, showed he’d carried on an active round of blackmailing. A few of his victims, besides Mrs. Leigh-Waters, had been at the garden party. “The murderer doesn’t need to know in advance what line of inquiry I’m taking,” he said to Daniel.

“Of course not,” Louisa said, sounding reasonable. “We should let the chief inspector do his job, Danny.”

“Yes,” Fellows said dryly. “Please do.” He stepped aside and signaled with a wave of his hand that they should go.

Daniel didn’t move. “If you’re thinking of Mrs. Leigh-Waters as the murderer, I don’t think she did it, if my opinion is worth anything,” he said. “I don’t think she’d have the courage.”

“Nor do I,” Louisa added. Her belief in the woman was clear in her eyes. “And there’s the question of the poison—how it got into the tea, or at least the teacup, without Mrs. Leigh-Waters being there to make sure the right person drank it.”

“Yes,” Fellows said slowly. Louisa’s words made the part of his thoughts still tangled in the case begin to work. “And I think that’s it.”

Daniel and Louisa looked blank. “What?” Louisa asked.

“The answer to the entire problem.”

“Ah,” Daniel said. “You know how it was done?”

“Not yet. But I have possibilities to check. I planned to think about it tonight, alone, and then ponder while I sleep. I need sleep.” Fellows hadn’t gotten any the night before, that was certain.

Daniel looked resigned but nodded at him. “We’ll leave ye to it, then. Except you have to tell us what you discover. We’re pining to know.”

“I’ll send you a telegram,” Fellows said in his dry voice. He opened the door. “Thank you for the information. Good night.”

“Right you are.” Daniel held out his arm to Louisa. “Auntie?”

Louisa didn’t look at him. “I’d like to remain a moment, Daniel.”

“No,” Fellows said immediately. If Louisa stayed in his rooms, with his bedchamber steps away, he’d never be able to let her out again.

“Daniel,” Louisa said.

“I shouldn’t let you,” Daniel said. “I’m the chaperone, you know.”

“He is right,” Fellows said to Louisa. “You can’t stay up here with me.”

“For heaven’s sake, he can wait outside the door, which you may keep unlocked. If Daniel hears me scream, he will rush in to my rescue. I need to speak with you.”

Fellows’ hand stilled on the doorknob. He could not let her stay, blast the woman. But she stood stubbornly, as though rooting herself to the floor.

Daniel decided for them. Because neither Fellows nor Louisa moved, Daniel picked up his hat and gloves and walked out past Fellows, the hem of his kilt swinging.

“I’ll be kicking my heels at the end of the hall,” he said. “Shout when you’re ready, Louisa.”

Fellows remained at the door, holding it open. “Daniel, she can’t stay.”

“Best humor her,” Daniel said. “Else she gets terse, and I’ll have to ride all the way to Isabella’s with her like that. Do me a favor and let her speak her piece.”

Fellows had no sympathy. But he knew Louisa wouldn’t budge unless he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her out. And if he touched her, he’d carry her straight to the bedroom.

Daniel grinned and turned away as Fellows finally swung the door shut. Fellows heard him whistling in the hall.

“Begin,” Fellows said to Louisa. “Then leave.”

He kept himself beside the door. Safer there—the entire sitting room lay between him and her.

Louisa wore brown leather gloves that hugged her fingers. Fellows couldn’t stop his imagination putting those gloved hands on his bare chest, feeling the cool leather on his hot skin. She’d move her hands down across his abdomen, roving to the hardness that strained for her.

“Why do you have my photo in your bedchamber?” Louisa asked.

Fellows started, pushing his fantasies aside. Louisa looked at him expressionlessly, without anger, or disgust, scorn, or any other emotion he’d expect her to have. He kept a picture of her without her knowledge, and she only asked him about it in a calm voice. How she’d discovered he had it, Fellows hadn’t the slightest doubt.

“I will throttle Daniel Mackenzie,” he said.

“You have three photographs on your dresser,” Louisa said slowly. “One of your mother, one of yourself in your police uniform. Natural enough. And you have me.”

Any lie would sound ridiculous. There was no reason in the world Fellows should have her photograph, except one.

“I don’t often see you,” he said. “I have the photo so I can look at you in the stretches of time between.”

She regarded him in silence a moment, as though considering his answer. “Did Eleanor give it to you?”

“She did.”

“Did you ask her for it?”

“No,” Fellows said. “But when she offered it, I didn’t refuse.”

Louisa swallowed, the movement faint in her slender throat. “I, on the other hand, have no photograph of you.”

“I don’t often have one taken. Haven’t in years.”

“Eleanor would do it,” Louisa said.

“No doubt.”

Another pause. Shakespeare would have had trouble writing this play. His characters talked and talked, spilling out streams of poesy. So many words, when silence spoke volumes.

“That photograph of me was taken a year ago,” Louisa said. “Just after Eleanor and Hart’s wedding.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“You’ve had it all this time.” Louisa lost her frozen stance and stepped forward. “You’ve had it all this time, and you’ve not said a word. You haven’t said anything.”

“Would it have done any good?”

“I think it would have done the world of good.” Louisa’s voice increased in volume. “But how could I know? How can I know anything of what you’re thinking? You hide so much.”

Fellows came out of his rigidity. “I don’t have much of a chance to speak to you, do I? Every time I see you, you’re at a party of some kind, surrounded by friends, laughing with them. You’re where you belong. You’re part of their world, with people you understand, and I am not.”

“What are you talking about?” She glared at him. “You are in that world now. You’re part of the Mackenzie family. They’ve welcomed you with open arms.”

“They have, yes.” His tone went ironic. “They’ve been adamant to erase the part of my life when I lived in penury. Their remorse is touching. The only one not wallowing in guilt is Ian, because I don’t think he understands the meaning of the word.”

Louisa flushed. “Do you think I’m wallowing in guilt?”

“You feel sorry for me, Louisa. You’ve told me.”

Her face reddened further. “You think I’ve kissed you out of pity?”

“You might believe otherwise, but yes.”

“Is that what you truly think? That I’d be so . . . patronizing?”

“Aren’t you?” Fellows knew he made her angry, but maybe if she grew furious enough she’d go, and stay away from him. “You told me once that I looked as though I needed cheering up. Poor Inspector Fellows—like a beggar standing outside the window, gazing at a feast he’s not allowed to have.” He’d felt that way often enough as a lad, especially the day he’d watched the boy Hart climb back into the sumptuous Mackenzie carriage and ride away with their father. Fellows had been left behind, outraged and bereft, and dragged off to a police station. That was the day he’d decided to become a policeman.

Louisa’s eyes were starry with anger. “How can you say that? How can you know anything about my feelings for you? You’ve never bothered to ask me!”

“I don’t remember you bothering to ask me before you coaxed me onto a ladder with you, or dragged me under the mistletoe.”

Louisa moved to him, halting close enough to him that he could breathe in her scent. Dangerous. “I don’t recall you pushing me away,” she said.

Was she mad? “Dear God, what sane man would? There you were, beautiful and wanting to kiss me. Last night you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me down to my desk with you. Only a saint would push you away, and I assure you, I am no saint.”

Louisa took a breath, pulling her voice down from a shout. “Why are you trying to make me angry? You are being deliberately cruel. Why?”

“Because you can’t be here. I said that when I came in. We can’t be together, Louisa. No declarations, nothing.” Fellows tried to speak steadily. “If anyone discovers me even talking to you, the investigation will be compromised. I’ll be pulled from the case and a detective assigned to it who cares nothing for truth, only for arrests and convictions.”

She looked puzzled. “But I’m not the only suspect now. Hargate was a blackmailer, with many other victims. You said you had ideas.”

“And by your own admission, Hargate was blackmailing you. You still had a motive, still are a very good suspect. So until this investigation is over, we don’t see each other, we don’t speak. If I have anything more to ask you regarding Hargate, I’ll send Sergeant Pierce to you. Do you understand?”

“Well enough.” Another of the small silences fell. “What about when the investigation is over?”

“I don’t know.” Fellows drew a breath. “There is still . . . I don’t know.”

“And yet, you have my photograph.”

They looked at each other a long moment. Everything spoken and unspoken hovered between them, waiting to be shattered.

Then Fellows moved around and past her, making himself give her a wide berth. He strode to the bedchamber, slammed inside it, grabbed the small photo from the dresser, and slammed out again.

He thrust the photograph at her. “Take it.”

Louisa didn’t reach for it. “Why? It’s yours.”

“Take it.” Fellows grabbed her wrist, pulled her gloved hand to him, and slapped the framed photo into it. “Give it back to Eleanor, keep it for yourself, give it to Mr. Franklin. I don’t give a damn.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Yes, I am. Best you know that. Now get out.”

Louisa stared at him, her mouth open, red lips moist. It was all Fellows could do not to sweep her up, deposit her on the sofa, strip off her clothes, and have her. Now. Hang the investigation.

And then Louisa might truly hang. No, Fellows would never let that happen. Even if he had to stay away from her from this point forward, let her marry another man, and never see her again, he’d do it to keep her from harm. Louisa’s life was worth far more to him than his own happiness.

Louisa didn’t hurry to obey. She looked up at Fellows for a long time, then clutched the photograph to her chest.

“I’ll go,” she said in her quiet voice. “I understand how it will look for the investigation if it’s thought we are having a liaison. But I won’t stay away forever.”

“When that time comes, no doubt we’ll argue again,” Fellows said.

“Do plan on it.” Louisa turned from him, snatching up the hat she’d left on a side table. “When I hear someone else has been found to be the culprit, I’ll seek you out again. I doubt you’ll send me word, so I won’t wait for it.” She dropped the photograph into her pocket, thrust the hat onto her head, and turned to the mirror to stab two hatpins through the hat's crown.

Fellows watched her, mesmerized, as Louisa turned back to him, the hat perfectly in place. She gave him a last glare then marched past him and out the door without a good-bye. Despite her words, the slam of the door behind her spoke of finality.

Fellows spent the next two days frantically going over his notes, questioning those he felt should be reexamined, including Mrs. Leigh-Waters and the interesting reason Hargate had blackmailed her. She’d had an affair a dozen years ago, the notebook said. The affair had ended, Mrs. Leigh-Waters told Fellows tearfully. The gentleman in question had married and gone to live in Boston with his American wife, and they never corresponded. But her husband had never learned of it.

Hargate had somehow found out and decided to torment her about it. Hargate had found out many things about many people. He’d used the leverage over them to obtain money, favors, positions, and his bishopric.

Any number of people might have wanted to kill Hargate, yes, Fellows thought in frustration. But only one of them had figured out how to put the poison into the right teacup.

By Monday morning, Fellows had not uncovered who. At least, not with enough evidence to convince Chief Superintendent Kenton.

Fellows was ordered to take the train to Newmarket. A police van drove him to King’s Cross station, a constable making sure he boarded. Kenton, understanding Fellows’ desperation, said he wouldn’t officially assign Inspector Harrison to the case until Fellows returned. Fellows would have until after the races to come up with an answer. But he had to go to Newmarket.

When Fellows arrived in Newmarket, the entire Mackenzie brood already there, the horse-mad aristos of England were abuzz with the latest gossip. The Honorable Gilbert Franklin had proposed to Lady Louisa Scranton, and wedding bells were sure to ring before midsummer.