My Lord Eternity

Page 7

Meg reluctantly turned to leave the room, stomping away in a manner that indicated that she was intending to severely chastise the caller for daring to interrupt Jocelyn.
Stepping around the desk, Jocelyn was kept waiting only a moment before the large, surprisingly young man with a smiling countenance and thatch of unruly brown curls entered the room. He appeared more an innkeeper or merchant than a dangerous Runner, and Jocelyn found her initial unease lessening as he offered a dashing bow.
"Forgive me for intruding, Miss Kingly. I am Mr. Ryan."
"Mr. Ryan." She gave a nod of her head. "I understand you are from Bow Street."
He smiled ruefully. "Alas, it is true, but please do not hold that against me. I am merely a simple chap attempting to do my poor best to make a living."
Jocelyn was swift to sense this man used his decidedly boyish charm to his full advantage. If not for the shrewd glint of intelligence in the blue eyes, it would be easy to mistake him for an easily deceived fellow.
She could only wonder how many criminals had been lured into admitting far more than they should.
"Will you have a seat?" she asked as she perched on the edge of a chair near the desk. She waited until he had settled his own large form onto a chair opposite her before continuing. "What can I do for you?"
Thankfully he came directly to the point. "I am investigating the death of Molly Chapwell."
Jocelyn lifted a hand to press it to her heart. The pain was still too fresh to be easily accepted.
"Poor Molly."
He lifted a brow at her words. "You knew she had been murdered?"
"Vicar Fallow informed me last evening." She grimaced at the memory of the small man who sent chills down her spine. "I was searching for her."
"Ah, yes." He ran a hand along his jaw in a thoughtful manner. "The vicar who discovered her body."
"He said that it was a savage attack."
Mr. Ryan's smile faded. "I won't lie to you, miss. It was as bad as I've ever seen."
Jocelyn shivered, unable to imagine anyone able to hurt the simple, kindhearted maiden, no matter whether she was a prostitute or not.
"Why? Why would someone harm Molly in such a vicious fashion?"
He paused for a moment. "To be honest, I was hoping that you could answer that question."
"Me?" she retorted in surprise.
"You did know her."
"Only from the streets." She heaved an unconscious sigh. "I attempted to convince her to leave her life as a prostitute and travel to the small property I own outside of London.
Unfortunately she would not heed my urgings. Now it is too late."
"You did not perhaps know if she was fearful of any person in particular?" he demanded.
Jocelyn briefly considered Molly's drunken husband, who had more than once left her with a black eye. He was obviously violent. And yet she could not believe he would readily dispose of his one source of income. He may have been despicable, but he was not entirely stupid.
"Not that she revealed to me," she at last conceded.
"Would she seek you out if she discovered herself in danger?"
The question caught Jocelyn off guard. Would Molly come to her if she were in need?
"I do not know. Perhaps." She gave a lift of her hands. "Why do you ask?"
"Because this was found clutched in her hand." Mr. Ryan leaned forward to press a crumbled piece of paper into Jocelyn's hand.
Startled, she glanced down to discover her name roughly scrawled across the torn sheet.
"It has my name on it," she breathed in shock, then her brows drew together in confusion.
"But..."
"What is it?"
She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his steady regard. "Molly could not read or write."
The blue eyes narrowed at her sudden exclamation. "Most astute, Miss Kingly. That was what I presumed as well."
Jocelyn could not halt a deep shudder. It had been disturbing enough to know that an acquaintance had been brutally murdered. To discover she was clutching a paper with her name upon it made the horror even greater. It suddenly seemed very personal.
"Why would she have my name on a scrap of paper?" she whispered.
Mr. Ryan regarded her somberly. "It appears that there are two possibilities. Either she was given the paper for some unknown purpose. Or..."
"What?"
"Or the paper was placed in her hand after she was murdered."
She dropped the note onto the floor, her fingers unwittingly rubbing against her skirts, as if to rid herself of the nasty sense of menace that tingled through her.
"Why? For what purpose?"
The large man grimaced. "That I cannot say."
"Dear heavens," she breathed, more disturbed than she wished to admit.
"I tell you this only because I believe you should take care, Miss Kingly. It might well be that your work among those less fortunate has made you a dangerous enemy."
With an effort she gathered her calm about her. She would not be panicked into abandoning those who depended upon her support. After all, she had been terrified when she had first taken this house so close to the stews. And even more terrified when she had first ventured into the streets at night. Whatever came along she would face squarely, not cowering behind her door.
"That is absurd," she said in crisp tones. "I do nothing more than offer hope to those who have none."
"There are always those who earn a profit from the misery of others," he pointed out with more than a hint of warning. "They would not appreciate your interference."
She could hardly argue the truth of his words. There were always people like Molly's husband. And those horrid men who sold children to brothels. She would not doubt that several cursed her name. Perhaps even desired to rid the streets of her presence.
But there were also countless others who viewed her as their rescuer from starvation or worse.
"Do not ask me to halt my efforts, Mr. Ryan," she said in low tones. "I will not."
He slowly smiled, as if expecting her staunch response. "I only ask you keep in mind that there is danger in what you do. And perhaps when you are upon the streets that you notice anything peculiar."
Jocelyn rose to her feet, offering a small nod. "Very well."
Shoving himself upright, the Runner allowed his inner resolve to chase away his air of jovial goodwill.
"Do not fear," he assured her in relentless tones. "We shall soon have this monster in Newgate."
She did not doubt for a moment that this man would be tireless in his search for the killer.
Unlike most, he did not sneer when he spoke of Molly, or dwell upon the fact she was a mere prostitute. Instead, there was a grim determination etched into his countenance.
"I do hope so. He should be punished for what he did to poor Molly."
"He will. Until then, please take care."
"Yes, I will."
"Then I will bid you good day." With a bow the man turned to leave the room.
Jocelyn remained standing as she considered the unexpected visit. She was determined not to over-react to the announcement that Molly was clutching her name in her hand. There could be a dozen explanations. It would be foolish to plague herself with concerns that might very well be imaginary.
All the same, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she could not deny a renegade flare of relief that Mr. Valin had forced his way into her home.
For all his rakish charm, she sensed that he would make a dangerous adversary.
And at least for the near future she would not be alone.
The hack pulled to a halt in the shadows of St. Giles. With care Lucien helped Miss Kingly to alight complete with a large basket she had insisted she bring with her. He had been rather surprised when she had made no protest at his determination to accompany her to the streets on this evening, and he could only wonder what had occurred with the Runner earlier in the day.
Obviously something had unnerved her enough to lower her pride to the point of welcoming his assistance. And while he was relieved not to endure a lengthy argument, he could not help but ponder what danger she faced.
Whatever it was, he would do well to be on his guard, he sternly assured himself, his gaze lingering on the delicate lines of her face. No matter how invincible she might consider herself, he knew that she could never be prepared for what hunted her now.
No mortal, no matter how brave or determined, could be prepared for a vampire.
As if sensing his concern but misunderstanding the cause, she regarded him with a lift of her brows.
"You are determined upon this?" she demanded.
He smiled as he firmly took her hand and placed it upon his arm. "Quite determined, my dove. I will be at your side each night you travel to the streets, and even pay for the privilege."
She gave a faint shrug, but she could not entirely disguise her relief. "'Tis your money."
"Indeed it is. And soon to be yours."
"Yes." She glanced down the darkened street. "We go down that way."
Lucien gave a nod, but before he could take a step, a familiar tingle raced down his spine. He stilled, searching through the darkness with his mind to locate the source of the malice that was nearly tangible in the air. It took a moment to locate the vampire in a nearby alley, and he reluctantly removed Miss Kingly's hand from his arm.