His grace looked after him thoughtfully.
Chapter XXI
Rannulf looked at Judith in some exasperation. She looked vivid and gorgeous with her red hair uncovered, nothing like the almost invisible shadow she had been at Harewood. She had also been out this morning, venturing into an area of London where respectable ladies did not go, dragging Freyja with her. No, that at least was unfair. Freyja would have needed no dragging.
It had been entirely unnecessary for her to go. She knew that he was going himself to see if her brother was at home. Branwell Law had not been there, of course, and all the inquiries he and Alleyne had made at various likely places had turned up nothing useful. Several men knew Law. None of them knew where he might be.
But Bewcastle came into the room before Rannulf could rip into Freyja—since he had no real right to rip into Judith. Perhaps it was just as well. Judith would surely have witnessed a family brawl. Wulf had come to suggest in that soft, deceptively languid way of his that it might be in the interests of all concerned if the effort to find Branwell Law were redoubled.
“I have just had a fascinating visit from Mr. Effingham,” he said. “He was under the strange illusion that I harbor felonious fugitives at Bedwyn House. Since he received no satisfaction here, he will no doubt seek it elsewhere from another perceived fugitive, who has presumably not found a safe sanctuary and perhaps is even unaware that he needs to. You did not, I suppose, find Mr. Law at home this morning, Rannulf?”
Rannulf shook his head.
“Someone else is looking for him, though,” Freyja said and won for herself a long, silent stare from Wulf’s silver eyes. But Freyja was made of stern stuff. She merely stared right back and told Wulf what she and Judith had already told Rannulf and Alleyne. She added that she had bribed the information about the other visitors out of the landlord.
Wulf’s eyes, still regarding their sister, narrowed. But instead of the blistering setdown Rannulf had fully expected, Bewcastle’s next words were directed at him.
“You had better go back there, Rannulf,” he said. “I smell a proverbial rat. I’ll go with you.”
“I am coming too,” Judith said.
“Judith—”
“I am coming too.”
She gazed with stormy determination into Rannulf’s eyes, and for the first time he wondered if there were not perhaps some truth to the old cliché about redheads and tempers. All he wanted to do was sort out this mess for her so that she could be at peace, so that he could get back to the business of wooing her. And this time he would do it properly. He would make her his lady ...
“In that case,” Bewcastle said with a sigh, “Freyja had better come too. It will be a veritable family outing.”
They went in one of Bewcastle’s private carriages—a plain one that he used when he did not wish to draw attention to himself. Soon they were back at Law’s lodging house. Rannulf could see no particular point in returning there, but Wulf was in one of his incommunicable moods.
The landlord tossed his glance skyward when he opened the door to the coachman’s knock and saw them all arrayed on his doorstep.
“Lord love us,” he said. “ ‘ere we go again.”
“Quite so,” Bewcastle said, quelling the man’s impudence with a single cold glance and causing him to bob his head respectfully instead and pull at his forelock. How did Wulf do that, even to strangers? “I understand that Mr. Bran well Law is a popular young man this morning.”
“That ‘e is, sir,” the man said. “First a servant last night, then that gen’leman there with another this morning, then a different gent, then them two ladies back there. Quite a morning it ’as been.”
“And you could give none of them any information about Mr. Law?” Bewcastle asked. “About whether he has been here during the last few days? About when you last saw him?”
“I could not, sir.” The man drew himself up to his full height. “I do not give out personal information about my tenants.”
“You are to be commended,” Bewcastle said. “Some men in your position might try to make some extra money on the side by taking bribes in exchange for information.”
The landlord’s eyes slid uneasily toward Freyja and away again.
“When did you last see Branwell Law?” Bewcastle asked.
The man licked his lips. “Last night, sir,” he said, “after that servant come ‘ere. And this morning.”
“What?” Judith cried. “You said nothing about this to me this morning.”
“ ‘e come after you left, miss,” the man said.
“But you could have told me he was here last night ,” she said. “I told you he was my brother. I told you there was a family emergency.”
Bewcastle held up his hand in a slight staying gesture, and Rannulf drew Judith’s hand through his arm and settled his hand over hers. She was trembling—with rage, at a guess.
“The gentleman who called alone this morning,” Bewcastle said. “Describe him, if you will.”
“Blond hair, blue eyes,” the landlord said. His eyes had become shifty, Rannulf noted. “Short. With a limp.”
“Ah,” Wulf said. “Yes, quite so.”
It had not been Effingham, then, Rannulf thought with some disappointment. But surely he would be here soon. He was in London—he had already called at Bedwyn House.
“That is all I can tell you, sir,” the landlord said, making to close the door. Bewcastle set his cane against it.
“I suppose,” he said, “you did not admit this blond-haired, blue-eyed, short gentleman with a limp to Mr.
Law’s rooms?”
The man recoiled in shock. “Let ‘im in, sir?” he said. “When Mr. Law was from ’ome? Not me. No, indeed not.”
“I wonder,” Bewcastle said, “how much he paid you.”
The man’s eyes widened. “I do not take—”
“Ah, but you do,” Bewcastle said gently. “I will not pay you one penny. I do not deal in bribes. But I will warn you that if a felony has been committed in Branwell Law’s rooms this morning and if you took money from the felon to let him into those rooms, you are an accessory to a crime and will doubtless pay the price in one of London’s notorious jails.”
The landlord gaped at him, his eyes as round as saucers, his color suddenly pasty. “A felon?” he said.
“A felony? ‘e was a friend of Mr. Law’s. I seen ’im ‘ere before with Mr. Law.
‘e just needed to go in for a minute to get something ’e forgot last time ‘e was ’ere.“
“Then it was magnanimous of you to allow him in,” Bewcastle said while Judith’s hand tightened about Rannulf’s arm. “Unescorted, I presume? This dark-haired man?”
The landlord licked his lips and turned shifty-eyed again.
“I daresay,” Bewcastle said, “he paid you very well indeed to describe him as you did if questioned, to allow him in unescorted, and to claim that Mr. Law was here both last night and this morning?”
“Not very much,” the man mumbled after a lengthy pause.
“Then the more fool you,” Bewcastle said, sounding bored.
“You villain!” Rannulf dropped Judith’s arm and stepped forward. “I should throttle you within an inch of your life. What did he take from the rooms? Or, more important, what did he leave there?”
The landlord took one terrified step back and held up both hands.
“I din’t know ‘e were up to no good,” he said. “I swear I din’t.”
“Save the pathetic pleas for a judge,” Rannulf said. “Take us to Law’s rooms immediately.”
“I believe it might be preferable,” Wulf said, still sounding damnably unruffled, “to proceed more calmly, Rannulf. I am sure this good man has a tolerably comfortable room in which we can wait. I believe too that from this moment on he will be scrupulous in telling the exact truth to whoever asks it of him. It might save him his neck or at least years of his liberty.”