Garden of Lies(20)

“He’ll probably follow the same pattern as the rest of his sort. Spend a few hours at his club playing cards and drinking and then go off to visit his mistress or a whorehouse. It’ll be dawn before he goes home, which means we won’t get any sleep tonight.”

“It might be useful to discover the address of his mistress or his favorite brothel, assuming he has one or the other.”

“They all do,” Griffith said with world-weary wisdom. “They marry a respectable lady for her family connections or her fortune or both and get themselves an heir. But there’s always a mistress on the side.”

That was, Slater thought, an excellent summary of his father’s lifestyle. Edward Roxton had married twice before he succeeded in fulfilling his responsibilities to the family name and the title but throughout the decades he had never given up the liaison with Lilly. As far as Slater could tell, his parents had, in their own fashion, been devoted to each other. He had no idea how his father’s first wife had felt about the situation. He had never met the woman, although, as a boy, he had seen her occasionally from a distance. Like other ladies of her station, she had pretended to be unaware of her husband’s other life. For his part, Edward had gone out of his way to keep Lilly and Slater in a separate sphere.

Edward’s second wife, however, was a very different matter. Judith had been remarkably clear-headed about the marriage. She’d had her own reasons for wedding a man several decades older than herself. It had been a business bargain for both parties and each had fulfilled the terms of the agreement.

Slater watched the door of the club open. An elegantly dressed man emerged from the front hall and paused at the top of the steps. For a moment his aquiline profile was visible in the glary light.

“There’s Fulbrook,” Slater said. “Prepare to follow him and make damned sure he doesn’t notice us.”

“He won’t pay any attention to us,” Griffith said. “It’s just one more cab in a fogbound night. Doubt if he’ll even look back. Why would he? Not like any of his associates will care that he’s off to visit a woman.”

“Nevertheless, I think it best to be cautious. Fulbrook will know that I have not frequented this club since my return to London. If he were to see me in the vicinity tonight, he might think it odd, especially after having made it obvious that I have taken a personal interest in his wife’s new secretary—always assuming he is aware of Mrs. Kern.”

“You think he knows that we collected Mrs. Kern from the Fulbrook residence earlier today?” Griffith asked.

“Someone watched Mrs. Kern leave the house,” Slater said.

Fulbrook came to a halt at the bottom of the steps and contemplated the row of cabs waiting in the street. He did not select the first in line. Instead he chose a hansom seemingly at random and went up the narrow steps. He disappeared into the deep shadows of the small cab.

“Bloody hell,” Griffith grumbled. He shook the reins, rousing the horse into a light trot. “I wasn’t expecting that. Most take the cab at the front of the line.”

“Most men of Fulbrook’s station prefer their own carriages.”

“A hansom is faster.”

“And so much more anonymous,” Slater said. “Interesting.”

They followed Fulbrook’s cab into the thickening fog. As they progressed through the streets the neighborhood changed. The houses and parks grew larger and more imposing.

“If he’s got a mistress in this neighborhood he’s keeping her in fine style,” Griffith remarked.

“I doubt very much that he’s got a woman stashed in one of these big houses,” Slater said. “More likely he’s headed to the home of a friend.”

“Damned late and a far way to travel just to have a brandy with a friend,” Griffith said.

“Depends on the friend.”

Fulbrook’s hansom came to a halt in front of a grand mansion. It was impossible to see much of the big house or the gardens because of the high brick wall that enclosed the grounds. Iron gates barred the drive.

A man with a shielded lantern appeared from the shadows of a small shelter adjacent to the gate. He angled the light into the close confines of the Fulbrook cab. A few words were exchanged. Evidently satisfied, the guard opened the gates and waved the hansom through.

“This is close enough, Griffith,” Slater said. “I do not think the guard will pay any attention to us if we remain where we are and keep the lamps turned down. I’d prefer not to attract his attention.”

Griffith brought the vehicle to a halt.

Fulbrook’s hansom disappeared through the gate. The guard allowed another carriage to depart and then he closed the gates. He had to open them again when a new vehicle arrived.

“There is a great deal of coming and going,” Slater said. “Fulbrook’s friend appears to be entertaining tonight.” He jumped down from the cab. “I’m going to take a look around.”

“D’ye think that’s wise?” Griffith asked uneasily.

“I believe it’s what detectives do,” Slater said.

“It’s also the sort of thing that burglars do and they tend to get arrested.”

“It’s only incompetent housebreakers who get arrested, Griffith.”

Slater removed his spectacles and folded them neatly into the pocket of his coat. His eyesight was excellent. The eyeglasses were nothing more than a veil—not unlike the one that Ursula wore. People saw the spectacles—they did not see the eyes. In the years since Fever Island he had found the small disguise very useful in his work. For some strange reason people tended to discount the possibility that a man wearing spectacles might prove dangerous.