Garden of Lies(40)

Hurley dismissed the man with the glasses immediately. It was the giant who worried him. He started to move to the side of the walkway, giving the big man and his associate some room.

The one with the spectacles spoke.

“Good evening, Hurley. I was told I might find you outside this hell tonight. I don’t believe we’ve met. Slater Roxton.”

Hurley froze. He’d been drinking for most of the night and his mind was somewhat fuzzy. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. So this was Roxton.

Hurley experienced a surge of relief. The bastard did not appear either mad or dangerous. He looked like a scholar. Nothing like his father, at all. The big man was evidently a servant.

“What the devil do you want, Roxton?” Hurley asked.

“I came here tonight to say farewell to you,” Slater said.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You will be leaving on a ship bound for Australia early tomorrow morning. Your passage is paid. One way. You will not be returning. Mr. Griffith, here, has your ticket. He will see you safely to your lodgings tonight and assist you with your packing. Once I receive word that you are actually in Australia, I will send you a small financial stake to help you get started in your new life. After that you will be on your own.”

“You really are mad,” Hurley said. “I’m not leaving London.”

“The choice to go or stay is yours, of course.”

“Damned right it is.”

“I would point out that, while your creditors have some interest in keeping you alive, at least as long as they believe that you might be able to get some money out of the Roxton estate, I have no such interest. Indeed, I find you a great inconvenience.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, Hurley, I am giving you my solemn promise that if you are not on that ship to Australia tomorrow morning you will not have to concern yourself with the payment of your outstanding debts. You will have . . . other problems.”

“You bastard. That money should have been mine. I’m Judith’s father. I have every right to control the income from the Roxton estate.”

“My father left strict instructions in his will. You are not to receive a penny from the estate. Therefore, I am using my own money to finance your passage to Australia. One way or another you will disappear from all our lives tomorrow, Hurley. If you do not board that ship in the morning they will pull your body out of the river tomorrow night.”

Hurley struggled for words. “No. No.”

Slater looked at the giant. “Mr. Griffith, please see Mr. Hurley to his residence and stay with him until he boards the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” Griffith said.

“You can’t do this,” Hurley yelped. “You really are mad.”

Slater removed his glasses with a world-weary motion of one hand and looked at Hurley. He did not speak. There was no need. In that moment Hurley knew that of the two devils, this was the one he feared the most.

Slater put on his glasses, turned and walked away into the night.





NINETEEN




He took a hansom back to Ursula’s house because Griffith needed the carriage to transport Hurley and his trunks to the docks.

She was where she had promised to be, watching the street from an upstairs window. A candle set on the windowsill burned low. There was just enough light to show him that Ursula was wearing a wrapper. Her hair was in a single braid that hung down over one shoulder.

At the sight of her the remnants of the cold, battle-ready tension inside him were instantly transformed into another kind of readiness—the sort that burned. The fierce need caught him by surprise.

He got down from the cab, intending to go up the front steps. She would open the door for him and he would carry her upstairs to bed.

But Ursula opened the window and leaned out.

“You are all right?” she demanded.

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Excellent. In that case, good night, sir.”

She closed the window with a bang and drew the blinds shut.

The message could not have been more clear.

Stifling a groan, Slater got back into the hansom.





TWENTY




The following morning Ursula got out of a cab, paid the driver and walked briskly through the fog. From time to time she glanced down at the address she had transcribed from Anne’s stenography notes. The cab driver had been very helpful but she was starting to wonder if he had made a mistake. Stiggs Lane appeared to be fronted by largely abandoned, boarded-up buildings. The livery stable one street away was the only active business in the vicinity.

But just as she was about to turn around she saw the sign over Number 5. Rosemont’s Perfumes and Soaps.

The shop was hardly inviting. In spite of the shadows and the damp fog, there was no welcoming light behind the dark, grimy windows. The adjacent buildings were empty. The unmistakable scents of the livery stable in the next street drifted on the damp air. All in all, it was an odd location for a perfume and soap business, Ursula thought.

She stopped in front of the door and checked the address she had deciphered in Anne’s notebook. There was no mistake. She took a closer look at the handful of items on display in the front window. There was a small scattering of porcelain and glass perfume bottles, each one decorated with roses. The design was identical to the one on the empty perfume bottle that she had found in Anne’s house. Everything in the window was shrouded with a thick film of dust.