Duke of Midnight (Maiden Lane #6)(51)

The irony of having his own nemesis in his pay was not lost on Maximus.

Trevillion shifted, clasping his hands behind his back. “You may not be aware, Your Grace, that the Ghost of St. Giles broke into Bedlam last night, assaulted a guard, and effected the escape of a murderous madman.”

Ah, of course Trevillion would be interested in the matter. Maximus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers before him. “What do you propose I do about it?”

Trevillion looked at him for a long moment, his face perfectly impassive. “Nothing, Your Grace. It is my job to capture and detain the Ghost of St. Giles so that he doesn’t do further harm in St. Giles or, indeed, the rest of London.”

“And this latest event will somehow help you capture him?”

“Naturally not, Your Grace,” the captain said with grave respect. “But I find it interesting that a footpad that usually is to be seen only in the same place he is named after ventured so far east as Moorfields.”

Maximus shrugged, feigning boredom. “The Ghost has been, I believe, sighted at the opera house near Covent Garden. That is outside St. Giles.”

“But very close to St. Giles,” Trevillion replied softly. “Moorfields is clear across London. Besides, that particular Ghost retired two years ago.”

Maximus stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have made a study of the Ghost of St. Giles, Your Grace,” Trevillion said with the calmness of a man announcing that it looked like rain. “By examining the movement, actions, and minute physical dissimilarities, I have come to a conclusion. There are at least three men who play the Ghost of St. Giles.”

“How…” Maximus blinked, aware that the captain was silently watching him. The man Trevillion sought—the man who could expose Maximus’s secret—lay four floors below them at this very moment. He pulled himself together and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Quite.” Trevillion clasped his hands behind his back. “One of the Ghosts was much deadlier than the other two. He often wore a gray wig beneath his floppy hat, and he had a tendency to not worry about his own safety—more so even than the others. I believe that man retired this summer. One Ghost never killed, as far as I am aware. His hair was his own, a dark brown, and he wore it clubbed back. I have not seen him for two years. Most probably, given his occupation, he is dead. The third is still quite active. He wears a white wig and he’s ferociously adept with the sword. I consider him the original Ghost since he was the first I ever saw—on the night that the old Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children burned to the ground, he helped with the apprehension of the madwoman known as Mother Heart’s-Ease.”

Good God. For a moment Maximus could only stare at the man. He’d been the one to capture Mother Heart’s-Ease.

Fortunately Trevillion seemed to take no note of his speechlessness and was continuing. “It is my theory that it is this last Ghost—the original Ghost—who broke into Bedlam last night. The madman the Ghost liberated must be someone very important to him.”

“Or the Ghost is a madman himself.” Maximus pulled a stack of papers forward as if ready to dismiss the other man. “Again, I don’t see how this matter is of importance to me.”

“Don’t you?”

Maximus looked up sharply at the dragoon captain. “Explain.”

It was Trevillion’s turn to shrug. “I mean no offense, Your Grace. I merely observe that the Ghost appears to have much the same interests as you. He patrols St. Giles, often accosting thieves, footpads, and those engaged in the gin trade. He seems to have the same obsession with the gin trade that you yourself have.”

“He’s also rumored to be a murderer and a ravisher of women,” Maximus said drily.

“And yet just a few months ago I interviewed a woman who said the Ghost saved her from ravishment,” the dragoon captain said.

“What’s your point, Trevillion?”

“No point, Your Grace,” the captain said smoothly. “I simply seek to keep you apprised of my intentions.”

“Consider your report complete, then,” Maximus said and began thumbing through his papers. “If that is all, I have business to attend to.”

The dragoon captain bowed and limped to the door, closing it softly.

Maximus immediately dropped the papers and eyed the door. Trevillion was treading too close for his taste. The polite but pointed questions, the intelligent remarks, all led to a man near to discovering his secret.

Always supposing Trevillion didn’t already know that Maximus was the Ghost.

Maximus sighed in irritation and pushed the thought from his mind to focus on his papers, for he hadn’t lied: he did have business to attend to. His secretary had left several letters to be read and signed as well as a report on his land in Northumberland to be read and considered.

Those matters took up the rest of the morning before Philby, his secretary, arrived for further consultation. Maximus ordered luncheon brought to his study so that they could continue to work with the maps spread over the desk and floor. Craven appeared at the study door midafternoon to give a single shake of his head before disappearing again. Maximus bent over his work, trying not to brood on the man lying unconscious in his cellar below.

Supper was a makeshift meal as well, since Philby and he had run across a complicated bit pertaining to the inheritance of a tiny tract of land hardly worth the bother at all if it didn’t give access to a coal mine.