Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

Mrs Crockett’s penetrating stare proved more terrifying than her rants and curses. “You gave him twenty pounds?” she said in a low, steady voice. “Twenty pounds? Twenty bloody pounds!”

While the young woman pleaded with her grandmother, tried to explain that she had put the money back when she’d sold the ring to buy new gowns, Beatrice attempted to understand Mr Babington’s need for funds.

Failing to come to any conclusion, she glanced at Dante, shrugged and mouthed, “Why?”

“It’s about the game.” Dante drew her aside and dropped his voice to a whisper while the two women continued their verbal tussle behind the counter. “Babington liked dicing with danger. He liked manipulating people. No doubt he kept the receipt because he found it amusing that he’d earned twenty pounds from a woman of little means.”

“That’s so cruel.”

“There are as many wicked men in Bloomsbury as there are in the rookeries. But Babington’s evil streak is the reason a man murdered him in the street.”

Mrs Crockett’s high-pitched screech caught their attention. “Box? What box?”

“The box George gave me for safekeeping.”

“You totty-headed ninny. It’s probably full of stolen rings. What’s the odds he was settin’ you up to take the fall?”

Dante cleared his throat. “Under the circumstances, if Babington left a box here, we will have to take it with us and submit it as evidence.”

Mrs Crockett wagged a wrinkled finger. “I ain’t no fool. What’s to say you won’t take the box, fill it with stolen goods and blame my Jane? The magistrate will want to hang someone for the crime, make no mistake.”

“We will open the box here,” Beatrice said, trying to bring an element of calm to the situation. “We will record the contents and sign our names to the document. Then there can be no errors, no false accusations.”

After a moment of contemplation, and sensing her back was to the wal

l, Mrs Crockett demanded Jane fetch the box.

“She’s a foolish girl, sir, but there ain’t no crime in that.”

Dante’s countenance softened. “I’m happy to testify she knew nothing of Babington’s misdeeds, though she will need to make a statement at Bow Street.”

“And I can arrange to sit with her while she does,” Beatrice added.

“You may trust Miss Sands will ensure Jane is treated fairly.” Dante fixed Beatrice with an admiring gaze while speaking to the pawnbroker. “She is honest to a fault and strives to save those who find themselves scrambling in the darkness.”

Mrs Crockett’s mocking grin showed her rotten teeth to advantage. “Happen you would say that seein’ as you’re in love with her.”

The comment caused Beatrice to catch her breath, but Dante looked as if he’d had the wind knocked out of his sails.

“People round ’ere trust no one,” Mrs Crockett continued. “You’re just another nabob out for his own ends.”

Jane returned, cradling a small metal box as if it were a babe. She shook it—the faint rustle proving Babington hadn’t filled it with stolen jewels—and set it down on the counter.

“Where’s the key?” Beatrice asked, but knew full well Babington had kept it.

“We don’t need a key.” Dante reached into his coat pocket, removed the length of wire and the strange implement he’d used to break into Babington’s desk drawer, and fiddled about in the keyhole.

Mrs Crockett tutted. “See. Crooks. The lot of ’em.”

It took Dante seconds to open the box. They all craned their necks to peer at the contents. Beatrice knew the significance as soon as she laid eyes on the folded paper.

“Letters!” Mrs Crockett complained. “That’s it! Letters! Though I suppose I should be grateful I’m not lookin’ at a pile of robbed rubies.”

Dante removed the letters and read them quickly. “They’re the letters Babington stole from one of his victims. Find me some paper and an ink pot, Mrs Crockett, and I’ll sign to say that’s the evidence we’ve removed from your property today.”

Mrs Crockett seemed keen to be rid of them. Like a sprightly young miss, she hurried to the back room and returned with quill and ink.

Dante took the paper Jane found under the counter and wrote a brief note about the evidence presented. With the absence of pounce, Mrs Crockett blew gently on the document, hitting them with the stench of her stale breath.