“I only knew of the mark when the coroner asked that I identify his body. But Joseph mentioned the Brethren in the days before his death.”
“And you do not know how he came to be a member of this club?” Verity asked.
The gentleman stared absently at the oppressive wallpaper before releasing a weary sigh. “Joseph ran with a wild crowd. Men who lack principles. Powerful men who do not deserve the name with which they were born.”
Mr Trent sat forward. “Do you know the names of these men?”
Mr Bradley waved his hand casually in the air. “Knowledge is power, Mr Trent, do not let anyone tell you otherwise. But a loose tongue can bring the devil’s wrath down on anyone’s head. I prefer to keep to my books and leave the wicked to bring about their own downfall.”
“If we all adopted such an attitude,” Mr Trent began in an unforgiving tone, “the immoral and insane would rule the world. You may not seek vengeance for your kin, but I will have justice for mine.”
Mr Bradley’s head bobbed. The poor man’s neck took the strain where his spine lacked the strength. Pity hung like a dead weight in Verity’s chest. Was it pride that prevented him from sitting down and easing his obvious discomfort? He was a reasonably handsome man. Were it not for his disability and his obsession with books, Mr Bradley might have a host of female admirers vying for his attention.
“Let me give you the names of the men I wish to question,” Mr Trent continued, having no fear as to the repercussions should the men learn they had made the list of suspects. “Duffen. Wincote. Sellwood. Layton.”
Mr Bradley took a moment to absorb the information before snorting. “All of those men have the capability to commit crimes. As the good Lord says, all of those men shall one day reap what they sow, but it shall not be by my hand.”
“Then let it be by mine.”
Perhaps Mr Trent enjoyed the power that came from winning a fight. He certainly seemed keen to draw his sword and charge into battle.
“I’m sure you’re capable of defending your position if called to a dawn appointment for slander, Mr Trent.” Mr Bradley’s gaze flitted back to his book. Was it shame for his misgivings that stopped him from making eye contact? “One with my affliction cannot possibly aim straight.”
Mr Bradley seemed intent on keeping his lips sealed. But Verity would learn something useful from this meeting.
“Sir, did your brother share a friendship with any of the men mentioned?” Verity came to her feet and crossed the room to stand before the hunched gentleman. He appeared less fragile up close. Indeed, disdain for the world, not a lack of self-assurance, flashed briefly in his eyes. “As a man of logic, can you not advise us as to the best place to start an investigation?”
The gentleman’s stare brought a lump to Verity’s throat. The need to breathe easier left her inhaling a few deep, dusty breaths. She turned her head and coughed.
“You spin me a tale of murder and then ask me to sign your death warrant.” Mr Bradley turned away and resumed his study of the open volume on the desk. “Vengeance is for fools. But you are determined to bring the devil to your door, and so I shall tell you that Joseph kept company with Lord Layton’s son.”
Verity’s gaze shot to Mr Trent, whose arresting green eyes gave nothing away. Was he not pleased with this snippet of information?
“John Layton?” Mr Trent attempted to confirm.
Mr Bradley picked up his magnifying glass and bent over the page. “Good day, Mr Trent. Mrs Beckford. May God bless you in your endeavour.” With one ring of the brass handbell on the desk, the door to the library swung open, and the butler appeared to escort them to the door.
Mr Trent remained silent as they stepped out onto South Audley Street. He captured Verity’s hand as if he had every right to do so and placed it in the crook of his arm. There was something protective about the action. So much so, she couldn’t help but glance nervously over her shoulder and scour the quiet street.
“Well, was that not the strangest man you have ever met?” Verity said as Mr Trent opened the carriage door and dropped the steps to assist her ascent.
Mr Trent failed to reply. He instructed Sleeth that he wished to make a call in Bruton Street before returning to Jaunay’s Hotel. As he dropped into the seat, the carriage rocked on its axis. When he slammed the door shut, she noticed the muscles in his shoulders bulged with tension.
“Are you going to tell me what dark thoughts occupy your mind?” Something troubled him. “Mr Layton is a known scoundrel, is
he not?”
“John Layton has ruined many an innocent maiden,” he replied in his usual candid manner. “Every muscle in my body tells me he is the one who attacked you that night.”
Why did he have to mention muscles in his body?
Verity shook her head, trying to focus on the conversation. This mild obsession she had for the man reared at the most inopportune moments. “We would be wise not to jump to conclusions. Mr Bradley knew far more about his brother’s death than he was willing to impart.”
“Agreed.” Mr Trent removed his hat and placed it on the seat. He drew his hand through his mop of dark hair, distracting her mind once again. “Did he seem nervous to you? I cannot decide whether it pains him to sit down or whether he believed standing gave him an advantage.”
“Maybe he suffers from embarrassment rather than nerves.” Why else would he focus on his work and not give them his undivided attention? “I am surprised he agreed to speak to us.”
“Had I gone alone, Bradley would have refused to see me for fear I might be one of the Brethren.”