“No. It’s something else.” She had never been blind to her cousin’s shortcomings, but his failings stretched to gambling and bedding married women, not kidnap and murder. “Sebastian may have been a selfish cad, but he was not an imbecile.”
“I need to visit Layton, but we’ll be tied up with this business for hours. Once we’ve given our statements, they’ll send a constable to Layton’s house, and then we’ve no hope of discovering the truth.”
“There’s every reason to believe Mr Layton murdered Mr Wincote.” The thought that he might do the same to Lawrence chilled her blood. “It’s not safe to confront him alone.”
“There’s safety in numbers. I’m certain Wycliff and Cavanagh will join me in a private interrogation.”
Verity considered all they had learned so far. They knew without a shadow of a doubt that Wincote and Layton were members of the Brethren. Now, she suspected Layton was responsible for the deaths of Joseph Bradley and Phillip Wincote.
But did he kill Sebastian Vale and Charles Farrow?
And if so, why?
Fearing they might never get the justice their kin deserved, she captured Lawrence’s hand and said, “You go. Question Mr Layton before it’s too late. Go before Sleeth returns with the constable. I shall remain here, deal with any legal matters and explain that you feared for Mr Cavanagh’s safety and will visit Queen Square this afternoon to give your statement.”
Lawrence shook his head. “I’ll not leave you here alone.”
“Mr Wincote is dead. Sleeth will stay with me and take me back to Jaunay’s where I will lock the door and await your return.” She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. “This will forever plague us if we do not discover the truth. When we’re alone tonight, I want to put the past behind us, focus on our future.”
He drew her close and kissed her fully on the mouth. “I shall send word to my housekeeper, Mrs Henderson, tell her we shall have a guest staying for the next few days.” His heated gaze slipped to her thigh. “I trust you have a weapon at your disposal. A man would know if his love has a means of protecting herself.”
His love!
Her heart skipped to a joyous beat. “Of course, though I doubt I shall need it after you’ve finished with Mr Layton.” They both stood. She reached into her satchel and gave him the pocket pistol. “Take this. You need it more than I. Promise me you will call on your friends before you visit the blackguard.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted the weapon, checked the safety catch and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat. “You have my word I shall not go alone.”
She forced a smile. “Then hurry. Be assured Sleeth will attend me, and I shall meet you at Jaunay’s.”
Chapter Eighteen
After an hour spent traipsing across town in a hackney, making enquiries as to Layton’s current address—apparently, he had moved to new lodgings a month ago—and taking a slight detour to collect Wycliff and Cavanagh, Lawrence finally arrived at the rogue’s townhouse on Curzon Street.
Both Wycliff and Cavanagh had elected to remain in the hackney coach until the butler confirmed Layton was at home. The Queen Square constables would arrive at some point soon, and Lawrence would rather they not find three men embroiled in a violent scene at the front door.
Conflicting thoughts about the night’s events had plagued Lawrence’s mind during the dash across town. If Layton had murdered Wincote, and the gentleman possessed an ounce of sense, he would have made directly to Dover. Lawrence could think of two reasons why the rogue might still be at home. Blinded by his own conceit, Layton thought himself immune to prosecution. Or he was innocent of the crime. Ignorant to the fact his friend lay dead in his bed.
Logic said Layton had to be guilty.
Who else had a motive for wanting Wincote dead? Unless the men had another accomplice, another Brethren blackguard capable of committing heinous crimes.
A sudden feeling of foreboding gnawed away at his insides.
What if someone else had been in the house in Clement’s Lane, a partner in these devilish plots? What if the butler went to rouse Layton from his bed to find him dead, too?
Lawrence hammered on the door, prayed he’d burst into the house to find Layton had fled hours ago. A murderer. A social deviant who had taken his friend’s life in a fit of rage and saved Lawrence the trouble.
Impatience saw him bang on the door with his fist.
The butler opened the door at a snail’s pace.
Did the man not know this was a matter of the utmost urgency?
“Mr Trent to see Mr Layton.” He did not bother to hide his identity. He had enough evidence on the Brethren to warrant the call, and few men in town had the same penetrating green-eyed stare. “That is a demand, not a request.”
The butler inclined his head. “Mr Layton is not at home, sir.”
Guilty!