The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie hp-6 Read online

  Mortimer flashed an uncomfortable glance at the constable and magistrate. “Sutton,” he said, barely audible.

  Daniel’s day brightened. “You mean Edward Sutton? Are you a fool? Or just fond of pain?”

  “It’s none of your business,” Mortimer said angrily. “It has to do with America, and is between Mr. Sutton and myself.”

  Now even the constable looked amused. No constable would dare march to the house of Edward Sutton in Park Lane and tell him to release poor Mr. Mortimer from his debt, which was likely an illegal one. The solicitor, likewise, was pretending he didn’t hear this part of the conversation.

  “Figure the price for the house, and then knock off seven thousand from that,” Daniel said. “Give me your note of hand to Sutton, and I’ll run round and pay it for you.”

  Mortimer stared in astonishment. “What the devil? Why would you do that?”

  “In return, you’ll promise to abandon any chase of Mademoiselle Violette and leave her to her fate.”

  Mortimer bristled. “But she—”

  Daniel held up his hand. “I buy the house, I pay off Sutton for you, and in return, you leave Mademoiselle Violette alone. The price of assuaging your pride is this house plus me settling your debt. Take it, or I can tell Sutton about this lovely abode you have. I’ll guess he’d take it in lieu. Of course, he wouldn’t give you the money to make up the price of it, and your family might have something to say about that. What a right mess. I’m your best bet.”

  The solicitor cleared his throat again. They did that, solicitors, gave a dry cough that preceded sage advice. They must learn it when they apprenticed—morning lessons featuring precise throat clearing.

  “Mr. Mackenzie’s offer is good, Mr. Mortimer,” the solicitor said. “One that will save you much trouble in the end.”

  Mortimer’s indecision was comical. He so much wanted to lay his hands on the Bastiens to satisfy the bully in him, but likewise he wanted the threat of Edward Sutton out of his life. Would he lord over the weak, or keep the strong from lording over him?

  Fear won. Mortimer gave Daniel a nod. “Very well. My solicitor will draw up the agreement. My father will comply. He’s been wanting to sell the house for ages.”

  “Excellent,” Daniel said. “Thank you, constable. You can go now. No longer needed, I think.”

  The constable touched his hat and backed away, happy to be out of it. Daniel pulled a card from his coat and gave it to the suited man. “Make an appointment with my solicitor, and we’ll sort this out. Meanwhile, I’m off to pay a call on Mr. Sutton.”

  “Hum,” Mortimer said, eyes glittering in dislike. “Don’t play fast and loose with me, Mackenzie.”

  “I said I’d pay your note, and I will,” Daniel said, taking up the hat he’d left on the hall table. “Sutton won’t be interested in you once he’s been paid, so he won’t send more men after you. The one he sent last night works for me now, anyway.”

  Daniel liked the worry in Mortimer’s eyes. Daniel was effectively taking Sutton’s place on the bully scale, and Mortimer, in his way of thinking, now had to placate Daniel.

  Whatever he liked. Daniel had no more interest in Mortimer. As long as the man stayed away from Violette, all was well.

  Daniel left the house and walked back to his hired carriage, whistling.

  Daniel’s errand to Edward Sutton in his Park Lane house didn’t take long. In sharp contrast to the overloaded parlor at Mortimer’s house, the study in which Sutton received Daniel was the epitome of plain elegance. In evidence were the clean lines of the new Arts and Crafts style—everything fashioned by artisans, nothing factory made. Priceless paintings from around the world hung on the walls.

  Sutton, a thin, spare man with graying hair and eyes that saw too much, was happy to receive five thousand for Mortimer’s debt and tear up the note.

  “Thank you,” Sutton said, his voice as dry as Mortimer’s solicitor’s. “I dislike Fenton Mortimer and was tired of dealing with him. Serves me right for giving him the money in the first place. And you say you’ve stolen the man I sent after him?”

  Daniel shrugged, pretending he didn’t notice the other bone-breakers Sutton had stationed around the room. “I need a man, and I like one who’s good with his fists. I lead an adventurous life.”

  “You will if you entice good servants out from under the noses of men like me.” Sutton’s cold eyes pinned Daniel. “But I’ll surrender him with good grace, since you’ve paid Mortimer’s debt. Some advice, Mr. Mackenzie. Don’t be so hasty to do good services for men like Mortimer. They’ll come back for more.”

  “Not in this case,” Daniel said. “And as I said, I had my reasons.”

  “To do with a woman, no doubt,” Sutton said, his voice even drier. “I see it in your eyes. An even more foolish motivation, Mr. Mackenzie. But you come from a family of fools. They were formidable until they went soft.”

  “But they’re happy, Mr. Sutton. My uncles are so much easier to live with now that they’re family men.”

  “If you say so. Go after your woman, Mr. Mackenzie. And if you ever need a favor—not about a woman—feel free to come to me. I prefer to deal with honorable men.”

  Daniel agreed to keep it in mind, but he made no promises. Sutton was the kind of man to twist a favor into lifelong servitude. Even Uncle Hart wasn’t as cold-blooded as Edward Sutton.

  Daniel entered his carriage again, but when the coachman asked where he wanted to go, Daniel had to debate. What now?

  If he wanted to find Violette, Daniel had resources at hand. Hart Mackenzie, the Duke of Kilmorgan, had a network to rival that of the best police force in Europe. But Hart, as head of the Mackenzie family, would demand to know why Daniel wanted to find the Bastiens, would want every detail, and wouldn’t help until he was satisfied with Daniel’s explanation. Or he’d refuse point-blank. Even if Hart did help, his assistance always came with a price. If Sutton was a cunning man, Hart Mackenzie was the very devil. Who knew what he’d ask from Daniel in return?

  Then there was Chief Inspector Fellows, another uncle, who was as tenacious in pursuit of his prey as any of the Mackenzies. Fellows could uncover Violette Bastien’s whereabouts faster than Hart if he wanted to.

  The trouble was, Fellows was a stickler for the law. The Bastiens were frauds, they’d absconded without paying rent after tearing up the house, not to mention Violette swatting Daniel over the head and leaving him in the street. Fellows would find Violette all right, then arrest her and her mother and turn them over to the magistrates.

  No, Fellows must be kept clear of Daniel’s problems. Daniel’s uncle Mac would ask as many questions as Hart, and Cameron, Daniel’s father, would as well. Cameron would be livid to learn anyone had hurt Daniel, and not be sympathetic to Mademoiselle Violette’s plight.

  The only member of the family who could be discretion itself was Ian—Ian never talked to anyone about anything if he could help it.

  The trick with Uncle Ian was persuading him to be interested. Once Ian found a puzzle intriguing, nothing and no one could stop him solving it. On the other hand, if Ian decided he had no interest in the problem, it would cease to exist for him, and no amount of persuasion would convince him otherwise.

  A risk, but one Daniel would take. He shouted to the coachman to drive him to Belgrave Square.

  Chapter 6

  The handsome house in which Daniel’s uncle Ian, aunt Beth, and their three young children lived belonged to Beth. She’d inherited it in a trust from a woman for whom she’d been a companion, and the trust did not obligate her to hand the deed over to her husband.

  Not that Ian cared one way or another—the man had little use for sumptuous houses or piles of money. Uncle Ian could fish for a week in the wilds of Scotland, sleeping on the ground rolled in his kilt. He’d be as content living in a hovel with his wife and wee ones as he was in this monstrosity of elegance.

  “Afternoon, Ames,” Daniel said to the stolid, middle-aged butler, who had rep
laced the butler Beth had inherited when she’d finally persuaded the elderly man to retire. “My uncle about?”

  “Yes, sir. In the lower study, sir. I believe he’s practicing . . . mathematics.”

  The butler intoned this as though relating that Ian was busy casting magic spells. But then, when Ian went at his maths problems, he might as well be doing magic for all anyone else understood. While Daniel used his love of mathematics to build things and tinker with the real world, Ian descended into a world of theory where only the sharpest minds could follow.

  Disturbing Ian while he was working an equation . . . That was tricky.

  Fortunately, Daniel had secret weapons at his disposal. He thanked Ames and went, not to the study, but up the stairs to the nursery.

  He walked into the sunny room at the top of the house to find three children in the middle of lessons with their rather prudish governess, Miss Barnett. Hart had tried to engage Miss Barnett, one of the most sought-after governesses in England, for his own children, but the lady had preferred the quiet of Ian’s house to the constant whirl of Hart’s. Hart had gone into one of his ducal furies, but Ian, of course, had won the battle. Ian generally did.

  Ian and Beth had three children: Jamie, the oldest, going on nine; Belle, between the ages of seven and eight; and Megan, about to turn six. They each had dark hair highlighted with red and fine blue eyes. They all were spoiled rotten by their father.

  Ian was proud that his children had not turned out like him, with his strange focuses and difficulties. His children were normal, he’d boast. Beth argued with him about his definition of normal, but Ian was so pleased with his children that he won all those arguments too.

  The governess was not happy that Daniel walked in without announcement or permission, but his three cousins were.

  “Danny!” Megan hopped from her seat and ran at him, throwing her arms around his legs. “We haven’t seen you in ages. Will you take me riding in your motorcar?”

  “Me too,” Jamie said. “I have to go if Megan does.”

  “When it’s finished.” Daniel lifted Megan, reflecting that the youngest of Ian’s daughters grew every time he turned around. Beth would have something to say about Daniel taking her children out in the machine he was building, but he’d leave that discussion for later. “Now then, lad and lasses, how about a visit to your father?”

  “Mr. Mackenzie,” Miss Barnett broke in. “I really cannot have you interrupting lessons. Master Jamie will be entering school soon.”

  “And then he’ll have more lessons than he can take.” Daniel winked at Jamie. “Trust me, lad. Live while ye can.” He turned his most winsome smile on Miss Barnett, along with the innocent look that had served him well when he’d been Jamie’s age. “Surely you could spare them an hour to take tea to their poor papa?”

  Miss Barnett’s eyes narrowed, the lady not fooled. “Half an hour,” she said. “And only because it is nearly time for their morning walk. They may give up part of that to visit with their father.”

  “Hooray!” Jamie wasted no time slapping his book closed and running out of the room.

  Megan held on to Daniel as he carried her out, pleased to get away with a little truancy. Belle was the only one who looked unhappy, closing her books and stacking them with reluctance.

  “Miss Barnett is right,” Belle said as she caught up to them on the landing. “One should keep to a timetable, if one is to learn as much as one can and succeed in school.”

  “One should, should one?” Jamie said. “Ye sound like a bloody schoolmarm. I don’t need to go off to school anyway. I’m going to be a jockey. Uncle Cameron says I have the gift for riding.”

  That was true. Daniel’s father Cameron had mentioned time and again what a natural seat Jamie had, and that the lad could be a champion rider if he chose. Beth was not terribly delighted with this news, hoping her son would be more interested in pursuits of the mind than the dangerous sport of horse racing.

  “Jockeying is not for the faint of heart,” Daniel said. “Jockeys get hurt quite a lot, and sometimes can’t race anymore after.”

  “I’ve fallen off horses lots of times,” Jamie said, undaunted. “Big ones. Broke my arm once, remember?” He held up the appendage, which looked perfectly straight and whole now. “Mama was upset, but I’m resilient. Like you, Danny.”

  Daniel didn’t answer. Ingratiating himself with Ian meant ingratiating himself with Beth, so any encouragement of Jamie to dangerous sport was out.

  Belle broke in. “That’s all very well for you, Jamie. But I have to study hard to go to university, because I’m a girl.” Belle was the quiet Mackenzie who preferred reading over all other activity. Her dolls and toys were lined neatly on her shelves and rarely played with. She did ride horses, but only because others made her go out and exercise.

  “Ye won’t go to university,” Jamie scoffed. “You’ll get married. All girls do.”

  “I won’t. I don’t want a husband to tell me what to do all day. I’m going to be a doctor and cure people of dreadful diseases.”

  “Girls can’t be doctors,” Jamie said, though he sounded less certain.

  “Yes, they can. Women go study in Edinburgh now, and in Switzerland.”

  “I know, but I bet those women are really smart.”

  Belle gave her brother a look of vast disgust, stuck her nose in the air, and swept past him. Megan hugged Daniel and said, “I want to get married when I grow up, and have lots of babies.”

  Megan liked babies. She was trying to persuade her mother to have more of them. A baby brother, Megan said, would be so much better than an older brother. Older brothers were bossy.

  “I’m sure you will, pet,” Daniel said. “A cute thing like you will have lots of men wanting to be your husband.”

  Even as he said it, Daniel felt a surge of protectiveness. Megan was a pretty child, and in ten or twelve years, gentlemen would be flocking around her. They had just better be the right ones and treat Megan as though she were a queen, or Daniel would have something to say about it.

  Megan kissed Daniel’s cheek. “I’ll marry you, Danny. Aunt Isabella says it’s common for cousins to marry.”

  “Nah,” Jamie said. “If you breed horses too close to the bloodline, the foals start being weak or having something wrong with them. Same with people. We need fresh stock.”

  “Horses aren’t the same as people,” Megan said, confused.

  Daniel bounced her in his arms. “A bit of advice, lass. Never say those words to your uncle Cameron. His horses and his children are all the same to him. Now then, let’s be getting on with talking to your da. It’s important.”

  The little procession went down the stairs, Jamie first, Daniel carrying Megan, and Belle bringing up the rear. Belle repeated stoutly that she would be a doctor and prove her brother was an idiot.

  Daniel tapped on the study door before he opened it, but he knew Ian would have heard them coming. His offspring had not learned the lesson that children should be seen and not heard. Thank God.

  Ian pushed aside his papers when the four came through the door, and rose to his feet. The three children cried, “Papa!” as though they hadn’t seen him for months instead of the few hours since breakfast.

  Megan, Belle, and Jamie ran at him with open arms. Ian swept up the younger two, sat down on his desk chair, and dragged a second chair over for Jamie, who now considered himself too grown up to sit on laps.

  Ian Mackenzie, the youngest of the Duke of Kilmorgan’s brothers, was a large man with auburn hair and whiskey-colored eyes. Those eyes could either hold keen intelligence or be as blank as a bleak moor, and could shift from one to the other as quickly as Ian could blink.

  For now, Ian gazed at his children, meeting their eyes without worry. He connected fully with them, as he did with Beth, though much of the rest of the world was still somewhat remote for him. But Ian saw no reason to embrace the world when he could embrace his family instead.

  Only when Ian had kis
sed his daughters’ cheeks, ruffled his son’s hair, and listened to them tell him incoherently about their lessons did he lift his head and deign to notice Daniel standing in wait. Ian gave Daniel a nod over the dark heads of his daughters.

  “Hello, Uncle Ian.” Daniel gave him a fond grin. “I wondered if you could help me find someone. A mother and daughter who disappeared in the night. I don’t know their real names, or where they came from, whether they left London by train or coach, or whether they left at all. I need to find them, and I need to find them now. Do ye think you can help me?”

  Ian considered the question slowly, as he did everything else, his gaze going remote while he contemplated.

  He looked back at Daniel, a sharpness entering his eyes. “Why?”

  Daniel shrugged. “I’m intrigued. You’d like the daughter, Ian. She can make machines, and I’d like her help making mine.”

  Ian watched Daniel in silence again, pinning Daniel with his gaze, something he rarely did with anyone but Beth and his children. Whatever thoughts ran behind those eyes, Ian gave no sign.

  Finally Ian looked away then back down at Megan, kissing the top of her head. He glanced back at Daniel, but didn’t focus on him again.

  “Yes,” Ian said.

  Chapter 7

  “Why do I have to be the countess?” Celine asked, pushing out her lower lip. “I still do not understand why you insisted we leave London, Violet. I’m not well.”

  “I know, Mama. I’m sorry.”

  Violet gazed out the window of their small boardinghouse flat, two floors above the street. Flaking plaster, exposed walls, and crooked shutters looked picturesque in this French seaside town, but the reality was cold and damp rooms with wind coming through cracks around the windows.

  Though many people wintered in the cities of southern France, good for Violet’s trade, they did not come because it was terribly warm. About ten degrees warmer than England, yes, but hardly the tropics. Warmth was found farther south, in Italy and the Greek isles beyond.