“Mr Trent.” She hammered again for good measure. “Mr Trent.”
Did he say he would visit Queen Square before returning to Jaunay’s? She could not recall.
The click of a key turning in the lock sent her stomach somersaulting. A door opened, but not that of number eight.
“Miss Vale? Is everything all right?” Miss Trimble stepped out of room ten. She wore a simple yet elegant day dress in cobalt blue. “I heard a commotion. Would you care to come inside?”
Verity shook her head and tried to calm her breathing. “Forgive the disturbance. I arranged to meet Mr Trent. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
The lady frowned at the mere mention of Mr Trent’s name. “Men of a certain character can be unreliable. Trust me. I have met more than my share of scoundrels. Won’t you come in and I can send for tea?”
“As I explained last night. Mr Trent is an honourable gentleman.” Verity’s sharp reply took Miss Trimble by surprise. “There is no need for concern.”
“Then why is he not here at the appointed time?”
The comment roused another bout of panic. Perhaps she should send Sleeth to check the offices in Queen Square. “He has simply been delayed. Please accept my apology for troubling you.”
Verity did not wait for a reply but hurried downstairs to blurt instructions to Sleeth.
“You’re to go to Queen Square and see if you can locate Mr Trent.” She gasped a breath. “Failing that, visit Mr Cavanagh and Mr Wycliff and verify if both men accompanied him on his visit to Mr Layton.”
“But Mr Trent wouldn’t—”
“Don’t argue, Sleeth. Your master’s life may depend upon it.” She thrust out her arm and stabbed her finger at the opposite side of the square. “Go, before I climb up there and command the reins myself.”
Love made one slightly insane, she decided, as the disgruntled coachman flicked the reins and set out on his journey. She stood on the pavement and watched the carriage circle the square before disappearing right into Bear Street.
Taking a moment to gather her composure, Verity glanced up at the hotel’s facade to find Miss Trimble peering out of the window. Upon being caught snooping, the lady beckoned Verity upstairs. Perhaps she should take tea with Miss Trimble. Persuade her as to the merits of Mr Trent’s character. Explain about the investigation. After all, it would soon become public knowledge, and she had to do something to settle her heart while she waited.
It was then that another carriage stopped outside the hotel. If the occupants hoped for a room, they had better look elsewhere. Mr Trent had advised the hotel that he would take every one that became available.
“Mrs Beckford.” The sound of her fictitious name captured her attention. She turned to see that the occupant of the vehicle had pulled down the window. “Mrs Beckford,” the gentleman repeated. “May I speak to you for a moment?”
Mr Layton?
Her vision blurred momentarily, but she blinked and noted it was Mr Bradley hunched in the seat, not the Brethren blackguard.
Relief coursed through her.
She stepped forward. “Mr Bradley. Good day, sir. What brings you to Jaunay’s?”
The gentleman inclined his already lolling head. “I called at Mr Trent’s house in Manchester Square and was told I might find him here. I thought it my duty to mention something I discovered when reading through my brother’s papers.”
Excellent. Perhaps he had found the evidence they needed.
“Might you call later, sir? Mr Trent is out at present.” The urge to press the man for information burned hot in her veins. “Or perhaps I can relay a message upon his return.”
Mr Bradley paused. “I believe Mr Layton is a man with devilish intentions, madam. As my brother’s trusted friend, I have every reason to believe he betrayed him.”
She could not argue with his assessment. “Sir, the man makes a habit of it. I suspect he betrayed his good friend Mr Wincote, too.”
Mr Bradley shuffled in his seat, winced as if in some discomfort. He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped the sheen from his brow. “Forgive me. Carriage travel often proves painful for a man with my condition.”
Pity filled her chest. “Would you care to come inside and take tea, sir?” Perhaps Miss Trimble might like to join them, and they could talk about books. “I’m assured Mr Trent will return soon.”
He shook his head. “I have business out of town that cannot wait. Have Mr Trent call upon me next week, and I shall show him the documents then.” He held up a pile of bound letters, tatty around the edges. “I’d leave them for his attention but would rather explain the events surrounding my brother’s murder.”
The last word sent her heart racing.