Page 45 of To Save a Scoundrel’s Soul

Mickey fumbled with the placket. At such close quarters, Valentin smelled unwashed, of fear and the stink of the prison. He pushed a layer of linen aside, unable to meet Valentin’s eyes as the back of his hand brushed against coarse hair and cold, cold skin.

“There is a pocket, long and thin, sewn into the inside left leg. Yes, there, under my ballocks. Inside is a half sheet of sealed foolscap, thrice folded over.”

“Ow!”

A sharp prick pierced Mickey’s fingertip. Cursing, he pulled away from the bloom of pain. “Foolscap with teeth?”

“Forgive me.” Valentin tossed him the ghost of a smile. “A silver tie pin is also concealed. And…um…three large pearls.” Fleetingly, his green eyes flashed. “Attached to a divine filigree brooch. Too tempting by far during a waltz last night with Lady Chalfont.”

Mickey tried again, delving lower until he pulled out a crumpled sheet.

“Take it,” Valentin urged. “Hide it. Do not let the guards see.”

Mickey stuffed the paper in his coat. “What shall I do with this? What is it?”

Valentin sank back in his chair, letting his eyes flutter closed. He inhaled deeply before answering. “It is the truth, mon cher.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and when Valentin opened his eyes again, they shone bright. “It is the truth about a shooting party held at the Duke of Ashington’s place in the country. Many years ago, before you and I were even born.”

“What?” Mickey blinked, his mind running in circles. “You…you know about the shooting party?”

“Ah.” Valentin nodded slowly as if things were starting to make more sense. “And you do also.” He nodded again. “After discovering you in the study last night, I deduced that you might.”

“What’s it to you?” Mickey was astounded. Things were becoming stranger by the second. “What on earth could you know about it?”

“Probably more than even Ashington himself,” Valentin ventured. “Last night, I stole that letter from Talybridge’s safe, seconds before you appeared to do your own bit of thieving. As I promised you, it was the only item in there of interest to me.”

“That’s what you were after? A letter?”

Who risked being caught with his hand in another man’s safe for a letter? And how the devil did Valentin know about the Ashington shooting party?

Valentin’s chains rattled as he rubbed a hand across his drawn, ashen face. “That damned letter is the reason I returned to England.”

“But…what…? Is the letter about the duke?”

Valentin shook his head. “There is no time to explain. But if I…if I do not make it out of here—if they hang me by the neck—then make sure that letter reaches Ashington. He’s a fine duke and a decent man. He deserves to know the truth. I trust he’ll do the right thing.”

Cold fingers of dread brushed against Mickey’s spine. Not make it out? Ashington, the letter, and whatever history with Talybridge was wrapped up in them both, could wait. Because Valentin sounded awfully like a person arranging his affairs, believing he’d never see his precious Verdille again.

“Nonsense,” Mickey declared. “You shall not be hanged because you didn’t steal the parure. And I should have believed you when you gave your word.” Mickey clutched Valentin’s icy hand between his own, hardly caring if the guard returned and saw it. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I never told you my intentions of robbing Talybridge myself. It was…it was not my secret to reveal; I was not acting alone. More than that, I’m sorry that I doubted you. But I believe you now, with all my heart. And the judges and the magistrates shall believe you too.”

Valentin shuddered again, wracked with cold. “My sweet, sweet London. How can they? I was arrested fleeing the scene of a crime.”

“But without the parure!”

Valentin gave a defeated shrug. “They shall try me on the basis that my accomplice escaped with it. They will need to show justice being served. Talybridge will demand it, more than ever when he discovers his letter has vanished, though he won’t make mention of that.” He stared at their joined hands, clasped so tightly their knuckles were white. “And even if the missing parure were to miraculously turn up, what then? The safe was opened and robbed. A key, stolen from the Chubb and Sons workshop, was found in my waistcoat, matching Talybridge’s key. What more proof is needed to show that my intentions were nefarious?”

“But…but…” Mickey ground his teeth in frustration. If only he could locate that goddamned parure. Valentin hunched forward.

“Listen, Mickey. When the sharp sword of the law comes down on me, I trust you and Ashington will see that justice is served. They may kill me, but they cannot ever truly hurt me. Not now…not now that letter is safely in your possession.”

“Do not speak like that! This is not the end! We shall find the parure, and if Talybridge doesn’t admit the theft of the letter, as you say, then we can show that you are not guilty. An open safe and you placed at the scene is no proof at all if someone else has pilfered the parure.” He recalled Tommy’s reassuring words. “You inadvertently took a wrong turn down a dark confusing passageway and ended up detouring home across a few flowerbeds. That’s all. You paused to take the air and…and to admire a drystone wall.”

Valentin chuckled, low and gravelly. “I applaud your optimism. But you and I both know that men have been hung for far less.” With a fettered, clinking hand, he rubbed tiredly at his whiskery jaw.

“You have slept?” Mickey asked, already knowing the answer. “You have eaten?”

Valentin shook his head. “Ah…no. My bedmates are…a rather interesting bunch. And far less welcome than you.” The curve of his mouth was a tense, taut line. “They have turned the threat of tearing a man limb from limb into an art form; one cannot close one’s eyes for a moment. The guards are worse still. And even starving French peasants are hard pushed to swallow what, several days ago, might just about have passed for soup and potatoes.”