Page 120 of Notorious

“Keep your medical opinions to yourself. What else happened last night?”

“He was in a right ugly mood. He’d ordered his costume in advance, but they delivered the wrong one—a Roman outfit. Anyhow, he went storming off to the tailor’s shop where I’d found the costume.” Symond shook his head. “Madness. What difference could it make?”

“Let me guess—he went as a corsair.”

The valet looked arrested. “Why, yes, that’s right, sir. Did you see him? Not that his own mother would have recognized him. He even dyed his hair. Looked just like those corsair villains you see in the broadsheets.” He stopped abruptly, his eyes suddenly widening as he realized what he’d just said and to whom he’d said it.

But Gabriel was no longer listening to the man’s babbling. He released the valet’s coat and thrust him away, commencing to pace.

All he could think was that something had happened last night to have foiled Visel’s plan with Drusilla. Why else would he have injured her and taken her out to the garden? Perhaps he had planned to spirit her away? But for what? What could he possibly have planned?

Byer’s voice interrupted Gabriel’s frantic imaginings.

“Why was he leaving so late and in such a furtive manner?”

“I don’t know. I assumed he and his lady friend didn’t want to be seen hanging about together.”

Symond’s slimy expression made Gabriel’s hands twitch to strangle him. “Where was he going?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He reached for Symond’s coat again, but the man held up his hands.

“I don’t—it’s the truth. He only hired me a few months ago—at the start of the Season.”

That stopped Gabriel. “He didn’t have his own man?”

“No, he said he’d been killed—a while ago in the Peninsula—and that he’d not gotten around to replacing him.” His expression turned sullen. “He told me only last week he would not be keeping me on.”

Gabriel could understand that; Symond was not only slovenly, but he also had an unsavory air about him and it had taken very little effort to get him to turn on his master.

“What about Rowland—his cousin?”

“That one.” Symond scowled with disgust. “The master let him stay here for almost a week. What a pig.”

“Did the two spend a lot of time together?”

“Not much. They came back from some club together a few times, but I heard them arguing.” His eyes shifted between Byer and Gabriel. “It was loud; it woke me up,” he explained, although neither of them had said anything. Gabriel knew a man like Symond probably spent a good deal of his time hovering around keyholes.

“Could you hear what they were saying?”

“They were arguing about a woman and some boy.”

“What?” Gabriel took a step closer. “Tell me every single detail. Every. Single. One.”

Symond gulped, his shifty eyes filled with fear. “There wasn’t much. Rowland wanted to take some boy; he never did say who. He said taking a child was easier than taking a full-grown woman. Lord Visel said he would not countenance such a thing—that they should stick with the original plan. But they started to really row when his lordship said he would thrash Rowland if he learned he’d done anything with the boy and that he’d turn him over to the constable.”

Gabriel and Byer exchanged looks.

“And when was that?” Gabriel asked the valet.

Symond shrugged. “Less than a week ago. Not long afterward Lord Visel found out Rowland had stolen and sold some of Lord Visel’s odds and sods, like a family ring—something that had belonged to his lordship’s father.” He grimaced. “I thought I’d seen him get mad before, but that was nothing compared to this. He was in a proper taking over that ring.”

“Did he report Rowland’s thieving?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Symond said, scratching his head. “He didn’t. He smacked him around a bit—until Rowland told him where he’d pawned it—and then told him he’d find somebody else to help carry out his plan if Rowland did anything else stupid.” His mouth twisted into a derisive sneer. “Rowland actually cried and begged his forgiveness.”

“Where did he sell the ring?”