Sick of Shadows - M. C. Beaton [48]
“What do we say to Rose?” asked Lady Polly.
“I think you will find out that your daughter knew of Peter’s tastes.”
“What?”
“I do not for a moment think she believed that men actually had sexual intercourse—”
“Lady present,” growled the earl.
“But that she thought their love was platonic. She craved an arranged marriage.”
“Why?”
“Because she does not want to be shipped off to India. If you threaten her with that, she will find someone else.”
The earl mopped his brow.
“And I thought you were the worst thing that could have happened to her.”
“Thank you for the compliment. Now, leave this with me.”
Harry did not go back to his office but returned to Chelsea to ask Becket’s advice. He told his manservant about the incriminating photograph. “Do you know anything about the homosexual underworld, Becket?”
“There is that brothel in Westminster that no one is supposed to know about. Who do you suspect, sir?”
“I suspect Berrow and Banks.”
“Perhaps they hired a youth from there.”
“I am sure a place like that would give me no information whatsoever. I wonder why the police haven’t raided the place.”
“Possibly there are too many important people who visit there.”
“Where exactly is it?”
“Verney Street. I’ve heard servants gossiping about it.”
“I’ll go down tonight and watch who comes and goes. I’ll visit Petrey first.”
Harry went to Petrey’s home and knocked as arranged. Petrey himself answered the door, looking haggard.
Harry followed him in. He sat down and removed his hat. “The situation is this. Your engagement to Lady Rose stands. You will invent a dying aunt in the south of France. You will write Lady Rose a letter saying you have the leave the country immediately. I think the purpose of your entrapment was to get Lady Rose to break off your engagement. We will not give them that satisfaction right away.
“Now, give me a full description of this Jonathan Wilks.”
“He is very beautiful—young, with golden hair and large green eyes with flecks of gold. He is quite tall with a slim body. His skin is clear and without blemish. Believe me, there cannot be very many young men as beautiful as he is in London.”
“Leave it to me.”
Harry walked to Westminster that evening after the lamps had been lit. To his relief, Verney Street was short. He found a dark doorway and settled down to watch.
At first it was hard to tell which of the dark houses could be a brothel, but then, as the evening drove on, he saw a house in the middle of the street was beginning to be visited by various men who looked nervously up and down before hurrying inside. To his amazement, he recognized a major-general and then a member of Parliament. Still, he waited patiently as the evening dragged on past midnight. There was a cold nip in the air and he wished he had worn a warmer coat. The old wound in his leg was beginning to throb, and as the time approached two in the morning he was just about to give up when he saw a young man emerging from the building. Before he crammed his hat on his curls, they shone gold in the lamplight.
He started to walk briskly and Harry followed him. The youth went as far as the seedier end of Westminster and turned in at a doorway and disappeared.
Harry went up and lit a match and studied the names beside the bell-pulls.
Jonathan Wilks lived on the top floor. Goodness, thought Harry, he even used his own name.
He took out a set of lock picks and got to work on the outside door until he was able to enter.
He walked silently up the stairs to the top. The name “Wilks” was there, pencilled on the peeling wall beside the door.
Harry knocked. “Who is it?” he heard him call.
Taking a gamble, Harry shouted, “Banks!”
The door swung open. Harry shoved Jonathan backwards into his flat. The young man stumbled and fell on the floor. Harry pulled him up by the lapels and thrust him into an armchair.
“Now,” he said, “before I ruin that pretty face of yours for life, you will tell me who paid you to entrap Sir Peter Petrey.”
“I don