“But . . . to cut off a man’s head?”
Sebastian stared out the bowed window at a street filled with stout matrons and City merchants and all the usual bustle of a London morning. But he wasn’t seeing any of it. He was seeing another time, another place. “It happens in battle,” he said. “More often than you might think. It’s as if the act of killing taps into something primitive within us—a deep and powerful rage that finds expression in the mutilation of a dead enemy.”
“You think that’s what we’re dealing with here? Rage? But . . . over what?”
“I still don’t know. But I suspect that rage was directed at Preston and Sterling, whereas Toop . . . Toop was killed simply out of concern he might have seen something.”
“What a disturbing thought.” Lovejoy sat for a moment in silence. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve had some of the lads interviewing the regular patrons at the Monster, as you suggested. They located a solicitor who was seated at a table near Henry Austen when Preston came into the tavern last Sunday night. He says the way Preston was yelling made it virtually impossible not to hear everything that was said.”
“And?”
“It seems that, amongst other threats, Preston swore he was going to withdraw his funds from Austen’s bank.”
“Did Preston bank with Austen?”
“He did. Indeed, his deposits were quite substantial. And here’s another interesting thing: Dr. Douglas Sterling was also a subscriber.”
“What does Henry Austen say about all this?”
“He claims his bank is strong enough to withstand the defection of a dozen such subscribers.”
“Is it?”
“Who can say? But this doesn’t look good for him. It doesn’t look good at all.”
Sebastian found Henry Austen coming out of a small brick chapel tucked away off Brompton Row. This was a part of Hans Town as yet unspoiled by London’s creeping sprawl, where budding chestnut trees swayed gently in the breeze and vast fields of market gardens stretched away to the east. The day had dawned gloriously warm, with the sky a rare, clear blue and the air fresh with the promise of spring.
Sebastian paused his curricle across from the chapel, the brim of his hat tipped against the strengthening sun, and watched Henry Austen walk out the chapel door, eyes blinking against the sudden fierceness of the light. His gaze focused on Sebastian and he momentarily froze before turning to speak to the two women who accompanied him: his sister Jane and their friend, Miss Anne Preston.
Jane Austen looked up, smiled, and nodded to Sebastian. Anne Preston stared at him, but she did not smile or acknowledge him in any way.
“That younger gentry mort don’t appear to like ye overly much,” observed Tom from his perch at the rear of the curricle.
“She doesn’t, does she?” agreed Sebastian.
Leaving the two women to walk on alone, Henry Austen crossed the street toward Sebastian, then drew up while still some feet away. “How did you find me?”
“Your clerk told me you were helping Miss Preston finalize the details of her father’s funeral.”
Austen nodded, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “I know why you’re here.”
“I figured you would. Climb up. Tom will get down and wait for us.”
Austen hesitated a moment, then leapt into the high seat as Tom scrambled down.
“I won’t be long,” Sebastian told the tiger, and gave his horses the office to start.
“Fine pair,” said Austen, his gaze on the chestnuts’ sun-warmed hides as they bowled up the lane toward Fulham.
“They were bred on my estate down in Hampshire.”
Austen turned his head to look at Sebastian. “I take it you find my failure to tell you of Preston’s threat to my bank suspicious.”
“Should I?”
“Bow Street does.”
“Perhaps that’s because they don’t understand the important part that confidence plays in the stability of a bank. I’m not surprised you chose to keep it quiet. Or as quiet as you could after Preston shouted his intentions in a crowded tavern.”
When Austen remained silent, Sebastian said, “Could your bank have withstood Preston’s withdrawal? And before you answer, l should warn you that I have the resources to verify your answer.”
“Then why bother to ask?” snapped the banker.
Sebastian kept his attention on the road.
After a moment, Austen said, “Yes, the bank is solid, damn you. Preston was a large investor; I won’t deny that. But not by any means the largest.”
“Do you think he would have carried through on his threat?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. He was always flying off the handle and saying wild things, only to later calm down and reconsider.”
“And Douglas Sterling? Would he have followed his old friend’s lead and also removed his funds from your bank?”
Austen looked genuinely surprised. “Sterling? Of course not. Why would he?”