Read Online One Touch of Scandal by Liz Carlyle - Free Book Online Page B

said.
    â€œI shall see to that.” Ruthveyn spoke for the first time. He extracted his purse and peeled off a pile of banknotes, then pushed them across the table to Pinkie. “Here. This should take care of it.”
    Pinkie’s left eye narrowed to a squint. “Oh, aye, you rich bastards fink you can buy ol’ Pinkie orf anytime yer please,” he said. “That pile’d fetch threescore o’ fine cambric stranglers. What d’ ye really want, Ruthveyn?”
    Ruthveyn smiled faintly. “Let me be blunt, then.”
    â€œYer ain’t never been known for yer pretty conversation,” Pinkie returned.
    Ruthveyn and Bessett exchanged glances. “There was a murder done Wednesday night in Belgravia,” said Ruthveyn, tapping the tip of one finger pensively on the tabletop. “I want to know the word round Town.”
    Still gripping the beef, Pinkie grunted. “Cove by name o’ Holding,” he said, eyeing Ruthveyn warily. “And ’e’s dead, ain’t ’e? I’d say that’s the word.”
    Ruthveyn peeled off another banknote. “I want to know if it was robbery,” he said, tossing it onto the pile with two fingers. “I want to know if a window or door was damaged. I want to know if anything was stolen. And I want the fence’s name. In short, Pinkie, I want to know everything the underworld knows. Do I make myself plain?”
    The doorman licked his lips, hesitated, then gave half a head shake. “Don’t waste the rest o’ yer blunt, gov,” he said, plucking a banknote from the pile. “This tenner’ll do for me trouble today.”
    â€œWhat are you suggesting?” Ruthveyn’s voice was dangerously soft.
    Pinkie’s squint narrowed. “That it weren’t no cracksman wot done Holding. That’s Johnnie Rucker’s turf. ’E’d know if somefink got pinched. ’E’d make it ’is business ter know—an’ ’e’d tell me. ”
    â€œAnd he did not?”
    â€œSaid ’e didn’t know noffink about it,” Pinkie said confidently. “Besides, Johnnie don’t tol’rate that sort o’ violence. Rumor is one o’ the servants did ’im in.”
    â€œWhich one of the servants?” Bessett interjected.
    Pinkie shrugged. “The governess, per’aps,” he said. “Fancied ’erself in love wiv Holding—an’ a Frog, too, for all that.” Here he eyed Belkadi nastily. “Temperamental creatures, them Frogs, I always ’eard.”
    Belkadi merely smiled. “Pick a slur, Ringgold, and stick to it, won’t you?”
    Ruthveyn ignored him and pushed the pile of banknotes back at Pinkie. “Make sure of all this,” he gritted. “Talk to Quartermaine, and see what he can discover. Talk to Rucker again. Spread the word to every fence in London. Whatever was stolen, I’ll pay twice what it is worth, no questions asked.”
    â€œWeren’t noffink stole,” Pinkie warned.
    â€œSo you say.”
    After a moment’s hesitation, Pinkie slapped the beefsteak back on the plate with a clatter, then swept up the money. “It’s your blunt, gov’nor,” he said, rising.
    Ruthveyn extracted his pocket watch. “I’ll be at Quartermaine’s tonight round eleven,” he said, checking it. “You’ll have a report for me then.” It was not a request.
    â€œHa!” said Pinkie dubiously. “Come have a toss wiv us, will yer? Quartermaine won’t like that a bit.”
    Ruthveyn flicked a dark gaze up at him. “I do not gamble,” he said softly. “Not with money. Tell me, Pinkie, who’s been assigned this business down at the Yard?”
    At this, Pinkie grinned, peeling back his lips to reveal a set of yellowing canines that would have done a wolf proud. “Now that’d be yer good friend Royden,” he said. “Royden