Gorgeous As Sin

Chapter 15

IN A BETTER temper than he’d been on his previous visit, Fitz waited his turn in Hutchinson’s elegantly appointed reception room. Offered his choice of beverages by a solicitous clerk, he’d barely had time to finish his brandy when Hutchinson appeared in the doorway.

“A pleasure to see you again, Your Grace, and opportune. One of our agents just sent in some interesting information.”

“Excellent.” Fitz came to his feet. “Because Mrs. St. Vincent remains as obstinate as ever.”

“You’ve spoken to her again?” Hutchinson inquired.

“Yes.” He didn’t say when. As the men walked from the room, he said instead, “She’s determined to stay.”

“Women are less rational in their decision making. An observation based on considerable experience,” the barrister added with a lifted brow. “Very few women are motivated exclusively by money.”

Fitz smiled. “In contrast to men.”

“Indeed. After you, Your Grace.” Hutchinson waved Fitz into his office.

While Fitz took a seat, Hutchinson flipped through a mass of papers on his desk. “Ah, here it is,” he said, dropping into his chair. “Pernell’s report.” Sitting down, he quickly perused it. “Yes, there it is-Dilmore Jones. He’s an unsavory fellow, a gambling cohort of Edward St. Vincent.” Hutchinson looked up. “Men of Jones’s stamp are always willing to disclose what they know if the right sum of money is involved.”

Fitz leaned forward slightly. “What exactly does he know?”

“It seems Edward St. Vincent supplemented his poetry income with something less inspirational. He wrote erotica.”

Fitz smiled. “You don’t say-a favorite poet of the Queen’s writing risquй stories. Is there proof? More important, did his wife know about his sub-rosa activities?”

“As a matter of fact, we do have proof. Jones sold Pernell three of St. Vincent’s books. As for his wife being complicitous, we don’t yet know.”

“The publishers might know. With the books in hand you have their names or at least a clue to their identities.” Publishers of erotica were often fly-by-night operations with transient names and addresses that allowed them to stay one step ahead of the law. It was an era of boundless vices, public virtue, and epic hypocrisy.

Hutchinson nodded. “The publishers were obviously using pseudonyms, but the addresses were real-for sales reasons, I presume. Pernell already interviewed a Mr. Edding, who naturally denies any knowledge of either St. Vincent or his work.”

“So now what?”

“We keep the man under surveillance. As you might know, the obscenity laws are an indiscriminate hodgepodge, sometimes enforced, generally ignored. But occasionally-in extenuating circumstances-raids are made on such publishers… for the public good.”

“What if it were suspected that St. Vincent’s work was being harbored-say, at his former residence.” Fitz smiled faintly. “Might a raid be arranged.”

After a moment of consideration, Hutchinson said, “After talking to the right people, calling in a few favors, it could be done.” He raised a finger. “A word of warning, however. We would need to know whether such books exist before authorizing a raid. There is danger of incurring a lawsuit for defamation or breaking and entering should nothing be found.”

“Then her premises must be searched first. You have people who could do that?”

“Certainly. In her absence, of course. We can’t afford witnesses.”

Fitz frowned. “That could be a problem. She lives above the store.”

“Surely she goes out on occasion.”

“She must-yes, I’m sure she does,” Fitz replied, thinking of Rosalind’s friendship with Sofia. “As far as I know she doesn’t have hired help, so her socializing would be confined to the evenings.”

“We’ll put the store under surveillance and wait for an opportunity. We’ll also monitor the publisher. The threat of a prison term makes people like him vulnerable to pressure,” Hutchinson noted. “By the by, I sent one of my barristers north to speak to Mrs. St. Vincent’s parents. I thought if her family understood the sum she’d realize by selling the shop, they might influence her decision.”

Fitz rested back in his chair and smiled. “You are ever efficient.”

“The matter’s well in hand, Your Grace. Knowing what we know about St. Vincent’s supplementary activities strengthens our hand immeasurably. Should his erotica writings come to light, his wife’s options will be severely limited. England is not like the Continent, Your Grace. Our obscenity laws are not as lax.”

“If all goes well, perhaps we could start building in a fortnight,” Fitz murmured, eminently satisfied with the state of the investigation.

Hutchinson relaxed against his chair back as well, confident and at ease. “I can almost guarantee it, sir. Would you like a fresh brandy? I might have a wee dram myself to celebrate.”