by Alec, Joyce
Thomas held his hands tightly behind his back, his fingers twining together as he saw the three men look directly at the marquess, their faces frozen in terror. He could almost feel Miss Newton’s anxiety coming through the door, knowing that this was the moment that they might find out the identity of the man behind it all.
“I wish to know who it was that gave you this money,” Lord Thurston demanded quietly. “And why.”
The three men did not move or speak for a few moments, only for the short, thin gentleman to begin to shake his head.
“I-I don’t know, my lord,” he stammered. “He never told me his name.”
“Tell me!” the marquess shouted, slamming his fist down hard on the study desk and making everyone in the room jump with fright. “I must know!”
“We don’t know, my lord,” the tall, thin man promised, his voice shaking with fright. “He never said his name to any of us. He just gave us the money and told us what to do and what to say. That’s all. I only saw him twice.”
Thomas frowned. “Twice?”
“Yes.” The third man flicked his gaze back towards Thomas, his eyes wide with fright. “He gave me some money to get me to agree, and then I was to collect the other lot after. I reckon he knew that he had to give us what he’d promised, otherwise we’d go telling folk about what he’d done.” He shrugged, dropping his head. “Not that it matters, since the fellow killed himself anyway.”
“It matters to me,” the marquess hissed, his eyes glittering. “Now if you can’t tell me his name, then you can at least tell me what he looked like.”
Thomas saw the men exchange glances.
“He was just a gentleman,” one of them said, spreading his hands. “They all look the same to me.”
“That’s not good enough,” Thomas demanded angrily. “A description. Please.”
“I don’t rightly know!” the second cried. “Tall, dark hair. That’s all I remember.”
Thomas’s frustration began to grow steadily, his hands slowly curling into fists. “Was he large or slim?” he asked, knowing deep down that such questions were not about to get them anywhere.
The third man let out a long breath. “He was much like your build, my lord,” he said unsteadily. “But not your color of eyes. That’s all I really remember. I swear.”
Thomas slumped against the wall as the marquess asked a few questions of his own before angrily dismissing the men. Miss Newton, who had been waiting outside until the men were escorted away by the butler, flew into the room and into his arms almost the moment they had gone.
“Oh, Lord Sharpe!” she exclaimed, looking up at him with tears sparkling in her eyes. “We have found the truth! I knew Francis did not do those things.”
He shook his head, unable to speak.
“We must prove that the murder was not his doing either,” Miss Newton continued, one hand pressing lightly against his chest. “How should we go about that? How shall we prove that there was another who tried to force this guilt upon him?”
“I do not know, Miss Newton.” Thomas sighed heavily, running one hand through his hair and seeing Miss Newton’s brightness fade. “You are right to say that we have discovered that your brother was not guilty of the crimes that were placed upon him, but we have no other evidence other than that. We do not know the gentleman behind it all, for those men could not describe him particularly well nor give us his name.” He saw Miss Newton’s shoulders slump, the relief in her eyes beginning to fade. “I feel as though we have hit against a hard wall and have no other place to go.”
“Surely not, Lord Sharpe,” Lord Thurston said, although Thomas was sure he heard a hint of concern in his voice. “Surely we must be able to garner something from what was said.”
Thomas shook his head, an ache beginning to form between his brows. “I do not think so,” he said softly. “I am sorry, Miss Newton. I cannot see a way forward from here. Can you?”
7
“Miss Newton!”
Julianna looked up from her reading to see the maid hurrying into the bedchamber, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Yes?” she asked, trying not to be irritated that she had been interrupted from her reading. She had only just managed to lose herself in the story, had only just managed to quiet her mind after what had been a particularly restless night. Yesterday had not gone as well as she had hoped, having been truly overwhelmed with the news that the three men had told nothing but untruths about Francis’s involvement, only to then see Lord Sharpe’s spiraling disappointment. She had thought that the three men speaking the truth would mean a good deal of progress in this whole, horrible matter, but she had soon realized that it was not so. Whilst they were able to know for certain that Francis had, indeed, been made to take the blame for crimes he had not committed, they had nowhere else to go from there. It had been more than difficult for Julianna to accept, and she had spent most of last evening and during the long hours of the night trying to think of what they might do next.
“Miss Newton, your brother has come to London.”
Julianna blinked rapidly, a little surprised to hear such news.
“The new baron!” the maid exclaimed, evidently trying to hurry Julianna towards the door. “Baron Hollard is here, and he wishes to see you.”
Julianna remained precisely where she was, a dull warning growing in her ears. She had not expected to even so much as hear from her brother during her time in London and now, apparently, he had come to London to reside in the townhouse for a time. What could this mean? And was this anything to do with the bearded gentleman’s warning that she would have to speak to her brother about there being a danger that neither of them, as yet, could see?
“Miss Newton, I do not mean to hurry you,” the maid said, looking a little embarrassed to be so forward. “But the master wishes to see you at once.”
Setting her book down, Julianna rose to her feet and hurried towards the door. “Where is he?”
“In the study, miss,” the maid replied, now sounding quite relieved that Julianna was doing as she was requested. “He did sound quite urgent.”
Julianna began to worry that there was, already, something very wrong with her brother and, with panic in her heart, hurried towards the study. She threw open the door and stepped inside, her gaze landing on the figure of her eldest brother, Jonathan.
“Goodness, Julianna!” Jonathan hurried towards her, his arms outstretched. Julianna, a little surprised at such a greeting, embraced him quickly, even more astonished when he grasped her shoulders and bent down to look into her eyes. “How are you, my dear girl? I came as soon as I could.”
Julianna did not know what her brother meant by such a greeting and simply looked back at him, more than happy to see him but also being entirely confused as to what he meant.
“You are quite broken still, I can see,” Jonathan said, with a hint of sadness touching his words. “But that will easily be mended. I can escort you back home whenever you should wish it, although I am quite sure that—”
Julianna held up one hand as her brother let go of her shoulders, silencing him. “Jonathan, dear, what is it that you are talking of?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Your wellbeing, my dear sister.”
“What of my wellbeing?”
Jonathan expression became one of surprise. “You need not pretend, my dear, that I do not know of what has occurred. I came the same day as I received your letter.”
Julianna sank into a chair, her eyes fixed on her brother. Suddenly, the warnings that had been laid upon her shoulders became all the more intense, her worry shooting up through her.
“Jonathan, I did not write to you,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I have not written to you since I first came to London.”
Jonathan, who was the tallest of all three of her brothers, folded himself into a chair with his usual graceless unease. His eyes were a little wary, looking at her with a strange sense of caution.
“You did not write me a lett
er, telling me that Lord Sharpe had jilted you and left you the laughing stock of all of London?” he asked, his voice low, his frame tense. “You did not beg me to come to your aid, because Henry has refused to do anything for you?”
She swallowed hard, a knot of anxiety settling in her stomach. “No, I did not,” she said softly. “There is nothing of that sort between myself and Lord Sharpe…not as yet, I mean.” A faint blush caressed her cheeks and being so obvious in her hopes to her elder brother, but she dashed away her sense of embarrassment and continued. “He has been nothing more than respectable and considerate, Hollard, even with our brother’s lack of concern.”
Jonathan let out a long, frustrated breath, lowering his head for a moment. “Then the writer of this letter, whomever it could be, was correct to state that Henry has not exactly been the sort of brother you require at this present time.”
Nodding, Julianna shot her brother a knowing look. “You are aware that Henry has always been rather inward looking,” she said softly. “He has become all the worse these last few weeks, I am afraid. To the point that Lord Sharpe wanted to remove me from this house and place me with Lady Thurston, my sponsor.”
Her brother closed his eyes, his jaw working hard. “I am truly sorry, Julianna,” he said gruffly. “Had I known, then I would have come to your aid.”
She shook her head. “There is no need for that, Jonathan. Lord Sharpe is more than considerate in that regard. He has ensured that I have had more engagements than ever before, so that I do not have to spend much time in Henry’s company each day.” She managed to smile at her brother, her heart twisting as she thought about how to explain to him what else had occurred. “But it does concern me that you have received this letter when I was not the one to write it.” Her breathing began to quicken, but with an effort, Julianna forced herself not to panic. “Why would someone wish you to be in London?”
Her brother frowned, chewing on his lip for a moment. “I could not say,” he said quietly, although his eyes still held the same concern and worry she had seen only a few minutes before. “Why indeed? Tell me, Julianna, has there been anything untoward that has occurred during your time in London? Can you think of any reason why someone would write to me in your hand and beg me to come to London to fetch you?” His brow furrowed all the more. “And it must be someone who knows about Henry’s lack of consideration for anyone but himself.”
Haltingly at first, Julianna began to explain what had happened ever since she had first met Lord Sharpe. She saw her brother’s eyebrows rise in astonishment when she mentioned the bearded gentleman and the strange note, but she was relieved that he did not immediately laugh it away or consider it to be nothing more than foolish. She continued on, growing in confidence as she spoke. The last things she told him were of her meeting with said gentleman in the park, followed by the news that three men who had been witnesses at Francis’s trial had confirmed to Lord Thurston that they had been paid to lie to the court. When she finished, she felt almost breathless such was her weariness, although she was glad that her brother did not mock anything she had said. Instead, he appeared to be taking it all with a good deal of seriousness, considering everything carefully.
“And you have no thought as to what this ‘danger’ might be?” Jonathan asked slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. “You do not have any inkling?”
“None,” Julianna replied heavily. “Nor can I see why this gentleman would not trust me enough to tell me everything he knows. Or even if Francis’s good name was proven to be without blemish, what good it would do.”
Her brother shrugged. “Mayhap it would give you the recognition you require from the beau monde?”
Julianna shook her head. “I do not want their approval, not in that way,” she replied honestly. “I have done very well with Lady Thurston at my side and with Lord Sharpe’s guidance.” She sat back in her chair, looking at Jonathan. “Besides which, one way or the other, I am hoping to be engaged very soon.” Her mind immediately rejected Lord Borden’s image as it floated into her thoughts, knowing that she was hoping for Lord Sharpe to admit to what she suspected he felt. Given what the marquess had said – as embarrassing as it was – Lord Sharpe had not refuted it but had actually appeared a little mortified, as though the marquess was making what Lord Sharpe truly felt obvious to Julianna.
Her brother let out a heavy sigh. “I cannot imagine why someone has brought me here then. I do not know what this supposed danger is and nor do I have the time to continue to consider it.” Letting out another frustrated sigh, he rose to his feet and began to pace up and down the study. “I have left behind an estate that needs me, simply because I thought my sister required my presence here in London. I cannot help but wonder if there is something amiss at the manor house, something that I have been taken from so that troublemakers or the like can involve themselves in what is a profitable estate.”
Julianna shook her head. “I do not think so, Jonathan. The strange gentleman insisted that the danger was something that neither of us expected nor anticipated. The manor house would not affect me, not if I was in London and you at home.”
“No, indeed,” Jonathan murmured.
“But do you believe it to be of a serious nature?” Julianna pressed, feeling that same sense of urgency settle over her. “Have you ever considered the possibility that Francis was not, as was judged, guilty of such a terrible crime as murder?”
Her brother sat back down, closed his eyes, and ran one hand through his hair, unsettling it completely. “I cannot say I have given it much thought, Julianna. It was such a difficult time and I struggled terribly to comprehend even a little of it. I have always wanted to believe that there was a terrible injustice, for I am well aware of what the courts can be like, but I suppose I have never truly allowed myself to think through why such a thing might occur and by whom. Forgive me for being blunt, Julianna, but Francis is dead and buried. You stood over that patch of earth just as I did.” His expression contorted, twisting as Jonathan struggled to keep his composure, recalling how his brother had not been allowed a churchyard burial. “There is little point in going over the matter, Julianna, regardless of what this stranger says. If you are to be married soon enough, then your name will become that of your husband’s and you need not even be associated with this wretched family.”
Julianna leaned forward. “But what of you, Jonathan? You will require a wife soon enough, will you not? Do you not think that you too may also struggle?”
His brother lowered his head into his hands. “I do not know. It is all very confusing, Julianna, and if what you say about this supposed danger is true, then I feel all the more ill at ease.”
Julianna considered for a moment, rose, and walked across the room so that she might crouch down in front of her elder brother. Looking up into his face, she saw the misery in his eyes, the confusion etched across the lines in his forehead. “I think that we must take this with great seriousness. You must be on your guard. Do not return to the estate immediately but linger for a day or two at least.”
“To what end?” he asked, frowning.
“So that I might at least speak to Lord Sharpe about it all,” Julianna suggested. “And so that, mayhap, we might find something else that could lead us to all the answers we seek.” The memory of the bearded gentleman came into her mind, making her frown. If only he had been able to trust her, to tell her the truth about who he was and his reasons for involving her so! “Although I confess that I cannot think of anything else to do, even though we know now that the three witnesses were nothing more than liars.”
Her brother sighed heavily and patted her hand, evidently reluctant to agree but doing so regardless. “I shall reside here for three days,” he said quietly. “And then return. Does that suit you?”
Julianna nodded fervently. “Yes, thank you, Jonathan.” She rose just as he did, although Jonathan walked to the brandy and poured himself a hearty measure.
“How does Henry do?” he asked, in-be
tween mouthfuls. “I did wonder if returning to London would be particularly difficult for him.”
Julianna, who had rung for a tea tray and was in the process of seating herself again, stopped just in front of her chair, her puzzled expression betraying her confusion. “Do you mean, given what happened with Francis?” she asked, slowly sitting down.
Jonathan lifted one shoulder. “Yes, and the fact that Mr. Carmichael, the fellow that was…murdered—” He gave a small shudder and took another sip of his brandy. “That fellow that was murdered was a friend of Henry’s.”
It was as if the air had been pulled from the room. Julianna swallowed twice, trying to restore some sort of life to herself as Jonathan continued to imbibe his brandy, evidently entirely unaware of Julianna’s struggles.
“Jonathan,” she gasped. “Are you saying that our brother was friends with Mr. Carmichael?”
Jonathan frowned. “I thought Henry would have mentioned it to you. It was why he was torn between Francis’s pleas for innocence and his belief that Francis was responsible for the death of his friend. I think that is why he did not attend the court proceedings.”
Julianna, who had not been allowed to attend, closed her eyes tightly, trying to make sense of it all. She remembered that at the time of Francis’s court proceedings, Jonathan had been very unwell and had asked Henry to go in his place – but Henry had refused. She had never known why until this moment.
“Henry has never said anything to me,” she whispered, slowly things beginning to slot together in her mind. “But I do not think that he cared for Francis in any way whatsoever. He has told me only recently just how much he despises all three of us.”
“Despises?” Jonathan repeated, looking astonished. “But why?”
“Something about having very little of our father’s money and that he is the third in line,” Julianna replied, her eyes darting away from Jonathan’s for a moment as she struggled to recall what had been said. “I cannot believe this nonsense about Mr. Carmichael being a friend of Henry’s.”