Nicholas protested that he wouldn't dream of stealing someone else's adventure. "Now," he said when they were settled, "let's recap. Judith believes that her husband made no money from his poetry. I assume that means you never saw his account books."
"No, of course not," said Judith. "He gave me money for the household expenses, and that was all I knew except that he had an adequate income from his family."
"What happened to this income when he died?"
"It stopped. That was why I was in such straits. The only money I had was an allowance from Timothy Rossiter. Why would he give me that money if he wished me ill?"
"How did the allowance come about?" asked Nicholas.
"When I found myself virtually penniless, I wrote to ask if Sebastian's income could be continued. His reply was that it was an annuity that had died with him, but that he could provide a small income. I had the feeling the money was not easy for him to find. I sent a note to him once I was in London, to say it was no longer necessary. To Clarges Street. Is that a poor address?"
Nicholas and Leander shared a look. "My dear," said Leander, "it's one of the best addresses in London."
"But when he visited me, he looked quite poor," Judith protested. She gave an account of Timothy's call.
"'One may smile, and smile, and be a villain,' " quoted Nicholas. "Hamlet again. Could Timothy have known that the children had seen the play?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Judith. "At the theater, I thought I saw Sebastian's ghost. It gave me quite a turn."
Nicholas said, "I imagine it would—"
But Eleanor interjected. "You still have not discovered any reason for this, you know. It may all be moonshine."
"My practical wife," said Nicholas. "Very well. What happened to the rights to your husband's poetry, and any income there from?"
"There was no income," said Judith. "As to rights, my father handled all the legal dealings. I do know that all such things were left to Bastian. I assumed it meant the copies of his books that we had—one of each. There seemed nothing else. Except, his papers. They contain his rejected efforts, and the poems he was working on. Mister Browne was very interested in them, but I denied they existed. I had no mind to pay him another hundred guineas for another issue." She then had to explain to the Delaneys about the cordovan-covered books.
Eleanor interjected, "But the copies I've seen are cloth-bound, as must have been the case. I think we even have one here." She hurried off.
Leander asked, "Who inherits these rights if Bastian dies?" He answered himself. "I'll go odds, it's Timothy."
"And I'll go odds," said Nicholas, "those rights are worth a great deed."
"Enough to kill for?" protested Judith. "I would swear that Sebastian never made money from his work."
Eleanor came back with a slim red volume. As she said, it was simply, but elegantly bound in cloth, like the ones Sebastian had given to the servants. On the spine it said, Heavenly Gifts, by Sebastian Rossiter.
Judith flicked the pages. "The one containing 'My Angel Bride.' I don't understand."
Nicholas slid down in his chair to gaze thoughtfully at the ceiling. "What if," he said, "your husband's work was wildly popular. It's not surprising that you would not know, living quietly in the country. Leander and I have been mostly abroad, and Eleanor lived a restricted life before our marriage. It is quite possible that we would not know about this, though it's interesting that Eleanor had heard of Rossiter."
"So had Sir Stephen," said Judith.
"So had Beth and Lucien," said Leander. "Heavens, Luce could even quote a bit of it, but I put that down to Rossiter being their local lion."
Nicholas straightened in his chair, a bright light in his eyes. "Eleanor, ring for Mrs. Patterson. Our housekeeper," he explained to Leander and Judith, "and a great one for the more sentimental type of literature."
The woman bustled in, thin and bright eyed. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Mrs. Patterson," said Eleanor, "have you heard of a poet called Sebastian Rossiter?"
"Heard of him!" the woman exclaimed. "Why, ma'am, he is my favorite of all. I've bought all his books. 'Twere such a tragedy he died. I wasn't myself for weeks. I did wonder... Are Master Bastian and Miss Rosie related to him?"
"They are his children."
Mrs. Patterson clasped her hands to her breast. "Oh, goodness! 'Two cherubs sent from high to bless our home./Love's perfect form before us... '"
Judith felt very embarrassed.
"And do you know many others who like his poetry?" Eleanor asked.
"Everyone," the woman stated. "I was just quoting to them in the kitchen. 'Oh Christmas, time of love and light./ Of diamond stars in sable night. Lovely poem, that is."
"Thank you, Mrs. Patterson."
The woman left, muttering, "His children... Here... Oh, my...!"
"Do you mean," asked Judith in a daze, "that Sebastian made a lot of money, and I never realized? But what did he do with it? We lived a very simple life, and he rarely left Mayfield, even to go as far as Guildford."
Before anyone could comment, she added, "And besides, since his death the money should have been coming to Bastian. My father is his trustee, and I assure you he would have told me if there was money available, even if it couldn't be touched. It would surely have paid for Bastian's education, at least."
Leander and Nicholas shared a glance. "I think it more likely," said Leander, "that Sebastian was duped by his brother. You said Timothy was acting as his agent, negotiating with the London printer. I suspect Timothy Rossiter managed to keep all the profits for himself. It was remarkably greedy, or foolish, however, to have Sebastian pay for his special gift editions."
Judith gaped. "You mean he has been taking money, even as I struggled to survive! And he sent me that miserly allowance in such a way that I felt grovelingly grateful? The rogue!"
"Please," said Nicholas, "not rogue. Around here, that is an honorable name. I do look forward to meeting the gentleman, though. I wonder if our people have found any trace of him?"
Leander surged to his feet. "Damnation, what a low specimen. And he adds to it by hunting down an innocent lad. No doubt he fears to have his thievery exposed. Of course!" he said suddenly to Judith. "Your visiting the printer must have scared him to death. Not only were you no longer trapped down in the country where you'd never realize the state of affairs, but you were elevated to a position of power. He must have called on you to see if you had any suspicions. When reassured, he moved smartly on to disposing of Bastian, at which point the rights to the poetry would become his, and he'd have a chance of concealing the past." He looked fiercely at Nicholas. "This one's mine."
Nicholas shrugged. "If you insist. But I claim some rights. He chose to get up to mischief on my territory."
Chapter 19
There was a knock at the door, and a groom entered in stocking feet, still rosy from the outdoors. "We've got him, sir," he said to Nicholas. "Couldn't go far in this mist and dark, and racked up at the Fiddler in Hope Norton. Davy stayed there to be sure he didn't move, but there's little chance, for it's bad out, and he's not what you'd call a hardy man."
When the groom had gone, Nicholas looked around. "What now? Much though I'd like to beat him to a bloody pulp, it may not be wise. What do you want, Judith?"
Judith was shocked by it all. "I'm not fierce, I'm afraid. I just want to be sure he doesn't hurt my children again."
"Do I not get a say?" asked Leander sharply.
"Of course," said Nicholas.
"I want him to suffer. We'd have trouble making anything of his attempts on Bastian's life, but his embezzlement should be easy to prove."
"But Leander," said Judith. "I'm not sure I care to have such a case brought to trial. It would create a stir, and perhaps reflect badly on Sebastian and the children."
She thought Leander would overrule her, but after a taut pause, he said, "Fine. Then we'll take back everything he's stolen. My guess is that will leave him penniless. Then we'll ship him off
to some place far from home, to sink or swim as best he can. For such a paltry specimen, that might be suffering enough."
Nicholas looked around. "Seems appropriate. Are we all in agreement? So be it. I see no point in going out in this treacherous weather, though, since we have him trapped. We'll deal with the wretch in the morning, then escort him to London to finish the business."
"But Nicholas," Eleanor protested. "It's only ten days to Christmas!"
"Don't worry. We'll be back, and the villain will be safely disposed of. We'll all celebrate easier for that. As for Christmas," he said, looking at Judith and Leander, "it seems the Temple is not ready for you, so why don't you join us here?"
Judith and Leander shared a look, and Judith answered. "Thank you, but we would like to spend our first Christmas at our home, however makeshift it will be. Leander's Aunt Lucy is arranging for servants, and if the provisions are low, I have my own Christmas baking. There will be cake, and mince pies, and," she added with a teasing smile, "elderberry wine."
Leander rolled his eyes. "I could order provisions from London."
"Not to arrive by Christmas, I fear," Judith pointed out.
"Very well," said Leander with an artificial sigh, "I leave Christmas to you."
Shortly after, they went up to their room, peeping in to check on the children first.
Once in bed, Leander drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. "It's been a chaotic marriage so far, hasn't it? I'll make it up to you."
"It's not your fault," Judith said, but sleepily. The last few days had left her exhausted.
"I consider it my job to make you happy, Judith. I will."
Judith wanted to make a suitable reply, but sleep stole her voice and sucked her down.
* * *
"When she woke, Leander was already gone, his side of the bed cold. She hurried downstairs to breakfast and found she was the slugabed. It was nearly ten o'clock and everyone else had breakfasted. Nicholas and Leander had already left, but Leander had spoken to Bastian, who already seemed to be putting his strange adventure behind him.
"Papa Leander's going take care of that man for good," he said with pride and relish.
"I think Papa Leander's ever so brave," said Rosie. "He climbed that big tree."
"I climbed that big tree, too," said Bastian.
"But it's harder for old people."
Judith bit her lip and hoped Leander never heard that. She sent the children off to play.
"You don't think Leander and Nicholas are in any danger?" Judith asked Eleanor anxiously.
"I doubt it. Your Timothy Rossiter doesn't seem to be a very bold character when it comes to facing grown men, and they can handle themselves well. They have both been in far more hazardous situations."
She entertained Judith with some stories of the Rogues, including a little matter of breaking and entering a few months past. Judith couldn't help thinking it would be a good idea to keep Leander out of contact with his friends, but then she knew it would be as impossible as keeping her divorced from her family.
That reminded her that Leander did now have a family of his own, and the beginning of a comfortable relationship with them. They would surely all get together over Christmas, as families should, gathered around a table at the Temple.
Christmas at the Temple, she thought, hope rising in her breast. She could do it, and she would.
* * *
Leander and Nicholas left early and arrived at the Fiddler Inn when the place was barely stirring. Davy, the groom, greeted them with the news that their quarry had showed no sign of life as yet.
Nicholas turned to Leander. "Do you want to take charge?"
Leander's jaw flexed, but he said, "Better not I'd kill him on sight."
"You can if you want," said Nicholas calmly.
Leander looked at Nicholas, startled. "Have you ever killed anyone in cold blood?"
"In cold blood? I recall being angry... But yes, I have. There are some people who cannot be let live. However, I doubt Timothy Rossiter is quite that dangerous."
"No, you're probably right." Leander sighed. "Pity."
Nicholas laughed. "Bloodthirsty, aren't you? A family will do that to you. Speaking of cold, I think we might as well await our friend over coffee." He led the way into the inn.
They took a small parlor, and ordered coffee. Direct questions revealed that the only other guest was a gentleman calling himself Mr. Swithin, who had ordered breakfast in his room at eight o'clock. Nicholas checked his watch. "Ten minutes."
Leander took a sip of coffee, but then leapt to his feet to roam the room. "Why don't we go up now?"
"Disturb the man before he's dressed? Lee, where have your perfect manners gone?"
Leander let out a sharp laugh. "God, Nicholas. I've missed you."
Nicholas smiled. "We had good times, didn't we? And so damned innocent."
"But back then we thought we truly were imps from hell."
"And so we were, but since then some of us have visited hell in very truth. I like your Bastian. A promising Rogue. I like your wife and daughter, too."
"Yes," said Leander, and realized he was smiling. He glanced rather self-consciously at Nicholas.
Nicholas said, "There's no need to be embarrassed about loving them, you know."
"Love?"
"A strange affliction, that makes other human beings essential to one's happiness."
"Ah, that love." Leander looked down to his coffee. "I am very fond of them of course..."
"But you could watch them walk out of your life tomorrow without any great concern."
Leander looked up sharply. "Judith's my wife. She's not going anywhere." Then he groaned. "Hell, have I gone and fallen in love with her?"
"I would say so. It presents a problem?"
"You could say that." Leander made a fist and beat once on the table. "She's still in love with the wonderful, romantic Sebastian Rossiter. I only persuaded her to marry me by assuring her that I'd not bother her with sentimental nonsense." He raked his hand through his hair. "How am I to hide it from her?"
Nicholas shook his head. "I doubt it's possible."
"I'll not embarrass her with it."
Nicholas knew a great deal about Leander's family but he only said, "It's a problem that will keep. Let's first deal with Hamlet's ghost."
They walked into Timothy Rossiter's room without knocking. Though they had pistols with them, they did not have weapon in hand, for this villain seemed unlikely to pose such a threat.
Indeed, he rose to his feet, startled but unaggressive. "Gentlemen? This is a private room." He was still in a dressing robe over shirt and breeches. It was a fine, expensive velvet robe. In fact, every one of his possessions appeared to be of top quality, though the man himself was weak of chin and chest.
Nicholas sat opposite him at his breakfast table. Leander closed the door and leant against it. Rossiter's weak eyes flickered between them.
Nicholas said, "My name is Nicholas Delaney, of Redoaks, a house nearby. The other gentlemen is the Earl of Charrington."
Rossiter's puffy face blanched, but he blustered. "So? I do not know you."
Leander smiled icily. "You called at my house not many days past."
"You have the wrong man. My name is Swithin."
"Ah," said Nicholas. "You follow your Bible, sir, wherein it says that a good name is rather to be chosen than riches. Pity you were not so wise before. Sit down."
Rossiter gaped but obeyed.
Nicholas rose and went to Rossiter's valise. Despite a feeble protest, he opened it and extracted a blond wig. He dangled it before his prisoner. "Rejoice. Your nephew Bastian is alive and well and so we don't have to kill you. But Bastian would prosper better with his rightful inheritance, don't you think?"
Rossiter struggled to his feet again, mouth working. "I... I will call for help!"
Leander lunged over and hauled him to his toes with a strangling hand in his cravat. He shook him like a rat. "Call, and we'll p
rosecute for attempted murder, you shit sack."
Nicholas allowed a moment or two before saying, "Lee."
Leander reluctantly relaxed his fingers, and dropped Rossiter to choke in his chair, then brushed his hands distastefully.
"You're mad," Rossiter gasped, clutching his throat.
"Cease," said Nicholas with a sigh. "Timothy Rossiter, have no doubt we could convict you of attempting the life of your nephew, Bastian, on three occasions. It's certain that we can prove that you have been defrauding your brother, his widow, and his heir. A visit to Mister Algernon Browne should inform us as to the amount earned by Sebastian Rossiter's poetry over the years."
Rossiter's face collapsed into a confession of his guilt. "I never wanted to hurt the boy," he whimpered. "It's just... It's all right for you," he spat sullenly. "Born to riches. Idle wastrels..."
Leander snarled at him, and he hunched back in his chair, pallid as a corpse except for the terror in his eyes.
"We're not going to kill you," said Nicholas with disgust. "You're not worth the effort I'll even stop the earl from beating you to a pulp if you do precisely as we say."
The bulging eyes fixed on him in feint hope.
"We are going to London," Nicholas informed him. "There we will check the accounts, and every penny will be returned. If there is not enough money—and I fear you have been living extravagantly, sir—then all you have must go against your debts."
"But..."
"But how are you to live?" asked Nicholas, almost kindly. "I fear you'll have to work. As Horace said, 'Life grants nothing to we mortals without hard work.' Time you learned that, isn't it? And in view of your unfortunate plotting, your labor will have to be well away from your brother's family. You are going to travel, Mister Rossiter. You may choose the destination—Canada, the United States, South America perhaps, or the West Indies. Perhaps you would care for the East Indies? Many opportunities to make a fortune there. Or even Australia. A few people are choosing to go there without the force of law. So much cheap labor."
Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Page 27