“Well...” Emilia frowned delicately. “I am not sure I would have described the men as ordinary,” she began hesitantly. “Two of them certainly were. However, the one who led them was...he was clearly a gentleman, Henry. He spoke like one, carried himself like one. He had hands that clearly had done no manual labor.”
“Well done on spotting that,” Henry said, impressed. Emilia felt a warmth in her chest.
“The man who...addressed me...in the group may not have been with them when they spoke to Harrogate, though,” she said thoughtfully.
“It could be,” Henry agreed. “And something suggests to me, as for you, these two incidents must be connected. Unknown men show up looking for your late husband, and then unidentifiable men take you from your coach and threaten you, speaking of debt Lucian owed? I think it is not coincidence.”
Emilia nodded vigorous agreement. “I think likewise.”
She lifted her teacup but felt too restless to drink. She had so much to think about, and so much to tell Evelyn when she returned home.
The coincidence was too great. What if the men had been looking for Lucian to make him pay his debts? It was not impossible. What if they had threatened her, not as his widow, but because they believed him still alive and able to be threatened through her safety?
All Emilia could be certain of was that they needed to solve this mystery – fast.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHARING THE NEWS
SHARING THE NEWS
“Evelyn..?”
Emilia was in the corridor at Chelsea house, just outside the doorway to Evelyn’s chamber on the topmost floor. She knocked hesitantly, reluctant to disturb her younger cousin.
Evelyn glanced up at her, blue eyes serene. “Yes, dear?” She put aside her pen and indicated to Evelyn to come inside. “Come! Bronson is out on business for a while, and I do like to chat with you.” She smiled warmly at Emilia, who smiled back.
“Thank you, Cousin. I, too.”
“Well, then,” Evelyn said. “I shall call the maid for some chocolate and we can drink and talk. How does that sound?”
Emilia nodded. “It sounds lovely.” Emilia nodded a little hesitantly. She was pleased to see Evelyn so ready to chat, but she was unsure how to tell her what she wanted to say. “I...I went to visit Henry this morning.”
“Oh, yes! Thank you for leaving a note for me, by the way,” Evelyn agreed. “I would have worried if you had disappeared without saying! How is your brother? I haven't seen him in ages!” The maid appeared, and she sent her on her way to the kitchen, and then turned back to Emilia.
“He is well,” Emilia smiled. “I was pleased to be able to talk. I...confided the story of my halt by the brigands on the way.”
“And?” Evelyn raised a brow. “Henry must have been horrified! As are we all, I might add.”
“He was,” Emilia agreed. “He wanted to charge off and find them and make them pay for their misdeeds...” she trailed off, smiling tenderly as she thought of her impulsive younger brother.
“I'm sure!” Evelyn agreed. “That is simply typical Henry, though...always charging into the fray.”
Emilia laughed. “Indeed. I remember him as a boy – he was always picking fights with boys twice his age.”
Evelyn chuckled. “I remember him, too. Courageous and impulsive – that's Henry. Thank you, Iva. If you could put it here, on the table so we can both reach?” she added to the maid, who had appeared with china cups of something delicious smelling. Emilia, who had barely eaten breakfast, felt her stomach churn painfully.
“That's nice. And could you bring up some of those little pastries as well?” Evelyn asked. Emilia felt pleased her cousin was so observant: she must have noticed her eyes widen at the smell. She lifted the fragrant, dark cup to her lips and drank the sweet, creamy fluid. Chocolate was something London was famous for, but was more difficult to find in her home in Yorkshire. She savored the rich, smooth flavor and they both sat in appreciative quiet for a while, sipping their beverages.
“I heard interesting news from Henry,” she began, feeling herself revive slowly. “He told me something very worrisome.”
“Indeed?” Evelyn asked. “Here, try one of these – they're excellent. Still warm, too – perfect,” she added, lifting an interesting looking square pastry from the tray Iva had fetched.
Emilia nodded, crunching into the delicate, buttery pastry and smiling as sweet jam filled her mouth, sticky and delicious. “He told me,” she explained, swallowing, “that he had a visit from three men. Looking for Lord Lonsdale.”
Evelyn looked up over the pastry she still held between finger and thumb and stared. “For Lucian? But...how recently?”
“Three months ago,” Emilia explained. “His steward recalled the visit well.”
“But...how could they not know he was...” she trailed off, not wanting to say it.
“I know, cousin. I have no idea.” For Emilia, the whole world must have known of Lucian's death. He was the light of her days – how could it be that someone did not know he had passed on?
“But...if they did not know of Lucian's death, then...whoever was responsible for his demise it was certainly not them. The men who held you in the forest, they knew he had passed on.”
Emilia covered her mouth with her hand. She had not actually considered that fact. “You are right, cousin. But do you think the men who captured me might have killed him?”
Though she had always believed that Lucian did not die in an accident, somehow being confronted with the fact that she might be right made her afraid.
“I do not know. I had thought that, since the circumstances of his passing were...odd...that mayhap there was a connection. I considered it.” Evelyn agreed. “I am sorry, cousin – I did not mean to cause you distress.”
Emilia rested her forehead on her hands, elbows propped on the table. “It is not you, dear,” she sighed. “I am distressed. All of this is...painful. I wished only to forget – to remember the happy times that I and Lucian...” she sniffed, feeling tears start. “I did not want to have to think about the manner of his death. Not again.”
“I know, cousin,” Evelyn sighed and reached across to gently touch her shoulder. “I know how painful this must be. But we have to discover more about this. We need to find out who these men are, and stop them.”
Emilia sniffed sadly. “I know.”
Evelyn paused. “The men you met – they did not actually say they knew your husband had passed away, though. Did they?”
“Well,” Emilia stopped. “They said he had not paid his debts. Perhaps they knew they needed to ask me to pay instead because they know he is dead.”
“Or,” Evelyn paused; “perhaps they did not know, and thought to threaten him with you?” she swallowed. “That is, if they abducted you, perhaps it was with the intent of ransoming you to Lucian? In which case, yes, they might be the same men.”
The fact that the same men who had abducted her might know where Henry lived was frightening. They had threatened her family. Would they harm her little brother? The thought made her heart pound.
“You are right, Evelyn,” she agreed fervently. “We have to find out more.”
Evelyn nodded. “Yes.”
Emilia took her hand. “Cousin, I am so glad to be here. I know you will be able to help.”
Opposite her, Evelyn patted her hand. She was unfocused, cornflower-blue eyes already looking into the tangled web of stories, truth and lies, that surrounded Lucian's death.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AN UNFORESEEN EVENT
AN UNFORESEEN EVENT
“I need to speak to Henry.”
Evelyn said it aloud, on her own, speeding through the rainy London street. She was in the lighter carriage, riding fast and straight down London's narrow roads. It was two days after she had spoken with Emilia and only now, between poetry readings and recitals, concerts, theater and luncheons, had she managed to find a moment to visit. She had excused herself from th
e afternoon poetry reading at Lady Hewitt's mansion, and chose to visit Henry while Bronson attended alone. Emilia had been feeling tired all day and was in her bedchamber.
It would be easier to question Henry alone. She did not want to upset her cousin too much by discussing Lucian's death.
“Here we are...Abermale house.”
She stared up at the tall, slim-line building where Henry took his lodgings.
It was in the older part of town, just near where the stylish, Restoration manors were built, but this building clung to the edge of respectability. She guessed Henry had some difficulty with his finances – the navy did not give a particularly high retainer to its officers, and his allowance from his father was probably not immense either.
“Thank you, Jarvis,” she said, alighting. “If you could bring the carriage back in an hour?”
“Very good, madam.” He bowed and then climbed back up the driver's seat perched on the front.
Evelyn went up the stairs and knocked.
No one answered and so she waited a moment and then knocked again.
Still no one answered. Evelyn shivered, though it was not from the cold. It was very odd if no one was there! There should have been at least a maidservant to answer the front door to visitors, surely?
“Hello?”
No answer. She knocked again, feeling herself start to grow frantic.
At length, she heard a bolt drawn back and a maid's face appeared. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, swollen from crying. Evelyn took a step back, covering her mouth with her hand in surprise. Whatever was the matter? Was it Henry?
“The master. Is he...?” Is he dead? Please, please say no...Emilia would not be able to face another death. Especially not one of her brothers.
“The master is in his chamber upstairs,” the maid sniffed. “Oh, madam...” she burst into fresh tears and reached for a handkerchief.
“What is the matter?” Evelyn asked, feeling her heart pound.
“Dick Harrogate is dead.”
Evelyn blinked. She tried to recall who he was and then remembered. He was Henry's steward. She had met him once or twice when she was at Wilding and Henry had returned to settle business matters.
“He is?” she stared. “How?”
“Twas terrible, my lady! He was wounded so bad. They killed him!”
Evelyn clutched at the door, feeling her grasp on reality slip. Harrogate had been the man who met the men looking for Lucian. He had told Emilia about it. He could have identified the men, and now he was dead.
“May I ask who?” she asked.
“Thugs, milady! Horrid street thugs. They should go before the magistrate and hang!” She blew her nose again and looked at Evelyn with angry, tear-rimmed eyes.
“I agree,” Evelyn nodded, thinking fast. “When did this attack occur?”
“Yester-night! When he was comin' back from the solicitor's offices in the Town. He was stopped in the street behind the houses, and they kicked and beat and maimed him...” she covered her face with her hands and then looked up at Evelyn. “Devil take them that did this to him.”
“Did anyone see them?” Evelyn asked carefully.
“No, milady. He was alone. He managed to reach home. He died with my hand in his hand.”
Evelyn felt a true, deep sadness for the maid who clearly had loved the tall, dignified clerk. “I am so deeply sorry,” she said gently. She reached out and patted her hand.
The woman looked up at her, surprised, as if she had not expected kindness from the gentry, at least, not from a strange gentlewoman she had never met in her life before. “Thank ye, madam,” she said, looking down. She was clearly unsure how to respond, but she stayed where she was, evidently comforted by Evelyn's manner.
“Is your master receiving visitors?” Evelyn asked.
She needed to speak to Henry at once – all the more urgently now. Perhaps he would have another insight into the case.
“Aye, mistress. Who shall I say is here?”
“Oh, yes. Tell him Lady Brokeridge is here.”
“Yes, madam.” She curtsied and disappeared into the house. A minute or two later she returned.
“Master is waiting in the parlor downstairs,” she said, bobbing a curtsy as she led Evelyn through from the tiny hallway into the cramped, narrow house. She showed her to a door and left again.
“Henry.”
“Evelyn?” Henry looked confused. “What brings you here? My sister is...”
“Your sister is in perfect health,” Evelyn interrupted and saw him visibly relax. “I did not come here because of her, but to find out more about these men who looked for her late husband? She told me of it,” she added.
Henry sighed. “Please, cousin. Sit yourself,” he waved her to a chair. “Excuse my manners – I should ring Laurence for tea. You find us in confusion. I apologize.”
“I heard your steward was set upon and killed.”
“Yes,” Henry sighed. He waited until Laurence, who was evidently the maidservant, had left to fetch tea, and then settled down opposite her. “He was killed yesterday evening. On his way back from visiting Lexton, my solicitor. I feel terrible...” he covered his face with his hands and looked up at her from over long fingers, wearily.
“It is not your fault, Henry,” Evelyn observed, as the maid entered with tea and set it down, then curtsied and left. “I wonder if he would not have been killed no matter where he was headed.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked, pouring hot tea for both of them. “I understood he must have been apprehended and attacked because they thought him moneyed.”
“That might be so,” Evelyn agreed cautiously. “Though another possibility occurs to me.”
“Yes?”
“What if,” she began hesitantly, “if the men were not the same three men who were here to inquire about Lord Lonsdale?”
Henry stared at her. “You mean they killed him because he might have known their identity?”
“Quite,” Evelyn agreed, impressed. He came around to the new idea remarkably swiftly.
“But...” he paused. “If they killed him yesterday, why? Why would they wait? He could have revealed their identity at any given time these past few months.”
“Mayhap they knew you saw your sister?” Evelyn suggested. “If they knew Emilia had visited, they may have guessed you told them of the men who looked for Lucian. And then...” she trailed off.
“And then they had to kill him, for fear he might pass on knowledge of who they were.” Henry finished. “I agree, cousin.”
“In which case,” Evelyn began.
“In which case someone in my household told them of the visit,” Henry finished.
“Not necessarily so, Henry,” Evelyn demurred, seeing her hotheaded younger cousin already tense, ready to confront his servants about it. “It may be that no one in your household betrayed you. All they would have had to know was that your sister visited yesterday. They could have seen her arrive from the street.”
“Yes,” Henry agreed hesitantly. “But that does not reassure me! That means someone is watching this house!”
“Or they live across the street from you. Yes,” Evelyn nodded briskly.
Henry laughed at that. “I don't think old Benfield across the street is a credible thug,” he chuckled. “The man is over eighty years of age. But yes, theoretically you are correct.”
Evelyn smiled. “I am pleased to hear your neighbors – at least the immediate one – is not the suspect. But someone certainly saw your sister visit. Then reported the matter. So either they are watching you, or her.”
Or myself and Bronson, Evelyn considered privately.
Emilia had not taken their carriage, but anyone watching her townhouse would have seen her leave and may have heard her say where she was going. She kept the thought to herself, not wanting to share her worry with Henry. If her home was being watched, she would have to take steps to find out who was doing it.
“Quite,” she said instea
d. “I think we can be fairly sure of that.”
“Well, then,” Henry said, standing and pacing, clearly glad he could take some action. “This should be fairly simple. All we need do is find who is watching and find out who they work for.”
Evelyn nodded slowly. “I agree. But how?”
Henry paused. “We could set our own watch – watch out for watchers?”
Evelyn smiled. “Brilliant!”
Her cousin looked down shyly. “Thank you. Now. I wonder who I could ask to watch for me...” He came to a stop and looked up at her, brow knotted in a frown.
“You could hire someone,” Evelyn suggested. “I'm sure there are plenty of youths who would welcome some employment.”
“Good point, cousin.” Henry nodded. “I don't want to risk telling them our plans, though. It would be altogether too easy for someone to overpower a young boy and find out what they know.”
“Yes,” Evelyn nodded. “That is a risk, for us and for the boy. All they need to know is that we need someone to watch for watchers. They don't have to know why or for whom and so they could pass that on without betraying us. In any case, we do not even know that part yet.”
“True.”
They discussed their plans further, and then Evelyn glanced at the clock on the wall opposite her: it said two of the clock.”
“Oh, I should leave,” she said quickly. “I am sure Bronson is back from the poetry reading by now, and your sister is hopefully feeling better.”
“Better?” Henry stared. “What happened to her?”
Evelyn chuckled. She wished, for a moment, that she had a brother to care so fiercely for her health. “Nothing, cousin. She was merely weary and retired to bed.”
“Oh, good,” Henry sighed. “Sorry, cousin, but these events have worried me deeply.”
“And me too, cousin,” Evelyn agreed. She stood and he bowed.
“Farewell.”
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