The Devil in Beauty: A Lord Trevelin Mystery (The Lord Trevelin Mysteries Book 1)

by Ashworth, Heidi

  "Yes, I suppose it is. And yet, when you enter the prison you shall wish you had brought the same."

  "Does this prison, then, smell so desagradable?"

  "It is a prison, which is to say, yes, far more disagreeable than you can imagine." I retrieved the handkerchief from my pocket, tore it in two, and offered half to my companion.

  "You are a man with much experience of prisons?" The tone in Rey's voice indicated that he, in part, regretted the question.

  "I know of which I speak," I replied in arctic tones designed to discourage such queries. That I had only been inside a prison the once, and that for the sole purpose of visiting my cousin Evelyn to arrange for his release, was more than I wished to divulge. "However, you may remain in the carriage should you prefer.”

  "No! I do not prefer," Rey said with a lift of his chin. "I wish to learn what I might from Señyor Gilbert, and offer him my condolences on the death of his brother."

  I inclined my head in respect for Rey's intentions. "Willy shall surely be grateful for your belief in his innocence, as am I."

  "But of course! Should I be on my way to this prison most notorious if I did not?"

  Despite my dubiousness as to the depth of his interest, I was grateful for it. “I have not called at Gilbert House for several months. As my reputation is not news to you, you can comprehend my desire to spare them any…unpleasantness. However, Willy and I have been associates since we were boys at school. The accident that led to his lame arm and leg happened only a few years ago. Since then I have spent some time in his company. It occurs to me that there are a few details pertaining to his condition you shall find useful to know.”

  “Please continue,” Rey said with a wave of his arm.

  “It is actually rather peculiar. The injury that has affected the muscles of his arm, leg, and tongue has done nothing to damage his mind. His intelligence is in no way affected; only his ability to express it.”

  “I see,” Rey mused. “Then he knows well enough the fate that awaits him. We must hurry to his side, my lord!”

  I could not restrain a smile in response. Though I had reason to envy Rey, I found his anxiety for Willy endearing. To have a companion, someone of an age to mine, with whom I could share my concerns, was pure delight. “There is more.”

  Rey nodded. "If I am to be of assistance, I should be made acquainted with all the facts. Let us start at the beginning."

  "I only know of the gossip and what I have read in the papers,” I said regretfully. “Yesterday morning, rather early . . ."

  "Which is to say," Rey interjected, "prior to the rising of a gentleman such as yourself."

  I inclined my head. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes. Therefore, though the events I am about to describe occurred only a few doors down from where I live, I witnessed nothing firsthand."

  "That you were not a witness firsthand is all I wished to know," Rey said with an echoing inclination of his own head. “Thank you.”

  "Not at all," I replied, refusing to be provoked. “However, those who did hear or see what happened all agree on certain facts. One, it was early. Two, it was Willy they saw out on the carriage drive. They also agree that he was distressed and calling out to alert others to the death of his brother."

  "I wonder that he did not go immediately to his parents," Rey mused.

  "Yes, that has been a troubling question of mine, one I intend to pose tomorrow when we call on them. I dislike imposing on their grief, but perhaps Lady Vawdrey ought to send ‘round a note explaining my reason for calling on them so soon after their loss."

  Rey nodded his approval. “Is there no more?”

  I nodded. “He was seen with a bloody knife in his hand. The authorities are satisfied it is the same knife that killed Johnny,” I said, the words sticking in my throat. I kept my own counsel for the remainder of the journey, but found that I was full of admonitions once we entered the prison.

  "Do not cast about such looks of pity," I quietly advised. The air echoed with the commotion of gallows construction as we followed the gaoler across the open yard. "Also, refrain from placing your hands in your pockets, do not look directly into the eyes of the prisoners, and do have your handkerchief at the ready," I added as we entered a door that led into the dank hallways of the old prison.

  Scented scraps of cloth to our noses we were led along several lengthy corridors, past chambers filled with miserable humanity.

  "El meu señyor," Rey moaned, "there are too many men in each habitacio. How do they sleep? There are not beds enough for all."

  "I couldn't say," I said, sick at heart with the thought of Willy in such a circumstance.

  "You do not know? But you are a man most experienced, is that not so?"

  I ignored the question as memories of my last visit to the prison flooded my mind. My cousin had been taken into custody because of a brawl at White's over a lost bet. I recalled with ease the horror I knew when I read Evelyn's missive requesting that I pay the blunt for a private cell rather than one into which petty thieves and cutthroats were thrown together. I had brought the funds myself and saw to it that my cousin was placed in the wing of those more privileged. It seemed as if the path the gaoler now took led in the same direction. If I proved incorrect and Willy was not in a cell of his own, I resolved to see to it before the day was out.

  The main corridor echoed with the cries of the incarcerated and I was relieved to depart from it. We made a sharp turn and headed deeper into the prison via a pair of narrow steps. They were slippery with condensation and something else I dared not contemplate. What mattered was that they led to the private cells I wished for Willy, and when we came to a halt in front of a heavy door set in a brick wall I realized we had arrived.

  The gaoler fitted the key and pulled wide the door. It creaked in protest; I paused on the threshold so as to give my eyes time to adjust to the murky light. Gradually, I was able to make out the outline of a man curled up on a narrow cot. Beside it was a small table that bore a washbasin and a bible. There was a chair pulled up to the table, but the room was bare of any other content save the privy.

  My instinct was to run to his side, but I had no wish to humiliate him. "Willy,” I said, “it’s Trev."

  He slowly raised himself onto his elbow and turned his head. Through the dim light, I saw his eyes widen in recognition when he gazed upon me.

  I stepped into the room and stood upon the barred square of sunshine that fell from the window to the stone floor below. "We are here to learn if we can be of any use to you."

  As he turned his gaze on Rey Willy's expression darkened, and his features settled into a decided frown.

  "I beg your pardon, Willy. This is Señyor Rey," I explained as I reached out to take my companion by the arm and draw him forward. "He also hopes to be of some assistance.” I should have liked to shake Willy's hand, the one that was whole and healthy, but it was the one upon which he braced himself.

  "May I sit?" I asked, indicating the chair. Willy grunted, and I disposed myself in as much comfort as could be had on a hard, damp chair. Rey, his scented handkerchief still held firmly to his nose, moved to stand behind me.

  "What has happened, Willy?" I asked gently. "The newspapers state that you were found in the carriage drive with a bloody knife. Is that true?"

  Willy nodded. His expression was arrested; wary.

  "This was the first thing in the morning? Right after you woke?"

  Again Willy nodded and, quite suddenly, fell onto his back. His strong hand now free, he began to pluck at his clothing. “Not nashty; clean!" he cried, greatly agitated, his speech more impaired than the last time I had spoken with him.

  "Yes, it is a nasty business," I offered, "but we are here to help sort it out."

  Willy suddenly left off thrashing about to stare at me. "Hel' me!"

  "Yes, of course! But first we must find out what exactly happened."

  "M’ brudder," Willy wailed as he began to once again pluck at his shirt.
"Clean!"

  "It would seem," Rey said as he leaned over to speak into my ear, "he would like us to pay heed to his clothing."

  "But to what purpose?" I stared through the shadows at Willy's shirt and breeches as closely as I was able. "Is this what you were wearing when you found Johnny?"

  "Yesh!" Willy murmured over and over as he plucked at his shirt. His chant turned to "No!" as his hand moved down to rest on his breeches.

  "It was the first thing in the morning that you found him?" I asked again.

  Willy frenziedly nodded his head up and down against the thin pillow on his cot. "Yesh!"

  "Then you were in your shirt alone?" I prompted.

  "Yesh!"

  "And you want us to know that your shirt is clean? After two days in this place?" I pointed out.

  "Clean!" Willy cried in a long, agonized wail.

  "I do not understand," Rey said. "His shirt is not clean. Nor are his breeches, stockings, or shoes."

  "However, they were clean when you entered the prison, is that not right, Willy?" I gently prodded. "Is that what you wish us to know?"

  "Yesh!" he repeated.

  “There; you see, Rey? Willy has provided us with the means to prove his innocence!”

  “I do not understand,” Rey said with a small frown.

  “We know that Willy was seen on the carriage drive with a bloody knife. That his shirt remained free of that blood is pure good fortune. However, it would be akin to a miracle for it to be bloodless if it were he who wielded the knife.”

  Willy raised himself again on his strong arm, looked intently into my eyes, and nodded vigorously.

  A lump rose into my throat. When I could again speak, I posed him a question. "I am soon to call on your mother and father. Do you think they will receive me?”

  "Yesh." His eyes filled with tears.

  Mine did as well and I quickly looked away. "Whilst I am there I shall arrange for clean clothing to be sent to you. Is there a message you would have me convey to them?"

  "Yesh! Clean!” Willy insisted.

  “Yes, of course,” I assured him as I rose from my chair and took him by the shoulders. “They know you are innocent, as do I, but I shall not neglect to point out the fact to them. Now,” I said, seating myself on the edge of his cot. “It is cold. I shall have additional blankets brought as well. Is the food sufficient?”

  Willy shrugged and looked away.

  “I suppose you haven’t had much of an appetite. That is likely to change now that your release is imminent.”

  Willy gave me an uneven smile. With a jolt, I realized it was the first time I had seen him smile since his accident some years back. In repose he looked quite like his old self, whilst I only looked like my old self when I smiled widely. It was a self that had been taken from me.

  I lay on the ground and looked up into the sky. All I knew was its endless blue, a loud buzzing in my ears, and pain; endless pain. Suddenly, a blob of white loomed over me. It moved closer until I realized it was a face: Evelyn’s. Why was he looking at me in such alarm? “It’s all right, old fellow,” he said as he and the surgeon we had brought along gathered me into their arms. Their uneven gait prompted such agony, and yet I was startled when I realized that the groaning I heard was my own. I knew well enough from whence came the tang of metal in my mouth and the flaming pain on the right side of my face. Evelyn and the surgeon deposited me, somewhat unceremoniously, onto the bench of the carriage. My face collided with the leather squabs, and all was throbbing anguish until I plunged into unconsciousness.

  I shook my head as if to clear the memory, knowing full well that it would never depart. “Willy, is there anything else you can tell us about what has happened to poor Johnny? Did you see anyone? Do you know who has done this?”

  “Nooooooo,” Willy crooned, tears streaming down his face.

  I caught Rey’s eye and turned my gaze to the door. I turned again to Willy. “You are tired. I think perhaps we ought to be on our way.”

  Rey stepped up to take Willy’s good hand in his, and shook it warmly. I did the same, and then quickly fled before my tears undid me. It wasn't until we had made our way out of the prison, back through the yard, and nearly to the carriage before either of us spoke. I was not in the least surprised that Rey should be the first to break the silence, which he did in a voice thick with emotion.

  "I cannot believe Mr. Willy killed his brother. But what shall the authorities say to it? Won’t they believe he merely changed his shirt for another?”

  “Whatever for? So as to be more convincing when he limped out of the house with the murder weapon?” I snapped as we climbed into our conveyance. I should have been giddy with relief, but something restrained me.

  “Exactament! He is certainly clever enough to have thought of it. But is he able to change his shirt on his own?”

  I knocked on the ceiling and the coach lurched into movement. “I haven’t any idea,” I said, troubled by his questions.

  "One would think the changing of the clothing would be very difficult for a man with his weakness. Is this why he goes about in only a shirt?"

  "Of course he does not!" I could not say why the notion affronted me so. "As I said, Willy is a gentleman, born into a family of gentility and raised as such. We were at school together. Before the accident, he was my equal at mathematics, riding, and shooting; certainly my superior in Latin. Naturally, under normal circumstances, he would be fully clothed before venturing out into the front hall.” However, for some reason, on the day in question he was not.

  "It is fortunate, then, that they allowed him to don his breeches before they took him away, is it not?" Rey allowed.

  I agreed, but could not be troubled to reply; something about Rey's comment triggered a notion. If the constable who took him away could be counted on to tell the truth of what happened once he arrived at the scene, perhaps there was hope.

  "You have many questions, then, for the pare and the mare?" Rey asked.

  "Yes, I do believe so," I said slowly. "Certainly, we shall be able to hold a more suitable conversation with his parents than with Willy."

  "We? Do you invite me to attend you in this?" Rey asked, his dark eyes glowing with anticipation.

  "I do not see why you should not come along. It shall afford you the opportunity to learn for yourself the qualities of the man we are attempting to save."

  "If you think I shall be of use to you then, yes, I shall accompany you with pleasure.”

  I was not persuaded that it should be pleasurable, but I had begun to like the man nevertheless.

  Chapter Three

  Early the following afternoon, when Señyor Rey and I stepped into the Gilberts’ salon, I was surprised to be in the presence of both of Willy’s parents.

  Even though Rey was a stranger, he went directly to greet them. "Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert, please allow me to express my regret for your sorrow," he said as he took Mrs. Gilbert's hand and bowed deeply over it. "It is a circumstance most tragic," he said with a nod for Mr. Gilbert.

  "Naturally, I add my most sincere condolences to those of Seynor Rey of Barcelona," I said by way of introduction. “As for myself, I pray that you will not allow my sins to stand in the way of my being of use to you in this matter.”

  Mrs. Gilbert looked up from her lap for the first time since our arrival, gratitude shining through the tears in her eyes. They were gray and very fine, her hair a burnished brown under her cap. She looked entirely too young to have a son of three and twenty years. "We owe you many thanks for your kindness, my lord. To have lost both of our sons in one foul stroke is more than we can bear." She put her handkerchief to her trembling lips and turned her gaze again to her lap.

  "Surely all is not lost," I insisted. "You cannot believe Willy capable of such a deed."

  "The idea is simply preposterous," Mr. Gilbert expostulated, the veins in his thick neck purpling. "No son of mine…" he choked out.

  A moment of patent silence ensued before Mrs. Gilbe
rt recalled her duties as hostess, inviting us to sit. Rey took up a chair to the side of Mrs. Gilbert whilst I sat across from her husband.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert, you cannot be unaware of my longstanding friendship with your son. I wish to do all that I may to secure his release from prison. We have the support of an individual whose name I am not at liberty to disclose, but who is a near neighbor of yours and an influential man in the government. I assume I need say no more on that score. If I am able to provide him with proof of Willy's innocence, this man has promised to ensure Willy's safe return."

  "He is most certainly innocent!" Mr. Gilbert grated. "How they dared to take him away is beyond my comprehension." He twisted his large hands together as if warming them for hand-to-hand battle.

  "I am of the same opinion," I hastened to assure the angry man. "He is innocent, but proof shall be needed and may prove difficult to obtain. We must determine who has robbed you of Johnny. Do you know of anyone who might have wished him harm?"

  Mrs. Gilbert raised red-rimmed eyes to my face. "That is the very trouble; we can think of no one! He was only fifteen years old, far too young to have been so hated by anyone. Besides, why should they? He is…" Her voice trembled. "He was everyone's favorite. He was intelligent, talented, kind, and so very dear. He would have done anything for Willy and they were, naturally, quite close. Johnny would be appalled to learn that Willy was being held responsible for such a horrid act."

  "Precisely my thoughts on the matter," I assured her. "And yet, someone has deprived Johnny of his life. Why?"

  "That very question runs through my mind every moment of the day and night until I think I shall go mad!" Mrs. Gilbert remonstrated. "There never was a more delightful boy. I do not know how I shall go on without him."

  Willy had, once upon a time, been a delightful boy as well. It seemed his mother had forgotten. I could not help but notice the look of helplessness in Mr. Gilbert’s eyes. It appeared to signal something more than an inability to restore his son to life. Perhaps he felt the lack of his wife’s affection in the face of her grief.