“We know that it is for the sake of Mr. Willy who pines away in gaol, is it not, Miss Woodmansey,” Rey stated.
I jumped at bit at the sound of his voice; I had quite forgotten he was present. I recovered myself, and indicated that we should make our way along the length of the table as if we were in search of a certain liquid refreshment; the one at the elbow of Mr. Gilbert in particular. I said little and kept my back to him, as I had no wish to be recognized. The clever banter that sprang up between my two companions rent my heart, but it was perfect for my immediate purpose. It was not so loud that their words were discerned, but constant enough to attract notice. Those nearby would feel confident that nothing they had to say would be overheard by any in our party.
As they chatted, I backed slowly towards Mr. Gilbert and the young lady, selected a glass of orgeat, and pretended to sip.
“You have never looked more beautiful,” Mr. Gilbert said.
It was all I could do to refrain from whirling about and striking him in the jaw.
“I am so pleased that you were able to leave your wife tonight. It means so much to me to have you by my side.”
“She doesn’t like it, of course, but she will accept it in time.”
“Oh, my dear! Does this mean that I might count on your support for as long as I shall need it?”
“How can I do otherwise?” Mr. Gilbert responded with sickening affection.
I had never felt so selfish in all my life. Love had eluded me but I could not count my lot hard when I had yet to suffer as Mrs. Gilbert must from the actions of her husband. Having heard enough, I signaled to Rey and Miss Woodmansey that we should retreat. We walked in silence until we had regained the ballroom, where I revealed all that I had just heard.
“Inconcebible! That the husband of that poor woman could behave such—it defies all reason! A man such as this must be capable of anything!”
“I do not know,” Miss Woodmansey interjected. “Many husbands betray their wives,” she said, so matter-of-factly that it caused me to wonder about her father. “And yet, they do not murder their sons.”
“You are correct, Miss Woodmansey,” I conceded. “However, Señyor Rey and I have reason to believe that Johnny’s death might have been the response to a long-building resentment.” I did not add my suspicions that Johnny was not Mr. Gilbert’s natural son, however. It was not for the delicate ears of an unmarried lady.
“What shall you do now, my lord?” Rey asked.
“The only thing that remains to me,” I mused. “I must ask Willy.”
The next morning I found myself again on my way to Newgate Prison. Rey wished to join me, but I had no wish to humiliate Willy. It would be hard enough for him to respond to my queries in regard to his mother’s faithfulness without a stranger in the room to hear his answers.
To my surprise, it was more difficult to see Willy in his desperate state than it had been the first time. I assumed that I knew what to expect, but the reality was too terrible. He scarcely registered my presence when I entered the chamber in which he lay, though his gaze briefly touched my face. His frown bore a sorrowful weariness as I approached him, and he did not rise from his prone position on his cot. To my dismay, it seemed that he wasn’t eating; despite the quantity of gruel adhered to his shirt, his face had grown thin.
“Willy,” I said as I drew up the chair to the edge of his bed and sat. “How long has it been since you have had anything to eat?”
He lifted his gaze to mine but said nothing.
“Have they been mistreating you?”
He shifted his shoulder in a meager shrug.
“Have your mama and papa been to see you?”
Tears started in his eyes, and I knew that they had not.
“There is much to do for the funeral. But they sent the extra clothing and blankets? And food? They sent good, hearty food, did they not?”
Slowly he turned his head to fix his gaze on a mound in a corner of the room.
I hurried over to inspect it. I found the promised blankets and clean clothing, but there was no food. I supposed the guards had stolen it.
“Willy, why hasn’t anyone helped you to change?” I asked, vastly chagrined.
He lifted his sound hand and tapped a finger against his chest. “D’ape.”
“The Ape? They refer to you as the The Ape?” I had never been so angry in my life. “Are you to say that they do not deem you worthy of the assistance you require? They won’t even throw an extra blanket over you?”
His face contorted as he broke into a storm of weeping.
I rushed to his side, took him by the shoulders, and cradled him in my arms. He lay against my chest, his face in the crook of my neck, and sobbed until my neck cloth was wet through.
“All shall be well,” I crooned. “I vow that it shall all be made right. Here…” I lowered his head to the pillow. “I shall help you myself.” I went to the pile in the corner and first took up a clean blanket. As I returned to the cot, I wondered how I might accomplish what needed to be done without making him feel diminished. I placed the shirt and breeches at his feet and returned to my chair.
“Willy, you might think a swell such as I an utter greenhorn when it comes to dressing a man. However, I shall have you know that now I am at Cannings’, I haven’t had a valet of my own.”
Willy looked up at me. His eyes were swollen, but there was no mistaking the mocking slant of his brow. He knew well enough that I was a hopeless case when it came to dressing myself.
“’Tis true!” I insisted. “As such, I have found it needful to do most everything on my own at one time or another. You shall be astonished to learn that I have even tied my own cravat once or twice!”
Willy opened his mouth as if to laugh, but fell into a fit of coughing instead.
“Willy, you are ill!” I strode to the door and thrust it open. “Get this man some water! And bring me a clean cloth whilst you are at it!” As long as I was to dress him, I intended to give him as much of a wash as I could manage.
While I waited, I went about the business of undressing my friend. First, I thrust away the dirty blanket he had been using and replaced it with a clean one. I pulled this up to his chin so that he would remain as warm as possible. Reaching under the blanket, I freed the buttons at the front of his breeches then gently rolled him onto his side so as to untie the gusset at the back. I then went to the foot of the cot and undid the buttons at his ankles, slipped the loops from around his bare feet, and dragged the garment from him. This task was made more difficult by virtue of his lame leg, which was permanently bent somewhat at the knee. The pain I still felt in my ribs from the collision with the banister at Manwaring House the night prior did little to help.
Next, I untied the top of his shirt and widened the opening. I drew the sleeve from his sound arm; freeing the lame one proved to be more of a task. Once they were both unencumbered, I pulled the shirt down past his shoulders. Replacing the blanket to preserve both warmth and dignity, I then returned to the foot of the bed and pulled the shirt from the bottom until I had dragged it off. I threw the two soiled garments into the corner farthest away.
The water still not arrived, I sat and held his hand whilst Willy drifted into sleep. When I had what was needed, I poured some water into a cup and used the rest to wash his face, very gently, until his eyes, nose, and the stubble on his chin were free of crusted food and tears. I then cleaned his body as best as I could. I had no wish for him to feel the cold or to wake him. As I felt his muscles begin to relax under my touch, tears came to my eyes. That he, even in his sleep, should feel the peace of being properly cared for, was humbling.
I came to my senses and looked about me; a dresser, a mirror, a chair, the bed I was lying in. I recognized nothing and feared everything. Then I realized Evelyn must have rented rooms somewhere, very likely under a name not his own. The pain that centered at the corner of my mouth was ever-present, but now seemed tolerable. Safe at last, I could not help but notice t
he pure cleanliness of the sheet pulled up to my chin, the orderliness of the room around me, the perfect softness of the pillow beneath my cheek. I closed my eyes and drifted into slumber.
With my hand on his arm I felt Willy shiver and knew he felt the cold. I retrieved the rest of the clean blankets and employed them to prop him up. Then I gathered the full length of the shirt in my hands and drew it over his head. I soon had it in place to his waist. Removing the blankets I lowered him so that he was again prone, and proceeded to work the shirt down past his haunches. Five days in prison had amounted to a shocking amount of weight loss, so this was not difficult. Once the shirt was pulled down to his knees, it was time to replace his breeches.
This proved to be the most challenging task yet. I had only a tender set of ribs about which to complain, a circumstance that required the assistance of Canning’s valet at nearly every stage of dress that morning. Willy, however, was completely dependent on others to properly clothe him. I had been told that this task often fell to Willy’s father and I marveled at the devotion required. I began to have a better understanding of the depth of Mr. Gilbert’s love for his son and the sorrow he doubtless felt at the expected loss of Willy’s life. I was not certain that it gave Mr. Gilbert a motive to kill the son who would take all that the brother might have had, but the notion was worthy of my consideration.
By the time I had managed to drag the breeches above Willy’s knees, the pursuant tugging, pulling, dragging, and squeezing woke him. I thought that perhaps, now he was awake, he might do something to assist me, but he did not.
“I am vastly relieved you haven’t a jacket!” I playfully derided. “That is one garment that requires two to properly don!”
It was clear to me that Willy wished to smile his amusement, but he fought the curving of his mouth.
Once he was fully clothed, I straightened out the blanket and added the others as well. Then I put the cup of water to his lips for him to drink. His lips were blue from the cold and his face white. To my dismay, he looked worse than before. The process had exhausted him more than it had even me; I perceived that I must pose my questions soon.
“Willy, you know that I am searching for the one who did this to Johnny—and to you. There is yet time. The trial date shall not be set until after you have appeared before the Grand Jury. Gratefully, I am very close to discovering who it is that should be here in your place. In the meantime, I need to ask you something…rather delicate.”
Despite his fatigue, his gaze was stronger than before. It struck me how very much like my old friend he looked in that moment.
“There is no kind way to ask this: was Johnny your father’s natural son?”
Willy frowned; a lop-sided grimace was the result. “Yesh!” He stared at me, his gaze hot and demanding, but there was nothing I could say, or explain, that wouldn’t deepen his distress. When he saw that I would not relent, he rolled over and turned his back to me.
I sat in the chair, my chin propped up by an elbow to the knee, and pondered the morality of asking him such questions. Soon, to my profound regret, I heard the unmistakable sounds of weeping. I reached out to comfort him, but he was yet strong enough to pull himself from my grasp. When the cot began to shake with the violence of his sobbing, I put my face in my hands and did the only thing left to me to do: I joined him.
Chapter Ten
When I quit Newgate, I went directly to Gilbert House. My hatred for the person who had done this to Willy would not be forced aside. If it were Mr. Gilbert who had killed Johnny, I determined to expose him or die in the attempt. I instructed the coachman to pass by Canning House and press on to the Gilberts’, the sooner to assuage my rage. Before the carriage came to a complete halt I threw open the door, tossed out the steps, flew down them and up the steps to Gilbert House to bang upon the door with my cane.
It opened to reveal an alarmed Bugg. I did not wait for him to admit me, but pushed past him far more savagely than he deserved. I took the stairs to the first floor two at a time whilst he cried out that this was a house in mourning and the master and mistress were not home to callers. I knew well enough where to find the sitting room, and I burst through the doors without aid of a footman. I was never happier to find Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert in one place; I would have answers from them and I would have them now. However, to my chagrin, the room was also occupied by Lady Vawdrey.
“My apologies,” I gasped out. “I had not expected…”
Lady Vawdrey rose to her feet and raked me with a glare. “What? That anyone but you would come to call?”
“It is a house in mourning,” I echoed the butler.
“I am one of Mrs. Gilbert’s dearest friends! It is entirely proper that I should take a moment to walk across the square to see how she fares. It is not at all the same thing as paying a morning call.” She treated me to another head-to-toe scrutiny. “What, pray tell, is your excuse?”
“I am merely in pursuit of a killer.” My anger burned hotter than ever, but I was wise enough to swallow the home truths for the intractable Lady Vawdrey I longed to air.
She turned to the Gilberts. “He is correct, of course. He seems a good deal ruffled. Perhaps he has learned something of use. ‘Tis about time!” she added as she swept past me and left the room.
My gaze fell upon Mrs. Gilbert, who sat with her handkerchief to her face. I forced myself to look away and collect myself. If her husband was the murderer, I had no wish to distress her any more than was needful. I decided to begin with the most pleasant news I could contrive.
“I have just been to see Willy. He is most grateful for all that you sent him.”
“Is he?” Mrs. Gilbert asked, almost joyfully. “Is he getting enough to eat? Is he sleeping well?”
“Well enough.” I had no wish to embitter them as to the state of their only surviving son.
“We are grateful to you, my lord.”
I could not recall Mr. Gilbert ever before having addressed me as anything but ‘Julian’. He had known me since I was a boy; it must have galled him to address me as his superior when I came to my title at the age of fifteen.
“I am grateful that I have yet the time to determine who deprived Johnny of his life. Whilst I was there, I was informed that Willy has yet to come before the Grand Jury.”
Mr. Gilbert dropped his head in relief and his wife became more animated. “I am so grateful! Surely that is enough time to find who truly killed my boy!”
I realized that I could not delay any longer. “May I sit?” I asked, eyeing a chair adjacent to Mrs. Gilbert. I did not wait for a reply before I took a seat and leaned towards her. “Mrs. Gilbert, we have been acquainted for a long time. You have watched me grow from a boy to a man. Your son is a friend of long-standing, and I am determined to save his life. However, I find I am forced to ask questions that are most difficult. I must beg your pardon in advance.”
“Very well,” she said calmly. There was nothing in her manner to indicate she feared what I might ask.
“Thank you. Mr. Gilbert, I must ask that you refrain from answering for her or compelling her to answer according to your wishes. Might I depend on you for that?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. His expression spoke of far more concern than that of his wife’s.
“Thank you. Now, Mrs. Gilbert, I have been told that Mr. Huther was an incompetent tutor; that he left the house when he should have been giving lessons and left Johnny too often to his own devices. In truth, Johnny often left the house to follow his tutor, and perhaps found himself in some difficulty as a result. Were you aware of any of this?”
Tears welled in her eyes and a choking sound rose from her throat, but she nodded her agreement.
“Then, why was it you kept Mr. Huther on? Why did you not find a more suitable tutor or send Johnny off to school?”
She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief. “I don’t know precisely. I suppose the best answer I can offer is that Johnny did not seem entirely suited to living away from home. He
was a sensitive boy, not at all like William who loved to hunt and shoot and spend the day away from the house, even during school holidays. Johnny had no such ambitions or interests.”
“Not for want of trying,” Mr. Gilbert muttered under his breath.
I ignored him. “So, you engaged a tutor. But when he proved unsuitable, why did you not dismiss him?”
“I do not know,” she whispered. “I suppose it was because Johnny seemed content at long last. I knew he wasn’t spending as much time with his books as he should have been, but he was happy. He was somewhat young for his age; I felt that, in time, he would catch up.”
“So, it had nothing to do with your attachment to Mr. Huther?”
She threw her head back in disbelief. “Mine? It was Johnny who was so attached. He did not endure changes well and, as I said, he seemed even happier once Mr. Huther began to be less demanding in the schoolroom.”
I turned to Mr. Gilbert, who avidly watched his wife’s face. He seemed to wonder if his wife told the truth every bit as much as did I.
“If Mr. Huther meant nothing to you beyond his positive affect on Johnny’s disposition, has there been one who has meant more?”
Her brow furrowed with her frown. “I do not understand.”
I decided I had best be more forthcoming. I had not forgotten the effect my question had had on Willy, however. My throat constricted at the thought and I was forced to clear it before I could proceed. “Mrs. Gilbert, I cannot help but notice your decided preference for your younger son. I find it necessary to inquire as to why that should be so.”
Mr. Gilbert’s face turned scarlet. “Julian! You mustn’t!”
“Mr. Gilbert, I crave your indulgence,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Mrs. Gilbert, do answer the question. Did you prefer Johnny over Willy?”
She looked into my face without qualm. “Of course not. They are both my sons, and I loved each one of them as much as the other. I still do!”
The Devil in Beauty: A Lord Trevelin Mystery (The Lord Trevelin Mysteries Book 1) Page 14