“Blister it,” Royce uttered and raked his hand through his hair. “That list has always been an accident waiting to happen.”
“This whole endeavor is a disaster.” John moved to the edge of his seat. “As you can imagine, the Prime Minister is anxious and wants this to end. It goes without saying, to end well, with no fanfare or heads shall roll. Everyone is checking under his own desk to see if he accidentally dropped any papers.” He laughed with little amusement. “Now the search is on for this extra missing document.”
“You think this list is connected to the other sensitive documents?”
“That’s the devil of it. I don’t see how. The memorandum went missing after Joliet Savoy had supposedly died.”
“A friend was with her at the end, but for a deceased person, she certainly manages to move around. I set Hopkins on the trail of Perry’s missing watch. He reported a widow lady sold my brother’s items. A remarkable feat, since she identified herself as Joliet Savoy. The same Joliet buried the week before.”
“Remarkable indeed. Has Hopkins located her yet?” John questioned with an intense look.
“No doubt, this friend is Joliet. She is residing in Billingsham under the name of Mrs. Dorothea Fronsworth. I had intended to question her immediately, but locating the gravesite took precedence over tracking her down. It seemed more important to take Bethany away from the danger. With three attempts against her life, I thought it prudent to leave that area until the villain is caught.”
“Do you think she is safe now?”
“I thought she would be when she married me, but now I’m not so certain. Catching the killer is most urgent. And now that you are here, I shall leave Bethany in your charge and travel to Billingsham to question Joliet. It stands to reason, if she sold the fob and watch, she has more information. Perhaps she has the documents you are seeking as well.”
John’s eyes lit up. “Wouldn’t that be a clapper? Everything tied up in one neat little package.”
Royce puffed out a breath. “In all probability, her brother has charge of any incriminating evidence. He guards his identity jealously and he seems one step ahead of us.”
John grimaced and tension permeated the room. “That girl, Abby, might be able to identify him. She visited while he attended the supposed Joliet Savoy’s deathbed. What a break that would be. I’ll have my man post down to Bath and keep an eye on her when she returns.”
“Capital idea. Let us join the ladies. Set them to planning for the ball. That should keep them out of harm’s way.”
The men entered the parlor a few moments later. Sara and Bethany had their heads together over a few fashion plates. Eleanor slumped in a chair until the gentlemen arrived. Royce nearly laughed at how quickly she struck a pose. She folded her hands demurely in her lap and gazed up beneath her lashes.
Sara called everyone’s attention to the book when she pointed to a figure draped in a stunning gown of silk on the open page. “Come and see Royce. I think Bethany would look lovely in that one.”
Royce bent over her shoulder and viewed the fashion plate. Before he could make a comment, Eleanor said, “Let me see. You know Betha has no idea of fashion.” Eleanor examined the picture too. “She is way too short for that gown.” Shrugging with a smile, she continued, “Betha doesn’t know what shall suit her, of course.”
With a haughty lift of his brow, Royce said, “I think the choice is correct. She shall be lovely in just such a gown.”
“Royce has an excellent eye for fashion.” Sara defended her own suggestion.
John added under his breath, “He should, as many lady birds as he’s had in his keeping.”
“John.” A pink tinge crept into Sara’s face.
Royce blinked. With a certain cool aplomb he raised his chin. He assumed as bland an expression as he could manage, deeming any comment on the subject best left unspoken. He made note to avoid an introduction of his bride to Mme Lalef and her establishment. Not for his bride, the modiste showroom where he had escorted many of his past high flyers, and they were in the past. He demanded loyalty and he would give the same.
Sara sighed. “It will be so grand. The latest fashions and everything up to scratch. I can hardly wait to gush over each single purchase. When do you set out?”
Royce cleared his throat. “I’m afraid the shopping trip is delayed. Urgent business must take precedence.”
“Perhaps, Sara and I—.”
He interrupted with a frown. “No indeed. I shall have the privilege of escorting you on your first round of shopping.”
“But Royce.”
He held up one hand. “I shall hear no more on that head. This business is pressing.” He only hoped he hadn’t left it too late. “Although the wardrobe is high in importance, it can wait for a day or two.” A sense of urgency raced through him, making it impossible to take a seat. “I must be off at once.” Kissing Bethany’s hand, then her cheek, he continued, “I should return on the ‘morrow or the day after. Keep safe.”
The sun hung low in the sky, slowly sinking toward the tree line as Royce rode into Billingsham. Carriages and carts alike rolled along the dust-covered High Street, running between several storefronts before continuing out of town. The clatter of hooves mixed with the clank of vehicles. The sound of voices emerged from the stores and a tavern further down the path.
Royce dismounted before the Rusty Dog Inn & Pub, a two-story affair, quite large for a village of this size. Tightening his jaw, he entered the inn. He intended to secure a room for the night and ask for directions.
A lean-faced clerk, with thin hair parted in the middle and slicked down, glanced up from the ledger on the desk. He nodded, placing his pen aside.
“I require a room for the night.”
The clerk swiveled a register around and presented Royce with a pen. “Sign here, please.”
Royce paid for his room, signed the register, and asked, “If you please, point me to Henderson Street.”
He slipped the key to his room into his pocket and a thrill of anticipation raced down his spine. Almost there. Intending to conduct an interview with this Fronsworth woman well before nightfall, he hoped to discover her true identity. He suspected it was indeed Joliet Savoy, but he needed proof. Perhaps if he mentioned Perry’s fob and watch being stolen and sold, she could be persuaded to cooperate. He waited for the clerk to finish writing in his ledger.
The attendant closed his book and came out from behind the desk. He glanced towards the entrance. “It’s over and down the way. I’m not certain if it’s east or west of here. Directions never make sense to me unless I’m outside.” He strode to the door. “It’d be best if I point.”
Royce followed him outside and halted behind the man while he indicated an easterly direction. At that moment, a lovely young woman stepped out of a shop, catching his attention. What was Bethany doing here? After further inspection, he grimaced. Thankfully not Bethany, but she walked with the same graceful sway. The shape and flawless complexion were similar as well. Her eyes aren’t the beautiful color of Bethany’s, but still lovely.
The clerk straightened his cuffs and nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he cleared his throat and said, “Ah. Mrs. Fronsworth, a very pleasant afternoon to you. Lord Rivton needs directions to Henderson Street. Perhaps . . .”
Before the clerk could finish the sentence, the woman glanced at Royce and the color leached from her face. With her eyes rounded in fright, she stepped back before turning to run across the street.
Royce uttered a savage oath under his breath and started after her. She’ll not escape. Her fright alone condemned her.
A rapidly moving gig rolled between him and the girl, obscuring his view. The next thing he knew, the vehicle skidded sideways, knocking the girl to the ground. The wheels rolled over her before the gig picked up speed and h
urled down the lane. She lay crumpled in the dust of the fast disappearing conveyance.
In a few strides, Royce reached her side. No heartbeat pulsed under his fingers and no breath moved her chest. He gently turned her over. Blood gushed down the side of her face, and her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle. Her neck had been broken.
Rage choked him, not only because he could no longer question the girl, but because his heart had nearly failed him when he watched her fall beneath the gig. It almost seemed he’d watched Bethany’s death and had been helpless to prevent the tragedy. A desperate urge to race home drummed through him. He couldn’t protect Bethany from here.
The clerk peered over his shoulder. “Is she gone?” He swallowed, and his voice sank to a little above a whisper. “So lovely to be snuffed out and so young. The constable must be called at once.”
Royce rose and glanced around at the small crowd gathering and whispering to one another. He took charge and said, “The constable can view her inside instead of in the middle of the road. I’m certain he shan’t be annoyed if we move her.”
The clerk piped in, “We can place her in the private parlor.”
Royce picked her up and made his way into the inn. The feel of her in his arms reminded him of how closely she measured with Bethany in height and weight. He gulped in a breath to steady his breathing. His gut clenched when the images of the woman’s death circled in his mind, and with that thought, the realization of his love for Bethany came roaring to life. He’d tried to tell himself he married her for honor’s sake, to restore her reputation as any right-thinking gentleman would, but that had been only a small part of it. What a dolt. He loved her, and he must tell her so.
Desperation to return to Bethany and the need to investigate the woman’s lodgings warred within him. He laid the woman on the couch and straightened to glance at the clerk. “You take charge here. Deal with the constable and the like. I have an appointment, but I’ll be available to answer any questions he may have later tonight.”
He strode out of the inn and made his way to Henderson Street. Pulling the doctor’s scribbled directions from his pocket, he read the paper again and glanced around. A sign hung from a post announcing Mrs. Pratt’s Boarding Establishment.
When a little lady with graying hair answered his knock, he attempted to make his expression bland. He handed her his card. “I regret to inform you there has been an accident with one of your tenants.” Glancing at the slip of paper in his hand, he continued. “A Mrs. Fronsworth, I believe she called herself. Only moments ago, a gig ran her down. She’s deceased.”
With one hand to her thin bosom, she stammered, “Oh dear, such a sweet little thing, and so young to die.”
Determined to gain access to the room, he exuded an air of confidence, trying to build her trust. There might be evidence of the woman’s identity inside. Softening his voice with concern, he asked, “Do you know of any relatives we should notify?”
The landlady clasped her hands in front of her. “The dear had only been here a short while. Her being a widow lady, no one came to call. I have no record of a relative.”
His heart picked up speed. Perfect. “Perhaps I should search her room. If she received any correspondence, there may be someone’s name.”
“You being a gentleman, I suppose that would be proper. Your cards states you are a Lord Lieutenant, is it?”
“Indeed,” he assured her with all the authority he could muster.
“Very well, this way,” she directed and led the way down the hall. “She was always so neat, poor dear.”
Unlocking the door, she pushed the panel inward. She gasped when she gazed at the disorder in every corner, drawers emptied on the rumpled bed, pillows thrown about, and clothing strewn on the floor.
A man garbed completely in black with a handkerchief over his face dove out the opened window, tearing the curtain from its moorings. Royce stormed through the chaos on the floor and reached the window in time to watch the crook sail over a fence, disappearing into the trees. Before he could give chase, the sound of wheels rattling away at breakneck speed penetrated the room.
Royce struck the windowsill with the palm of his hand, but refrained from uttering the curse that rose to his lips.
“Oh dear, a thief in our little town.”
“Perhaps it would be best if I sifted through what remains of the lady’s belonging to see if the crook left anything behind. I’m certain the constable will be along shortly.” He quietly urged her out the door and firmly shut it behind her.
Quickly sorting through the jumble of clothing, both on the bed and the floor, he cast an exploring gaze around the room. Methodically, he began to search every nook and cranny with no results. Frustrated, he clenched his teeth. There must be something. The only place he hadn’t thoroughly inspected was the chest empty of all its drawers. He shrugged and peered inside, only to discover the corner of a piece of parchment wedged at the back. Pulling forth a letter, he examined the broken wax seal depicting a rose and sword. At the heading alone, he caught his breath and anticipation raced through him.
My Dearest Sister, Joliet,
I know you are lonely without me. Be patient for only a while longer, and we will be on our way home to France. Bonaparte will be thrilled with the amount of information I have gleaned. We will be rich and respected in our country. Not in this place where people look down on us, suspect us at every turn.
Never fear, I shall do away with anyone standing in our way. I made a vow to never allow another man to rule my life when your father turned our mother against me. I only wanted to return to France. Is that so horrible? He ranted that I was insane.
When he tried to turn you against me too, I considered it the last straw. Don’t be upset with me for what I had to do. He and my mother cared only for each other, never us. For your sake, I regret he had to die to set me free and that our mother was with him. You never outwardly judged me for keeping us safe and together. Qu'est-ce qui sera.
I’ll be with you soon. All of this will be behind us then.
Your Loving Brother
Royce folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. Ill to his stomach at the evidence of such a depraved mind, he straightened the room and headed back to the inn. He hoped the villain would appear at the gravesite tomorrow morning.
He let out a deep sigh when a stern-faced man stood when he stepped into his chamber. The constable, no doubt. After a long discussion about his eyewitness account of Joliet’s death, he retired for the night. Too restless to sleep, he paced, glancing out the window at the full moon. The urge to ride out in the middle of the night fought with his good sense. He had to know if the killer would appear at the burial. If a stranger appeared, Royce planned to follow him. If Bethany knew him, perhaps he did as well. At some point, he’d capture the culprit.
Close to dawn, he managed a few hours of sleep before rising to meet the new day. Soon after, he swallowed a small repast before leaving for the church. Besides the constable, the only other mourner present was the inn clerk. Royce carefully surveyed the surrounding area on the alert for the simplest thing out of place at the cemetery. The smell of freshly overturned earth swirled around him while he inspected every shadow beneath the trees. Nothing. The vicar droned out a brief eulogy. Disgusted and disappointed, after the interment, Royce mounted his horse for the return trip to London.
Moonlight silvered the graveyard and washed over the man in black as he knelt beside the newly mounded grave. A chilled breeze swept through the brush at the edge of the field, disturbing the silence of the cemetery with a slight rustling sound.
The mourner shivered and sobbed, great heaving sounds of anguish, beside the lowly stake to mark the gravesite. He plowed his hands through the dirt and lifted some to his face. After several moments, he threw the soil back onto the ground and rose
to his feet. He raked his fingers though his dark, curly locks.
If only. His beautiful sister—why had she forced him to take her life? She would have unintentionally denounced him. Yes, being but a female, weak and young, she would have betrayed him. He had even gone to great lengths to provide her with a cover—her own death—but now she was truly gone. A girl to die in her place had been purely genius on his part. He had even arranged a new name and direction for her so she would be safe. All for naught.
When that pompous Rivton had finally tracked her down, he could tell by her expression, she would fold on him. He’d run her down with his gig right in front Rivton, but he hadn’t glanced back. He hadn’t wanted to actually see her broken body, or see her lovely face crushed. No, he hadn’t looked.
The stupid little chit had given her own name when she’d sold a few stolen items for him, a mere week after she was supposed to have passed away. That must be how that Rivton character had traced her. No matter how it had happened. Now she was lost to him forever.
Only a little while longer and he would have taken her, safe and sound, home to France. Now everything was ruined. But he would continue. He couldn’t afford to stop now. He was so very close to his goals. The names of the traitors in France were very nearly in his pocket.
That young profligate, the earl’s brother, with his bronze, good looks had nearly caught him holding some documents that would have sent him to the gallows. Deep sobs escaped and racked his body for several long minutes. Finally, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and raised a fist in the air. Both paid. None shall stop me. Not even that Lord Rivton. He’ll be next.
Chapter 26
Royce strode into the entrance, weary but anxious to catch sight of Bethany. The fragrance of lemon wax mixed with the delicate scent of roses welcomed him home. He headed straight for the stairs. Before he could ascend, John emerged from the parlor.
A Lady's Vanishing Choices Page 21