“She is losing her conscience, at least where her sister is concerned,” Logan took another few gulps. The bitter aftertaste from his statement caused him to grimace.
Colin refilled his glass, placing the decanter on Logan’s desk and settling into a worn leather chair in front of the desk. “Who could blame her? Her sister has plotted Arabella’s demise for years. Based upon what I discovered last night, Sybil’s deception runs deep and she has aligned herself with a powerful ally. Beniamino is her benefactor and he knows many secrets. That is how he gained his wealth and power – by blackmailing the nobles Sybil stole from, many of whom were in attendance at the opera house. Those secrets he acquired with her help aided him in becoming so acclaimed. It is how his operas became so famous that he would receive his own private viewing while the opera house was not open for the season. The ton is too fearful to speak out. They have paid him handsomely for years. He is paid for his silence, they offer him theirs in return.”
“The son of a bitch was there the night Sybil left my wife for dead,” Logan downed more of the amber liquid, hoping it would numb his desire, his insatiable thirst for vengeance. “Arabella remembered it. She remembers more daily, and her hatred for Sybil grows. What if … what if it becomes too powerful? What if it overtakes her?”
Offering his friend an encouraging grin, Colin advised. “Speak with your wife, Logan. This notion of marriage is new to you. Trust me when I say that you mustn’t keep this to yourself. Speak with Arabella.”
Logan nodded.
“Before you do so, we must talk, for much transpired since you departed London,” Colin took another sip. “I spied on Sybil last night. She announced that Arabella is a thief and Beniamino gave credence to her story. Though I could tell the crowd was doubtful, the masses were too frightened to correct the mischaracterization. Most are fearful that their scandals will reach the gossip papers for all to see.”
Logan scoffed. “The prestigious haut ton. Noble yet possessing proclivities their reputations would never survive if they were to be revealed. Especially those with wives, families, and exclusive bloodlines and impressive titles.”
“Yes, well, here is the rub, mate,” Colin reached into his pocket and removed a folded sheet of paper, handing it to Logan.
As Logan opened it, Colin continued. “This was dispatched hours after the opera debacle. Victoria made note that this is how the author of The Ton Tattler usually distributes his or her announcements—”
“Arabella and I discussed this last night. Do we have proof that two gossips exist?” Logan asked.
Colin shook his head. “No, however Victoria is adamant that there are two. That the card we received was written by someone different. Read that and see for yourself. Look at the print, read and listen to the cadence. Victoria is certain this is a man. And that he is currently your wife’s champion.”
Logan skimmed the page:
Something or someone has been amiss in London. Now turnabout is fair play.
A certain soprano claims her sister is a thief. Can this be true or is this a baseless accusation of a fame-seeking soprano? Two are exposed, only one to be believed.
The same can be said for last night’s performance. A card, or paper? You know what is true, what is just. But, do what you must.
Like a bouquet of daisies on an incandescent spring day, the truth breathes life from chaos, just as a union blooms from a hidden romance. Perhaps the truth will reveal itself to yours truly?
I am waiting for you to confide in me.
I cannot wait to reveal all.
“Why all this talk of daisies?” Logan tapped his nail against his desk. “I thought Sybil referred to it because she witnessed my impromptu wedding to Arabella years ago, but this person …”
Who else could be aware of their vows years prior? “Arabella’s parents employed another orphan in their bakery, though he was older than me.”
“Do you think he could be the real Tattler?” Colin bolted upright.
“I have no idea,” Logan’s tapping quickened, until a pain shot up his forefinger.
A knock at the door stirred Logan from his memories of that day long ago.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ambrose,” the footman entered as a much taller male towered over him from behind. “The clergyman from your wedding is here to see you.”
Logan stood so abruptly that his chair hit the wall behind him. His footman hadn’t followed protocol, possibly believing this visitor could be trusted because of his association to Logan and his friends.
“Mr. Ambrose, Mr. MacAlistair,” The man tipped his head, his short dark hair drawing attention to a balding spot on the top of his head. He then straightened. Tall and muscular, he was unlike any clergy Logan had ever before met. “Forgive my intrusion. I took great pains to ensure no one would place me.”
“Who are you, truly?” Logan asked, though his inner voice told him that he already suspected the answer.
The man grinned. “Though I have gone by many names, I am now known as Arthur Mason. A clergyman. Very few know the true me. An orphan who once worked at the Sutton’s bakery, who experienced firsthand Sybil Sutton’s selfishness and greed, who witnessed her eagerness to destroy anything decent and pure. I am a reformed man, like yourself, who has committed acts I do not wish to recount. I was once Tristan MacAlistair’s driver until his wife helped me find my way, and I am the Tattler who wishes to right the wrongs so many have committed. Including Sybil Sutton …”
Mr. Mason handed Logan a sheet of paper from his greatcoat pocket. “This was distributed before I departed London.”
Logan studied the latest version of the Tattler.
A gifted soprano dazzles the ton though her history of cruelty dates back to her original performance – that of her sister. Quite the actress, even then.
Yes, this soprano kept her sister and her sister’s husband apart years ago by pretending to be her twin and rebuffing the young man.
What else is she capable of?
Tell me her secrets and I will reveal all.
“Pray, Mr. Ambrose, tell me your secrets,” Mr. Mason twirled his hat in his hand. “What truths would you like to reveal? And how may I help you save your wife?”
Logan and Colin exchanged looks of mistrust.
Could they have gotten this fortunate?
“May I join you?” the clergyman asked, motioning to an empty leather chair next to Colin.
“Please,” Logan arched his brow towards Colin. An unspoken warning to be alert.
Of course, there were weapons in Logan’s office. He and Colin both had easy access to them. In spite of his preparations, Logan suspected that he would not require them.
“How should I refer to you?” Logan asked.
“Arthur is fine,” the man placed his hat on Logan’s desk. “Forgive me for being blunt but you don’t trust me and I don’t blame you. You have every reason to be skeptical of everyone outside your inner circle. Therefore, I shall offer you some insight into who I am. As I said previously, I worked for Sybil’s family in their bakery. I was an orphan, like you. Sybil was vicious and spiteful. She has not changed in that regard, though she has commanded quite the attention with her Tales of the Ton, the idea for which she stole from me. Sybil is manipulative but not entirely clever or innovative.”
Colin cleared his throat. “Why did you create your Tattler?”
“Let us say that I have witnessed the venom with which certain members of the ton treat others, especially when I was under Mister – I mean my Lord Tristan MacAlistair’s employ.” Arthur inhaled deeply. “What they said about the child that my Lord and Lady Victoria were protecting was unacceptable. I was no saint, mind you. Far from it, in fact. Nevertheless, with the aid of Lady Victoria, I redeemed myself. My current profession offered me a peace I had never before experienced but it also offered me a mirror into the souls of London’s so-called élite. I am privy to their lies and scandals, with the sordid lifestyles of the ton on full display. It sickened me
to realize that most had no regrets, unless they were caught. Yes, only once disgraced did they humble themselves, regretting not what they did but the fact that their deeds were uncovered. This realization spawned the Tattler. In it, I teach the unrepentant a valuable lesson – they may be caught at any moment.”
“Did your paper garner the results you wished for?” Logan studied the man before him. His short, dark hair was peppered with several silvery strands that framed his face. His dark eyes, the color of a deep abyss were hard and unwavering.
Sensing Arthur harbored some resentment, Logan chose not to mention that his actions could be born from a desire for vengeance. As it turns out, he didn’t need to because his visitor chose to elaborate on his motives.
And what motives they were.
“It worked for a time, with many. Until Sybil twisted my motives, turning my idea into her own game, her attempt at acquiring power and riches. I shed light on those who consider themselves above those who are less fortunate. Sybil devours the less fortunate, she always has. You know that as well as I do.” Scratching his temple, Arthur continued. “My intentions are somewhat self-serving in regards to Sybil. She used me once. Never thought that boy she ridiculed would grow into a man with the ability to make her life miserable, to reveal her misdeeds and ensure she cannot hurt anyone ever again. God help me, I long to make her life miserable, Mr. Ambrose.”
“Welcome to the club,” Logan raised the decanter. “Care for a drink?”
Arthur shook his head. “I know what ails Lord Lawrence. There was a mishap at his residence and he took a fall. There was a great deal of blood.”
“What did he fall upon?” Colin inquired.
“A knife,” Arthur’s tone was devoid of emotion. “Repeatedly. The Duke’s mother hired henchmen to find the woman responsible after his footman told him it was Arabella. We know nothing could be further from the truth, do we not?”
“Yes, but proving that is another thing altogether.” Logan spun his empty tumbler on the top of his desk, considering what could exonerate his wife. There was Arabella’s scar, though that alone would not be enough to convince everyone.
There was another challenge in regards to Arabella’s confession to Victoria that Sybil pretended to be her. Even with Victoria’s noble roots and title, for her to make such an assertion publicly, it would appear as if one friend were supporting another. It wasn’t enough proof to free Arabella from her sister’s machinations.
“What am I missing?” Logan pondered aloud. “There must be a way to expose Sybil. But how?”
He tapped his fingers on his desk again, allowing the rapid drumbeat to permeate his thoughts. Concentrating on the percussion, hoping to free his mind.
He ticked off the facts in a quick staccato, his fingers tapping in unison with his rapid thoughts. “Sybil is a performer. She loves a grand spectacle, a show that will allow her to be spotlighted.”
Bolting upright, Logan stood with such force that his desk shook, causing a marble paperweight carved in the shape of a canine to teeter. He proceeded to the windows.
“If she wants a grand spectacle, why don’t we stage one?” Logan threaded his hands behind his neck. “Yes, we could lure her to Winterthorne—”
“And what?” Colin approached Logan before studying his friend.
The sun was shining, the blue sky and white fluffy clouds danced in the bright sky beyond the gleaming panes of glass. The view from Logan’s office was splendid. The view from his ballroom was even more divine. “We invite Sybil’s victims and stage her confession for all to hear.”
Colin crossed his arms over his chest, causing the fine fabric of his jacket to stretch almost beyond its limits. “Isn’t she much too shrewd for that? How would we gather the guests without revealing our plan let alone draw the confession from Sybil in front of witnesses?”
Granted, it would be a difficult task to pull off. However, it was essential that Sybil’s fall from grace, her confession, be witnessed. At least by her victims and members of the constabulary if they would agree to attend. If the police were not present, the victims could still tell the tale to the London authorities, freeing her sister from Sybil’s sinful actions.
One question remained: how would Logan pull off such a public spectacle?
Logan continued to stare out the window, though it was a different view that filled his mind … that from Winterthorne’s ballroom. It was exquisite, showcasing the large lake that buffered the back of the estate.
The lake … it would fit into his plan perfectly as would the estate’s hidden tunnels and …
“I have a bloody brilliant plan!” Logan met his friend’s concerned gaze as a wry grin swept across his own features.
“Pray don’t keep me in suspense,” Colin drawled.
“I shall make it an impressive event, the likes of which Northamptonshire has never before witnessed.”
Yes, that is what Logan would do. He would use Winterthorne as the perfect stage. It would allow him to plan the perfect performance.
No, performances.
Two performances to be precise.
Considering the many intricacies that must be woven into such a bold plan, Logan realized his was the best solution. Complicated, it must be executed to the letter as there would be many intricate, moving parts. Like an elaborate clock, each person involved must perform his or her duties at the right time and work in harmony with everyone else.
“Are you men prepared for a challenge?” Logan inquired with a steely edge to his voice as he looked at Colin first, then Arthur. “This isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“I’m game, mate,” Colin was quick to enter the fray as all eyes turned to Arthur.
The man leaned against the worn leather back of his chair, his fingers forming a pyramid. “I am more than ready to reveal Sybil Sutton’s true nature. What can I do to assist?”
“An easier question to answer may be what can’t you do,” Logan crossed the room to his desk where he reached for a paper and ink.
“This is our plan, gents,” he announced as he began jotting down two lists, his choppy handwriting scrawling across the pages.
The day of reckoning was about to dawn for Sybil.
Logan would ensure nothing would go wrong and he would keep Arabella safe.
He had made that vow once, to Bella’s father.
He intended to keep it.
God help anyone who got in his way.
Logan found Arabella and Eve walking in the small maze of shrubbery directly behind Winterthorne. Little did most know that the venerable estate was forged with pairs.
Yes, the architects throughout the notorious home’s history designed companion pieces for the estate and surrounding grounds. Winterthorne possessed two gardens, two lakes, two libraries – one in the first of two master suites, and two impressive structures though the one at the gate was smaller in stature compared to the imposing main house. That was the theme with most of the pairs – one was typically larger than the other.
Having researched the history of Winterthorne, Logan had been unable to discern the meaning of the pairs. It remained one of the many mysteries that comprised Winterthorne.
The cozy garden in which Logan found Bella and Eve was complete with mazes of hearty, manicured greenery that did not lose its leaves in the autumn. It also consisted of two winding walking paths. One led to the stone statue of St. Francis of Assisi who, legend had it, befriended a wolf. The other walking path led to another structure, this of the Lupa Capitolina in female form, representing the wolf that saved Romulus and Remus. Instead of fur, this statue depicted the she-wolf in a flowing toga-like gown.
Two mazes, two statues – male and female. Separated by a small fountain, a miniature lake if you will.
Beyond the patch was a large lake and a horizon blanketed with tall grass leading to tawny hills dotted with tall pines.
Adolphus was at Bella’s side, as had become his ritual. His ears perked at the sound of Logan approaching
. The canine’s keen senses were on full alert, as if he could predict that Arabella was in danger and would do anything to protect her.
Much like his master.
“Eve, your husband respectfully requests your presence upstairs.” Logan exchanged knowing glances with her before adding, “We have an additional guest, by the by. He will be dining with us this evening.”
Nodding her understanding, Eve offered a serene smile as she proceeded to the stone fortress that was the main house.
Though a slight breeze wafted through the autumn day, the sun was warm. Logan tucked a stray tendril behind his wife’s ear. “The weather is lovely. Shall we take a turn?”
Bella looped her arm through his, placing her head against his shoulder. “I thought we were supposed to remain close to the main structure?”
“You are, when you are on your own,” Logan wrapped his wife in a tight embrace. “But you are in the presence of not one but two males who shall protect you with their lives if need be. It is safe to venture forth.”
Arabella halted mid-step, pressing her forefinger against the cleft in his chin then tracing his jawline. “I thought you said that your hound likes no one?”
“Yes, well, I thought I had conceded that he made an exception with you,” Logan kissed his wife’s hair, as her curls drifted gently in the soft breeze. “Shall we walk?”
“Our situation must be dire for you to suggest we venture into the woods, so to speak.” Bella’s tone, laced with a combination of sarcasm and humor, matched her jaunty grin.
“Well, my love, you are wrong for we have caught our first break of hopefully many,” Logan led her to a large tree, the scent of pine and sap lingering in the air. He placed his greatcoat on the ground, motioning for Bella to sit as he offered her his hand. Once he joined her on the ground, his back rested against the rugged trunk.
“Pray, what is this good fortune?” she quipped. “And are you certain it is ours? Perhaps this good luck was meant for one of your neighbors.”
The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 Page 19