by Candace Camp
“I say!” He crossed to the carriage, where the man in the mask was now trying to shove Julia through the door. “Let go of her! What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Geoffrey raised his elegant cane and brought it down hard across the attacker’s back. The man cried out in pain, reflexively letting go of Julia. She fell to the pavement, knocking the breath from her.
The man in the mask staggered and spun around to face Geoffrey, who lifted the cane again and started forward when, much to his amazement, the masked man reached inside his coat, pulled out a pocket pistol and fired.
Geoffrey reeled back, clutching his shoulder. The attacker jumped into the carriage, and it took off, the door open and swinging wildly.
Julia pushed herself up to her knees and looked around dazedly. She saw Geoffrey lying on the ground a few feet away from her, a spot of red on his coat near his shoulder. It took a moment for what had happened to register with her.
“Geoffrey!” She crawled across the sidewalk to her cousin.
By this time a crowd of people had gathered around them, and an excited babble rose in the air. Osgood came hurrying out of his shop. “My lady! What happened? Oh, my Lord! Mr. Armiger!”
“He shot him!” Julia cried. “Geoffrey!” She bent over him, tears spilling from her eyes.
“I say,” Geoffrey said faintly, “don’t get tears all over my cravat.”
“Oh, Geoffrey! I’m so sorry.” She looked up at Osgood. “We must get him a doctor at once.”
“Right away.” He turned and gestured to one of his clerks, standing gape-mouthed in the doorway of the store. “Here, Tim!”
“Send him to Phoebe’s house,” Julia instructed. “I’ll take Geoffrey there.”
“Phoebe’s?” Geoffrey asked. “Oh, no. Mustn’t put Phoebe out. My man Bouldin can take care of me.”
“That may be, and we shall send for him, of course, to help Phoebe. But there is nothing Phoebe loves as much as taking care of someone. I couldn’t deprive her of the pleasure.”
Swiftly Osgood arranged the proceedings. He sent one clerk for the doctor and another one to inform Lord Stonehaven of what had happened and where Julia was going. In the meantime, someone had hailed a hackney, and several of the men picked up Geoffrey and put him into the vehicle. Julia climbed in after him, and they set off at a slow pace for the Armiger house. Julia sat beside Geoffrey, pressing her handkerchief to the wound on his shoulder, dismayed by the rapidity with which the fabric was turning red. Geoffrey, on the other hand, was just as quickly losing color. By the time they reached Phoebe’s house, Julia had had to rip off a large piece of her petticoat to staunch the wound, and Geoffrey had slipped into unconsciousness.
Julia ran to the door and pounded on it. Within moments she had the footmen and butler out to carry Geoffrey inside. Phoebe came running down the stairs from the upper floor.
“Julia! What happened?” Her face turned pale. “Geoffrey! Oh, my God!”
“It’s all right, Phoebe,” Julia said, hurrying to her side and taking her arm. “He’s alive. He was shot. He was protecting me.”
“You dear, brave man!” Phoebe said, her eyes filling with tears.
These words were apparently enough to rouse Geoffrey, for he opened his eyes and said, “Hallo, Phoebe. Sorry to barge in on you.”
Phoebe had to chuckle through her tears. She gestured to the servants. “Take him upstairs and put him in the green room. Don’t just stand there!”
The servants carried him up the stairs, Phoebe following them with exhortations to take care. The doctor arrived within minutes, and Julia led him up to the green room. The bedchamber was by this time crowded with servants, agog at what was happening, and Julia herded them out the door, closing it firmly behind them, leaving the butler, Phoebe and the doctor to deal with the situation.
At that moment the front door crashed open, and Stonehaven’s voice shouted, “Julia!”
“Deverel!” Julia let out a choked cry, joy and relief swelling her chest. She ran down the hall and started down the stairs. Deverel looked up and saw her, and he ran to her, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Julia!” They met on the stairs, and Deverel swept Julia up into his arms. He squeezed her tightly to him, saying, “My love. Thank God! My sweet, sweet love.”
He continued to crush her to his chest, murmuring endearments and raining kisses over her hair. Julia cuddled close, floating in the bliss his words and actions raised in her. He had called her his love! She wanted to ask him if he had meant it, if he truly did love her, but she didn’t have the nerve. The moment was too special to spoil.
At last he paused and pulled back slightly from her. His eyes swept her from head to toe. “Are you all right? They said that there’d been a shooting. I thought—” He stopped abruptly, staring at a stain on her dress. “Julia! That’s blood! Were you injured?”
“No. It’s not mine. It’s Geoffrey’s blood.”
“Geoffrey! He’s not—”
“No. The attacker caught him in the shoulder, and the doctor is up there working on him right now.”
“What happened?” Deverel put his arm around Julia and took her down the stairs, moving as if she were a piece of glass that might break. Normally Julia would have scoffed at such behavior, but at the moment it felt very nice indeed.
“A man tried to pull me into a carriage. He wore a black mask, so I couldn’t see his face. Geoffrey came out of the shop and attacked him with his cane.”
“Did he?” Deverel smiled. “I should have liked to have seen that.”
“I am sure it was a sight. I didn’t really see any of it, as the man was holding me from behind. When Geoffrey hit him, he let me go, and I fell so hard it took me a moment to recover. He shot Geoffrey, and by the time I got up, the carriage was gone, and Geoffrey was lying there bleeding.”
Tears sprang into Julia’s eyes. “It is all my fault! I should have stayed home, as you said. I just got so excited when Geoffrey suggested I talk to Osgood that I couldn’t wait. Since Geoffrey was going to be with me, I told myself I would be amply protected. And I was, of course. But at what an expense! What if something happens to Geoffrey? What if he doesn’t pull through?”
Deverel gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I am sure he will be fine. You mustn’t worry about it.”
“I can’t help it. It was all my fault. It’s a wonder you haven’t rung a peal over my head.”
“I may yet,” he promised, looking amused. He took her into the drawing room. “Here. Sit down. First, I want to find out what you’re talking about. Why were you out? Why was Geoffrey with you? Who is this Osgood fellow?”
“Selby’s valet. You see, Geoffrey came to call, and as we were talking, he said that the person I should see was Selby’s former valet. I realized, of course, that he was right. Who knows more about their masters than a personal servant? Or hears more gossip, either? I hadn’t even thought about Osgood. Right after Selby died, Osgood left our employ. Selby had given him a small legacy in his will, and Osgood used it to set up a haberdashery in London. I haven’t seen him the past three years. When Geoffrey mentioned him, I had to go talk to him. I was sure that he would have the answers.”
“And did he?”
Julia shook her head ruefully. “I am afraid he only added to the questions. Osgood said that Selby went to London, not the hunting lodge.”
“What? You’ve lost me. Are you talking about the days before his death? He was in London?”
Julia nodded. “Selby told us that he was going to the hunting lodge, but Osgood said he told him that he was actually traveling to London.” She repeated the gist of the conversation with Osgood.
Deverel gazed at her blankly. “This grows more mad by the moment. Why would Selby have gone to London? And why would he have lied about it to you and Phoebe? It makes no sense. Besides, he obviously did go to the lodge. That is where we discovered him.”
“Yes, but I think he must have spent most of the time he was go
ne in London. It would be quite easy. I mean, one passes through London, anyway, going from Greenwood to Buckinghamshire. He could easily have stopped here for a time, then driven on to the hunting lodge. The whole thing makes more sense that way. I had wondered how the killer knew that Selby would be at his hunting lodge then. He couldn’t have been skulking around Greenwood for days or weeks, waiting to follow him. Selby’s leaving was a spur of the moment thing. We were all quite surprised when he announced that he had decided to visit his hunting box. But if he was in London for a while, the fellow could easily have followed him from there.”
“That’s true.” Deverel frowned. “But what was Selby doing in London? And why did he tell you he was going somewhere else?”
“I don’t know. But I wanted to rush home and tell you about it. Geoffrey was being maddeningly slow, trying on gloves and looking at handkerchiefs and such. So I decided to walk home by myself.”
“Naturally,” Deverel said dryly.
“I didn’t know the man was lurking out there!”
Deverel sighed. “I think we can hardly fool ourselves anymore that these attempts are mere accidents.”
“No. Someone is trying to stop our investigation. That is why we need to press ahead quickly.”
Deverel gave her a look, but he had to smile. “Some might say that the intelligent thing would be to quit.”
“Nonsense. He won’t stop unless we find out who he is.”
“I am afraid that you are right.”
They both turned at the sound of footsteps in the hall. It was the doctor. His face was serious, and Julia’s stomach turned to ice. But then he spoke, relieving her fears. “I removed a ball from Mr. Pemberton’s shoulder, and he is doing fine.”
“Thank God.”
Deverel shook his hand. “Thank you for coming, Doctor.”
The man nodded. “I am happy to say that Mr. Pemberton did not lose a great deal of blood. I expect he will do quite well under Lady Armiger’s care. His valet is with him, too, and he seems most competent.”
Julia had to go upstairs to look in on Geoffrey in order to satisfy herself that he was alive and doing all right. Geoffrey was sound asleep, his face almost as pale as the white sheets on which he lay. His valet, Bouldin, was bustling about, cleaning up the mess left by the doctor’s visit, and Phoebe was sitting in a chair beside the bed. She got up when she saw Julia, and they went out into the hall.
“I think he will be fine,” Phoebe assured Julia, closing the door to Geoffrey’s room behind them.
“Really?”
“Yes. I don’t think Geoffrey would dare die with that valet there.”
Julia smiled. “Geoffrey says the man’s a tyrant. I can spell you, watching him. I am sure that Deverel would not mind.”
“I’m not so sure about that, but, really, dear, it’s not necessary. I think I will be lucky if Bouldin allows me to tend to Geoffrey at all.”
Julia was reluctant to leave, feeling guiltily that she ought to do something, but finally Phoebe convinced her to return home, assuring her that she would send a message to Julia if she needed help.
During the walk home with Deverel, Julia was quiet, sunk in thought.
When they entered the house, she turned to her husband, saying, “Do you still have the note you got from Selby? Not the suicide note, but the message asking you to meet him at the lodge?”
Deverel looked surprised, but said only, “Yes. It’s in the box with the suicide note.”
“You mean it’s here? In this house?”
Deverel nodded. “Do you want to see it?”
“Yes,” Julia said eagerly. “I have an idea.”
They went into Deverel’s study, and he pulled out a slim box from a cabinet. Inside were several pieces of paper, including the suicide note and the two of Julia’s old letters from Selby that they had used to compare to the letters at the agent’s office. Deverel removed them from the box, setting them on the desk, and pulled out a small, folded sheet of paper beneath.
He handed the note to Julia, and she opened it and read it. The letter was obviously written in a hurry, the writing larger and more scrawled than usual. Tears sprang into Julia’s eyes, and she had to sit down in the chair behind the desk, her knees suddenly weak.
“Selby wrote this.”
“What?” Deverel looked at her, puzzled.
“That’s really Selby’s hand. Look.” She placed the note between one of Selby’s actual letters and the false suicide note. “See the y? The capitals, the spacing? They’re all like the old letters from Selby, but not like the forgeries.”
“So Selby actually did write to me, wanting me to come see him? Is that what you hoped to find?”
Julia nodded. “Selby told his valet that he didn’t want to tell Phoebe, because he didn’t want to get her hopes up. What could he have been talking about except the scandal? I think he must have had an idea, some clue that would prove he did not do it. Maybe he even thought he knew who did. I don’t know what, but something set him off, and he decided to go to London—maybe to look for another clue. Perhaps he even came here to confront the real embezzler. After he did whatever he came here for, he wrote that note to you and took off for Buckinghamshire.”
“He was going to tell me his suspicions, convince me that I had gotten the wrong man,” Deverel said, following her reasoning.
“I think so.”
“But why did he decide to go that particular day? Something must have happened to make him suspect someone. What?”
“I don’t know.” Julia looked at Deverel with barely repressed excitement. “If we can figure that out, maybe we’ll have the answer.”
The next morning Julia and Deverel paid a call on Phoebe. They had spent the rest of the evening—except for the very pleasant hours Deverel took to demonstrate to Julia just how glad he was that she was alive—discussing what Selby could have learned that sent him hastening off to London. They could come up with no ideas, and they could think of nothing to do except query Phoebe about her husband’s actions and conversation the day before he left.
The butler, Sidle, showed them into the drawing room, and a few minutes later Phoebe came in, smiling.
“How is Geoffrey?” Julia asked anxiously.
“Very well. He had a fever during the night, but it’s gone down. He’s asleep now.”
“Thank heavens.” Julia hugged her sister-in-law. “I knew this was the best place to take him.”
Phoebe demurred, but Julia could see from the heightened color in Phoebe’s cheeks that she was pleased by the compliment. Julia hesitated. She hated to spoil Phoebe’s happy mood by bringing up the subject of Selby’s death. However, she could see no way around it.
“Phoebe…I need to talk to you about Selby.”
“All right, dear.” Phoebe looked at her inquiringly, and it occurred to Julia that for the first time she could remember, Phoebe’s eyes did not darken with sadness at the mention of her dead husband.
“Do you remember Selby saying anything the day he left? Anything about the embezzlement or the trust?”
Phoebe raised her eyebrows. “My goodness, that was so long ago. I—I don’t remember everything exactly. Why? What does it matter?”
“We think that maybe Selby discovered something about the embezzlement.” She explained what Osgood had told her the day before, and Phoebe’s eyes grew bigger and bigger.
“Oh, my,” Phoebe said inadequately when Julia finished. “I—well, let me think. He came into the sitting room where I was that morning, and he told me that he was going to the hunting lodge. You know…” She paused thoughtfully. “I do remember that he seemed excited, but I didn’t think anything about it. I thought he was just happy to be going to the hunting box. You know how he liked it there. But he didn’t say anything special, just that he had decided to go hunting. He said, ‘Maybe I’ll come back with a prize catch this time, Fee,’ and his eyes twinkled—oh, my.” Realization hit her, and she turned pale. “Maybe he wasn’t talk
ing about hunting animals. Maybe he meant—”
“He was going to catch the embezzler,” Julia concluded with satisfaction.
“This makes me feel so odd.” Phoebe pressed her hand against her stomach. “To think that all this time we didn’t know. We should have done something earlier, Julia!”
“If we had known what Selby was doing, we would have. Oh, why couldn’t he have told someone what he was up to?”
“Lady Armiger.” Deverel leaned forward. “Do you remember Sir Selby’s mood earlier that morning? When he got up, say?”
“He seemed as usual, I would say.”
“Not excited?”
“No. It was only later, when he came into the sitting room, that he was excited.”
“So whatever happened did so between breakfast and when he came into the sitting room.”
“Yes, I suppose so. But what could it have been? We didn’t have any visitors. Julia, do you remember anything?”
“No.” Julia shook her head. “I was hoping that you would. I can’t recall anything about that morning.”
“Perhaps Sidle can,” Phoebe suggested, brightening.
“Who?” Deverel asked.
“The butler,” Julia explained. “Of course. That’s a good idea. He was at Greenwood then. He would have noticed anything unusual.”
However, the butler, when they called him in, looked blank. “The day he left, ma’am?” Sidle turned his face up toward the ceiling, as if he might find an answer there. “I don’t recall anything happening.”
“Did anyone come to call?”
“No. It was an ordinary morning. We got the mail, and I took it into Sir Selby’s study. Then, as I recall, there was some sort of contretemps in the kitchen, which I went to resolve. The next time I saw the master was when he came out of his study, calling for a footman to take a message down to the stables. He wanted his curricle brought round.”
Deverel came to his feet. “The mail. That’s it. He got a letter!”
“Of course!” Julia breathed, her eyes shining. “Sidle, who were the letters from?”