by Candace Camp
The usually imperturbable butler appeared daunted by this request. “Oh, miss—I mean, my lady—I don’t recall. I don’t know that I even looked at them. I just took the mail in to Sir Selby.”
Deverel sighed and dismissed the butler. He turned to Julia. She felt ready to cry with frustration.
“How can we have come so close and still not know?” she wailed.
“I know what he got,” Phoebe said quietly.
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Julia whirled to stare at her. “What did you say?”
“I said, I know what was in Selby’s mail.” Her face was soft and sad with remembered sorrow. “After…after his death, I went into his study. I sat behind his desk, and I cried for a while. I looked at everything on it, thinking that maybe somehow I would find a clue to why he’d done it. But there was nothing there. Only a letter, open, as if he had read it and left it there. I read it over and over—you know how it is sometimes. Your mind won’t stop. It was stupid. The letter had nothing to do with his death, but I kept reading it. I practically memorized it.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t think it’s much help. It was merely a letter from the man who runs the mine in Cornwall that Selby’s father bought. You remember. His name is Jordan. It was a very ordinary letter. I remember thinking that the last thing Selby received should have been more special, but it was about a problem there and whether they should get new equipment. Mr. Jordan said he was going to send a letter to a Mr. Underhill—I don’t know who that was—and that he would take the liberty of putting Selby’s signature on the letter, as he had done before. Then he said he hoped that all—”
“Good Lord!” Deverel exclaimed, looking thunderstruck. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“What?” Julia turned to him, her heart beginning to race with hope. “What is it?”
“A person who sounds and looks like a gentleman, as the landlady said, who’s very familiar with the trust, who knows Selby’s handwriting—the trust’s agent!”
21
There was a moment of stunned silence. Finally Julia repeated, “The agent? For Thomas’s trust?”
“Yes. Mr. Carter. I don’t know why we never considered it before. He would know the trust as well as anyone. Think of the examples of Selby’s handwriting he had the opportunity to look at—and copy.”
“But what about Jack Fletcher? How would he have known about the name?”
“I daresay Selby might have mentioned it to him sometime—or Walter. Carter was Walter’s agent for years before he died. Why, any of us might have said something in his hearing, I suppose. He had samples of all our handwriting. He could have copied Fitz’s and Varian’s signatures, too.”
“But—couldn’t he have taken the money, anyway?” Phoebe asked.
“That’s true,” Julia agreed. “He was handling the funds. Why go to all that trouble?”
“Ah, but then it would have been obvious that he had taken it. Using the letters, there was always the hope that the trustees would not even question it. If we did, the letters ensured that he had a handy scapegoat.”
“What an evil man!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Why did he blame it on Selby? Why did he hate him so?”
“He probably didn’t,” Julia reasoned. “It was probably just circumstances. It was Selby who made most of the requests, so his letters would seem the least suspicious.”
“If it was Carter,” Deverel cautioned. “This is merely speculation, after all.”
“True. But I think that this must have been what occurred to Selby. When he read that letter—a trusted manager who could imitate his signature—his mind must have leaped to Carter, and that is why he went off to London.”
“The thing to do, then, is to question Carter. I would be very interested in finding out whether Selby came in to see him right before his death.”
“I would, too,” Julia agreed decisively, rising to her feet. “Let’s go.”
“I will go,” Deverel countered. “You are not confronting a possible killer. Especially not after what happened yesterday.”
“Perhaps he’s right, Julia,” Phoebe agreed. “You could have been killed.”
Julia made a face. “I wasn’t, though.”
“No, but Geoffrey was shot trying to protect you,” Deverel stated bluntly.
Guilt pierced Julia. “I know, and I am very sorry. I should not have embroiled Cousin Geoffrey in it. But the fact that there is danger makes it all the more imperative that neither one of us should go there alone. Do you think that I want you facing a killer alone?”
“I am prepared for him,” Deverel said grimly. “I will be able to handle him.”
“You won’t be any less able to handle him because I am there. If anything, I can help you.”
“Julia…I explained to you yesterday that I can’t be distracted by worrying over what’s going to happen to you.”
“There’s no need for you to be. Besides, there is very little likelihood of anything happening to either one of us. Yesterday he came after me. He was prepared. But today we will be mounting a surprise attack on him. He won’t be expecting it. I doubt he brings his pistol to the office, don’t you agree?”
“I have no idea. I would not have taken him for the type of man who would do any of this. He always seemed very mild-mannered, obsequious, even.” He paused, then went on, “Can I not persuade you to stay here?”
“No.” Julia shook her head. “I can’t force you to take me with you, but I shall go in a separate carriage if you refuse.”
Deverel sighed. “I am sure you will. I must have been mad to agree to marry you. I can see now that you will never give me a day’s peace.”
“Agree to marry me!” Julia exclaimed indignantly. “Why, you did everything but force me to marry you! But you are right. I probably shan’t give you any peace.” She grinned. “However, marriage with me won’t be dull.”
“I’m certain of that. All right. Let us go.”
They took their leave of an anxious Phoebe and went to the agent’s office in a hackney. They walked up the stairs and into the outer office. Mr. Teasely, who had helped them a few days ago, and the other clerk looked up, surprise touching their faces when they saw who it was.
“Lord Stonehaven?” Teasely asked, rising. “I shall tell Mr. Carter you’re here.”
But that was unnecessary. The agent was already bustling out of his office, saying unctuously, “Lord Stonehaven! What an unexpected pleasure—twice in one week! To what do we owe this honor?”
“I recalled that I had forgotten to ask you something when we were here the other day.”
“Of course. Ask away. I shall be happy to help if I can.”
“I am sure you remember the tragic death of Lady Stonehaven’s brother, Sir Selby Armiger, a few years ago.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, indeed.” Carter glanced nervously toward Julia.
“It was in March, I believe, a little more than three years ago.” The other man nodded. “I was wondering why he visited you shortly before he, er, passed away.”
Mr. Carter looked at him blankly. “But Sir Selby did not visit us three years ago. Not around the time of his death. A few months before that, when, uh, the, um, irregularities first came to light, he did come here, but not after that.”
“Are you sure?” Stonehaven asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
The agent looked uncomfortable and cast his eyes toward his employees. “He was not here, was he?”
“I don’t recall it, sir, no,” Teasely said politely.
The second clerk spoke up, “I remember it. He was here.”
Everyone’s gaze turned toward him. He was a short fellow, with thinning hair and a mousy face, and he gazed at them solemnly from behind thick glasses. “You weren’t here, Mr. Carter. That was the time when you had that terrible fever and missed almost two weeks.”
Carter’s face cleared. “Ah, yes, that was three years ago, wasn’t it? My, how time flies.”
/> “You did not speak to him?” Deverel’s gaze never wavered from the agent’s face.
“Why, no, not if he came during that time. I could barely speak to anyone. Worst fever I ever had.”
Deverel turned to Teasely. “You don’t remember him being here at that time?”
“I’m not sure of the dates. I, uh, he did come here once or twice, but I don’t remember the exact times.”
“Oh, you must remember, Teasely,” the other clerk declared. “He came in, and we said Mr. Carter wasn’t in, and he said that he hadn’t come to see Mr. Carter. Then you and he went into Mr. Carter’s office and closed the door. There was a terrible shouting match, and Sir Selby left in a huff. Don’t you remember?”
Julia felt Deverel tense beside her. She knew what he was thinking, for she was thinking the same thing: all the explanations for the agent being the embezzler would apply to the agent’s clerk, as well. She turned to look at Teasely, as did everyone else.
Teasely forced a chuckle. Julia thought she could see a touch of panic in his eyes. “Oh, yes, I do remember that conversation. I didn’t recall what particular day it took place. You are probably right, Foster. It must have indeed been when Mr. Carter was ill, or he would have talked to Mr. Carter.”
“What did you discuss?” Deverel asked, his voice flinty.
“Well,” Teasely began, shifting nervously, “we talked about the, uh, letters Sir Selby wrote to the trust, you know, requesting that the money be sent to Jack Fletcher. He wanted to see them, but I did not think that I should allow him to, since he was no longer a trustee. Since Mr. Carter was not here, I couldn’t refer the matter to him. So I, uh, stood firm on it. I told Sir Selby that he would have to wait until Mr. Carter returned, that I did not have the authority to allow him to see the letters. It made him quite angry. He shouted a good deal. Then he stormed out of the office.”
“I see.” Deverel paused. “Odd that you wouldn’t remember something like that immediately.”
“Well, of course I remembered it.” Again Teasely let out a false-sounding laugh. “I just didn’t remember that it occurred at the time you were talking about.”
“Even though you had to deal with Selby because Mr. Carter was out sick?” Deverel queried. “I would have thought the date would have been quite memorable.”
“I knew it was when Mr. Carter was ill, my lord,” Teasely explained, his fingers moving nervously over his watch chain. “I, uh, simply did not recall the dates.”
The man was growing more and more uneasy under Deverel’s basilisk gaze. Deverel stared at him without speaking for a moment, and Teasely shifted his feet and cleared his throat.
“I don’t think you discussed whether or not Selby could look at the letters,” Deverel told him, iron in his voice. “I think he came here to confront you. He figured out that it was you who had forged his handwriting, and he accused you of it. Isn’t that what you were arguing about?”
The other clerk’s mouth dropped open. Mr. Clark looked bewildered. Only Teasely did not seem surprised.
“No. No,” he protested agitatedly. “That wasn’t it at all.”
“No?” Deverel raised his eyebrows, a sardonic smile touching his mouth. “I think you are going to have to be more truthful than that. You see,” he bluffed calmly, “we found the notes Sir Selby wrote concerning his suspicions of you.”
Teasely glanced around wildly. “J-just because he saw me signing those letters for Mr. Carter a couple of years ago and I—I showed off a little about my—my skill, it doesn’t mean that I forged his hand! I did not take that money!”
“I think you did,” Deverel said coldly. “And when Selby figured out that you had done it, he went to Buckinghamshire to tell me his suspicions. So you followed him to his house, didn’t you? You killed him so that he couldn’t reveal the truth!”
“No!” Teasely cried. “I didn’t! You can’t prove anything!”
“I will get the proof,” Deverel growled, and started toward him.
“I didn’t kill him!” Teasely shouted hysterically.
Reaching behind him, he grabbed a ledger book from his desk and flung it at Deverel. Then he turned and vaulted over the railing separating the clerks’ area from the rest of the office and ran out the door. The book hit Deverel on the shoulder and bounced off, but it slowed him down for a precious moment. He took off after the tall clerk, jumping the railing as Teasely had done. Julia and the others followed at a slower pace, taking the more usual way around the railing.
They raced down the stairs and burst out the front door. Julia stopped, looking around the busy street, to see where they had gone. Carter and the other clerk skidded to a halt beside her. From the vantage point of the top of the steps, Julia soon spotted Deverel’s familiar figure. He was halfway down the block, running out into the street. Teasely was a few yards ahead of him, dodging around a carriage. He cast a panicked look behind him as he ran.
Julia gasped, seeing the heavy wagon rumbling down the street toward Teasely, only a few feet away. Deverel shouted a warning, pointing, but Teasely, panicked, ran on, not looking up until it was too late. He darted directly into the path of the huge draft horses. The left front horse crashed into him, knocking him down, and he disappeared under the animals’ feet.
22
“Such a horrible way to die,” Phoebe said with a shudder. “Even though he killed Selby, I would not wish such a death on him.”
“It was awful,” Julia agreed.
It had been a week since Teasely had run out in front of the wagon and been trampled beneath the horses’ feet, but Julia still could not quite get the scene out of her mind. The first two nights she had had nightmares about it, but the memory was beginning to fade gradually.
“I say, when is Stonehaven going to get here?” Geoffrey asked. “If I’ve got to be hauled off to the country, I’d as lief get started on it.”
He was half reclining on a couch in Julia’s drawing room, as befitted his invalid status, a thin blanket across his legs. He had recovered almost entirely from his bullet wound over the past few days, but he was still a trifle pale, and his face was a good deal thinner. Phoebe had decided that what he needed to get well was a few weeks spent in the healthful air of the country. To Julia’s amazement, Geoffrey had agreed to this scheme, and they were waiting now for Deverel’s return, so that they could set off for Greenwood.
“I am sure he will be here soon,” Phoebe assured Geoffrey, smiling at him, and went over to tuck the blanket more securely about his legs.
Stonehaven had gone to a meeting with the Bow-street runner whom he had engaged to investigate Edmund Teasely and his embezzlement of three years ago. Deverel and Julia were driving down to Greenwood, as well, so that Julia could pack up her clothes and other possessions to ship to Stonehaven, where they were planning to go to spend a few quiet weeks by themselves while Deverel’s mother was visiting friends in Brighton. They were travelling in caravan, with Geoffrey and Phoebe riding in Phoebe’s carriage, and Deverel and Julia taking Gilbert along with them in the open-air curricle, to alleviate his travel sickness. Geoffrey, Julia thought, had met this news with great relief. Gilbert’s nurse, the butler and much of their baggage had already gone ahead in a slower wagon.
There was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and all three of the occupants of the room turned toward the doorway as Deverel strode in.
“Good morning,” he greeted them all, but his eyes went to Julia, and he smiled in a way that was almost a caress.
“How did it go?” Julia ask.
“Yes, what did you find out?” Geoffrey asked.
“Teasely was the embezzler. There’s no question about it. Fitz and Varian were with me at the meeting with the runner, as well as the agent. They’ll make sure that everyone learns of it. Varian said he would drive down to Farrell to tell Pamela and Thomas himself.”
“Thank goodness!” Phoebe exclaimed.
“Yes, except now you will be forced to meet Pamela socially agai
n,” Julia pointed out dryly.
“The runner searched his rooms. He found a pocket pistol and a black face mask, such as the man who attacked you and Geoffrey wore. He also discovered several possessions that are far too expensive for a man on a clerk’s salary to afford. That watch and chain he wore, for instance. Well-tailored clothes, expensive furniture. In his desk, at the bottom of one drawer, he found several sheets of paper on which Teasely had practiced copying Selby’s handwriting. Most damning of all, there was a miniature portrait of Teasely in the rooms, and he took it over to the landlady. She firmly identified Teasely as being the ‘gentleman’ who rented the room from her as Jack Fletcher.”
“It seems odd that he knew about that name,” Geoffrey mused.
“Yes. But I suppose Selby must have mentioned it sometime in his hearing.”
Julia sighed. “I wish—I thought that when we found out who the real embezzler was, I would feel more…satisfied, somehow. I mean, I’m very glad that now people will know it wasn’t Selby who did it, and Gilbert won’t have that scandal hanging over him. But I thought it would seem more final, like the end of something. I thought it would make me happier.”
“Perhaps it was seeing him die in that awful way,” Phoebe said.
“It was terrible,” Julia admitted. “But I think I feel empty because he didn’t confess. I wanted to know exactly what happened, and for everyone else to know it, too. This way, there is still some doubt. I am afraid that there will be those who will continue to wonder whether it was him or Selby. Or maybe it’s that I realize now that finding Selby’s killer will never make up for losing him.”
Deverel reached over and took her hand, and Julia cast a glowing look up at him. Phoebe, watching them, smiled to herself.
“Come, Geoffrey,” Phoebe said, standing up. “It’s time to get you into the carriage.”
“Mmm. Likely to take a while.” Geoffrey took off the blanket and swung his legs onto the floor, levering himself to his feet with his cane. “Gad, now I know what it will feel like when I’m eighty.”