A Match of Honour (The Hartleighs of Somersham Book 1)

by Margaret Brazear

  Christopher smiled for the first time since Susan had vanished. He couldn’t help it; he hadn’t expected to meet with wise counsel from such a quarter.

  “I thank you, Sir,” he replied. “I will think on it.”

  ***

  “I’m not even sure if she still looks like this,” Christopher told David as he handed him the miniature. “It is all I have. We had no time to have a wedding portrait painted.”

  “You are not sure what your wife looks like?” David snapped.

  “All right, you’ve made your point,” Christopher answered angrily. “I know you are angry with me and I appreciate your reasons. And they are sound reasons. You are right; I should have left her alone, I should have let her come to you for help and I might have done, had the late Duke, my uncle, not been so ill.”

  “Would you? Really? Or would you have wanted to establish yourself as head of the family?”

  “I don’t know, David. You could be right, but how does any of that serve us now? What good does it do you blaming me? Don’t you think I blame myself?”

  David bit back another angry retort before it could leave his lips.

  “Very well,” he said. “You are right and quarrelling amongst ourselves will not help to find Susan.”

  “I might need a lawyer myself if my aunt has her way,” said Christopher. “She sent a Bow Street Runner to my house this morning to accuse me of murder.”

  “What?”

  “She thinks I have killed Susan, hidden her body away somewhere. She is trying to have me arrested.”

  David shook his head.

  “I always thought her a silly woman,” he said. “The tragedy is that if you were anyone else, she would likely have succeeded. It is only because of your status that they daren’t touch you without really good evidence.”

  “You mean, were I Mr Nobody I would be getting settled at Newgate about now?”

  David nodded.

  “That’s right. They need little evidence to arrest anybody, especially for murder. The Runners are, hopefully, the first step in the right direction for establishing a proper law enforcement agency. Anything that puts an end to the thief takers can’t be bad.”

  “Thief takers?”

  “Yes. They are volunteers who can arrest and report anyone they say has stolen something, then they stand up in court and give evidence that they have seen such a theft. If the thief is found guilty, the thief taker gets a reward. It is a great incentive to lie in court, worth the risk of a perjury charge.”

  “That is terrible,” said the Duke. “I had no idea.”

  “And were you not a nobleman, our aunt could give her opinion in court and it would be taken as fact. You would find yourself dangling from the end of a rope.”

  Christopher gasped.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. Many an innocent man has lost his life on less.”

  “But I am immune, is that what you are saying?”

  “Not entirely. They will need real, solid evidence to try you and even then it will be in the House of Lords, before your peers, not before a jury of rabble snatched off the street. You have much more chance of a fair trial than any common man.”

  Christopher finally got to his feet, held out his hand to shake David’s and turned to leave.

  “When this is over, I shall see what I can do about these unfair laws. But now I must find my wife.” He paused and frowned thoughtfully. “I did all this to prevent a scandal and all I have done is start a worse one.”

  “You seem worried,” David remarked. “I don’t think you have a need to be. I don’t believe you murdered Susan and if I am right, there will be no evidence to find.”

  Christopher gave a small smile.

  “I am worried, but not about being charged with murder,” he said. “I am worried that I will never find Susan. I am beginning to realise just how much she means to me.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Scandal

  It was some days later that Christopher received his visitors.

  That three days had sent him to every inn and hospital in London, hoping without much hope to find his wife. It occurred to him that she might have met with an accident or been taken ill. It was soon after the birth that she took herself off and quite probable that she could have come down with an after birth infection. Women had died of less and the idea made his heart tighten as though a clamp of some kind had it firmly in its clutches.

  Remembering that first jeweller, he realised he should not have stopped there. He assumed that, having met with such patronising hostility, Susan would not have tried elsewhere. He was forgetting her need of funds; she had little choice, did she? So he began to search for other jewellers in the city and beyond, hoping that one of them might have seen her and been more understanding. He even revealed his title in the hope of getting more respect and aid. Every single one had the same response for him: the lady had never been there.

  At last he made his way back towards Lincoln’s Inn. It was late in the evening of the third day and he was impatient to talk to David, to see if he had made any progress. Part of him hoped the enquiry agents had found Susan in one of those workhouses, whilst the other part prayed she had not suffered such indignity and deprivation.

  As he walked, his eyes firmly fixed on the ground, his thoughts deeply concerned with where to look next, a loud horn caused him to glance up and step back to avoid the mud splatter from a passing carriage. That is when he saw, along a narrow, cobbled path that cut into the main road, the three huge balls denoting a pawnbroker. Why the hell hadn’t he thought of that before? Could it be because his kind never had anything to do with such places? He admitted that he barely knew such places existed, any more than he knew that union workhouses existed before this business.

  He turned into the alley way, lifting his watch from his waistcoat to see the time. It was getting late and he could only hope the place would still be open. If not, he would have to come back tomorrow, spend another sleepless night cursing himself for missing his chance.

  The bell over the door jangled noisily as Christopher entered the shop and looked around. There was all kinds of merchandise in here, from fine china and clocks to precious and not so precious jewellery. There was even a bath chair that someone had obviously no longer a use for and the sight of it turned his thoughts to wondering what had become of the owner.

  “Can I help you, Sir?” A man’s voice attracted Christopher’s attention.

  He found himself looking at a short man with thinning, dark hair and the distinctive features of the Jewish race. Then he realised he had given the miniature of Susan to her cousin and had nothing to show the man.

  “I wonder, Sir,” he began slowly, “if you can help me. I am looking for a young lady who might have come here in the past weeks, looking to sell some valuable jewellery.”

  The man made no reply for a few moments, then his mouth twisted thoughtfully.

  “I see many such young ladies, Sir,” he replied.

  “Forgive me. She is very beautiful, with dark hair, like mine and she would likely have had a young baby with her.”

  Once more the pawnbroker was thoughtfully silent before he replied.

  “There was such a young lady,” he answered at last. He pulled open a drawer beneath his counter and brought out a sapphire necklace which Christopher recognised at once. “She left this in return for a loan.”

  “A loan? She didn’t sell it outright?”

  “That is not how pawnbroking works,” said the man. “A customer will leave an item as security for a loan. If they do not return within a stated time to redeem the item, I am able to sell it and keep the proceeds. This necklace is still being held as security, which is why it is not on display.”

  “And the young lady?” Asked Christopher. “What happened to her?”

  The pawnbroker shrugged.

  “She left. I advanced her a fair amount, more than I would normally have given I must confess, but she looke
d so vulnerable.”

  She looked so vulnerable. Christopher felt a stab of guilt which was almost physically painful.

  “I will redeem the necklace,” he said. “Mr Er…?”

  “Rosen. I’m afraid I cannot let you do that, Sir. The lady has a week still to redeem it herself. After that, if you wish to return and it is still here, then you can buy it.”

  “You don’t understand,” Christopher argued. “That necklace has been in my family for generations.”

  “Are you saying it is stolen?”

  Christopher shook his head.

  “No, not stolen.”

  Should he tell Mr Rosen that the lady in question was his wife? Could he be relied upon to keep his mouth shut?

  “Was that all she left with you?” He said at last.

  “It was. She had many jewels, but once I told her how much this one necklace was worth, she decided to hang onto them for the time being. If the necklace isn’t stolen, I am at a loss as to why you are here and wanting to redeem it.”

  “That is my business,” Christopher replied. “I will return in a week. Please don’t sell the necklace to anyone else in the meantime.”

  He turned and left the shop to the clattering of the bell. It was too late now to see David; all he could do was return to Berkeley Square and worry some more.

  ***

  Early the following morning, David arrived on Christopher’s doorstep. He had slept all night in his clothes and now he was rumpled and looking more like a street dweller than a Duke of the Realm.

  He hadn’t wanted to undress and get comfortable in his luxurious bed when he had no idea if his lovely young wife was sleeping in a shop doorway somewhere, or one of those awful union houses for the poor. He lay awake most of the night, a thousand possibilities running through his mind. He even entertained the notion that David was leading him on, that he was really hiding Susan and lying to her husband; he was certainly angry enough to do something like that.

  Christopher staggered down the stairs, his body aching with tiredness. He’d never had to worry about a thing in his life, even when he’d been in trouble with the law about that damned farmhand and the dog. Even then he didn’t worry; he’d been so sure he was right and so confident of his own importance and that his father would clear things up, that it had never occurred to him to worry.

  Now he was worried; now he thought it likely that he would never see Susan again and he found the notion intolerable. He realised he had looked forward to a life with her. Early on in the marriage, when he’d thought about it at all, his thoughts took him to a future after the birth, when they could start again as man and wife and have their own children. He had even considered what the making of those children might be like and he had looked forward to that as well.

  He desperately wanted another chance to show her that he could be the husband she wanted and not the selfish and arrogant man he had shown her so far.

  David waited in the morning room, seated beside the window with his legs crossed and the miniature of Susan clutched in his hand.

  “Christopher,” he said. “You look a mess.”

  “I know. You have news for me?”

  David placed the picture on the small table beside his chair and made no reply at first, but Christopher could tell by his expression that the news was not good.

  “I’m sorry. My agents have been to every workhouse in London and beyond, but have found nothing save one desperate woman who tried to tell them she was our cousin.”

  “Are they sure she wasn’t?” Asked Christopher hopefully.

  “They are. They are very efficient, trust me. I shall not stop looking, I swear it. I am just as concerned about her as you are.”

  Christopher heard the unspoken words that followed: more so. At least, his guilty conscience heard them, whether David thought them or not.

  “Where else, David? Where else can we look? She can’t have simply disappeared with a baby in tow.”

  “Baby?” The voice was familiar and it interrupted what should have been an intensely private conversation. Christopher’s heart sank; now what? Now yet another person knew the secret and he could see the waters being muddied even further.

  He turned to the open doorway, wondering why he hadn’t heard the doorbell. But of course, his father had a key to the house.

  “What baby?” George demanded.

  “You misunderstand,” Christopher said at once. He gestured toward his other guest. “You remember David, Susan’s cousin.”

  The Earl nodded briefly but didn’t smile.

  “What baby?” He repeated. “What is really going on here? I’ve had Veronica telling anyone who will listen that you have killed her daughter! I’ve had to placate your mother; I’ve never seen her so distressed.”

  “So she has returned to Somersham?” Christopher asked hopefully.

  “She did, but not for long. She came back to get some clothes and her maid, then returned to London. She was going to open up her brother’s London house.” He paused, then went on: “I ask again; what baby?”

  “I see this is a private matter,” David remarked as he got to his feet. “I will leave you. Perhaps you would call in later, Christopher, and tell me what you want me to do. I will see myself out.”

  “Well?” George demanded as soon as the door closed behind David.

  Christopher stared at him thoughtfully, his mind racing. What the hell was he going to say? How was he going to talk his way out of this?

  ***

  The Dowager Duchess had been staying at her brother’s house in Grosvenor Square. He had no use for it at this time of year and she still held the key. There were a couple of servants still about, keeping the place clean and they were happy to cook for her for a fee.

  She had no intention of letting any of her acquaintance know she was in London, or her reasons for being there. She was distraught, had gone from fury and suspicion to acute distress. She was convinced that Christopher had lost his temper with her daughter over something and had lashed out at her, just as he had lashed out at that farmhand. She was sure that he had killed her, or if not, had hidden her away in some small hospital to recover under an assumed name.

  As far as the Dowager Duchess knew, Christopher had never hurt anyone else besides the farmhand, but the fact of his maternal heritage preyed upon her mind. Someone like that was quite capable of violence, the Duchess was convinced.

  She had given the Runners her brother’s address as there was little else she could do. It seemed they were not prepared to take her word that her son-in-law had harmed her daughter, that they had accepted his assurance that she had left him, ridiculous though that was. All she could do now was wait for news and she prepared to do just that. She would not return to Somersham until she had something definite to report back to her other two daughters.

  She did not have long to wait.

  Flora, her brother’s little maid who he had left here to look after the house, came into the morning room and dropped a quick curtsey. Her eyes were wide and fearful and it was obvious she found the Dowager Duchess to be intimidating, although she couldn’t think she had ever given the girl cause.

  “Your Grace,” she said in a barely audible voice. “There is a gentleman to see you. He says he is an inspector.”

  Veronica almost jumped to her feet. She thought she had been dismissed by the Runners, thought she would have to pester them relentlessly to get any reaction, but here was one in her morning room.

  “Your Grace,” he said solemnly and with a half bow which seemed to be an effort. “I have to tell you that the remains of a young woman, matching the description you gave of your daughter, have been pulled from the river this morning.”

  Her complexion lost all colour as she sank down into the chair behind her.

  “Are you sure it is her?” She whispered.

  “No, your Grace. The young lady has dark hair and seems to be about the age of the young Duchess, but her face is badly damaged so it is not
easy to tell.”

  She fought against the urge to faint, gripped the arms of the chair with her fingers until they turned white.

  “Is there anyone here with you?” The inspector said. “Someone will have to come and identify her, but under the circumstances, we didn’t think it appropriate to ask the Duke. Of course, he is her husband, and he is the one to whom we should report, but it is a difficult situation.”

  She gathered her courage, went to the little bureau and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote a quick note, melted the sealing wax over a candle and dripped the melted wax onto the paper. Then she removed her ring and pressed it into the wax to seal it. She called to Flora.

  “Take this,” she said, shoving it into her hand. “My brother will be found at the Albany Club. You know where that is?” Flora nodded. “Make sure he gets this as a matter of urgency. Take a Hackney if you need to.”

  She gave the girl some money then turned to the inspector.

  “Tell me where I need to go. As soon as my brother arrives, we will come. You can go now.”

  She fought to keep the tears out of her eyes, hoping this man would leave quickly so she could succumb to her grief, so she could weep in private.

  “Very well, Your Grace,” he replied. “But please be quick. I am breaking all the rules by giving this duty to you instead of the Duke.”

  “I realise that,” she replied. “What do you want me to do, come alone? Without support?”

  “Of course not, Your Grace.” He passed her a piece of paper with an address already written. Obviously it was something that was needed as a regularly occurrence. “We will be waiting for you.”

  ***

  George, Lord Hartleigh, stood watching his eldest son, awaiting an answer to his question. If Susan had indeed given birth, she would have to have conceived before the marriage to his son. While he could well understand Christopher’s reluctance to announce such a birth, he couldn’t simply ignore the fact.