The accusation cut deep, even though an aspect of it was true. Still, her wavering voice cut through his indignation. He kneeled at her side and took her hand in his. “What is wrong with aspiring to achieve both goals?”
She turned her head away, her tears beginning anew. Catherine had been through much this eve. Not only had she learned of her mother’s death, but… Well, he could hardly imagine the fear inspired by the demands he’d made of Brewer, the worry Brewer might refuse. “Catherine, my demands on Brewer were in your best interests. If you’d gone alone to hand over the Ruby Cross for your son, what would have stopped Brewer and his men from taking the cross and killing you both?”
Nodding, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “I know.” She blinked away all further tears and directed her gaze back at him. “I simply wish we would have discussed the possibility of what you might say to Brewer beforehand.”
“I admit, we should have.” Perhaps, like her, he had been alone in his decision-making too long. He wasn’t used to talking through and potentially defending his reasoning with anyone.
In light of the tremulous smile brightening her tear-stained face, he would indeed consider discussing his plans at length in the future.
“No one should have to suffer the loss of a child as you have. If only we could do more to ensure Brewer never attempts anything like this again.” The injustice of it all singed his very skin. “He should have to pay for what he’s done… If only we could use the law to our advantage.”
Catherine shrugged. “I went to the constables when all this began. They did nothing.”
“No surprise there. Brewer most likely has them in his pocket.”
Her eyes widened. “What about your brother? Isn’t he a solicitor?”
He nodded slowly, the pit of his stomach hardening like a cannonball. “My brother?”
“He works with the courts. He might be able to help us prove our case and send Brewer to Newgate, where he belongs.”
Go to his brother Stephen? For help? “We don’t need him.”
“If we can charge Brewer with the crime of kidnapping,” a pained looked flashed over her features, “of killing my mother, you’ll easily get the Ruby Cross back and be on your way.”
No. He couldn’t approach Stephen with this. He wouldn’t. He’d never asked his brothers for help before, and he’d rather not start now. “My brother would wonder why I was helping you. Don’t you worry I’ll tell him about the theft of my cross?”
She stiffened. “Should I?”
“You’d have me lie to my brother, a solicitor?” His argument was weak. Even he could see it for what it was, an excuse. After bragging to his brothers about the Ruby Cross, he could never admit he’d lost it to pirates.
But instead of berating him, Catherine lifted a hand to his cheek, compassion on her face. “Why do you compete with your brothers? Family should be about affection and supporting one another whenever it’s needed.”
He pulled away from her touch, from her reproach. “Not all families are the same.”
“In this, they should be.”
Nonsense. He stood, retrieved his empty glass, and headed toward his brandy. “My family strives for success—”
“At the expense of any sort of affinity toward one another.” She rose and crossed the room to place her hand over the decanter’s top. “Are you truly happy always competing with your brothers?” She rolled her eyes. “With everyone?”
“I’m happy when I win,” he grumbled, brushing her hand away and refilling his cup.
“You’re impossible.”
Why didn’t she understand? It was so simple. “I’m the third son. I will never inherit my father’s title, his land, nor much of anything else.” And his brothers were a great deal older. “For the longest time, when I was small, I had to sit back and watch as my father celebrated my brothers’ accomplishments, dreaming of the day his approval would turn in my direction. I have yet to catch up to their count.” He took a swallow of his drink, the slight burn and strong flavor welcome. “As you said, Stephen is a solicitor. Any day, he’ll become a barrister. And Charles will soon be a bloody member of Parliament. He will also be a baronet with all that comes with the title. While I…” He gulped down the brandy with vigor, until there was nothing left. “I’m just a captain of a ship owned by someone else.” He huffed out a breath as he remembered. “Strike that. I was the captain of a ship owned by someone else.”
Catherine arched a slender brow. “Are you quite through feeling sorry for yourself?”
He cast her a look that should have silenced her. But no, not Catherine. She simply crossed her arms and cocked a shapely hip.
“If we compare lives, your terribly sad story does not come close to what I’ve endured.”
A valid point.
“Therefore, when you’re finished with your drunken rant, arrange a visit with your brother, the solicitor, for tomorrow morning. Even if you don’t need his help, I do.” On those last words, she turned and left, heading toward the bedroom where she’d recuperated most of the day, while he stood in stunned silence.
Grumbling under his breath, Thomas had another drink and prepared himself for the meeting to come.
…
Catherine followed Stephen Glanville’s butler down a long corridor, Thomas at her side. She still wore her cape, as Thomas insisted they wouldn’t stay long. It appeared he was in a fine bit of temper. Indeed, the frown on his lips hadn’t left his face since last night when they’d first spoken of coming here. Unhappy or not, he would survive.
The stately London town house astounded with its eloquent and expensive ornamentation. Had Thomas’s brother spent his every pence on frivolous decorations, or was he so wealthy he could waste his excess coin on these fripperies? Yes, she was well aware of the extravagances of the wealthy, but to see it before her very eyes… One of these paintings, one of these vases, could feed her family for God knew how long. Thomas’s house didn’t have the same wastefulness. Was it because he was rarely there, or because his brothers didn’t visit? Or couldn’t he afford such luxuries?
The butler announced their presence, and Catherine entered the dining room. The aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread made her mouth water despite having eaten a short time ago. Two men sat at the long table, one reading a newspaper and the other eating his breakfast with a pile of papers resting beside his plate. Both were dressed well, their suits obviously of the finest material. A note of lavender and orange flowers permeated the room, no doubt from the powdered wigs perched upon their heads.
Thomas stepped forward. “Mr. Charles Glanville and Mr. Stephen Glanville, may I introduce you to Mrs. Catherine…” He paused.
She’d never told him her surname. She could lie to protect herself, but she didn’t need to. Not anymore. “Fry,” she finished for him. “Mrs. Catherine Fry.”
Both men rose to their feet and dipped their heads in greeting, their stares curious.
“What happened to you?” Charles demanded.
By the direction of his brothers’ gazes toward Thomas’s injured nose, she knew full well of what Charles spoke.
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Thomas replied.
While Charles clearly didn’t approve of the answer, Stephen seemed to have no such issue.
“Care to join us?” Stephen asked before sinking back into his chair, his own breakfast half eaten. A late morning meal to start the day? Ah, the life of leisure.
Stephen had a sturdier build than his brothers, his face fuller, and a single blond curl had escaped from his wig. The solicitor. The one they’d come to see.
“Mrs. Fry?” Thomas indicated the food on the sideboard, his countenance tense. Poor man was sacrificing his pride bringing her here.
She gave him a reassuring smile and took a seat. “No, thank you.”
Thomas dropped stiffly into the spot beside her, his gaze trained on his oldest brother. “I’m surprised to see you here, Charles.”
Charles set aside his newspaper and smirked. “Stephen mentioned you wished to meet with him, and curiosity got the better of me. I had to see what this was all about.”
Thomas grimaced, his eyes glittering with annoyance.
Stephen looked up from his papers. “What is this all about? You gave no clue in your message. Do you need my help?”
“No.” The word was terse and a bit too loud. Thomas cleared his throat. “I don’t need your help. I need your knowledge.”
Stephen shrugged as if to say those two things were the same, while Charles’s lips curled at the edges.
Such children. Catherine spoke up. “He doesn’t need your help. I do.” Although the men now looked at her, her admission changed nothing. Thomas looked as tense as before. Best get the answers they needed and leave. “My son and mother were kidnapped, and a ransom demanded. And while I have what I need to pay for their return…or rather my son’s return.” She clenched her hands together beneath the table at the reminder. “My mother died as a captive.” She choked on the words, the wound too fresh. “I want Simon Brewer to pay for what he’s done. The kidnapping…her death…”
Thomas turned to her, sympathy warming his eyes. “We don’t know he killed her. You said she was weak—”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Even if that were the case… If it hadn’t been for Brewer, she could have died at home, surrounded by her family.”
Thomas’s soft voice drew near. “I’m sorry to say, legally, I don’t believe we can prove Brewer caused her death.”
“Simon Brewer?” Stephen asked. “Are you sure?”
“Quite,” Thomas answered. “We met with him last eve to discuss the exchange. Cath—Mrs. Fry went to the constables, but they’ve done nothing for her.”
Stephen shook his head. “The constables are a worthless lot, easily susceptible to bribes. Besides that, with no proof of murder, he’ll be charged with extortion and kidnapping, both misdemeanors. The constables are only required to apprehend those who’ve committed felonies—”
“If the rumors are true, Brewer has committed his fair share of felonies,” Charles chimed in. “Although good luck proving any of them.”
Catherine couldn’t help herself. She needed to know. “What rumors?” What kind of man held her son hostage?
Charles took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve heard he’s held a grudge against members of Parliament for years. Some say he was responsible for the fire that burned down Zachary Moyle’s house, and the carriage accident that killed Roger Lyndon’s wife.”
Arson and murder? “Why?”
“Likely, because of his father,” Charles supplied. “Years ago, Simon Brewer’s father attempted to sway members of Parliament to improve the conditions of the St. Giles district.”
When his pause lengthened, Thomas impatiently prompted, “Go on.”
Charles arched an eyebrow as if the rest were obvious. “If you’ve seen the Rookery of St. Giles lately, it’s quite clear he failed.”
“Because he was poor?” She vaguely remembered her father talking about Mr. Brewer when she was a girl. A sorry tale.
“I’m sure his poverty didn’t help his cause,” Charles agreed. “But he was looked down on even more because he was Catholic.”
He would have found no friendly faces in Parliament then, much less anywhere else. Even now, no Catholics could hold political office. “What did they do to him that his son is seeking revenge?”
Charles’s expression saddened. “Nothing but bully and ridicule him. But it seems that once he realized his breath was being wasted, he turned to drink, drowning himself in the stuff.”
“And you want to join the dastardly bunch who drove a poor soul to drink?” Stephen half laughed.
Charles rested his hand on the top of the cane leaning against the table, his fingers closing on its round end. “Not all who serve in Parliament are prejudiced against Catholics.”
“Politicians,” Stephen scoffed, playfully.
“Solicitors,” Charles scoffed back.
Catherine disregarded their banter, concentrating on the problem at hand. How would the knowledge of Brewer’s other crimes, even if they were felonies, help them? They had no proof, only speculation and rumor. And his revenge in the name of his Catholic father had nothing to do with his demand for the Ruby Cross…an antiquity of the Knights Templar…an order blessed by the Roman Catholic Church. An odd coincidence. Or was it? “Do you think Brewer’s demand of the Ruby Cross has any tie with his crimes against these members of Parliament?”
“If nothing else, I have to applaud Brewer’s sense of irony,” Charles chuckled. “What poetic justice to use the Ruby Cross of the Knights Templar to destroy his Catholic-loathing enemies.”
“On the contrary.” A sense of sadness pervaded her heart. “The true irony is that Simon Brewer has the resources his father never had to improve the London rookery they’d called home. But he’s chosen to direct his energy toward revenge instead.”
“Hold on. The Ruby Cross?” Charles’s suspicious gaze bored into her, and she cringed. She should have kept her mouth shut.
“As in your infamous Ruby Cross of the Knights Templar?” Stephen asked Thomas. “The one you’re planning to build your shipping empire with?”
Thomas let his head drop for the briefest moment, a foul oath on his breath, before he looked at his brothers once more. “The same,” he admitted.
Surprise flashed over both of his brothers’ faces, and they exchanged a look.
“Why are you involved in this woman’s dealings?” Charles demanded. “With Simon Brewer, no less.”
“Who is this woman to you?” Stephen added.
Thomas answered as if their association were of no consequence. “Brewer wants the Ruby Cross in exchange for her son.”
“So she’s said.” Charles leaned back in his chair, studying Thomas with a critical eye. “And you’re simply going to hand it over to him? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“No, I don’t plan on just handing it over to him. That’s why we’re here,” Thomas growled. “If I can find a way to get the authorities involved, perhaps to come to the exchange and arrest Brewer for kidnapping, Mrs. Fry can save her son, and I can retrieve the cross,” he continued. “Better yet, if we can charge Brewer with his other crimes, we can have him put away for good. In which case, I won’t have to worry about further attempts to steal the cross.”
Catherine stiffened, her pulse racing. Thomas wouldn’t tell them of her attempt to steal the Ruby Cross, would he?
“Brewer has been trying to steal it from you?” Stephen asked. “Grand larceny is a felony charge.”
Thomas nodded. “Brewer had his men search my home and ship.”
“You know this for a fact?” Stephen pressed.
Relief eased her tension. Thomas wouldn’t tell them she’d been a pirate. He would stay true to his word. That, and if he told them she’d attacked his ship and taken the cross, he’d have to admit he’d been defeated. By a woman, no less.
Thomas glanced her way. “I have no proof of Brewer’s attempt.” Only her word, and she hadn’t witnessed the acts, just heard of them.
“I see.” Charles turned his stare to her. “And how do you know this woman?”
Despite her confidence that Thomas would not give her up, her muscles tightened again.
“How we met doesn’t matter,” Thomas insisted. “What matters is—”
Charles thrust out a hand in her direction. “How do you know she isn’t working with Brewer, using your sympathies to convince you to give Brewer the cross?”
What? She would never…
“She wouldn’t do that.” Thomas reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ve seen her pain over the loss of her mother and son… She speaks the truth.” He leaned back, his hand scrubbing his face. “What we have then is kidnapping and extortion…”
“You’ll need witnesses at the exchange to prove even that much,” Stephen warned.
“True eno
ugh,” Thomas agreed. “I’ll have my crew with me.”
Stephen’s brow wrinkled. “Are they upstanding men?”
“Most of them,” Thomas admitted.
“With anyone but Brewer, it might be enough,” Stephen pushed aside his plate, giving them his full attention, “but I suspect along with constables, he has judges in his pocket.”
Corrupt law officials and judges? Catherine pursed her lips. No wonder most people took the law into their own hands. Those expected to protect their fellow man and sentence the corrupt were as crooked as the criminals.
“Then what can we do?” Thomas asked.
Stephen regarded Thomas with all seriousness. “You need a witness so respected that his testimony can’t be questioned without raising eyebrows.”
Like Thomas’s brothers?
Charles, who’d been staring at her for the last two minutes, finally spoke. “Stephen, do you remember the last time Thomas came to us for aid?”
Where had that come from?
“That, too, was over a woman, or rather a girl,” Charles said with a laugh.
Thomas’s face reddened, and his leg bounced beneath the table. “I didn’t come to you for aid.”
Stephen chuckled along with Charles. “Seems Thomas likes to surround himself with women who bring him trouble.”
“Even if we have acceptable witnesses to prove extortion and kidnapping, those crimes are misdemeanors. We need more,” Thomas cut in, his voice sharp. “Which politicians ridiculed Brewer’s father? Do you have any idea who Brewer might hold accountable for his father’s downfall?”
“Quite a number, or so I’ve heard,” Charles answered, a smile still in place. “Although it’s interesting…the leader of the group Brewer finds fault with has remained unscathed.”
Thomas leaned forward, his leg now idle. “Who is it?”
“Old Walter Dunn,” Charles provided.
Hmm. “Maybe Brewer has been saving his revenge against Mr. Dunn for last,” Catherine muttered.
Questioning looks surrounded her, so she put her thoughts to words. “Imagine what Brewer could do with the money he’ll acquire once he sells the Ruby Cross. Such a large sum will give him power, enough power to make Mr. Dunn’s life a living hell.”
His Pirate Seductress (Love on the High Seas Book 3) Page 11