Signs of Love and Deliverance

by Tracy Kay

  “What?” he asked miserably, doing his best not to burst out in tears from Brandon’s compassion. No one had ever spent the time to listen to him or comfort him. He was used to being ignored and being left to his own devices.

  “Farrington has been taking boys from the streets and out of the orphanages. If you hear of anything that you think is important about these children, I want you to tell me.” Brandon knew it was useless to tell the boy to stay close to home and out of the streets. He had noticed Jeremy sneaking out of the house on numerous occasions since he had moved in. Brandon had sent one of the guards to follow him to ensure his safety and to inform him of Jeremy’s activities. It was always the same place. The boy favored a gang of street boys in the slums of London. As long as he wasn’t in any danger, Brandon was inclined to let him go and be with his friends.

  “I will help.” Jeremy nodded in agreement and grinned with delight. He hadn’t expected Brandon to ask him to do something this important. No one had ever trusted him to do a job such as this before. He was giddy with excitement and anxious to get started. He knew exactly where he would go first for information.

  Putting a hand on his shoulder to emphasize his warning, Brandon ordered, “Don’t go off and try anything unsafe without telling me first. I don’t want you in any danger, understand?”

  Jeremy nodded. “I will be careful and I won’t do anything dangerous,” he promised as he stood to leave. He looked at Brandon with sincerity in his eyes. “Thank you, Brandon, for trusting me and listening.”

  “Any time, pup,” Brandon said as he watched Jeremy leave.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Marshal Nevell sat on his favorite, soft leather chair in his study with the late afternoon sun streaming across the room. He absently thumbed through the swatches of material, unable to decide on the color or pattern. His indecision was understandable considering his mind kept wandering back to Clara and their meeting earlier this morning. He was positively smitten with her and she was very receptive to him. Although she was young, she was quite charming. Her parents seemed pleased with the possible match. They had invited him to dinner for the following evening and he looked forward to the occasion.

  He contemplated the swatches in his hands and tried to concentrate. Marshall was planning on redecorating his dining room. At present, the dining room was dark blue with oak furniture which had become quite tiresome and was in need of a change. He was leaning towards topaz, but he thought a nice, bright purple or violet might give the room a regal feel to it. He had found a new dinning set he adored from the King James era and it was absolutely stunning with its carvings.

  Every room in Marshall’s home had ornately carved moldings and arches with opulent rugs covering the polished, hardwood floors, heavy damask drapes framing the windows, and crystal chandeliers and sconces adorning the ceilings and walls. Marshall loved heavy, dark furniture with intricate details, and he searched all over England to find the best pieces for his townhouse. He preferred outlandish colors and ornate trimmings, and each room was very different from the others.

  Marshall was debating over a gold fleur-de-lis pattern when a masked man appeared in front of him dressed in a hooded, black cloak. Surprised at the strange man’s arrival, Marshall stood, allowing the swatches to scatter at his feet and under the chair. “Who are you, sir, and how did you get in?”

  “Who I am is irrelevant and how I got in is a secret to my trade,” the man replied in a low voice. “Please, go to your desk and sit down, Nevell. We have a little business to attend to.”

  “Business? What kind of business?” Marshall demanded, afraid he was about to be robbed.

  “To your desk, Nevell,” the man commanded. “You don’t want me to use force, now do you?”

  “Certainly not,” Marshall responded, shaking his head in perplexity as he moved to the desk and sat.

  “You have been writing some very obnoxious notes, haven’t you, Nevell?” The man accused, shaking his finger at him.

  “Notes, I don’t know what you mean?” Marshal was perplexed and bewildered. He hadn’t written any obnoxious notes. Why did the man think that he had?

  “The notes to Lady Joselyn. You have been threatening her,” the man charged.

  Marshall stared at him with confusion and uncertainty. He had no idea what the man was talking about or what he wanted from him. He hadn’t written any threatening notes to Joselyn or anyone else, and certainly, he had not written the notes she allegedly had been receiving from Farrington. “I didn’t write any notes. I would never threaten Lady Joselyn or anyone else for that matter.”

  “But you did write notes,” the strange man remarked with a short laugh.

  “Who are you?” Marshall asked again, becoming agitated.

  “Not important.” The man frowned and waved away the question. “What is important are the two notes you are going to write today.” The man walked over to the sideboard near the desk and poured two glasses of bourbon from the decanter.

  “I am not writing any notes,” Marshall refused as he watched the man, puzzled by his actions.

  “Yes, you are or I will kill you, here and now,” the man said nonchalantly and yanked out a pistol from under his coat, pointing it at Marshall.

  Horrified at the conclusion he came to, Marshall gasped. “You are the one who killed Zachery.”

  “Yes, as well as Roger and Beatrice,” the man admitted with a sneer. “The notes,” he urged as he placed one of the glasses on the desk.

  Marshal swallowed hard. Writing notes wouldn’t matter, not when faced with an insane man pointing a gun at him. He could explain it all later to Lady Joselyn; surely, she would understand his predicament. “Wh . . . what do you want me to write?” he stammered.

  “First, you are going to request Madeline Cathcart’s presence,” he directed as he picked up the other glass of bourbon. “You will tell her it is urgent. Then, you will write your confession.” When Marshall only looked at him with bewilderment, the man casually waved the pistol at him. “Begin.”

  Marshall blinked at the insane man before slowly taking out two sheets of monogrammed stationary. “What would you like me to write?”

  The man sighed. “I see you intend on being difficult. Very well write this: Dear Lady Madeline, I desperately need your assistance. Please come to my townhouse this evening and come alone. It is of the utmost importance and urgent. And sign your name.” The man waved the glass at him before taking a swallow of bourbon. “Excellent bourbon by the way.”

  Marshall balked at writing such a note. “Why would Lady Madeline come at my insistence? She is not permitted to leave her home, not after the shooting.”

  “She will come.” The man snickered and took another drink. “Have some bourbon.” He nodded towards the full glass on the desk.

  Marshall raised his head in defiance. “I will not put Lady Madeline into any danger. Besides, it is not proper for a lady of Madeline’s station to visit a bachelor’s home unescorted.” The man was completely insane, Marshall thought. He looked furtively around the room, hoping for an escape from the lunatic.

  “She will not be in any danger and she is not exactly a proper lady. Write.” He gestured with the pistol, swallowing the rest of the bourbon, and putting the glass down on the desk.

  Marshall gave in and quickly wrote out the note. When he was finished, he glanced up at the man. “Now what?”

  “A second letter.”

  “A second letter?” Marshall stared at him in outrage and disbelief. This simply could not be happening to him. He wished he hadn’t given the servants the day off. His propensity for wanting a day alone at least once a week was going to be his undoing. He valued his privacy and found the quiet of the empty house soothing, but today, he regretted the indulgence.

  “This is what you will write: Dear Parkers and Cathcarts, I cannot live with my lies any longer. I wrote the ghastly notes to Joselyn, and I am deeply sorry for my deeds. Please, forgive me. Now, sign it.”


  “Am I to give this to Lady Madeline when she arrives?” Marshall asked, baffled by the note he had finished writing and how the man could force him to give it to Madeline.

  “Yes. Stand up. Take that straight back chair.” He indicated the chair against the wall. “Place it beneath the chandelier. A very convenient habit of yours to have these fixtures in every room, I must say.” He took a rope out of a black bag Marshall hadn’t notice before. The rope was in a large loop and knotted. It suspiciously resembled a noose.

  “What is this?” Marshall demanded, fearing he knew what was going to happen, but unable to accept it.

  Ignoring him, the man gestured at the chair. “Stand on the chair.”

  Marshall stared at him flabbergasted. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  The man gave a long-suffering sigh. “Because you have interfered with my Joselyn and you are in my way.”

  “Lady Joselyn? I don’t understand.” Marshall was confused. He hadn’t done anything to Joselyn. He hadn’t hurt anyone.

  “Stand on the chair,” the man ordered again, waving his pistol with impatience at Marshall. Reluctantly, Marshall stepped up on the chair. The man handed him the rope. “Tie it to the chandelier nice and tight.” Marshall did as the man requested. “Put the noose around your neck.”

  Horrified and outraged, Marshall quickly stepped down from the chair. “I am not going to commit suicide. I will not have Lady Madeline walk into such a scene.”

  “You do not have a choice. Get on the chair.” The man waved the pistol again and took a menacing step towards Marshall.

  “If you wish to kill me, you will have to do it yourself,” Marshall exclaimed, trembling with indignation and fear. He knew he wasn’t a courageous man, but he wasn’t going to give this madman what he wanted so easily.

  “There are many ways to die, Nevell, shooting accidents, poisoning, smothering, all of which can be explained away. I do not wish for anyone to think you were murdered, but that you are a murderer. I take pride in my murders. Each different from the last, and they all seem more like accidents than murder, but everyone is becoming suspicious and too curious. So now, it is your turn. You make the perfect replacement. Everyone will believe it was you, and they will be shocked and relieved.” He paused and waved the pistol through the air to let his words sink in. “Now, you can die the easy way or the hard way. Hanging is quick, considering the other more painful options which will drag out your death,” he smirked, pleased with himself.

  Terrified, Marshall resigned himself, realizing he had no choice. Marshall was not much of a fighter. He would never be able to wrestle the gun out of the man’s hand, and he would die anyway, shooting or hanging or worse, not much of a choice. He would never get to see what would come of Clara or get to redecorate his dining room. What a ridiculous thought to have at a time like this, Marshall mused. He stepped onto the chair with as much dignity as he could muster and placed the noose around his neck. He glared down at the man with fear, regret, and anger in his eyes. “Tell me who you are? I have the right to know who kills me.”

  “You have no rights. You are a dead man.” The man curled his lip and forcefully kicked the chair forward which hit the back of Marshall’s calves swinging his legs out in front of him. The chair fell onto the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. The man felt a chill of excitement run through him as Marshall fought for his life.

  Marshall grasped the rope desperately trying to get it off him, choking for breath. He kicked his feet, searching for some purchase but found only air. His body convulsed while the sinister man watched, waiting for him to die. Marshall had to know. With the last bit of his strength, he reached down with his hand and snatched the black, silk mask off the man’s face, flipping the cloak’s hood off his head. Marshall’s eyes bulged with recognition and lack of air. The silk mask fluttered to the ground, landing between the rungs of the chair.

  The man smirked with satisfaction as Marshall Nevell lost the battle for his life. He placed the suicide note beneath Marshall’s feet and put the other in his pocket. He would have a messenger deliver it later that afternoon. It was a shame he could not be here to see Madeline find Marshall’s dead body swinging from his beloved chandelier.

  He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. A sense of euphoria overcame him. Oh, how he loved the thrill and smell of death. Giving his head a brief shake and opening his eyes, the man quickly inspected the room, checking for any trace evidence that he had been there. Finding none, he quietly exited the house, leaving behind him a sunlit room and the sound of tinkling crystal as Marshall’s body slowly swayed from the chandelier.

  “Maddy, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jared objected as the carriage stopped in front of Marshall Nevell’s house. “Brandon doesn’t want you going anywhere without him or Nick. This is too dangerous, especially at this hour. Why don’t we come by tomorrow morning?”

  “Jared, what could possibly happen? Marshall is harmless and he wouldn’t have asked me to visit if it wasn’t important. Besides, I left Brandon a note telling him where we are.” Madeline’s older brothers were not at home so she chose the next best thing, Jared, but it had not been easy convincing him. She had begged and bribed Jared to come with her. Madeline had to respond to Marshall’s request despite the risk of Brandon’s wrath. She didn’t believe Marshall would have asked her to visit at such a late hour of the day and alone if it was not important. “I should only be a few minutes,” Madeline said as she started to open the carriage door.

  Jared grasped her arm and hauled her back down on the seat next to him. “You are not going in there by yourself. I will go with you.” He wasn’t about to let her go into Nevell’s home unescorted. As it was, Brandon was going to bring him to task for allowing Madeline to come here without his knowledge. Besides, Jared wasn’t pleased about the whole ordeal himself and felt the need to protect his sister.

  “He asked for me to come alone.” When Jared didn’t release her arm, she sighed. “Fine, but you will wait in the foyer.”

  Jared snorted, like hell he would. He let her arm go and they left the carriage, walking up the path to the house in the diminishing light. A spring breeze played with Madeline’s hair as she nervously waited while Jared knocked on the door. There was no answer. Jared knocked again with no response. He looked at Madeline and shrugged. “I guess he is not home.”

  “Knock again.”

  Jared wrapped loudly on the door, but the results where the same. “He is not here,” he grouched, as he turned to leave.

  As Jared headed down the walkway, Madeline turned the door knob and pushed the door open. Something was terribly wrong. She knew Marshall didn’t keep many servants, and certainly not at this late hour so she expected it to be quiet, but not this eerie silence. The foyer was well lit as was the parlor to the left of her. Madeline took a few more steps deeper into the foyer, when Jared came up behind her.

  “What are you doing?” His voice in the silence caused her to jump.

  She took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “He is here somewhere, Jared. He must be.” She noticed the light coming from under a closed door. “Marshall! It is Madeline. Are you here?” She shouted, but only a curious tinkling sound met her. Gathering her courage, Madeline quickly walked to the closed door and opened it. Madeline didn’t go any farther. Her knees buckled and she grasped the door frame for support as she took in the room before her.

  Marshall was hanging from the chandelier in his study with a straight back chair lying tipped over on the floor in front of him. His body was slowly swinging to and fro. The tiny little crystals on the chandelier hitting each other made the odd tinkling sound she had heard.

  Jared’s soft curse snapped her out of her daze. She turned her back on the morbid scene and whispered, “Go find Brandon.”

  “I am not leaving you here alone,” Jared said, unable to take his eyes off the grizzly sight.

  “Then send the driver.” She shoved him towards the door. “Go.” With a
deep breath to steady herself, she turned back to the office and walked in. The chair was at an odd angle. It had fallen forward with the headrest leaning against the floor. She thought it was strange that it had not fallen to its side or backward. Madeline blinked, crinkled her brow, and rubbed her forehead. That was an odd thought for her to have. What did it matter how the chair had fallen on the floor; Marshal was still dead.

  When Madeline walked farther into the room, she noticed a scrap of black silk caught in the rungs of the chair and a note on the carpet under Marshall’s feet. He must have placed the note beneath the chair before killing himself. Very odd, she thought. She leaned over, tugged on the black silk, and crinkled her brow. It resembled a silk mask, something worn at a masquerade ball, but she couldn’t recall there having been one recently or one coming up. She would have to check her invitations. If there was a masquerade ball, she would have been invited. Dismissing the mask in her hand, she picked up the note and read it.

  “What is it?”

  Startled, Madeline jumped at Jared’s question. “A suicide note.” She handed the missive to Jared. “He says he was the one who wrote those threatening notes to Joselyn. I can’t believe this.” Madeline shook her head in denial. “There is something wrong about this. Why would he kill himself?”

  “He obviously killed more than himself,” Jared replied, coming to the obvious conclusion. “We were treating him like a friend and here he was killing off the Parkers. He must have laughed at our stupidity.”

  “He wasn’t a killer, Jared. He didn’t kill Zachary, Roger or Beatrice. I won’t believe it.” Madeline shook her head again, rejecting the contents of the note. Not Marshall. It wasn’t possible. “In any case, the note didn’t say he killed anyone, only that he wrote the notes. I won’t jump to conclusions, not without evidence,” she stated heatedly.