Chapter 33
Heath followed the liveried servant to Solicitor-General Dagwood’s private study. The man motioned for Heath to go inside. “Mr. Dagwood will be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Stepping into Dagwood’s inner sanctum, Heath straightened his neck cloth and tugged on his silk waistcoat, suddenly glad that he’d worn his Sunday best.
The chamber was an imposing testament to all that Dagwood had accomplished in his legal career. Parchment certificates in gilded frames lined the walls, awards with commemorative engravings sat on a mantel, and inside a special glass case rested the notice declaring Dagwood the Solicitor-General of England, Law Officer of the Crown.
The walls were lined with legal treatises, and the scent of old books was like a comforting friend to Heath as he moved to stand before the window to wait.
The rear garden was barren and unkempt. Dagwood spent most of his waking hours at work; he likely had little care for the part of the house that he didn’t use and that visitors rarely saw. He had no children to run in the grass, no wife to tend a garden. It must be very lonely. For the first time ever, Heath felt a little sorry for his superior. Not that Heath had any of these things. But he hoped…
“Hello, Bartlett.”
Heath turned.
Dagwood strode across the room with that authoritative air that Heath had tried to emulate when he’d first come to work for the solicitor-general. “Congratulations! Lady Bright sent me a note last night and then I read the announcement in the Times this morning. Well done!”
Dagwood pumped Heath’s hand vigorously and patted him on the back. “A drink is in order, my friend!”
Moving over to the sideboard, Dagwood poured each of them a generous portion of brandy. Heath recalled the very first time Dagwood had brought him into this study and they’d shared a drink. Heath had just secured the repayment of a ten-thousand-pound debt on behalf of the Crown. The debt had been outstanding for five years and Heath had succeeded where his predecessors had failed. He’d made it happen not by using threats or sanctions, but by helping the debtor structure his payment so as not to lose the lands that had been in his family for generations, the key sticking point in the deal.
It had been a triumph that he’d savored, all the more gratifying because Dagwood had been pleased.
Dagwood’s usually stern face was creased in a wide smile as he pressed a glass into Heath’s hand. “Here’s to your fortuitous marriage. May you and Miss Whilom share many prosperous years to come.”
Nodding, Heath took a sip. It tasted like vinegar, and Heath knew it wasn’t the brandy that had soured.
Dagwood’s sharp dark gaze was assessing. “What’s troubling you, Bartlett? You should be on top of the world, and instead you look as if your best friend just died.”
Setting down the glass, Heath straightened. “I want to thank you for everything, sir. You’ve been only generous to me—”
Waving a hand, Dagwood stepped behind his great mahogany desk and sat. “There’s no need to get sappy now, Bartlett. Everything I did for you was for my own ends. Every general needs good lieutenants, and you’re one of my best.”
A large oil portrait of Dagwood was on the wall behind the desk, and Heath felt as if he was facing two Dagwoods. The Dagwood in the painting was resplendent in court attire, and the artist had managed to capture the hint of gray at the temples of his raven hair and the intelligence gleaming in Dagwood’s coal black eyes.
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me, sir.” Heath swallowed. “I hope you always feel that way.”
Dagwood’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something amiss. Are you concerned about the guest list? Or the wedding preparations? That’s for Lady Bright to worry over. Not you.”
“I…ah, well, there’s no easy way to say this, sir…”
“You, the exemplary barrister, at a loss for words? Mayhap marriage isn’t so good for you after all!” Chuckling, Dagwood reached into the box on his desk and selected a cigar. He held one out to Heath, who shook his head. Dagwood busied himself with the cutter and used the candle on his desk to light it.
Puffing white clouds of smoke, Dagwood narrowed his eyes and considered Heath through the haze. “So, what is it then? Concerned about your father meeting the Whiloms?”
Heath gritted his teeth, ashamed that he’d told Dagwood about his father’s indiscretions. He’d been lashing out at his father for far too long. He’d been acting like an adolescent, self-involved and without concern for the damage he was inflicting on his father or their relationship. He realized that he had some fences to mend. But they would be easier to repair now because Heath had finally stopped wanting his father to be someone other than who he truly was. Heath could finally accept his father and love him without judgment or shame.
Heath lifted his chin. “Nay, sir. My father is quite the gentleman and can carry himself well, no matter the company. He is not the problem.” Reaching into his coat, Heath pulled out a sheet of heavy vellum. He slipped it onto Dagwood’s desk.
“What’s this?” Dagwood asked.
“My resignation.”
Dagwood stilled, then leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. Smoke surrounded him in a cloud. He did not touch the paper. “Did you accept the offer from Benton and Williams?”
“You knew about that?” Mr. Isaac Benton had been courting Heath for two years, and Heath had taken pains never to let his superior know about it. Heath hadn’t wanted Dagwood to hold it against the law firm, and he’d never had any intention of accepting the position. Now Heath doubted that Mr. Benton would offer him so much as a drink after what he’d done. Again, the generosity of Bills’s offer warmed Heath’s heart.
Dagwood grimaced. “I never figured you for the private sector, Bartlett, but appreciate that you might feel the need for more funds now that you will be wed. I can see about a raise in salary, but you know there’s only so much I can do. Staying with me offers more than simple compensation, as you well know.”
“I’m not asking for an increase in salary, sir. I’m resigning. And if you read that letter you will understand why.”
“Hmm.” Blowing out a line of smoke, Dagwood lifted his quizzing glass to his eye and peered intensely at Heath.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“I’m sure it’s quite poetic, but I’d rather hear you say why you’re resigning after all I’ve done to help you.”
Heath swallowed. “I do appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I have no other option.”
“There are always options, Bartlett.” Dagwood’s smile was self-satisfied. “If we don’t have one, we craft a new one. We’re lawyers; we define the rule of law.”
Heath shook his head, thinking of how brave Tess was. She’d stepped outside the little box that the world had placed her in, and instead had become an agent for England. She lived by her own code of ethics, safeguarding those she loved. He, in contrast, had gotten mired in legalities and caught up in his “position,” somehow losing sight of his values in the process. Her example inspired him.
Heath rubbed his eyes. “I can’t remember when I started seeing things less as ‘right and wrong’ and more as ‘win or lose.’ I can’t count the number of times when I justified an unjust result by saying it was how the system operated or was the way of things.” Dropping his hand, Heath frowned. “I can’t remember the last time I did something for the greater good that didn’t somehow further my ambitions.”
Dagwood stopped smiling. “Pray tell me you’re not going haring off to the country to teach snot-nosed children their numbers.”
“No, sir. I have no idea what I’m going to do.” Or who I’m going to do it with. But he had a hope, a dream…
Dagwood straightened in his chair. “I can’t believe that you’re quitting now, after working so hard and rising so high. It makes no sense.”
“I don’t want to quit, but—”
“Then don’t.”
“
I have to, sir. After what I’ve done you will no longer want me in your employ. I’ve filed a nolle prosequi in the Golding matter.”
Dagwood’s quizzing glass dropped from his eye as disbelief shone in his dark gaze. “Pray tell me why you would do such a stupid thing?”
“Lady Golding is in danger.”
“Is that what she claims?”
“She was attacked last night and almost murdered. If I hadn’t come in when I did, she’d be dead.”
Leaning back in his chair, Dagwood stared at the ceiling. “So you were there last night. With her, in her rooms, at Newgate Prison.”
“That’s not the point, sir—”
“I could press charges, you know. Breach of fiduciary duty. You do recall that little pledge you made regarding the Crown?”
“Believe it or not, sir, I am keeping my promise to uphold justice—”
“By setting a murderess free?”
“Lady Golding didn’t kill anyone.”
Dagwood straightened. “And you know this, how? Because she told you so?”
“She works for the Foreign Office, sir. She’s an agent for the Crown. The very same Crown that we work to safeguard, too!”
“It’s very convenient that you tell me this after your insubordination.”
“I couldn’t take the chance that you’d say no. Or that you’d try to stop me.” Dagwood would have considered the political ramifications, the pros and cons. Heath couldn’t accept any compromise on Tess’s safety. It had been the first time that Heath had realized that Dagwood might not be the perfect model for him after all. He needed to carve his own mold, true to himself and his own code of justice.
Heath squared his shoulders. “I came here because I wanted you to learn it from me. I’m sorry to disappoint you, sir. I will never forget all you’ve done for me.”
Heath turned and walked out the door, leaving his career and everything he’d worked for in shambles behind him.
And he didn’t mind in the least.
He felt good, at peace with his decision and with the rightness of his actions. The law was sacred, and protecting its virtue for the woman he loved was the most gratifying thing he’d ever done.
As Heath made his way toward the front door, he sent off a prayer of thanks. For sending him Tess to help him find his way.
A liveried footman stepped forward. “This just arrived for you, Mr. Bartlett.” The man held out a folded note.
“Thank you.” Opening it, Heath read,
Mr. Bartlett,
I received your message regarding the attack on Lady Golding and am glad to hear that she was not too badly injured. Regarding the nolle prosequi, you certainly know how to make my job easier. I would dearly like to know how you managed to get S.G. Dagwood to agree to it, and if he’d be willing to consider it more in the future.
Please call upon me if any additional services will be required. I am at Lady Golding’s disposal.
Sincerely,
D. Bernard.
P.S. If it’s still pertinent, Wheaton is back.
“Yes!” Heath crushed the note in his hand. Wheaton was back. Tess was safe. It was time for Heath to make the Foreign Office do right by her. Wheaton would do it, for Heath was going to give him no other alternative.
Chapter 34
The scents of leather, old parchment, and dust filled the air of the library as Tess traced her fingers along the smooth spines of the volumes lining the walls. It was evening, and she was physically exhausted by all that had transpired at Newgate Prison and the trip to Andersen Hall. Yet she was restless, and the events of the last few hours had her thoughts spiraling in dangerous directions.
Heath had executed a stunning stroke to protect her. The nolle prosequi was the only means of getting her out of Newgate legally and quickly. She would be eternally grateful to him. But what would it cost him? How would Heath’s superior react to the news of his unilateral action? Would Heath lose his position? Would his career be destroyed? Bills had refused to answer her questions, giving her the sense that Heath’s act had been a mighty sacrifice.
And how would Heath’s fiancée respond to the fact that Heath had helped her? What about Miss Whilom’s parents? Tess felt ill every time she considered Heath in their company. But she had to face the reality that he was engaged to another woman, no matter how utterly demoralizing it might be.
“This is an extraordinary collection.” Nearby, Bills slowly scanned the chamber, his raised candelabra sending shadows dancing across the shelves.
Pushing all distressing thoughts from her mind, Tess turned. “Headmaster Dunn likened his books to the orphaned children he helped. They each had a unique story to offer and a distinctive place in his heart.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At a lending library. I was there to examine some comparable volumes to help me assess the value of some books I was selling. When Headmaster Dunn learned of my business, he immediately wanted to talk with me about books. The newest ones he’d found, his old favorites, the latest trends.” Unbidden her lips lifted. “He was no highbrow; anything on the written page interested him; from great poets to horrid novels, he loved them all. He had such a passion for the written word.”
Remembering the inspiring man, Tess sighed with sadness. “Headmaster Dunn taught me to love books and to experience the joy they could bring. He helped me turn a business that was meant to be a façade into a real calling. And for that I will be eternally grateful.”
“What’s this?” Bills pointed to the table.
Tess’s heart pinched with grief as she saw the quill, ink, and record, still waiting for Fiona to return and finish her cataloging. “It’s Fiona’s worktable. We were sorting the collection.” She shook her head. “I still can’t understand why Reynolds would kill Fiona. It makes no sense.”
“Perhaps I can explain that,” a raspy voice answered.
A thin, gray-haired, wizened chap with a gold-topped cane and a jaunty air stepped into the library. His black buckled shoes tapped loudly on the wooden floor.
Bills moved forward, but Tess shot him a look not to worry for her safety. By his craggy face and hunched stature, Tess guessed that the man had to be well past seventy. And given his cheerful mien and relaxed pose, he did not appear to be a threat.
His old-fashioned dove gray coat and knee breeches with white stockings pronounced him an “older gentleman,” and therefore, Tess dipped into a curtsy.
The gentleman bowed with a flourish. “Sir Lee Devane, at your service, Lady Golding.”
Straightening, Tess involuntarily lifted her hand to her bandaged throat.
“So you’ve heard of me, eh?” His craggy face split into a smile. “Lady Blankett, I presume? She finds it hard not to talk about fishing, I know.”
Tess dropped her hand, understanding how this man might have charmed his agents into feeling like a family, instead of a haphazard collection of recruits. “Actually, sir, I’ve heard a bit about your days when you headed the Foreign Office.” And have wondered what it might have been like to work for someone a shade warmer than frost.
Tess motioned to Bills. “May I present my friend Mr. Smith.”
Bills nodded. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Sir Lee’s green eyes twinkled. “Of course, Lucy’s friend.”
Bills’s cheeks flushed, but he squared his shoulders. “Janelle was a bit vague. I’m curious what you did at the Foreign Office.”
“In my glory days, I was the man in charge of intelligence on every suspicious foreigner in England. It was my privilege to serve my country and was as rewarding a position as one could ever hope for.”
“Do you miss it?” Tess asked, suddenly wondering what life might be like if she stopped working for Wheaton. She loved what she did, but could she live without it? Memory of Heath’s demand that she quit her work still caused a swell of anger within her. But thinking of all he’d sacrificed for her scattered that resentment like leaves in a windstorm.
That tempest swirled inside her, buffeting her emotions until she didn’t know which way to turn. All she knew for certain was that she longed to be with Heath.
Sir Lee leaned on his gold-topped cane. “Ah, that I do. I miss the thrill of the chase, the challenge of outwitting my opponents and struggling to think one step ahead of everyone. It was dashedly exciting.” He shrugged. “But one must make room for new blood; it’s the way of things. And besides, I have a great-grandchild on the way and soon will be too busy teaching him how to ride a horse.”
Tess couldn’t help the smile from lifting her lips. “I daresay you’ll not be setting the babe on a horse too soon. How is Edwina?”
“Abed, as the good doctor ordered. It’s my grandson who is really suffering; he’s as nervous as a hen. One would think that a child’s never been born before this one.”
Bills shot Tess a questioning glance. He was as curious as she as to why Sir Lee had suddenly turned up. “If I may be so bold…why are you here, sir?”
“I’m here regarding a special matter with Solicitor-General Dagwood. We are both on the board of trustees of Andersen Hall, you see. It’s a fascinating affair actually, with murder, dangerous secrets, and a love story that would break your heart.” Sir Lee’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile was mischievous. “But that’s a story for another time.”
Sir Lee’s gaze moved pointedly to Tess. “Given this opportune encounter, I am greatly interested in your situation, Lady Golding. I would very much like to know how things stand. Have you spoken to Wheaton yet?”
Nervous, Tess licked her lips. “He’s back?”
Sir Lee nodded. “He and I spoke a short while ago. Please be assured that he did not know about what’s happened with you, nor did he sanction Reynolds’s actions.”
Sari Robins Page 26