Taken by the Wicked Rake

by Christine Merrill

  There was a pause, as he considered. And then, the earl said, ‘Despite your heinous be ha vi our to ward my family, it was your father that died. You are more entitled to ask questions than any of us.’

  ‘What had you written on those pages?’

  ‘Apparently, something quite important. The person responsible for this must have learned of my penchant for record keeping and sought to obscure the details of the event. I can tell you that it contained my suspicions that I had done wrong by William Wardale, and made a grave error in testifying against him.’ He looked to Nathan, his features etched in sorrow. ‘There is no apology sufficient for what happened to your father. He was adamant of his innocence, to the last day. But I could find nothing to prove his claims. And to know him hanged—and the part I played in it?’ Narborough shook his head. ‘The guilt of it has weighed on my soul. And I fear I shall soon have to answer directly to William for the wrongs I did him.’

  It was a touching story, but useless to Stephano. ‘While I sympathize with the plight of the Wardale family, I must ask you to tell me the rest of it. You were there. I was not.’ And he felt some of the old sadness and confusion re turning, in the pure and innocent way he’d felt it when he was a child and known nothing of Romany curses. ‘Please, Your Lordship. Tell me of the last moments of my father’s life.’

  The earl gestured him to take a chair. And as he sat, the rest of the people in the room gathered closer to hear the story. Stephano could feel Verity, just behind him, resting her hand upon his shoulder.

  ‘You must understand, William and Kit and I were close friends, or had been, until the events surrounding that evening. But we feared there was a traitor amongst us. Coded messages had been passed to enemies of En gland, and no one was above suspicion. Tempers were short and blood ran hot. For my part, I said and wrote things that I did not mean. I was too quick to judge.’ Narborough looked like he felt true regret. And having read the vitriolic entries that remained in his journals, Stephano felt he had good reason.

  ‘But I thought our troubles were nearing an end. Your father was the one set to crack the code that the spy had been using. And he claimed to be successful. He was ready to turn the information over to the Home Office, and agreed to come to my house and show me before the thing was done.’ He looked to Nathan. ‘Your father was to meet us, as well. They were both late, of course.’ He shook his head and smiled. ‘I was accustomed to that. They were younger, and heedless of time. But perhaps that night, they had reason. It was raining, and travel was not easy.’

  ‘And when they arrived?’

  ‘I did not hear them come. If I had, perhaps I could have stopped what occurred. I had been called away to the Alien Office unexpectedly. When I returned, I went to my study to get a book. The doors to the garden were open. The rug was wet.’ He stared off into the distance, as though he could see it all again. ‘Perhaps that is it. For I re member wondering how it had gotten so muddy, if the struggle had happened outside. There was too much water. Perhaps there were too many foot prints for only the two men I saw there.’

  ‘There might have been more than one man in the room?’ Nathan asked, eager to clear his own father.

  Narborough nodded. ‘But a perhaps is not the same as evidence. And the room got much worse, after Veryan and his lot arrived from the Home Office to take charge of things. The next morning, it was clean and dry. How could I be sure of my assumptions? But I swear, that night it was wet, and strewn with the broken needles from the rosemary bushes that used to be planted in the garden, just outside.’

  Narborough made a face and paled, as though his illness was likely to return at any time. ‘They had come in, not from the front, but through the garden doors, and crashed through the bushes. There must have been a struggle. The room stank of rosemary. To this day, I cannot abide the stuff.’

  He shook his head, as though to clear it of the scent. ‘And there lay Kit. Will Wardale was bending over him. My letter opener was still in Will’s hand. His other hand was spread over Kit’s ribs, as though he wished to stop the bleeding. But it was clear, by the way the stain grew, that he was doing no good. And there was a horrible bubbling noise when Kit tried to speak…’

  ‘He was still alive?’ Stephano’s chest felt tight at the thought. It had been twenty years, but it was almost as if he could feel his father’s last breath.

  ‘For only a moment.’ And in a gesture that shocked them both, Narborough leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, just as Verity had done. ‘I wish I could tell you he did not suffer. But for a brief time, he did. He tried to speak to us. In Latin, of all things.’

  ‘My father spoke Latin?’ Stephano almost laughed at the thought. ‘He was well read, certainly. But with me, he did not rise to the poetic.’

  Narborough looked confused, as well. ‘It was broken Latin, at that. He was gasping for what little he could manage, and I am not even sure of what I heard. I thought perhaps it was some part of the code he tried to tell us. There are ciphers that are un breakable, if you do not know the key. I have tried every Latin phrase I can think, that might suit. Veritas omnia vincit. Magnasest Veritas et pervalebit. Certainly not In vino, Veritas. Although if your father had a motto, that would have done well. But none of it means anything.’

  ‘Father!’ Verity’s hand had tightened on his shoulder as the old man had spoke, until her grip was almost painful. ‘You do not recognize your own daughter’s name?’

  ‘Of course, I do, my dear. But what would you have to do with this? You were a baby when it happened.’

  ‘In a cradle. With my toys,’ she said. ‘One of them was a silver rattle, which was a gift from Stephano’s father. He had it with him on the night he died.’

  She came around from behind him, so that she could see into his face. ‘You told me that you saw the thing in your father’s study. You disturbed his work with the whistling, and he took it from you. But it was broken when I received it.’

  He smiled into her marvellous hazel eyes, which were dancing with excitement. ‘And you think that his last words…’

  ‘Were “In Verity’s rattle”,’ she finished, triumphantly. ‘Could he have been solving the code, when you disturbed him? He probably pocketed the rattle without even thinking. And if he suspected he was followed to the house that night, perhaps he forced the cipher key down into the whistle so that no one would find it.’

  He gripped her hand in his, and gave it a tight squeeze of gratitude. ‘We must see.’

  The earl made to rise. ‘I will send to Stanegate Court…’

  ‘No need,’ Verity was grinning now. ‘Marc, do you not know where it is?’

  Her brother looked baffled. Verity gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You are the nicest brother a girl could wish for, Marcus. And you, as well, Hal,’ she added in after thought. ‘But some times, you are both quite useless. I gave you a gift, on the birth of your child. Honoria did, as well. But mine was a family keep sake. The very rattle that Christopher Hebden was carrying with him on the night he died was at the break fast table this morning. You called it annoying and demanded it be taken back to the nursery. But it would be much more annoying if it whistled. And it cannot. Because someone put something down the hole. I will go and get it, and we will open it. If it holds the code key, then we will settle today what should have been done many years ago.’ She turned and left for the nursery.

  Stephano stood to watch her go, shaking his head in amazement. His Verity had been the key, after all. And his taking her, and everything surrounding it, had happened for a purpose. It had brought them to this day, where all could be revealed.

  But her absence left the gentlemen alone. There was a moment of awkward silence, and he hoped that her faith in her brothers was well placed, and the truce was no sham.

  ‘Tea, Marcus?’ said Hal, smiling down the hall after his re treating sister.

  ‘Some thing stronger, perhaps,’ muttered Stanegate. ‘It has been an eventful day.’

  �
�Excuse me,’ Alexander Veryan muttered, clearing his throat. ‘A call of nature.’ He shifted uneasily, looking like a man whose digestion could not be ignored, and made a hasty exit from the room. Stephano watched the slight narrowing of the eyes that the two Carlow brothers gave to each other, as though they liked the Veryan lad no better than he.

  ‘It is his father that did the killing, you know,’ Stephano said softly, and watched the men around him start.

  ‘Keddinton? Certainly not.’

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘The letter I sent to you? And the chemise?’

  Hal muttered an oath under his breath, and it was Stanegate’s turn to lay a cautioning hand on his father’s shoulder, as the old earl paled in his chair.

  Stephano continued. ‘It was not that vile piece of rubbish on the desk.’ He licked his lips, as though it were possible to ease the apology he must make. ‘I have done many things for which I have no pride. But do you know me as a rapist or a murderer? The kid nap ping was a threat to her honour, of course. But I took care that no one saw us depart. If you kept silent on her disappearance, and given me the confession I demanded, no one would have been the wiser. She’d have come to no physical harm while in my care. As you can see, she is very much alive and in good health and spirits.’

  ‘You sent us the…’ Stanegate paused as though he did not even wish to say the words. ‘The bloody shift. What did you expect us to think?’

  He held out his hand to them, showing the healing cut. ‘The blood was mine.’ As an after thought, he added, ‘And Verity was alone when she removed the chemise. I took it after. I was not there to see the results. There was no threat to your sister’s modesty.’ Then, at least. But now was not the time to discuss that.

  ‘I meant to shock you, nothing more. I gave Keddinton a message and shed the blood in his presence. I expected him to tell the truth. He had helped me before, and swore he had more love of justice than he did for either of your families. I was an idiot to trust him. I thought I controlled him. But from the first moment, he played me for a fool, and used me as a tool against you all.’

  ‘And we are to trust your word, are we?’ Stanegate asked.

  ‘I will provide a sample of my writing, if you wish to compare. But if the rattle contains an undiscovered message from my father, there will be proof enough, soon.’

  For a moment, the men around him seemed to forget their hatred of him, and looked thoughtful at the information he had given them.

  ‘And now I understand Robert’s eagerness to tell me things that my own sons did not see fit to share with me.’ The earl cast a disapproving eye on his children. ‘There have been far too many attempts in my own house hold to shield me from unpleasant ness for my own good. And far too few from the Veryans. Lately, they seem most eager to bear bad news, even when it comes to nothing.’

  Hal looked to the door. ‘How much do you suppose young Veryan knows of this, should it be true?’

  ‘Enough so that I did not announce my suspicions in his presence,’ Stephano said. ‘But his be ha vi our in the next few minutes will tell us.’

  ‘I almost hope he runs.’ Hal shuddered. ‘I never could stand the plaguey little beggar. And the idea that he was in mourning for Verity. That they’d have made a match of it…’

  ‘It would have been most advantageous,’ Stanegate argued. ‘If only to get her to choose else where. I expected a short time in his company would be enough to focus her attentions on some one else.’ And remembering the result, he stared across the room at Stephano as though looking from the frying pan to the fire.

  Hal remained fixed upon the door. ‘Should we go after him, do you think? He’s had more than enough time to take care of business. And if what the Gypsy says is true, we can’t have him running off to warn his father.’

  Stanegate gave a slight nod, and Hal exited the room. He returned a short time later, shaking his head. ‘Too late, I’m afraid. He’s piked off. How long to the Keddinton estate, do you think? Or is the old man in town?’

  The brother’s discussion of distances and coach schedules faded into nothing as an apprehension took Stephano, growing in him like a wildfire.

  ‘Never mind the gaujo. What has become of Verity?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Just as she’d expected, Verity found the rattle in the nursery, in the damp hand of her nephew, William George. She smiled and held her own hand out for the thing. But the boy was un willing to part with it without tears. If the mystery had waited this long, then surely it could wait the few minutes it would take to find a substitute plaything.

  In an ad joining room, she found a similar rattle and gave it an experimental shake. The bells lacked the silvery jingle of her old toy, but when she put the whistle to her lips, it made the fierce tweet that had been lacking. Good enough for a distraction, she was sure.

  When she turned to go back to the child, she bumped directly into the doughy torso of Alexander Veryan. He looked decidedly odd today, and seemed un willing to yield. She gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile. ‘Why, Alex. Have you come to look for me? I swear, I was gone for but a moment.’

  It was even more odd to see the tiny gun he held in his hand. Her smile froze in place as she thought of the baby in the room nearby and the danger of errant gunfire. ‘Whatever do you mean to do with that? Not shoot me, surely.’

  He seemed as nervous about the thing as she was, for his hand trembled a bit as he spoke. ‘I will if I must, Verity.’

  ‘Well, I shall give you no reason, I am sure.’ She thought quickly and gave a moue of disappointment. ‘But I thought we were such good friends. And that we were likely to be even closer. That was what our fathers intended for us, was it not?’

  ‘But you have gone and married the Gypsy,’ he said petulantly.

  Whose knife she still had, in the pocket of her gown. ‘That was but a ruse, to keep me safe from the wild men of his camp. No real marriage, certainly. The Romany customs are very strange, com pared to ours. Nothing more passed between us than a shared slice of bread.’

  A cloud of puzzlement passed behind the vacant eyes of Alexander. Her current story was nothing like what she had said in the garden. But she suspected it was what he wanted to hear. In the end, he could not seem to reconcile the facts, and he frowned. ‘That is neither here nor there. Is that the rattle?’

  She looked at the toy in her hand. ‘Why would you want it?’

  ‘Why would you?’ he said, as though re turning her question were anywhere near passing for wit.

  ‘Well, that is neither here nor there, as well.’ She smiled, deciding that for current circumstances, one rattle was as good as another. ‘Perhaps I think it is interesting to solve a puzzle that is so old. Or perhaps there is nothing in it at all, and it will make Stephano Beshaley forget his nonsense and leave us alone.’

  Alexander snatched the thing from her hand, and put it in the pocket of his coat without examining it further. ‘We will take it to Father. He will know what is to be done with it.’

  ‘We will, will we?’ She gave a small laugh. ‘You make it sound as if we are to be together.’

  ‘And so we are. I cannot have you going back to explain to your brothers what I have done. You must come with me.’

  ‘My brothers are bound to notice our absence, Alexander,’ she explained patiently. ‘There will be questions. And then they will follow. I expect they will be very angry with you for taking me.’

  Alexander laughed. ‘More likely, they will be relieved. At least this time you have not run off with a Gypsy. They will think it is an elopement—or that is what we shall tell them, when they come to fetch you. You will be mine, just as my father promised me. And your brothers will take care of Stephano Beshaley.’

  Verity offered a silent curse to her dear uncle Robert, for showing so little concern as to her wishes in a choice of husband. ‘Alexander, my brothers are not so crass as to take care of anyone. If justice is truly needed in this, the
y will take the matter to the courts.’

  ‘That is not what they wished to do, when they saw the letter that we wrote.’ Alexander’s grin did nothing to make his face more attractive.

  ‘You wrote that note?’ For the first time, she felt alarm. She had seen the words of the letter, and the fate ascribed to her. And to realize that she was face to face with the person who had imagined it was both insulting and disturbing.

  Alexander pulled back the sleeve of his coat, and she could see the beginnings of the deep scratch on his arm. ‘And I sealed it with my own blood, just as the Gypsy did.’

  She wanted to argue that he was nothing at all like Stephano. He was a hollow parody, and quite mad, to boot. But she remembered the gun, and said, ‘How very resourceful of you.’

  ‘And now, I shall take you away, just as he did. But I will be bringing you back to Warrenford, where you should have stayed all along. Once we are safely home, I shall give my father the rattle and there shall be an end to this nonsense.’ He gestured again with his gun, and she walked ahead of him, down the stairs and toward the garden doors. Would he really shoot, she wondered? He held the gun as though he were afraid of it.

  And in that fear was the greatest danger of all. Hal had assured her that it led to more accidents and loss of life in battle than anything else. ‘You can’t seriously think I would go away with you.’ She said it louder than necessary, hoping someone might hear before they reached the door.

  ‘I can and do.’ He forced her outside, and then hesitated; she was sure that he had no real plans after this. He could not exactly take her to the stables and demand the grooms prepare a vehicle suitable for her kid napping.

  At least Stephano had been better prepared on the taking of her. And still was. For there, beneath a tree by the garden gate, was his great black stallion, saddled and ready to go. She felt the gun in her back again, urging her towards the beast. And for a moment, she felt like laughing. Zor looked ready to eat the interloper instead of letting him ride.