by Amy Quinton
Chapter 28
The Duke’s London House, Stonebridge House…
Two days later, the afternoon…
Grace and Stonebridge arrived at the duke’s London mansion two days later. On the way, he received a note from Cliff urging him to return to his London home post haste. Therefore, they went to Stonebridge House rather than to Aunt Harriett’s house as planned.
He walked into the foyer and asked after Cliff.
“Lord Dansbury is in the green room with our guest,” replied Ledbetter, his butler.
“Who is our guest, Ledbetter?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, Your Grace, but she appears to be a lady.”
“Interesting. Incidentally, do you have the morning paper on hand, Ledbetter?”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace.”
“Good. Find the society pages and bring them to Miss Radclyffe. We’ll be in the green room.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He and Grace climbed the two flights of stairs to the second floor which contained the guest rooms, including the green room, their curiosity piqued.
At the end of the hall, he could see Cliff pacing the floor outside a closed door. His friend was visibly agitated.
At their approach, Cliff looked up and acknowledged them with a nod, before he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. As if he hadn’t just been pacing the floor and mumbling to himself a few minutes ago.
He was surprised to see him so disturbed; he had never seen Cliff behave that way before.
Stonebridge, who hadn’t stopped grinning since he decided not to marry Beatryce, spoke up. “I understand we have an unexpected guest.”
“We do. She promised me concrete evidence. She all but guaranteed she could solve our investigation, but that was two days ago. If she tells us anything before I throttle her, it will be a bloody miracle.”
He and Grace shared a curious glance. Right.
“May I?” he inquired, reaching for the door.
“By all means,” said Cliff, whose face darkened with a scowl as he moved out of the way.
The door swung open to reveal Beatryce tied to a chair and gagged. Her eyes blazed with fury; her daggers sought out and aimed their threat at Cliff. She thrashed in anger and screamed through the cloth covering her mouth.
He wanted to fall to the floor, laughing, at the sight. Instead, he said, “I’m not surprised she hasn’t told you anything.” To Beatryce, he added, “Can I count on you to be civil if I remove this?” He pointed to the cravat being used as an effective muffler to her ire.
She offered one final scowl to Cliff before she looked back at him and nodded once.
“Excellent.”
* * * *
Stonebridge removed the cravat from Beatryce’s mouth and stood back. She flexed her jaw and glared at Cliff as she poked her tongue into the corners of her sore mouth. His friend’s scowl darkened in return.
Huh. His usually affable friend was acting deuced odd today.
Lady Beatryce turned away from Cliff and faced him. “I know you’re investigating my father, and I know why. I can lead you to the evidence you need to put him away. Or better yet, hang him.”
“Yes? And how did you come by all this information?”
“I notice e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. I’ve seen the men watching my house; I’ve watched Dansbury searching my house.” She shot Cliff a mocking brow as she said that. “And I know all about my father’s involvement with the Society for the Purification of England. I know where he keeps his papers, including all of their silly, idiotic little Writs of Execution where they spell out who they intend to murder and why.”
“I see.” He stifled his excitement over the depth of her knowledge. “And what do you want in exchange for this information?” Finally, they would have proof!
She bit her lip for a moment, then visibly firmed her resolve. “Money.”
“Hell—of course,” Cliff interjected with a curse.
He held up his hand to forgo further outbursts from his friend.
Beatryce glared at Cliff and shouted, “Don’t you dare judge me right now. I am putting my life on the line for your treasured Grace and your precious case.”
She cleared her throat. She looked back at him and calmly continued, “And I want safe passage out of town; a quiet home to go to in the country; simple country clothes; and a new identity.”
Cliff, who was back to leaning against the door, arms crossed, asked, “How do we know you aren’t just as guilty as your father? I mean, it’s clear you knew of his guilt and yet you’ve never said anything before now? Sounds highly suspicious to me.”
She shot daggers at Cliff, again, before returning her attention to him. “Does he really need to be here?”
He barked out a laugh. “Probably not, but I’m just going to tell him everything anyway, so this saves time. Just answer the question: you must admit, your knowledge does cast you in a questionable light.”
“I only discovered all of this recently—when I started to realize that my marriage plans were on shaky ground.” She gave him a quick scowl over that. “I knew my father was behaving strangely…well, stranger than normal…and I had noticed peculiar men watching the house—so I set out to determine why. I broke into his office, found his hidden box, and picked the lock. Imagine my surprise at all I discovered, including that my father was behind the deaths of your father…and hers.” She nodded at Grace.
Grace gasped.
“You didn’t tell her, I see.”
“Shut up!” yelled both men as Ambrose raced to comfort Grace.
“Grace, darling, we suspected the possibility, but we didn’t know for sure.”
Grace looked up at him with tears swimming in her eyes. He pulled her close and closed his arms around her. “Had I had proof…had I known for certain…Oh, Grace, I wouldn’t have had you find out this way.”
“I know…I know…Oh, poor Papa…” came her muffled reply.
He pulled back, looked down at her, and brushed away the tears that had fallen. “Do you want to leave? Maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
She looked over at Beatryce before saying, “Yes. Perhaps that would be best.”
He started to leave with her, but she stopped him. “I’ll be fine, Duke. You stay here. It’s simply the shock coupled with the long journey. Not to mention everything else.”
“All right, I’ll ring for someone to escort you to a room where you can refresh and relax.”
“That would be wonderful.”
As Grace made to leave, she stopped in front of Beatryce and said, “Thank you for coming forth and telling us what you know.”
Beatryce squirmed in her chair, clearly speechless and discomfited by Grace’s kindness. He watched with pride swelling in his chest. Well done, woman, well done.
Once she was gone, he turned to Beatryce and suppressed his anger at the callous way in which she imparted her knowledge. “All right, now, tell us what we need to know.”
She raised her chin. “First, I have one more condition. Once the arrangements are made for my passage out of town, I want him to take me.” She nodded at Dansbury.
“Like hell!” shouted Cliff.
Stonebridge gave his friend a speaking look for the unusual outburst. “Are you sure that’s wise, Lady Beatryce?”
“No. But he’s the only one I trust to keep me safe.” She’d hesitated before uttering the word trust. “You must understand. My father is incredibly guilty and has done some horrid things, but I’m telling you someone else is out there pulling his strings. I don’t know who—I’ve not an inkling, but think about it. My father can barely get out of his bed without assistance. He’s out of breath just walking from the drawing room to the library. He’s weak. I can’t speak of the time when your father was killed, but any move he’s made recently has been done out of fear and a touch of insanity. Someone else is behind all this.”
“Done.” He didn’t hesitate.
“What?” shou
ted Cliff; the man looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had.
He looked back at his friend. “I said done. You’ll take her. You’ll protect her. But until the arrangements are made, she’ll stay here.” He turned back to Beatryce. “Now, tell us what we want to know.”
“Fine. But will you please untie me from this chair first? I cannot feel my arms anymore.”
* * * *
After leaving the green room, Grace met a footman at the top of the stairs.
“The duke rang for someone to escort me to a guest room to rest.”
“Certainly, Miss Radclyffe. This way.”
Surprisingly, the footman led her up another flight of stairs where the rooms for family were located. He showed her to a feminine, floral room in blue and green. A fire was blazing in the hearth, and a maid was there laying out tea and cakes.
“Good afternoon, miss. I’ve laid out the paper you requested on the table here along with a tea tray.”
“Thank you, Miss…?”
“Martha, miss. You may call me Martha. Your maid, Bessie, has put away your things, and is settling in upstairs at the moment. She said to ring if you need her.”
“Thank you, Martha; I will. That will be all.”
“Yes, miss.”
After the maid closed the door on her way out, Grace walked over to the tea tray, her heart heavy with sorrow.
Oh Papa…
The tears fell as Grace collapsed into a chair before the table. She leaned forward, propped her elbows on the table, and sobbed quietly into her hands.
She wept for what felt like hours before her sobs began to subside. She sat up and took a look at the table. The tea was cold now, but she poured a cup anyway. As she was stirring her sugar, she noticed the society papers laid out before her—bits of the paper were smudged from her tears and she’d probably find newsprint on her face if she were to look. She laughed at the image.
She picked up the paper and began to read. Ambrose had obviously wanted her to read it for a reason. She scanned over various bits of gossip, including the biggest article of all, the Duke of Stonebridge not appearing at his own wedding, but she saw nothing of interest that he might want her to see. She looked again, and let out a squeak when she saw it. The notice was printed right in the center of the page in larger type with a box around it—she had read everything around the notice but the notice itself.
She put her hand over her mouth, and began to cry all over again as she read:
Ambrose Philip Langtry, the tenth Duke of Stonebridge, announces his intention to ask Miss Grace Elizabeth Radclyffe, proprietress of the House of Grace fashion house in Oxford, for her hand in marriage…if she’ll have him.
Twenty minutes later, Grace washed and composed herself before lying on the large tester bed. Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
She smiled as Ambrose, all disheveled and handsome as sin, walked in and looked around the room for her. He spotted her on the bed and smiled.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes, better.”
“Good. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not about my father, but I do have questions. Did you find out what you needed to know from Beatryce?”
“We did.”
“I’m glad.” She chewed her lip.
“What else is on your mind, love?”
“Well, I was wondering. What will happen to Aunt Mary and the girls when this evidence becomes public? What will happen to my uncle?”
Ambrose rubbed the back of his neck. He clearly did not want to answer, but he did it anyway. “Honestly, Aunt Mary and her daughters will have to find a relative to take them in. But it will not be easy. These charges against your uncle? Murder, high treason? They are all quite serious. All his holdings will revert to the crown. As for Swindon, he will likely be executed. Grace, I realize he’s your uncle, but these crimes, they are grave.”
“I know. He is horrid. He killed our fathers. Though I pity him, I do, but I’m more worried about Aunt Mary and the girls. Especially the girls. They’ll have difficulty, won’t they? They certainly won’t be accepted in society after this, will they?”
“No, I’m afraid they won’t. Society is harsh and hypocritical. I’m afraid your cousins might even find it difficult for a relative to see past that and give them refuge. Life will certainly be very different for them.”
She looked at her hands twisted together with worry. “I’m a relative,” she whispered; then she peeked up at Ambrose. “Ambrose, we must do something. I cannot bear to think of little Adelaide homeless. I can’t bear it at all.”
Chapter 29
Beckett House London…
2 am…
The earl paused in the hall on his way to his study; he needed to catch his breath. He hadn’t walked this fast in twenty years and he was hyperventilating, but he needed to make haste. He needed to arm himself. He needed to do something. That damn duke had stood him up, and now Beatryce was missing—the ridiculous cow.
He was going to vomit.
He pushed on. By the time he reached his study, his hands were shaking and he fumbled about as he tried to find the key to his locked study. He tried six different keys before he found the right one and his clammy, shaking hands made it difficult to fit the key to the lock.
At last, the door opened, and he stepped inside. It was dark, and what little light that was available came from the moon shining in the study windows. The fire was out, as were all the lamps. Good. He felt safer in the dark.
He moved into the room to the floor-standing globe on the far side of the rug. He struggled to slide it off—it was heavy—and he dropped the keys he was still holding as he did. The sound of keys landing on the hardwood echoed loudly in the dark room. He ignored them.
Once the globe was out of the way, he got on his knees and pulled up the now freed corner of the Aubusson rug. Argh. The weight on his knees was excruciating, but he had to ignore the pain. He found the trick release in the floor and pulled up several loosened boards that were normally hidden under the rug. He threw them haphazardly to the side as he worked, sweat dripping everywhere. The wood floor became slick.
When the hole he was making was wide enough, he reached in it for the box he had hidden there. He felt around in the dark and became panicked with worry, but alas, after a few minutes, he found it.
He pulled out the box, set it on the floor, and pushed it across the room as he crawled toward his desk. When he reached the chairs in front of his desk, he set the box on one and used the chair to pull himself up. It wasn’t easy, and he hoped to God he never had to get on the floor again. He could barely stand.
But once he was, he placed the box on his desk and went to the book shelves on the far wall, looking for the secret book that was really a hidden compartment holding the key to his box. It was impossible to see in the dark, but he was too frightened to light a lamp. If someone were watching the house, he didn’t want them to know he was in his study. Best for them to think he was in bed. Mary was there; maybe they’d mistake her for him.
He returned with the key and held the box up in the moonlight so he could find the keyhole—there.
He opened the box with haste, looked inside, and screamed for all he was worth, “Nooooooooo!”
It was empty. Immediately, the sound of steel striking flint sounded on both sides of the room, and before long, two lamps burned brightly, revealing the Marquess of Dansbury and the Duke of Stonebridge.
“Hello, Swindon. Looking for something?” asked the duke.
His eyes bugged out of his head with shock. He looked between the two men several times, as if he wasn’t sure they were really there, before he moved. He spun around and glanced out the window before racing—or waddling—around his desk. He grabbed Stonebridge.
“Stonebridge, you must help me. Take me. I beg you. He’ll kill me if you don’t. Please. Please. Please. I’ll tell you everything; I swear I will…just don’t let him kill…�
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Those were the last words he ever uttered. The gun shot echoed loudly in the night. Swindon was dead before he hit the floor. Stonebridge and Dansbury looked up in time to see a cloaked figure race away from the window.
Chapter 30
The Duke’s London House…
The next morning…
Grace scrunched her face. Something tickled the end of her nose. She opened her eyes. Above her, looking down, was Ambrose, who was tickling her with a feather from her pillow.
“Good morning,” he said when she smiled.
“Hmmmm…morning,” she responded in kind, then chuckled at the yawn that escaped her. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten.”
“Almost ten? Goodness, I’ve slept for eleven hours.”
She sat up and attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes. Ambrose reached over and picked up a cup from the table. He wafted it beneath her nose. The smell of hot chocolate titillated her senses.
“Hmmmm…chocolate in bed? A lady could get used to this.” She took the cup from him. He blew on it before handing it over.
After a few sips, while Ambrose just sat there watching her, she placed the cup on her bedside table, folded her hands in her lap, and said, “Right. Tell me what happened.”
Ambrose sat back against the footboard.
“I’m afraid I have some rather unpleasant news. Your uncle was murdered last night.”
“Murdered? By who?”
“We don’t know. A cloaked figure shot him through the window and ran off. Bow Street is looking into the matter.”
“And Aunt Mary? How are the girls?”
“The girls were still sleeping when I left. Your Aunt Mary felt it best to wait and tell them in the morning. As for your Aunt Mary? Well, she seemed surprisingly glad, actually. She took to weeping at first, then began laughing hysterically. It was all rather odd and uncomfortable, to be honest.”
“Really? Well, that is certainly unexpected. Laughing, you say?”
“Yes—in fits and giggles, then outright guffaws. A few of the runners had difficulty controlling their mirth, despite the grave circumstances. Apparently, it was catching.”