Graham took her hand again, a much more intimate gesture than simply offering his arm, and one that, if anyone were to see them together, would fully reveal the nature of their relationship. Her protest died on her lips. She had told him she would not renege and if that meant accepting public declarations, she would.
“If, as you say, Eloise is the key to all of this… then we start with her and let her lover come to us,” he said. “First, let us speak to Lady Agatha and then we will figure out how to best proceed.”
“You think to use her to get a confession out of him? What if his feelings for her are not so genuine? She may be nothing more than a pawn to him.”
“Then I will persuade him,” he stated evenly. “By whatever means necessary.”
Beatrice shivered at the cold and implacable expression that hardened his features. He’d told her he’d been a pirate when it suited his needs to be so and, in that moment, she could see it in him clearly. The gentleness he’d displayed with Lady Agatha, his protectiveness of her, those were only a few of the many layers that comprised the complicated man before her. They could have three lifetimes together, she thought, and she would never know them all.
“Have I repulsed you, at last?” he asked.
“Was that your aim? If so, you have failed… I may not like your methods and I may be far too squeamish to be party to them, but I’d be a fool to deny their necessity. This must stop before other lives are lost,” she said firmly. “So do what you will, what you must, and stop expecting me to turn on you at any moment.”
He stared at her intently for the longest moment, his sharp gaze taking in every detail of her it seemed. At last, he gave a curt nod and said, “Then let us go and take the sad news of Edmund’s passing to Lady Agatha. It is a task that I dread, but postponing it is not an option.”
Beatrice said nothing further. She simply walked hand in hand with him to Lady Agatha’s suite and waited as he knocked softly. Crenshaw answered, looking, if not rested, then at least less like a walking corpse.
“My lord, I had to send Mrs. Blakemore away only moments ago… she came here demanding to see my mistress, but I did as you said and would not let her in,” Crenshaw explained, high color blooming on the cheeks of her otherwise pale face.
“Was she aware of Edmund’s injuries?” Beatrice asked.
Crenshaw stared at her blankly. “If she was, Miss, she said nothing of it to me. Is he terribly hurt then?”
“He has died of his wounds,” Graham answered softly. “Is Lady Agatha’s condition well enough for her to hear such news?”
Crenshaw looked down at the floor, clearly upset by the information. When she looked up again, her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. It was the most outwardly emotional display that Beatrice had ever witnessed from the woman.
“I daresay no one is ever in a condition to hear such, my lord,” Crenshaw stated, her voice trembling with unshed tears. “But delaying it will not change the truth of it and will not spare her the suffering, only postpone it. I believe it would be best to tell her now and be done with it.”
“What is it that you are all conspiring about?”
The question had come from just beyond the bedchamber door. Lady Agatha stood there, her gray hair in a simple braid and a heavy brocade wrapper dwarfing her slender frame.
“You should sit, or better, lie down,” Graham said.
“I am ill, not feeble,” she replied evenly. “Tell me what has happened.”
Beatrice moved deeper into the room to take Lady Agatha’s hand. She led her to a small settee. “It’s terrible news, Lady Agatha… please, sit.”
“Has something happened to Christopher?” she asked. Fear made her voice tight and sharp.
“No!” Beatrice denied quickly. “He is well… however, Edmund is not. He was injured in an attack on the road to London—” She stopped, unable to utter the truth knowing how much pain it would inflict. Edmund had been like a son to Lady Agatha, albeit an often disappointing one.
“How serious is his injury?” Lady Agatha demanded, bracing herself for the news.
Beatrice looked to Graham imploringly. She could not make herself say it.
Chapter Twenty
“Edmund is gone,” Graham stated unequivocally. He did not relish relaying such news but he agreed with Crenshaw. To delay and draw it out would be more cruel. “His wounds were too severe and he has succumbed to them.”
Lady Agatha’s hand tightened on Beatrice’s to the point that her knuckles went white. A sound escaped her, a mournful cry that told him beyond any question how dear Edmund had been to her.
“Who is responsible for this?” she finally asked through her tears.
There was no end to the ill tidings he brought, it would seem. “At first glance, and based on what Edmund said, it would appear to be Christopher.”
She gasped then. “I will not believe that of him! He is sullen and moody, I admit, but Christopher is not violent!”
“No,” Graham agreed. He prayed that Beatrice’s theory was correct because it might at least spare Lady Agatha some anguish. “I do not think he is… is it possible that your former lover had more than one son?”
“A half-brother?” Lady Agatha asked. “I do not doubt that it is possible. In retrospect, it is quite easy to see that I was not the only woman to fall prey to his schemes and lies… be truthful, Graham! Do you really believe that might be possible or are you only trying to spare my feelings?”
“There is a man who comes and goes freely from this house, who looks enough like Christopher for it to be possible. Many of the servants have seen him, albeit at a distance, and even Beatrice, when saw him, assumed he was Christopher,” Graham explained. “Did he know that you were with child before you fled France?”
Lady Agatha drew a deep breath and then answered with a quavering sigh, “He did. But he denied me and the child, claimed to want no part of either of us as I had fulfilled my only purpose to him.”
“I know this must be a difficult thing for you to speak of to us, but it is imperative,” he reassured her. “Have you had any contact with Etienne La Chance since you parted?”
“He wrote to me once,” Lady Agatha admitted. “He asked for money and threatened to expose me… to expose Christopher as his son and see that he would not inherit. At that point, I had almost come to accept your death, Graham, and I knew, whether I was willing to admit it or not, that in all likelihood, Christopher would take the title. It had been Nicholas’ wish. We had discussed it at length. So, I had the money delivered to him by courier… I expected that it would be the first payment of many, but no other demands were forthcoming.”
“It seems unlikely that he would have been satisfied with so little when he clearly had the necessary means to extort more,” Beatrice mused. “Why would he stop?”
“Perhaps it was not by choice,” Graham said. “At this point, we cannot even be certain that he still lives.”
“But he has a son that might be here within these very walls?” Lady Agatha questioned. “This all sounds ludicrous!”
“Is it any more ludicrous than your son returning from the dead after eighteen years? Impossibility and implausibility are the order of the day,” Graham chided gently. “The only other option would be that Christopher himself is the villain. It is certainly the more preferable of the two scenarios available to us at this time.”
Lady Agatha sighed heavily. Her hand trembled as she placed it to her heart. “It is difficult enough to accept that Edmund is gone from us! To think that my dear Christopher might have had a hand in it is more than I can bear!”
“We must proceed carefully,” he said. “It seems likely, from what we’ve gathered thus far, that Eloise figures heavily within this plot.”
“Go on then,” Lady Agatha urged. “Tell me what you plan to do.”
“Eloise will cooperate or she will face prison… I have proof that Edmund was siphoning funds from the estate. It would be easy enough to show that she was compl
icit in it. She will help us apprehend the killer or face the consequences.”
“I cannot believe of it her,” Lady Agatha said in dismay. “She is certainly not the most attentive of wives, but surely she had no part in Edmund’s death!”
Beatrice stepped in then, clarifying for Lady Agatha the source of their suspicions. “Because Graham thought he’d seen Christopher entering the East Tower, I had Betsy lead me there through the passages to investigate it while Graham traveled to York. Eloise entered the chamber while we observed her without her knowledge… she was there for an assignation with a man I initially believed to be Christopher, but I know differently now. She is in the thick of this scheme, Lady Agatha, and now she is a widow. I hardly think it coincidence. As to this man, the likeness is uncanny, unlike anything I have ever seen. It’s quite remarkable.”
“The servants heard Edmund state that it was Christopher who attacked him. They are unaware that he has a double roaming these halls, though some may suspect… which means that if Christopher returns here, I cannot predict how things will go.”
“Do you think this man is a danger to him?” Lady Agatha asked.
“I think this man is a danger to us all,” Graham insisted. “I think he is behind the attempts on Beatrice’s life, on mine, and behind the poisoning that you endured, though I strongly suspect that Eloise had a hand in that. His goal, if we are correct, is ultimately to take Christopher’s place.”
“If he eliminates Graham, and Edmund, and all of us, the servants can be dismissed and he can assume Christopher’s role as the heir to Castle Black and the title,” Beatrice said. “His goal is to take control of everything here.”
The gravity of what she’d said penetrated the haze of grief and illness that hung over Lady Agatha. “Do what you must to keep him safe… to keep us all safe, by whatever means necessary.”
Graham nodded. “Remain here until I return for you, Beatrice. I hope I do not need to stress how imperative it is that you all remain safely in these chambers and that neither Eloise nor Christopher is to be permitted entrance.”
“We are neither helpless nor halfwits,” Beatrice protested.
He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a quelling glance. “Then you will not balk at heeding sound advice simply because it offends your pride.”
“We will remain here… all of us,” Lady Agatha said, effectively curbing any further argument.
Graham turned on his heel and left the room to seek out Dr. Warner.
*
Beatrice seethed and not quietly. “He is ridiculously high-handed!”
“He is concerned for you,” Lady Agatha protested. “As he should be! He is Lord Blakemore and you, along with everyone else in this house, are his responsibility.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I would prove infinitely more useful out there than in here. We have a limited number of people who are privy to what may really be going on in this house!” Beatrice protested.
“And if you were out there, searching through tunnels and abandoned rooms, looking for this man, what would that do to Graham but distract him?” Lady Agatha argued. “I will not lose anyone else to this fiendish plot, Beatrice. I will not allow you to take undue risks and I will not allow you to place Graham at risk by distracting him from the task at hand! Let him handle this because I have little doubt that, as a man, he is far more equipped to deal with a villain in a physical confrontation than we are.”
It had not helped Edmund, Beatrice thought grimly. A fair shot, a frequent visitor to Gentleman Jackson’s when in London and more than handy with a sword, Edmund should have been able to properly defend himself.
“I know what you are thinking,” Lady Agatha said. “He caught Edmund by surprise. That is all. Graham will not be taken unawares… go to the desk a fetch my cards. We will amuse ourselves in the meantime.”
“I’ve no intention of playing parlor games at a time like this!”
“And neither do I. Those cards are not for games of chance… they are for divination. It is a skill I have not practiced for some time, but I daresay I am still capable,” Lady Agatha insisted. “Fetch them, please.”
Beatrice sighed and did as the older woman had bid her. It had been ages since she’d seen Lady Agatha consult her cards, so long, in fact, that she’d forgotten the habit.
The deck of cards was wrapped in cloth and stored neatly in one of the drawers. After retrieving them, Beatrice returned to the small settee and passed them to Lady Agatha. “Where did you ever pick up such a skill?”
“From my old nurse,” Lady Agatha replied. “When I was a young girl, she did this… in secret, of course. If my father had known, she would have been sacked without a thought. At any rate, when I was old enough that a nurse was deemed no longer necessary for me, she stayed on for a bit as a companion and then retired entirely when I was to be wed to Lord Nicholas… she taught me how to read cards and left hers with me.”
“Do you really believe it works?” Beatrice asked skeptically.
Lady Agatha smiled coyly. “These cards have told me for years that my son was still alive.”
“Coincidence,” Beatrice insisted.
“Perhaps… but I didn’t get them to read my fortune, Beatrice. Today,” Lady Agatha stated dramatically, “we will be reading yours.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Graham found Warner in the small work room he’d set up near the conservatory. There was an array of bottles and concoctions spread out on the table before him.
“What is all this?” he asked.
“These are the ‘medications’ that quack had prescribed to Lady Agatha in various stages of experimentation and disassembly.”
“And?”
“Most of these tonics are little better than cheap spirits. I’m allowing the alcohol to evaporate and then we will see what’s left,” Warner answered. “Are you here to question my methods or to let me attempt Mesmer’s technique?”
Graham waved his hand at the mess on the table. “I am not here to question your methods or to undergo such experimentation. I’m here to ask a question, but in order to do so, I will have to relay very damaging information about Lady Agatha. I need your word that you will not repeat it.”
Warner placed his instruments back on the table. “You have it, of course.”
Graham nodded. “Christopher is my half-brother, fathered by her lover while she and my father resided in France.”
“I can certainly see how that would be damaging information,” Warner agreed. “But given that your father is already passed and Christopher is no longer in line for the title, why should it signify?”
Graham worded his response very carefully. “Perhaps I am not Christopher’s only half-brother… is it possible for half-siblings to look so much alike they could pass for one another?”
Warner sat down heavily in one of the chairs that had been provided for him. “It is possible, of course. It is unlikely, but not impossible. With you, you have dark hair as both your mother and father did, too, according to Lady Agatha. Christopher’s blond hair is certainly out of character for the family, but it could be a throwback to someone on your mother’s side.”
“Or to his father, who was blond, as well.”
Warner shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it could. Do you think this has something to do with whoever has been attempting to poison Lady Agatha? And of course, the events that befell poor Mr. Blakemore. By the way, I’ve sent for Dr. Shepherd. I mean to question him about why he drugged her without her knowledge. Perhaps that information might be of use to you in discerning whatever it is that is going on here and who might be responsible.”
Graham took the other chair. “Someone is slowly poisoning Lady Agatha, someone pushed Beatrice from a rock formation at the beach and left her to drown, Edmund was shot and left for dead and when I was returning from York after coming to see you, someone took a shot at me… and Beatrice has seen someone in the house who looks enough like Christopher to be his tw
in.”
“And how does she know it was not Christopher?” Warner countered.
“Because immediately afterward she ran into Christopher on the stairs. It would have been impossible for him to be in both places at one time… there is a word for this, German. Doppelgänger. Do you know it?”
“Ghostly double? Of course, I do. I’ve heard it and know what it means,” Warner said. “But I’ve yet to encounter anything like that in all my years practicing medicine or traveling the world. Do you really believe this is what’s happening here?”
Graham considered his answer very carefully. “The other option is that Christopher himself is responsible for these crimes… for Lady Agatha’s sake, I can only hope that is not true. And I trust Beatrice’s judgement. She is not given to flights of fancy or untruths.”
Warner eyed him curiously. “You’ve become very close to her in a very short time.”
“I remember very little about growing up here… the few flashes of memory that I have experienced have all been centered around her. Whatever my feelings for her are, I do not believe that they are new.”
“Let us try Mesmer’s technique… it will only take a few moments and perhaps something will come to light that will further cement your claims here.”
Graham wanted to say no, but he was also curious. He wanted to be certain. He wanted everyone else to be certain as well. “Five minutes.”
“Ten,” Warner countered. “And then whatever it is that you wish me to do, we will get on with it. I do not believe for a single moment that you came here only to ask questions.”
Graham wanted to refuse. In part, it was sparked by his belief that Mesmer and his techniques were ridiculous. But another part of him feared both that he would remember and that he would not. If he remember things that conflicted with his current belief that he was Lord Blakemore, what then? Or if he underwent the experiment and nothing changed?
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 92