“And obviously you have reason to believe that you speak the truth.” Halifax turned to Lunenburg. “Is this true? Did you serve time in prison?”
Lunenburg cut his glance to each man. Stratford could almost see the cogs turning in his mind as he debated with himself over whether or not to confess. He twisted the end of his cigar in the ashtray, this time putting out the fire. “Yes, only a short time. I was innocent, and everything was all a misunderstanding. I am sorry now that I did not tell you sooner. All of you here are gentlemen of honor. Surely you know the importance of giving an innocent man a second chance. I throw myself upon your mercy in asking you to extend me that consideration.”
The room remained silent until Luke spoke. “I believe that a gentleman should not have to suffer undue punishment over a misunderstanding.”
The others murmured in apparent agreement.
Stratford felt compelled to speak. “I believe in the power of forgiveness, as well, gentlemen. But there is more.”
“More?” Halifax asked.
“Yes.” Stratford looked Lunenburg hard in the eyes. “Does the name Clayton Forsythe mean anything to you?”
Apparently expecting to be asked, Lunenburg steeled himself and returned Stratford’s gaze with the conviction of a wronged man. “No.”
“So you say. I can hardly blame you for wanting to forget that name.”
“Who is Clayton Forsythe?” Luke prodded.
Stratford motioned to Lunenburg. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Clayton Forsythe.”
Gasps of dismay and surprise filled the room.
“He has served his time for petty thievery,” Gilbert said. “But judging from his latest escapades, he learned in Newgate how to succeed as a confidence man. I only hope that you, gentlemen, will not allow yourselves to become his next victims.”
“And how do you know this?” Halifax asked.
“I was on a case in London when I saw him in shackles and in the custody of the law,” Gilbert explained. “Of course, he looks considerably better now than he did then. But I still recognized him as being the same man.”
“Clearly, gentlemen, this is a case of mistaken identity,” Lunenburg said.
“Then does the name Sir Gavin Powell mean anything to you?” Gilbert asked.
Lunenburg didn’t miss a beat. “He is one of my dear friends.”
“Dear friend, indeed,” Gilbert scoffed. “He is no friend of yours. He is one of your victims. One you impersonated.” He turned to the other men. “And if you are not careful, he may decide to impersonate one of you when he moves on to his next plan.”
Murmurs filled the room.
The cheat’s voice overrode the others. “And what proof do you offer?”
Gilbert looked him in the eye. “I admit you were lucky last time. You wisely took Sir Powell up on his offer not to press charges if you left town. Which placed you here.”
Despite being confronted with the truth, Lunenburg didn’t flinch. “As I said, you have no proof.” He let out a victim’s sigh, then turned his attention to the prospective investors. “I do not doubt for an instant that your friends are trying to do you a favor. And indeed, if I were seen to be in financial peril, I would hope that you would all be so kind as to try to rescue me. But I assure you, I am not this criminal called Clayton Forsythe. I have never in my life heard such a name. If this ridiculous charge had come from any other source, I would be tempted to press charges myself. But since I consider Brunswick a friend despite our friendly rivalry, and because he vouches for Meara, and because I know they are acting rashly only in a sincere though misguided effort to protect their friends, I am willing to overlook this unfortunate outburst. So if you will write your bank drafts, I can deliver them promptly to my partners.”
Stratford clenched his teeth underneath a closed mouth. With an astounding twist of words, Forsythe had managed to travel from the accused to the wronged and had even topped off his speech with a plea for money! Stratford had to admit Clayton Forsythe had learned the tactics of persuasion well.
Thankfully, Gilbert was an equally skilled solicitor. “These partners you persist in mentioning—just who are they?”
“They are my colleagues in Africa,” he responded without missing a beat.
“Then they are not residents of London?”
“No. They live and work in Africa. One of them is Dutch.”
“So you say. How convenient. With such identities, discovering who they are and speaking to them as well about this investment is almost impossible for us here.”
“I do not think I like what you are trying to imply.”
“And I do not think you will be receiving any investments this evening, Forsythe,” Stratford said.
He stiffened. “How dare you address me by that false name. I realize that you are taking this issue of our mutual pursuit of Lady Dorothea seriously. Too seriously. And now that I am in a winning position with her, you are resorting to the only trick you have left. To dishonor my good name.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Stratford protested. “I have no need to rid myself of you to gain her affections. They are already mine.”
Lunenburg looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I doubt it.”
Stratford looked at the others. “You see, Clayton Forsythe is more threatened by me than I am by him. I assure you, my motives for exposing him are pure. My regard for Lady Witherspoon has nothing to do with this meeting.”
“I do not believe it,” Lunenburg said. “You are envious of me and my popularity, and you would like to see me go back to Africa indefinitely, I am sure.”
“Whether you believe me is not the issue. Rather, the issue is how your potential investors feel.” Stratford swept his gaze over the men. “I do recommend that all of you wait—at least overnight—before writing bank drafts to this man. He has already told you he will not be departing before the fortnight is through, and so you have plenty of time yet to make your final decision.”
“I agree,” Crumpton said.
Luke and Halifax nodded.
“Indeed, I have no plans to leave before the fortnight is through, but I urge you not to delay more than twenty-four hours,” Lunenburg warned. “We need the money soon, and I have plenty of other investors who would be eager to take your place.”
“And as long as they live in this parish, those eager investors of whom you speak are also my friends, so do not think that you can take advantage of them, either,” Stratford told him, warning coloring his voice. Feeling testy, Stratford knew he had to leave before he said something he would later regret. “Gilbert and I will be departing now. We can see ourselves to the door.”
Fourteen
Even though she had been excluded from the men’s discussion and had been knitting with Helen, Dorothea did not want to risk missing Stratford as he departed, so she made an excuse and waited in the drawing room. She tried to knit but couldn’t concentrate on her stitches. What was happening in the meeting? When he had left her presence earlier, Stratford had looked so solemn, as if he planned to view a corpse and comfort a grieving family. Dorothea understood that the meeting was about the business of investing money in some sort of concern in Africa. She thought that was how men increased their fortunes. Stratford’s gloominess worried her.
She heard the muted sound of footsteps making contact with the hall rug. She had hoped they would belong to Stratford, but were two men approaching? Fighting desire to see Stratford and curiosity, she remained in her seat. Instead, she paused in her knitting and took a moment to study her progress.
“Dorothea.” Stratford was standing in the doorway. “Am I disturbing you?”
“No, not at all. Is the meeting over?”
“Yes.”
“Then will you come and sit awhile?” She set her knitting aside.
As he strode over toward her and took a seat beside her, the faint smell of citrus overwhelmed by the rank odor of cigar smoke wafted her way. Stratford was no smoke
r, so no doubt he had been in a meeting with the other men. The fragrances entangled themselves in the light scent of the lit beeswax candle burning nearby. Dorothea noticed that Stratford’s friend had made progress toward the front door and was peering out its fan-shaped window.
“I can only stay a moment.” Stratford tilted his head toward his waiting companion. “I believe we accomplished our mission.”
“Your mission?”
“Yes. To keep my friends from making an unwise investment.” He smiled. “But that does not concern you. You are my bright spot in all this confusion.”
She smiled at the compliment. “But all is well now?”
“Not entirely.” He squeezed her hands. “I wish I could spend more time here with you, my dear, but I must depart. I have urgent business that must be concluded, and my friend awaits.”
“I understand.”
“I will see you again as soon as I can.”
She nodded. If only they could share another kiss! But Gilbert Meara continued to stare out the window, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Clearly he was tolerating their brief encounter so the men could leave and pursue whatever it was that needed pursuing. She couldn’t beg Stratford to tarry. She took comfort in the fact that she had been able to see him, to touch his hands, if only for a moment that was all too short.
❧
As soon as the front door shut behind them and Stratford knew no one could overhear, he revealed his real feelings to Gilbert. “Something must be done before half the parish is victimized by this imposter.”
“Yes, but what? We did all we could to venture into a meeting and make such bold declarations.” Gilbert stepped into the carriage.
Stratford followed him inside and sat across from his companion. “Do you think anyone believed me?”
“I think they are torn between their greed, which makes them want to believe Clayton, and their trust of you.”
“Greed is a powerful force. It can make one lose sight of the truth.”
“Yes, although I think you placed a reasonable amount of doubt in their minds as to whether or not they should pursue the investment.” Gilbert tapped his fingertips on his knee. “I must say, your entanglement with Lady Witherspoon has not helped your cause. I think Forsythe managed to use her to convince them that you have a chink in your armor. But if they all decide not to believe you thanks to his argument, it will not be the first time a beautiful woman has come between men and their common sense.”
“I cannot control the actions of my friends. I do not regret my involvement with Dorothea in the least.”
“Now, now, do not be so defensive, friend. I was just making an observation.”
Stratford realized his nerves had taken a beating that night, so perhaps he had been too sharp with Gilbert. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to be disagreeable. If anything, I owe you my deepest thanks. Your performance in the meeting tonight was superb. If we had been in a court of law, you would have won handily.”
“So you say. But as you saw by the men’s less than enthusiastic reaction to our arguments, juries can be tough when they are partial to a certain party.” Gilbert sighed. “I can see why they are hesitant to disbelieve Clayton. I was shocked by how well he had learned his new trade. His speech was smooth as glass.”
“Yes, he has climbed the ladder of crookedness with considerable skill, apparently. But I wonder how he stole from unsuspecting victims before he took on this new tactic.”
“Easily. He was nothing more than a common beggar and pickpocket,” Gilbert reminded him.
“Then he must have learned how to develop schemes from other cheats he met in prison or from socializing among the criminal element upon his release. No doubt this new enterprise is much more profitable—and pleasant since he now travels among privileged circles.”
“True,” Gilbert said. “But some time elapsed before he started taking on new identities. I wonder if he could have taken a job as a servant in a fine home and observed their customs and manners.”
“That deduction is as good as any. Whatever course he took, clearly he has expended a great amount of effort to learn how to portray himself as a member of the aristocracy. In fact, I can see why he had everyone fooled. When we first met, I even held a favorable opinion of him.”
“This is why we are having trouble convincing the others not to invest with him,” Gilbert observed. “That and the fact that he is impersonating a foreign member of the aristocracy, meaning that attempts to trace his lineage would be difficult if not futile.”
“But I agree with you that we managed to place a considerable amount of doubt in their minds,” Stratford said. “Enough to keep them from investing this evening. That is a start.”
“A start only. Now we must convince them not to follow through at all.”
“I doubt Crumpton will. He is careful with his money. Which is why he has so much of it.”
Gilbert chuckled.
“But Luke is more of a risk taker,” Stratford observed. “For Dorothea’s sake if for no other reason, I feel obligated to show him the facts in such a way that he cannot argue them. But how?”
“There is only one way. We must reveal the entire truth to the real Baron Hans von Lunenburg. Perhaps if he learns that someone else is posing as him, he will realize he needs to make the journey out here to meet his imposter.”
“Time is short. We must act right away.”
As soon as they were in the manor house, they rushed to Stratford’s study. He retrieved his stationery, pen, and ink from his desk and sat down to compose a letter. Gilbert looked over his shoulder.
Dear Baron von Lunenburg,
Good morning. We trust you are well.
Our business with you is urgent. We have reason to believe that a man who has recently moved to our parish may be using your good name and reputation to encourage others to invest in a business with him that we are not positive is legitimate. We feel that a journey here to prove your identity and to put a stop to this matter is justified. Because the man in question knows we suspect him, he is doing all he can to leave the parish as soon as possible with the investors’ money. We urge you to make haste. Please do not write us about your plans. We will be expecting you.
Yours,
Stratford Brunswick, Earl of Yorkton
Gilbert Meara, Esq.
Stratford stamped an imprint of his family’s coat of arms into the hot wax that sealed the missive.
“There. If that letter does not encourage him to visit, nothing will.”
“But will he arrive here in time? Forsythe gave the men only a day to make a decision regarding their investments.”
“True, that is not enough time.”
“No, and although he assured us he would be staying a fortnight, I am not so sure that he will now that he knows we could expose his game.”
“So we must make sure.”
“We must play on his weaknesses.” Gilbert thought for a moment. “Vanity. He is a proud man.”
“Yes, indeed.” Stratford snapped his fingers. “I have an idea.”
He drew out another sheet of paper and began writing anew.
❧
Dorothea was completing her nightly devotions when her maid knocked on the door of her bedchamber.
“Elsie! It is well past bedtime. Is everything all right?”
Elsie curtsied. “Yes, milady. But this missive just arrived from the Brunswick estate. The boy told me to give it to you immediately. He even told me not to mention a word of it.”
The news piqued Dorothea’s curiosity. She took the letter from the maid. “Thank you, Elsie. That will be all. Good night.”
“Good night, milady.”
Elsie hadn’t even shut the door before Dorothea ripped into the message. Careful handwriting, the type of certain penmanship she would expect from Stratford, graced the paper. Stratford had just seen her not two hours past. What could be so urgent?
Dearest Dorothea,
I can
not explain myself now, but all will soon become clear. You mentioned to me that you have almost finished the portrait you are painting of Baron von Lunenburg. Would you be so kind as to dawdle over its completion? I need for him to remain here as long as possible. I will explain in due time.
If you can do this, you have my undying gratitude.
You have no need to respond. I trust you will comply with my wishes, for you know I would not ask if the matter were not of the utmost importance.
Please, for both of our sakes, destroy this letter as soon as you read it.
Yours faithfully,
Stratford
Of course she would do whatever Stratford wanted. She rose from her seat, paper in hand, and looked at the fire. She read through the letter once more and stroked the sides of the paper with her left index finger. Never before had Stratford written to her—at least, never before had she received the letters he wrote. And now that he had finally written, she was forced to toss his letter where it would burn and disintegrate into nothingness.
Heavenly Father, I pray there will be many more letters. Letters I can keep and cherish forever.
She flipped the message into the low-burning fire. When the paper hit the wood, a corner caught a flame and it burst open. She watched the orange heat consume the stationery like a hungry wolf, sending her beloved’s words into ashes. She tried not to cry.
“Maybe Helen still has some of the letters he sent,” she muttered.
The clock on her nightstand told her the hour had barely reached nine in the evening. Helen was sure to be awake. Dorothea donned her robe and grabbed the lit candle on the stand so she could carry it to light her way down the hall. On the way, she had to walk with slow paces so as not to let the flame catch a draft and blow out, leaving her in darkness.
So she would not invade anyone’s privacy, Dorothea looked to see if a light shone from the cracks of the door leading to Luke’s bedroom. Satisfied that Luke had retired to his own room and Helen remained in hers, she knocked on Helen’s door.
“Come in, Leese,” Helen instructed.
Helen was sitting up in bed reading a novel. She didn’t bother to look up at the visitor she assumed was her maid. “Set the milk on the table.”
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