“We have been studying the Morton Coat of Arms,” he said, laying a book on the center table beside another volume there. “I find it intriguing that it includes a symbol of a phoenix.”
“But that is also part of Lady Roselyn’s Cimaruta,” Miss Wood said, mentioning Lady Roselyn’s amulet that could detect a shift in process. She gave Daniel a keen glance. “A phoenix is engraved on the back of the flame symbol on the amulet. We always assumed that symbolized your talent, Mr. Trenton, for fire-shifting.”
“Could it be a coincidence?” Daniel asked.
“Or it could mean that Morton is also a fire-shifter,” Sir Phillip said.
The implications were enormous. And this explained why the alliance members had been summoned. It was exciting to discover others who might belong to their group.
“I confided to Rose last night about the portrait we discovered in Morton’s London residence,” Sir Phillip said, with a glance at Daniel.
He should have expected this, yet, it was a shock.
“What portrait?” Mrs. Weatheringham asked.
Sir Phillip remained silent.
Daniel ground his teeth and glanced around. There was only concern reflected in his friends’ gazes. The alliance members patiently waited for him to speak.
“While working on a case the other night, we discovered a portrait in the Morton’s attic,” Daniel said. “Sir Phillip believes it was of the late Duke of Morton. I hold a remarkable resemblance to him.”
“The spitting image,” Sir Phillip said.
“How could this be?” Mrs. Weatheringham said.
“I believe I might be one of His Grace’s by-blows. One my parents disposed of, once I became a problem.”
“Someone did try to dispose of you, Daniel, but there might have been an entirely different reason for doing so. The duke’s eldest son, and heir apparent was six,” Sir Phillip said, “when he was supposedly killed. Two decades ago.”
The servants’ chatter rose so loud, Daniel could hardly hear himself think.
“Daniel,” Lady Roselyn said, her face wreathed in compassion, “there is a real possibility that you are mistaken about your parentage. I first heard of the missing Morton heir from my grandmother. At the start of my first Season, she brought up the subject of the current Duke of Morton, though he was too young for me. She did, however, say that the duke once had an elder half-brother who had been abducted.”
“Abducted?” Mrs. Weatheringham said in alarm.
Lady Roselyn nodded. “It had been such a long time ago, that the details were sketchy.”
Sir Phillip pulled forward the brown, leather-bound book on the table. “This is the Annual Register for 1799. It has an account of the abduction.”
As Sir Phillip found the spot and began to read, Daniel listened with rising awe.
Between eight and twelve o’clock on the night of October 17, the Duke of Morton’s heir, a six-year-old boy, was snatched from his home. The boy’s father was consumed with terror, for he had lost his wife six months earlier to a wasting disease.
“Oh, how terrible,” Mrs. Weatheringham said.
“More terrible than you suppose,” Sir Phillip said, then continued to read.
The duke hired many Bow Street runners to comb through the estate and question witnesses. The background of servants from the house and surrounding estates were investigated. The constables and night watchmen were ordered to scour London for any sign of the missing boy.
“How was he described to them, sir?” Miss Wood said.
The boy had black hair, blue eyes, and a narrow face.
All eyes turned to Daniel and his cheeks burned hot.
“Anything unique that might help us determine if Mr. Trenton is that missing child?” she asked.
“Very astute of you, Miss Wood.” Sir Phillip gave her an approving smile. “The child did have one distinguishing feature that would make him immediately known to his parents.”
Daniel’s hope flared like a disturbed hearth fire.
“A missing tip on a little finger, perhaps?” Miss Wood trained her studious gaze on Daniel’s left hand.
He sent her an annoyed frown. But his insides churned at the possibility that the deformity he had hated all of his life might be the one thing that could prove his true identity.
Sir Phillip shook the book. “The book does not specify what that particular feature was.”
He might as well have tossed a bucket of cold water over his hopes as Miss Wood once had to douse Daniel’s flames.
“The old duke was probably afraid that children might be mutilated in order for their parents to claim them as the Morton heir,” Lady Roselyn said. “It was wise to keep that a secret.”
“But it makes it problematic for us to prove that Trenton is that heir,” Sir Phillip said. “With both his parents gone and the case so old, I am unsure how it can be proven.”
“Surely the identification mark must be recorded somewhere,” Mrs. Weatheringham said.
“It could be in the Bow Street Magistrate’s records,” he said. “I will request permission to look through them today.”
“Excellent,” Lady Roselyn said. “I am certain that will give us some valuable insight.”
“Does the report say who was questioned?” Miss Wood asked.
“There was no shortage of suspects.” Sir Phillip’s finger traced the account on the open page.
Every man, woman, or child currently employed by the duke or who had once worked for him was interviewed. All who held a grudge against the Killian family were thoroughly investigated.
“That must have caused a stir,” Mrs. Weatheringham said.
“No doubt.”
Seven days after the disappearance, a runner returned with the boy’s coat, fished out of the Thames. The coat had floated far from where the river flowed near the Morton estate. So it was concluded that the child had drowned.
He looked up from his reading to Daniel. “It says the duke refused to accept that verdict, Trenton. To the end, he believed that his son was alive and held prisoner.”
An odd flutter stirred in Daniel’s heart. So, he had not been discarded as unwanted refuse. His father had truly loved him, and had somehow felt connected enough to his son to be certain he had not died. Daniel felt a stirring of hope, and a twinge of sadness for what he might have lost. From the distance of time, he heard a voice cry out his name in grief.
“He offered a reward,” Sir Phillip said. “A rather substantial one, for any information about what happened to his son. With the king’s support, he also obtained a promised pardon for any conspirators who offered a lead to his son’s safe return.”
“Oh, how he must have loved that boy,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, “and how frightened he must have been.”
“Daniel, do you not see?” Lady Roselyn gave him an impassioned glance. “He never gave up on you!”
Sir Phillip continued to read
For months, the duke’s men scoured London, but found nary a trace of the missing boy. While the search continued, the duke never attended Parliament or any functions. All visitors were refused entrance to his London estate. His only companion was Rebecca Granger, his late wife’s nurse, whom he eventually married.
In a daze, Daniel strolled over to the window and looked out into the back garden.
I used to dream we were friends. Morton’s words came back to haunt him.
“Daniel,” Lady Roselyn said, coming over to him. “If you are that boy, you were most certainly loved.”
“If this is true, then I might have to rip away from Morton all he has grown up to expect will one day be his.”
“Do you mean the young man who was hiding up in that tree? The one who willingly revealed these same secrets to you there?”
A
tiny ray of hope flared at her words.
“And have you considered that Lady Faith’s future depends on us proving who you are?”
That brought him up short. “How so, my lady?”
“Her father had insisted she marry the Duke of Morton. And if you are Morton, then you could become her husband.”
“Lady Faith does not intend to marry Morton,” he said in a flat tone. “And I doubt that the duke will still insist on it, given the atrocities Morton’s family has committed.”
“Still, we can use the duke’s challenge to his daughter to our advantage,” Sir Phillip said, joining them at the window. “And set a trap for the Duchess of Morton and Granger.”
“How, sir?”
“If you present yourself at the ball as the true Duke of Morton and claim Lady Faith’s hand in marriage, that might fluster the Duchess of Morton enough that she does something drastic, maybe even show her hand in front of witnesses. This mystery has languished in darkness for two decades. It is time we shone some light onto the duchess’s diabolical machinations.”
Sir Phillip’s idea held an uncanny appeal. Daniel imagined himself transforming from a filthy street child with his wrist trapped by Mr. Trenton, into a well-dressed gentleman of the ton, who could proudly lead Faith onto the dance floor.
His adopted father would be proud. As would his real one. But as quickly as his hopes flared, they were quickly extinguished by doubt. “Who would ever believe that I am an aristocrat?”
“He has a point.” Miss Wood adjusted her glasses as she studied him. “Those sooty fingers alone make him look more like a chimney sweep than a duke.”
Many in the room protested.
Daniel bowed to her in mock gratitude. “Thank you for those wise words of illumination, Miss Wood.”
“I merely speak the truth.”
“He can wash his hands,” Lady Roselyn said with some heat. “As for the rest of him”—with a tilt of her head, she, too, studied Daniel—“I agree, he needs polish.”
“He will definitely need new clothes.” Mrs. Pollard, the housekeeper, came over to inspect him from all sides. With one wave of her hand, his cravat and jacket lifted of their own accord to reveal his secondhand shirt tucked into worn breeches. “Of the right cut, style, and quality.”
He slapped down his clothes and glared at her.
“Phillip can take him to Monsieur Tessyier,” Lady Roselyn said. “He is the best tailor for this work.”
“And he must speak proper English.” Miss Wood approached looking thoughtful. “No more referring to Sir Phillip as a dimber damber or saying twig the cull to indicate someone is watching.”
Daniel was miffed by her expert mimicry of his cant. He had not realized that he let such phrases slip into his everyday speech. “A lady should not be aware of such language.”
“Then you should not have spoken them in front of me, sir,” she said, though with a glint of humor.
“You may take him in hand for that elocution lesson,” Lady Roselyn said, chuckling.
“Do you know how to dance, sir?” Mary asked.
“No.” He disliked this detailing of his shortcomings.
“He will need lessons on proper table manners as well,” underbutler Randal said.
“Is it not lucky then,” Lady Roselyn said, “that we have so many experts to teach him everything he needs to learn?”
“This plan is more likely to fail than succeed,” Daniel said in a grave voice. Then he released a sigh, his tense shoulders unknotting. What choice did he have? He could never walk away from Faith when she needed him. “Still, I agree to do this. I will learn what I must. And I will offer my hand to Faith, if she will have me.”
Lady Roselyn faced those assembled. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, His Grace the Duke of Morton!”
He rolled his eyes at her unrepentant grin as the Rue Alliance rushed forward to congratulate him. He held up his arms to calm them. “The Duchess of Morton has attempted to kill me. Once she discovers she has failed, she will assuredly try again.”
“Agreed,” Miss Wood said with a firm nod.
“The best way to calm that huntress,” Sir Phillip said, “is to convince her that she has succeeded.”
“But I thought you wanted me to attend Faith’s ball?” Daniel asked, confused.
“I do and you will. But the Duchess of Morton does not need to be privy to our plans. Stony, you are cozy with the servants down this street. Go spread word that Mr. Trenton has died.”
Mrs. Pollard nodded. “That should set the gabble-grinder in motion. The news will be all about town by suppertime.”
“And since poor Daniel had no family,” Lady Roselyn said, “and because we valued his services highly, we will put out a notice in the papers that his burial will be at St. Michael’s.”
Surprisingly, Sir Phillip did not crack a smile at that “we valued his services highly” comment. The fact that Lady Roselyn’s husband was not taking this prime opportunity to rib him made the seriousness of this situation hit home for Daniel.
“This evening,” Lady Roselyn added, “the alliance members must carry a weighted wooden coffin through the streets in proper mourning to a gravesite.”
“Everyone will need to wear black armbands or ribbons to give the event authenticity,” Miss Wood added.
Daniel’s worry began to spike as their plans quickly evolved. If news of his death reached Faith, she would be beside herself with grief. “I have to warn Faith beforehand that my death is only being staged.”
Sir Phillip straightened. “That is not all you need to inform her,” he said in a serious tone. “If you love Lady Faith and mean to propose to her, then she has the right to know that you are a shifter.”
“He is right, Daniel,” Lady Roselyn added in a soft voice. “I was wrong to keep Phillip in the dark about my true nature for as long as I did. You must not make the same mistake. Lady Faith loves you and so she will not only understand, but aid us in keeping the alliance’s secret.”
And if she could not accept him as he truly was, it was better for him to find that out before they married. Daniel gave Sir Phillip a rueful glance. “I will confess all to her, sir.”
Sir Phillip nodded.
“But she is not the only one,” Daniel said.
Lady Roselyn raised her eyebrow. “Who else?”
“Morton.”
“Do you think that wise?” Sir Phillip asked.
Daniel wondered how to explain the way he felt about the young duke. “Considering my many recent attempts to leave this house, you may doubt that I care for all of you. But I do. You are my family.”
He continued before Lady Roselyn could hug him again. “But Morton is also a member of my family,” he said. “Newly joined. He has no one but me to rely on. His mother and brother abuse him.”
“They are abominable people,” Lady Roselyn said.
“If Morton, too, is a shifter,” Daniel said in a thoughtful tone, “then he needs to understand that neither of us are aberrations of nature, but fire masters.”
“Fire masters, eh?” Sir Phillip chuckled.
Daniel grinned back. “Sir, you did say you wished to finish your search of Morton’s London home? If we do so tonight, I can speak to him.”
“The duchess has doubled the guards on that property and set dogs loose to roam the grounds at night. Getting in will not be easy. And we have one other problem.”
He pulled a letter from his pocket. “This arrived from the Prince Regent. It seems the king, in one of his more lucid moments, heard Wellington’s first engagement once he returns to London is the Burley ball. His majesty, therefore, begs his son to present the buckles to Wellington then, before everyone showers him with their gifts. So the Regent is pressing me to solve this case before the night
of that ball.”
“But Phillip,” Lady Roselyn said in alarm, “that gives you less than two weeks to find them.”
“Yes, my dear. I am certain Morton has the items.” He turned to Daniel. “If you can convince your brother to hand the buckles over to me, we might be able to solve both our problems with one stroke.”
“And since the regent plans to attend the ball,” Lady Roselyn said, “it will be the perfect opportunity to present Daniel as the rightful Duke of Morton . . . if you can find absolute proof before that time.”
“Yes,” Sir Phillip said. “And if we manage to retrieve his stolen buckles, we might be able to convince his royal highness to speak on Daniel’s behalf to the House of Lords. But you are right—for this to work, Daniel’s parentage must be beyond a shadow of a doubt. And like that portrait of the late duke, the proof we need might well be at Morton Manor.”
The idea of going after the Duchess of Morton burned in Daniel’s blood. She had murdered his parents, stolen his birthright, and abused the two people he loved, Faith and Morton. And for those crimes, he intended to make his stepmother and her scapegrace son pay dearly.
Chapter Eighteen
FAITH READ THE missive from Sir Phillip with joyful wonder. How could he have guessed that her father had been poisoned or known the poison was Jimson Weed? With no time to waste, she ran to search among her father’s books for antidotes.
A volume by Mateu Orfila had a catalogue she had looked at before, but the number of poisons he mentioned had all seemed to blur together. This time, the symptoms under Jimson Weed matched her notes exactly. Sir Phillip was correct.
With a trembling finger, she read the remedy. The measures they had taken with her father had indeed been correct. The only bit they had not tried was an application of Epsom salts and water to empty the intestines. She carefully measured out the specified quantities and hurried upstairs.
Back in her father’s bedroom, she and her mother administered the Epsom water to expel the poison from her father’s bowels.
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