Constable Mills returned to the office with Charles and Arthur. He examined the picked locks, the rifled office, and then sat down with the both of them out in the waiting room.
Charles had sent their clerk with a brief note to Lord Dunsmore saying that he was needed, urgently.
“You say that it was like this when you arrived, Mr. Conolly,” Constable Mills said.
“Yes. I arrived only a few moments before Mr. Hinkley did,” Charles explained.
“So, then you have no one to say that you arrived early and did this yourself, then?”
“That’s a very odd supposition, Constable,” Charles said, wondering if he should have sent for Alistair, as well.
“It certainly doesn’t account for your book being lost, either,” the constable replied.
“I feel that I’m being set up,” Charles told him. “I wanted to make a report, so that when it does show up, then it’s not used against me.”
“You know what I think?” the constable asked.
“What’s that?” Charles asked.
“I think you dropped it at the scene of a murder,” the constable replied, his eyes sparkling with menace. “And I think you’re trying to get out ahead of it.”
“That’s rather uncalled for, Constable,” Arthur snapped.
“Well, it does appear that Mr. Conolly has a few things that he’s hiding, don’t you, Mr. Conolly?”
“I have nothing to hide,” Charles said.
“So then you admit that you worked with all three of the victims so far?”
“I do,” Charles said. “I did. I liked them all very much, and I’m upset that they are dead. I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone, Constable.”
The Constable stared Charles down. “You’re a slippery fish, Mr. Conolly.”
“On the contrary, I’ve been rather forthcoming,” Charles said. “You’re the one who is looking for someone to put all the blame on. Turns out, you’re not the only one. The Murderer is trying to do it, as well.”
Just then, Lord Dunsmore entered.
“My Lord!” the constable said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to Mr. Conolly for some help,” Lord Dunsmore replied casually. “What are you here for, Constable?”
“I’m—there was a break in,” the Constable replied, clearly dismayed by the sudden appearance of the private detective.
“A break in!” Lord Dunsmore gasped. “How horrible!”
“You’re not here on a case, are you?” Constable Mills asked, suspiciously.
“Dear me, no. Has anything been taken, though? Perhaps I should offer you my services, Mr. Conolly.”
“I’m on it, My Lord,” Constable Mills said, standing up. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Conolly. I’ll have this report filed forthwith.”
“Thank you, Constable,” Charles said. They all watched the constable leave. Once the door had closed after him, Lord Dunsmore breathed a sigh of relief.
“Nothing angers the constabulary more than my intervention,” he commented. “Now. Let’s have a less biased look at the scene, shall we?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Arabella waited in the parlor with her mother for an hour, giving her father some time to calm down. She then made her way upstairs, to her father’s study.
She knocked, nervously. There was a long pause before he answered.
“Come in,” he said.
She opened the door, peering inside. Her father stared back at her, from where he sat behind his desk. In front of him, there was a full glass of amber liquid.
“I’ve come to talk,” she said. “I think we’ve misunderstood each other.”
“I quite agree,” he replied. “Come and sit.”
She sat down in the armchair that she usually sat in. She had so many recollections of sitting there. In those times, she felt like an equal. A valued contributor to discussions. But those times seemed so distant from how she felt now, her father’s actions had caused her to question all of those times.
Her father reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a whole stack of letters, tied with a black ribbon. He passed them to her.
“I’ve been receiving these for the past year,” he said. “They are signed, Nemesis. He says that he will kill me, before the end of this winter.”
“Oh, Pappa,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. She pulled one letter from the stack, unfolding it. In a spidery script, was written the same message that had been scrawled across their wall, back at Tiverwell Manor.
“I have no intention of dying,” he assured her. “I have fortified the house, and have hired men to keep a watch at night. I do not stir without two armed footmen. This Nemesis, whomever it is, will never find an opportunity.”
“You see,” he went on. “That was all of the other’s mistakes. They went out, alone.”
She nodded. That made sense.
“However, this has brought something to my attention,” he continued. “Someday, I will die. When I do, I will not have you living in Bath with your mother. While this is suitable for a widow, it is not for a young lady of marriageable age.”
She raised her chin. He held up a hand to keep her from speaking.
“I know that you think that you are in love with Mr. Conolly. It is mere fancy, and all too soon will fade away to mere memory.”
“It won’t,” she assured him confidently.
“You see, my dear, you have revealed to me your one weakness.” He had steepled his fingers.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“If you do not agree to marry the Duke of Longmire, then I will arrange it so that Mr. Conolly has a devastating accident.”
“You cannot do that,” she said.
“I can. And I will, particularly since it’s for your own good,” he said, folding his hands.
“So that’s it,” she said. “You’re threatening to kill the man I love in order to control me?” Arabella couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“It’s all in the name of ensuring that you marry, and marry well. So, it’s all well and good.”
“I’ll tell the authorities,” she threatened.
“You think they’ll believe you? That I threatened my own barrister’s life? Don’t embarrass yourself. I know that you were in my secret office,” he said, folding his hands. “I’m curious, what is it that you believe you saw there?”
“I—I don’t know,” she admitted.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Good. You will marry the Duke of Longmire. There will be no more mention of Mr. Conolly.”
She stood up, leaving the room. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her life had always been controlled. But she hadn’t really noticed because she’d simply never gone against his wishes.
What is it that you believe you saw there? What, indeed?
She tried to think back. The letters, which he had placed before her. That ledger, with the names…The flag, too.
Lord Dunsmore had just gone. Charles was sitting in his office, sipping a glass of brandy while he thought. He had decided to go through with the rest of his appointments that day. In an effort to appear as though everything were normal.
The front door opened. Charles stood up, walking out of his office. He was surprised to find Arabella standing there, Annette behind her.
“My Lady,” he said, his heart pounding. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her. But he held back.
“None of that, Charles. I need to speak with you, immediately,” she said, walking toward him. “Annette is going to keep watch, in case we were followed.” He held the door to his office open, so she could pass. Annette remained in the waiting room. He closed the door. She remained standing.
“What’s the matter, Arabella?” he asked, gently.
“The Duke of Longmire has asked me to marry him,” she said. Charles had expected as much. He’d prepared himself for this eventuality, deciding to take it stoically when the time came.
“I suppose con
gratulations are in order?” he replied, even though it was like a bullet to the chest.
“I would never accept,” she replied. “As long as you draw breath, I could never marry another.” She took his hand, which reflexively curled around hers. “I came, instead to warn you—my father has threatened your life.”
Charles’s knees almost gave out, and he leaned back against his desk. “Your father?” He could barely believe it. “I knew he was upset with me, but he’s planning to kill me?”
“If I continue to refuse the Duke of Longmire,” she said.
“I can’t let you be forced to do something merely to save me,” he said.
“I don’t want to agree to marry him. I just don’t see how I can get out of it,” she said. “All these years, he’s made it seem like I was so free, only to find that he’s got me in a tight rein. I’ve had blinders on, my whole life.”
“I…I think I have somewhere that I can go,” he said. Lord Dunsmore had told him, right before he’d left, that if he needed, he could stay at his townhome, where he would be provided with an iron-tight alibi.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “I don’t want to betray you.”
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
“Are you leaving London?” Their eyes met.
“No. I won’t go that far from you,” he said, his love for her shining through his words. “Not now.” He was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Loving her might be the end of him, but he would happily allow it to consume him. He reached up, his fingers caressing her cheek. She leaned into his touch.
She went up on her toes, and he leaned in. They kissed, both of them holding each other tightly, as though it would be their last. The kiss deepened, and his hand went to the small of her back, pulling her in closer. She grabbed the front of his shirt. His head spun. When they finally stepped back, they were both out of breath.
“No matter what happens, I will always love you,” she promised him.
“I could never stop loving you,” he replied. “Even if you married the Duke of Longmire.”
“It won’t come to that,” she said. “It can’t.”
Arabella and Annette arrived home, leaving their horses with one of the grooms. They hadn’t been gone long—no one would question them if they said that they’d gone for a ride around the park. It was a brilliantly sunny day, and the wind was brisk. Perfect for a ride.
Mr. Blankley opened the door for them. He smiled brightly when he saw them, sketching a polite bow.
“How was your ride, My Lady?” he asked, standing aside to let them pass.
“Lovely,” Arabella declared. “We rode around Kensington Gardens.”
“It’s a fine, brisk day for that,” he replied, closing the door.
“It is, Mr. Blankley,” she agreed, tugging off her riding gloves. She made her way up the stairs, Annette following behind her. When she looked up, she saw that her father was standing there. He reminded her of the ghost in Hamlet—forbidding, morose.
“Do tell me,” he said, placing a letter in his inside jacket pocket. “What is wrong with the Duke of Longmire?”
“Why do you ask?” she replied, knowing full well that her father had received a missive from the Duke.
“I just cannot make out why you would turn down a marriage proposal from a respectable gentleman, not to mention, a Duke.”
“Why must we go over this now?” she asked.
“Because he’s returning in a few days, and I want you to give him a definite answer,” he said.
“You want me to give him a positive answer,” she pointed out. “I’ve certainly given him a definite answer already.”
As Arabella stood, facing her father, Annette scurried down the hall to Arabella’s rooms. Arabella couldn’t blame her lady’s maid. She herself had never seen her father this angry before. Not since the day that Mr. Conolly arrived to ask his permission to marry her. She steeled herself. She was going to give her father a good dose of the truth. There was no way that he was going to take it well.
“Why?” he demanded. “I just don’t understand.”
She raised her chin, drawing herself up to her full height. If he was going to persist, then she would give him a strong dose of the truth. “I cannot marry the Duke of Longmire because I am in love with Charles Conolly.” She watched his eyes widen, and his mouth turn downward. “If I can’t have him, then I’ll have no one. I’m to become a spinster, living on the considerable sum which you have bequeathed to me.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” he replied.
“Well, you’d best start planning for it,” she replied. “I will never show up to a wedding, unless Charles is at the altar.” She watched as he flinched at her use of Charles’s Christian name. She’d done it expressly for that purpose.
They both stared each other down. There was a vein, popping out on his forehead. It was a bit worrisome, but Arabella didn’t even blink. She was dressed in a pair of breeches, and she was going to have her way, in this, too.
“If I end up, murdered in cold blood, you will have nothing—I will make sure of it. No one to care for you, not even your mother. You will be alone in the world, with no money and no husband.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said, watching the anger flicker dangerously in his eyes.
“If you do not accept the Duke when he returns, then I will cut you off, entirely.”
“Very well,” she replied, refusing to give in to his threats.
“I will make sure that you can never marry Mr. Conolly,” he hissed, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You can be sure of it.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Think of his life as forfeit,” her father stated.
He stormed off, down the stairs. Arabella stood there, alone, wondering if, perhaps, she had pushed too far. Her father had just threatened Charles’s life. She decided to go and write him a letter. Just in case.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Charles had received a letter when he had arrived at his office. He thanked the clerk, then took it into his office, closing the door. He saw Arabella’s handwriting, flipped it over to find her seal, pressed into the wax.
Breaking the seal, he opened the letter.
Charles,
I don’t know when you’ll receive this. I will have to have Annette sneak it out for me. My father is threatening to harm you if I do not agree to marry the Duke of Longmire. I don’t plan on giving the Duke any positive answer, so I am warning you to keep an eye out.
Love,
Arabella.
He wrote her a quick reply.
You’ve done right. Do not do anything that would make your life unhappy. Not for my sake.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called out, expecting Arthur to peer inside. Charles looked up, surprised to find that Lord Dunsmore was there.
“Here,” he said, handing him yet another disguise. “We are to play Le Marquis and Le Duc one final time, my dear friend.”
Charles put on the blond wig, yet again, stuffed the cotton wads into his cheeks, so that they bulged. It was ingenious how such small things could vary an appearance.
“Where are we going?” he asked, his words garbled.
“We will be going to meet with Mr. Bones,” Lord Dunsmore explained. “I’ve set it all up.”
“Very good, My Lord.”
On their way out, Charles gave his note to Arabella to the clerk who worked in the office, to send out with the rest of the post. It was a risk, to send something to Arabella. He could only hope that his letter reached her.
Charles and Lord Dunsmore took Lord Dunsmore’s carriage out to a residence that was located out by the docks. From the front, it wasn’t much to look at. Charles himself wouldn’t have given it a second look.
Lord Dunsmore walked confidently up to a small group of sailors, who appeared to be loitering in front.
“I’ve a meeting with Mr. Bones,” he told them
in a French accent, handing one of them a card. The man looked at it, then turned and went inside. Charles and Lord Dunsmore waited. The two other sailors observed them with very mild curiosity. It was as though they had seen much, and were surprised at very little any more.
The first man returned, and motioned for them to go inside. “Mr. Bones will see you now,” he said. Charles was nervous, but he kept his features composed. He followed behind Lord Dunsmore, who seemed utterly at ease. They entered the building to find that the inside was elegant. There was thick carpeting on the clean wood floors. The walls were painted a deep maroon that was so dark, that it was nearly black.
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