Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  "Really, Cutterton…" Slayde began.

  "It's all right." Courtney waved away Slayde's protest, her chin held high. "If Mr. Cutterton feels it necessary, I'm more than willing to participate." She extended her hand to Mathers.

  "You're sure?" Slayde asked her quietly.

  "Perfectly sure." She accepted the paper and quill. "As you yourself just said, Pembourne has become my home and its occupants my family. There should be no doubts or deception between us."

  "Very well. Then we're ready to begin."

  "Slayde," Aurora protested, "how could you ask Courtney…"

  "You are excused," Slayde pronounced. "Please retire to your chambers at once."

  Aurora stared at him in a show of disbelief. Her mouth opened and closed once, twice. Then she gathered up her skirts and fled.

  "As I was saying," Slayde continued, "we can now begin. Each of you pen the following phrase: 'Use this door for coming and going.'"

  Dutifully, the servants complied.

  Slayde waited until they were all staring at him once more. "You're all free to return to your duties," he said. "Hand your papers to Cutterton as you leave the room. Oh, and one other thing. If the person responsible should experience a change of heart and decide to confess, I'll be in my study. If not, I'll eventually be sending for you." Pointedly, Slayde surveyed the room. "Thank you all. Once this incident is behind us, we can begin the more joyful task of planning a wedding."

  The servants came forward, turning in their papers, some nervous, others matter-of-fact. Siebert bowed and congratulated Courtney and Slayde, his pleasure warm and genuine. Miss Payne offered her congratulations as well, although, Courtney noticed with amusement, she couldn't quite meet their gazes after what she perceived as last night's indiscretion. Matilda harbored no such reservations. She stepped over, squeezing Courtney's hands and beaming ear to ear. "I'm so thrilled for you," she murmured. "I wish you all the happiness you and Lord Pembourne deserve."

  "Thank you," Courtney whispered, her throat tight with emotion. "Matilda—" She knew she shouldn't be doing this, not before everyone was exonerated, but she just couldn't help herself. Matilda was innocent. No one could convince her otherwise. "When all this is over, when Slayde and I are married…" Courtney swallowed. "Would you do me the honor of staying on, not just at Pembourne, but with me? As I understand it, a countess requires a lady's maid. And, while I know I'll be terribly difficult to train, given all the years of fending for myself, I can think of no one better equipped with the necessary love and patience to tackle the job. Nor anyone I'd rather have beside me. Would you consider it?"

  Tears gathered in Matilda's eyes. "'Twould be an honor, Miss Courtney."

  "Pardon me, ma'am," Cutterton interjected, stepping over to address Matilda. "Your paper?"

  Matilda dabbed at her eyes. "Of course, sir. Here." She presented it, giving Courtney's arm another squeeze before hastening off.

  "Don't bellow at me, Cutterton," Courtney muttered, seeing his disapproving frown. "Else I truly will help Aurora by telling her about the half-dozen escape routes I've discerned from my bedroom window—routes even she has yet to find and try." Courtney inclined her head at Cutterton, smiling at the stunned expression on his face. "I think you and I are going to get on famously, don't you?"

  "I think you and Aurora are going to have to conduct classes for my investigative and security staff." Slayde's dry retort came from just behind her.

  Courtney whirled about to face him, noting that the room was now empty. "Is it time?"

  "Yes." A scowl. "I still don't like the idea of your accompanying me to such a seedy section of Dartmouth."

  "Slayde—don't." She lay her hand on his forearm. "We've come too far for this. I need to be there. Besides, Oridge's message said everything is under control. He's keeping our friend company until we arrive."

  A terse nod. "All right. Let's go." He turned to Cutterton. "You'll post yourself outside my study?"

  "Yes, sir. So far as everyone will know, you're closeted within."

  "Good. Given the circumstances, I don't anticipate any visitors."

  "Understood. Now let me ensure that your path is clear and that you and Miss Johnston can reach the phaeton we concealed around back without being detected. Oh," Cutterton added, "you asked me to advise you when Mr. Rayburn had taken his leave. He did so about an hour ago."

  "Thank you." Slayde pondered the charts he'd given Rayburn at dawn, praying that one of the six inlets he'd mapped out would lead them to Courtney's father.

  "Slayde?" Courtney touched his hand. "Don't look so troubled. I know Mr. Rayburn is investigating other avenues, perhaps even dangerous ones. But I have the utmost faith in him, whatever the challenge."

  "So do I, sweetheart." Slayde pressed his lips to her forehead, reiterating his silent prayer. "So do I."

  * * *

  Grimes leaned back in his chair, rubbing a dirty hand across the stubble on his chin. "I've been lookin' at these for an hour," he complained. "And none of 'em has matched up." He picked up the original note, now neatly folded so only the message—not the date or sketch—was revealed. "What's on the other side of this, anyway?"

  "A drawing of my house," Slayde answered smoothly, perched on the edge of the desk. "Which I don't intend to let you see. If I did, I might suddenly find my home divested of all its worldly goods." He gave Grimes's shoulder a shove. "Now get back to work. We're paying you a bloody fortune for what amounts to nothing more than a few hours of risk-free work."

  "Sure, but it must be pretty important for you to send your henchman on ahead." He jerked his thumb in Oridge's direction.

  Oridge sighed. "Shall I convince him to shut up and resume working, sir?" he inquired, arching a brow at Slayde.

  "Now, now, just calm down," Grimes answered nervously, bending forward again. "I'll do your job."

  Courtney bit back her impatience, pacing restlessly about the cramped quarters.

  "Tell her to stand still," Grimes muttered. "I can't concentrate with her walkin' around."

  "Learn," Slayde shot back. "And if you address the lady with anything short of respect, I'll break your jaw."

  With a sullen look, Grimes resumed his chore.

  Another twenty minutes passed.

  Grimes was down to the final five or six pages, and Courtney was about to scream in frustration, when the fence sat back in his chair, flourishing a page for Slayde to see. "Here's your man."

  "You're certain?" Slayde asked, seizing the paper.

  "Hell, yes. 'Scuse me," he added quickly to Courtney, recalling Slayde's threat. "Look at the curve of the s's and the half-crossed t. Also, there are slight breaks between the first and second letters of each word, and every letter is tightly curved. This is the one. You want it copied?"

  "That won't be necessary." Slayde tossed a wad of bills on the desk. "There's our agreed-upon thousand pounds plus an extra hundred. That more than concludes our business." He gathered up all the papers, crossed over, and yanked open the door, guiding Courtney out and to the phaeton.

  The instant Oridge had joined them, Courtney turned to Slayde. "You brought the list, didn't you?"

  "Right here." He reached into his coat pocket and extracted it, simultaneously glancing at the number atop the page Grimes had designated. "Eight," Slayde murmured, unfolding the list. "Now let's see who the hell number eight is."

  Courtney peered over his shoulder, her gaze darting to the appropriate line. "Slayde," she gasped, gripping his arm. "It's Miss Payne."

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  « ^ »

  "Remember, no one knows we've been away," Slayde reminded Courtney, slowing the phaeton down as they neared the rear gates of Pembourne. "To their knowledge, I'm still in my study. We have that fact going for us. Oridge, you divert Miss Payne. I don't care how. Tell her you need additional pillows. Tell her you found an insect in your bed. Just keep her occupied. Courtney and I will search her room, just in case there's anything in th
ere to identify her employer."

  "As good as done, sir."

  "After that, I'll reassemble the staff and tell them the real reason for our writing exercise: that I've recently acquired evidence proving the fact that someone inside Pembourne aided in the robbery that resulted in my parents' murders, that the evidence in question is a note written in the culprit's hand. I'll further elaborate that, after careful scrutiny, I've been able to narrow the writing samples down to only three possible suspects. I'll explain that, given the magnitude of the crime, I would never accuse anyone without being totally certain of that person's guilt. Therefore, I'll be riding to London immediately to seek out a proper handwriting expert. Having made that declaration, I'll go so far as to climb into my carriage and ride off. That should give Miss Payne ample opportunity to rush off to either warn or seek refuge with her employer."

  Courtney inclined her head, an admiring smile curving her lips. "Aurora and I must be rubbing off on you, my lord. Why, that plan is almost as ingenious as ours."

  "Coming from you, I'll consider that the highest of compliments. Perhaps Mr. Scollard did mean to imply that my wits would be called upon as well." A shadow crossed Slayde's face. "Miss Payne has been with my family for decades. 'Tis hard to believe she's capable of the kind of crimes we're addressing."

  "Theft and murder are quite different from one another, Slayde," Courtney reminded him. "All we know for sure is that Miss Payne was involved in the robbery. There's no indication that she meant for your parents to die, much less that she helped kill them."

  "But they did die," Slayde said grimly. "And she didn't exactly come forward and identify Armon as their killer, nor admit her own part in the theft that lead to their murders. Worse, she's stayed on at Pembourne as a trusted employee, when she should be rotting in Newgate."

  "I've not found Miss Payne to be particularly warm or endearing," Courtney replied. "However, I don't think she's ruthless, either. My guess is that whoever she's working for ensured her silence—perhaps with Armon's help. They probably threatened her position, her health, even her life if she said a word, or refused to help them in future endeavors."

  "Such as seizing your father's ship in order to extort the black diamond."

  A pained nod. "And afterward, when I came to Pembourne, she was doubtless instructed to keep an eye on me, see if I told you anything damning about Armon, anything that would implicate them. It would certainly explain why she spent so much time hovering about during my recovery. I never understood her concern, given that nurturing is hardly her way."

  "It also explains why she was in your room last night. Most likely, she was searching for something that would tell her how much information you'd gained during our excursion to London."

  "That makes sense. No one would think to question a housekeeper's presence in someone's sleeping quarters—" Courtney broke off. "That explains Aurora's note!"

  "Which note?"

  "The one she left you when she went to London. Remember? She found it lodged behind her headboard and assumed it had dropped there on its own. Well, it hadn't. It was removed, then replaced on the day Aurora returned. Miss Payne must have known of Aurora's intentions to travel to London and used it to her employer's advantage. With the absence of Aurora's written explanation, you had no reason to doubt the legitimacy of the ransom notes and the 'fact' that Aurora had indeed been kidnapped. Thus, the ruse was successful, with Miss Payne knowing all the while that Aurora was quite safe, frolicking about London with Elinore."

  "That conniving…" Slayde drew a slow, inward breath. "Forgive me, Courtney, but I can't be as charitable as you."

  "I'm not charitable. Nor do I expect you to be. Because of Miss Payne's involvement, my father is gone. As are your parents." Courtney clasped her hands together to still their trembling. "But Miss Payne did not act alone. Nor did she act solely with Armon, who's already paid with his life. She acted upon the orders of another. And it's that person we want to expose, that cold-hearted animal we want to see punished. We can't let our enmity cloud our reason."

  Slayde's fingers closed over hers. "Are you preaching logic and level-headedness to me, Miss Johnston?" he teased gently.

  His loving quip found its mark, and Courtney managed a faint smile. "It appears I am, Lord Pembourne."

  "Astounding." He brought her palm to his lips. "It seems we've encountered yet another miracle together."

  Slayde checked the hallway of the servants' quarters for the third time before beckoning Courtney forward. "Now," he hissed.

  They slipped into Miss Payne's room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

  "The desk?" Slayde questioned.

  "No," she countered. "The wardrobe drawers. You go through those on the left, and I those on the right."

  Courtney crossed over, dropping to her knees and pulling open the first drawer.

  "Why the wardrobe?" Slayde asked, squatting down beside her. "I'd assume any written material would be in her desk."

  "Not if it's of a personal nature." Courtney scanned the contents, then carefully rearranged them before sliding the drawer shut, tugging open the one beneath it. "Women have a tendency to hide private things in private spots—spots no one would be apt to invade. Which is precisely why we're invading them." She shook her head, shutting the bottom drawer. "There's nothing here."

  "Nor here," Slayde concurred, completing his task. He surveyed the sparse furnishings. "Is the bureau personal enough?"

  Courtney grinned. "Yes. I'll search it. Why don't you look through the nightstand."

  A wary glance at the closed bedchamber door. "Ten minutes more. Then we leave."

  "But Slayde—"

  "You're the one who told me to employ reason. Well, I'm employing it. If Miss Payne should discover us, our entire plan to get to her employer will be dashed. Therefore, if we find evidence, splendid. If not, we'll rely upon her to lead us where we need to go. Either way, we're leaving this bedchamber in ten minutes."

  A reluctant nod. "Very well." Courtney scooted over to the bureau, gauging the drawer that would hold underclothes. She yanked that one open, lifting a pile of prim nightgowns out of the way and groping behind them.

  Her fingers brushed something smooth and flat.

  "Slayde," she said in an urgent whisper. He stalked over just in time to see her remove what was clearly a journal of sorts. "The entries look to be sporadic," Courtney noted, skimming the pages. "But they begin in 1796 and span the entirety of Miss Payne's employment here at Pembourne. Look—" Smoothing the page for closer perusal, Courtney indicated the date at the top: 5 January, 1807. "'Tis her first entry of the year your parents were killed."

  "Two months prior to their deaths," Slayde concurred grimly.

  Courtney held up the journal and together they read:

  I'm growing old. My skin is coarse from scrubbing and my shoulders are stooped from carrying. I came here a young girl, with grand dreams and a romantic heart. Now, I look in the glass and see a bitter spinster with no future and a housekeeper's wages. The countess is ten years my senior, yet her skin is smooth, her eyes bright. 'Tis easy to see why. She's bathed in jewels, showered with attention. While I'm alone, without so much as a decent sum put aside for the future. If there's one thing life's taught me, it's that there's no justice.

  Courtney frowned. "Clearly, Miss Payne was a very unhappy woman."

  "Clearly, she still is," Slayde muttered. "The question is, what did she do about that unhappiness?"

  The muffled sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears, and Slayde's head came up like a wolf scenting danger.

  Courtney held her breath, waiting, as the brisk strides grew closer, reached Miss Payne's bedchamber … and passed it.

  She sagged with relief. "I knew Mr. Oridge wouldn't disappoint us."

  "Even Oridge can keep Miss Payne only so long before she becomes suspicious," Slayde worried aloud, casting another furtive glance at the closed door. "We can't take that chance. Nor, obviously, can we take t
he journal with us and risk Miss Payne's discovering it missing. So, let's accelerate this process, skip ahead to dates closer to when the murders took place. Maybe she'll name names."

  Nodding, Courtney sifted through a few short, inconsequential-looking pages, until she came to the page dated 18 March, 1807, which was covered, top to bottom, with writing.

  "Let's try this," she murmured.

  She hasn't a clue how humiliating it was for me to ask for that increase in wages. And she refused me. She said I was already earning nearly as much as Siebert. Well, that's as it should be. I work harder than that aged fool. And to further humiliate me by offering me a loan? I don't need the money; I've earned it. Far more than she's earned her wardrobe of exquisite gowns or that treasure chest of jewels the earl keeps locked away in the library. Well, I know just who to turn to, just the person to convince Lady Pembourne of my worth. The Viscountess Stanwyk. I'll approach her. She thinks highly of me; heaven knows she's always saying how invaluable I am, what an asset I am to Pembourne. And the countess respects her opinions. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll talk to Lady Stanwyk. She'll understand. She'll help me.