“I don’t know how to thank you.” He stood. “Dinner was delicious, but I must be going. It’s been an enjoyable evening.”
“Tell Charlotte we miss and love her,” Bella said.
He came away from his visit knowing several new things. Miles Eden was his great-uncle. Miles had no idea his father was alive. Charlotte wasn’t after him for his money. He did have a hard time reconciling his image of Miles as a liar and cheat, with what he learned from Jeanne Marie and Isabella.
Chapter Seven
London
October 1288
“DeGraw told you what?” John asked, sitting in the solar in Hugh’s house.
“I’m sorry, Hugh.” Hugh mimicked the man’s trembling voice. “I have no extra funds at the moment. Keep me in mind, he said, as he ushered me out the side door. He didn’t want to be seen with me, and he is not the only one. Three other clients have sent me messages they are no longer doing business with me. What is going on?”
“People are speaking about the reappearance of the Earl of Sagamore, bringing up the ugliness of what happened thirty years ago. Thomas was a well-respected smart businessman. I stumbled upon some information.”
“Since when did you ever stumble upon anything.”
The color rose on John’s cheeks. “It’s only a rumor and an old one at that. Years ago, the earl found someone stealing from him and helping a group of smugglers operate on the estate property. It’s so long ago, I couldn’t confirm the information. The rumor is surfacing in small circles. Some question the stability of the Sagamore.
“While gossip is rampant about Sagamore, someone’s questioned your competence. You may have made money for them, but that demonstration you put on at Glen Kirk last month with the earl’s daughter has given many second thoughts. There is more. Your name and Miles’ have been tied to an attempt to smuggle ancient relics into the country. Even DuClare and Ridigio’s names have also been mentioned.” John’s voice was low and confident. “Someone is out to destroy you and Miles.”
“I’m trying to get to the source of the gossip. Part of my investigation led me to your grandfather’s solicitors – Hughes, Swift and Lacey. Swift remembered something about the bailiff, and said he would search through the documents and let me know if he found any additional information. What did you discover in France?”
“I had a lovely dinner with Jeanne Marie and her granddaughter Isabella. I misjudged Charlotte. I found the family cemetery and her mother’s grave, Juliet Cantrelle DeMetz Eden, Countess of Sagamore. It appears Charlotte’s story is accurate,” Hugh said.
“Excuse me, Sir,” Hugh’s footman entered. “A message.”
Hugh read the message and got up.
“Where are you going?”
“Miles Eden asked me to meet him at the White Hart Tavern.
“That’s odd.” John said. “The White Hart was abandoned years ago.”
“Perhaps Miles doesn’t want to be seen with me. My clients don’t. I’m going to shave. I want to look my best when I meet my great uncle.”
“You missed a bit along the side.”
Hugh shaved the errant wisps.
“God’s toes. A little gray hair and you could be Gareth.”
“He says I’m the image of his father,” Hugh looked in the looking glass at John standing behind him. He brought his attention back to what he was doing. Satisfied his shave was as close as the one DuClare’s friend gave him, he wiped off the rest of the soap. “Other than DeGraw, what else happened while I was gone?”
“People think Gareth Eden died thirty years ago. No one is aware of a duel between your father and his uncle, or that Gareth Talbot is the true Earl of Sagamore.
“After the death of Thomas Eden and his family, the earldom passed to Miles. An attempt was made on his life. Some say he was killed, and others think he was seriously wounded and fled to France. Three years ago, he presented himself and his daughter to the staff at Sagamore Hall.”
“Who maintained the hall all these years?” Hugh slipped on a clean shirt.
“Your grandfather established a trust to take care of the estate and staff.”
“Were you able to find out the current status of the trust?”
“As you might suspect, without much money put into the trust over the decades, the funds are depleted, but not gone. There have been several offers by a small company to purchase the estate.” John ran his hand around the back of his neck. “I’ve searched everywhere I can imagine for information to support your father’s account. I found no mention that Miles was killed.
“I did find Miles’ name on the manifest of a ship sailing to France around the time your father claimed he killed him. I think Miles survived the duel.
“I also searched for information about The Eastern Moon. It sank crossing the channel during a storm. There were no survivors. Gareth Eden was listed on the passenger manifest.”
Hugh left his room with John at his side.
“What are you going to say to Miles?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea how to start the conversation.”
“The moment Miles sees you, he will know who you are. So will others.”
“I know.” Hugh stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s odd having a family, a history you knew nothing about. I can’t explain it. I feel I have a responsibility to find the truth for my father’s sake as well as Miles’.”
Hugh pounded John on the back.
“I’ll speak to you when I return.”
“Let me go with you. At least be near should things not go well. Sending you to an abandoned tavern does not sit well with me. Someone murdered your family, and that person or persons will not think twice about coming after you.”
“That would gain them nothing. They would have to kill my father and brothers. Their charade is over.”
John grabbed his arm and pulled him around.
“They’ve done it before. Your father gave you evidence.”
“John, the actions of a man tell you who and what he is. That is what I’ve based my business on and I have done well. I don’t believe a man can hide his true nature from everyone.”
“Your father did.”
“Did he? Maybe his name, but not the person. He has stayed true to himself. From everything we have found someone went to extreme lengths to make him think he murdered his uncle and keep him from Sagamore. Why? Who benefits?”
“Miles.”
“How? He stayed away all these years and had no influence on the estate. No. Someone else is pulling these strings. You asked if I had a plan. I’ll meet Miles where he least expects it, at Sagamore. I’ll confront him and let him digest who I am, then give him the evidence we have and let him explain.”
Miles left Sagamore Hall and traveled north to the White Hart Tavern following the short route through the forest. It took more courage than he imagined returning to the hall.
The day before the staff came to ready the place for him and Charlotte, he wandered through the closed rooms and found himself in the gallery. He pulled the dust covers off the pictures of his parents, brother and his family, and stood staring at them until it was too dark to make anything out.
That was weeks ago. He stayed within the confines of the hall, not wandering the grounds nor the forest or field beyond. Memories and ghosts filled his days.
His pace slowed as he came to the far edge of the woods. A meadow choked with tall grass spread before him. Beyond the meadow was the White Hart. The fast-moving river crossed the forest and meadow and snaked behind the tavern on its way to the falls.
He strained to push on and put the meadow behind him, but he couldn’t. His breathing came in spurts, even though the walk wasn’t difficult. He hesitated another moment, then turned northeast. In the distance, he heard the river and picked up his pace until he stood on the shore.
Here, the riverbank covered in moss and wildflowers sloped to a shallow shelf of stones. The river was swollen by heavy rains, the current decep
tively swift and strong. Up ahead, the fast-moving water cut a deep, ten-foot channel before it emptied into a basin and went down the falls.
Miles turned from the riverbank and walked several yards. He hesitated in front of the thick bushes, aware of what was on the other side. He hadn’t been here in thirty years. Gathering his courage, he walked through the wall of bushes and stood at the edge of a small clearing. In the middle was a large area bordered with a low, stone wall.
The tall trees surrounding him swayed in the wind shaking the leaves to the ground. This was the place he played as a boy, where he played with his nephews.
He crossed the clearing, stepped over the stones, and stared at six graves.
His eyes rested on his brother’s name. His heart heard Thomas’ voice as if his brother was with him.
“Who placed the flowers on their graves?”
Miles spun around, startled. The heat drained from his face leaving him as cold as the icy river. His mind could not comprehend what he saw.
“Gareth?” Miles blew out his breath. He glanced at three men, but his gaze locked on the one in the middle. His heart pounded at the family resemblance.
“Is… is… is it really you?”
Miles’ lips trembled as he reached out to touch him. Was this an apparition?
“I’m not a ghost, if that’s what you think. Although that is what you wanted to make of me.”
“No, no. I saved you.” His heart raced, still not sure if a ghost stood in front of him.
“You’re lying—” The man in the middle took a menacing step toward him. The other two followed.
Miles stood his ground. He often imagined speaking to his nephew, explaining what happened. Gareth? He was lost at sea. Could he have survived?
“How did you save me? Calling me out to a duel.”
“Forcing you to leave London, something you wouldn’t have done otherwise. Whomever plotted against your father had every intention of killing every Eden.”
“But not you. How convenient.”
“By God’s Toes, you are Gareth.” His arms ached to hug his nephew. But he stood still, afraid if it was an apparition, it would fade, and if it wasn’t, then he hadn’t earned that right. He looked past him.
“Your sons? They have the family resemblance.” Miles nodded toward the two men.
“Donald and Graham.” Gareth turned to his boys. “I need some time with Miles.”
“We won’t be far.” Donald and Graham walked to the far side of the clearing. They stood like sentinels, each with his hand on his sword.
“You can’t mistake them for Edens,” Miles said, then turned to Gareth. “Everyone was happy when I boarded the ship for France. I knew I would never be safe in England.”
“You killed everyone to be earl, for the money and the estate.”
“Thomas and I drew up trust documents together. My debts were out of control. I was out of control. My creditors,” Miles paused. “They weren’t businessmen. We created the trust together to protect the family.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Gareth was a boy coming into his prime thirty years ago. He wouldn’t know. He had his father’s looks and solid build, as well as his presence and command. Thomas would be proud.
“Believe what you like, but I was well aware that the title and money would never be mine. Someone wanted Thomas out of the way. You were the last one left. I had to get you out of the country.”
“By challenging me to a duel. I was so ready to die. You were a good swordsman, Better than me.”
“That’s what kept us both alive,” Miles said. “I challenged you to a duel and let you believe you killed me. I had planned it quite well. I wore a small sack of pig’s blood under my shirt and played the drunk, mortally wounded loser on the dueling field. I did it for you, as well as for me. We both needed to disappear.
“You couldn’t stay in London after killing me without landing in prison. I couldn’t stay in England, either. There was too much false evidence against me. I was doomed. Dying was the perfect solution. With both of us gone, no one could touch to the estate.”
Both were quiet, deep in thought. They sat on a boulder. Miles gazed at Gareth’s sons. It was as if William and James ambled about on the other side of the clearing. They glanced at him, but stayed within calling distance. The only sound was the swiftly rushing river and the falls beyond.
“I don’t think the pain will ever go away. I’m afraid if it does, I will forget them,” Gareth said.
“Who’s that coming?” Mother asked. “It’s too soon for your father and brothers to return.”
Gareth went to the door, startled to see his uncle. “It’s Uncle Miles.”
“Gareth?” Miles dismounted and hurried to him, his face white.
“You’ve missed Father. He—”
“I thought you were with them. Thank god you’re safe.” He hugged him close then let him go. “There was an attack. Thomas and your brothers.”
“When? Where are they?” Gareth asked as he grabbed his uncle’s shoulders.
“The trail by the river. I came as quick as I could for help.”
Gareth snatched the reins from Miles, threw himself into the saddle, and charged toward the river. The dull thud of the horse’s galloping hooves crashed through the forest.
“Whoa,” Gareth pulled on the reins as the horse shied. He took a breath and understood. The forest was unusually still. The smell of blood and death was nearby. He dismounted and tethered the animal.
He drew his sword and stepped softly, following the trail as it turned toward the river. In the distance, five horses stood tied to a low branch. His father’s prize stallion shook his head as he approached. His steps quickened until he was at a full run.
“Will.” No answer. “Jamie. Richard.” All he heard was the rushing water. “Father,” he screamed and went on. He pushed through the bushes and came to an abrupt halt.
Their viciously hacked, blood-covered bodies were strewn everywhere. He glanced at their horses, their swords secured to their saddles. None had drawn a weapon. Wave after wave of grief washed over him.
Bile rose in his throat, but it stayed down. He scrubbed tears away. He came to Will and Jamie first, their necks slashed. Richard laid on his stomach not far from them, at his father’s feet, protecting him to the end.
He turned his brother over and sat back in horror. His face was badly mutilated.
He reached his father, sank to the ground, pulled him close, and cried. Through his tears, he gazed all around at the slaughter.
“How did this happen?” He gaped at his father’s face, his own eyes clouded over, staring at nothing. He pulled his father’s coat closed to keep him warm.
A moan caught in his throat and breached the dam of emotions. He rocked his father back and forth and sobbed. He would give anything for him to open his eyes. Say something. Anything. He begged. He pleaded. He rubbed his father’s hand to warm it.
“I’ll do anything you ask, please one word.”
“Come, Gareth.” Bewildered, he stared at his mother. He didn’t know how she got here. “We have to let him go.”
The stable master and others were taking his brothers. How? How could he let any of them go?
He glared at her and held his father tighter. She knelt next to him. After several heartbeats, she removed his hands. Someone lifted his father and took him away.
The estate men covered each body and laid them in a wagon. He glanced at his lap. The emptiness made his loss all the more terrible.
“There will be time enough to mourn. We have things that need to be done,” she said. She helped him to his feet. Gazing at his mother, he saw that her pain was etched on her face.
He helped her through the bushes and onto the horse. He rode with her at the front of the small procession that brought his father and brothers back to the hall.
Six tables dressed in white linens were in the middle of the great hall. Candles in floor holders stood solemnl
y posted at the four corners of each table. Servants, many with tears running down their cheeks, were busy spreading lavender on the floor and filling the cold hearth with flowers.
Everything went quiet when the porters and the estate men brought in his father and brothers and laid them on the tables, making sure to cover each one.
Everyone left and closed the doors behind them, giving him and his mother time alone to say their goodbyes.
His mother pulled the corner of the sheet away and gazed at his father’s face. Her breath stuttered as she drew it in. She kissed his forehead and held his hands.
Gareth watched her lips move as she silently said her prayer.
She did the same with William and James, but he stayed her hand when she stood by Richard.
“Let me see him,” she said.
Gareth didn’t take his hand from hers.
“He stood by Father, protecting him.”
“I must… I must see him, if only to let him go.”
“It doesn’t look like Richard,” he said, the words like hot pokers in his throat.
She removed his hand from hers and lifted the sheet.
Her hand went to her throat as she gasped.
“My handsome boy. What have they done to you?”
With quivering lips, she kissed what was left of his forehead. Tears finally ran down her face as she grabbed Richard’s hand and said her prayer. He waited until she was composed before he took her out of the great hall and let the midwives enter.
“I will make whoever did this suffer,” Gareth said.
“I’ve lost so much. Please, not you, too.” The pleading in her voice tore at his heart.
He tucked her in his arms. “You’ll never lose me.” Silently, though, he vowed he would find whoever did this and make him pay.
“M’lord, a word,” the midwife said to him.
She gave him his father’s personal items. He glanced at the few things he was given.
“Is this everything?”
“That is all he had.” She went back into the hall.
“I hated myself for not being with them. I convinced myself I could have prevented the massacre. I wouldn’t have, but it took years for me to come to that conclusion. The guilt at being a survivor never went away.”
Hugh: Pirates of Britannia Connected World (Sons of Sagamore Book 1) Page 8