by Bryan Porter
be in our hands be this time tomorrow.”
I was quite amazed at this, as I had no intention of return home yet, but the count would not hear of me staying.
“My friend, you know of my ways, and you know I have yet to not lay my hands on the men when I search for him. Trust me this time as well, and you will have your rogue.”
As I had accented to the Count's wish and returned home for the night, I can not give witness to what happened, only relate to the events as they were so related to me.
At half past nine, the door to the house creaked open, light careful foot steps, cautious in case anyone was about. A shadowed form lurched from one end of the house to another, careful of the large whole centre of the building. They roamed the first floor for a long moment before accending the rotting stairs to the second floor. Perhaps it was a guilty conscious or morbid curiosity which made them look into the hole, but as they did a solid hand nudged them closer, causing them to fall into the hole and only saving themselves by gripping onto the edge. Half a minute later a candle was illuminated, casting down upon the figure of John Bathurst gripping desperately onto the edge, and the Count of Samerand holding the candle.
“I had some inkling that you were the man behind his.” Said the count.
“What do you mean, for gods sake help me up!” wailed Bathurst.
“You killed your own brother.”
“I didn't.” Bathurst said the words coming out as a plea. “I just wanted to see where my brother had died, for god's sake help me up.”
“Sadly I don't take much stock in religion so your pleas fall on deaf ears.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the letter that the page had brought him holding it towards the man. “I wrote Sterling under the guise of your father, asking if the new will had been drawn up and if so, could a copy be sent to me. The clerk was curious why I wished for another copy, but accented. It seems your father, while leaving you will the title, planned to give the better portion of his wealth to your brother.”
“How could you know that there would be a new will?”
“Men on the edge of death become introspective, and often make new wills.”
“I couldn't let him, I am the oldest son. It was mine by right, and William planned to take it and waste upon that little tart. He was going to elevate her station so he could marry her, and raise their mongrel child.”
“So when you realized that he would come to her last night, you followed him.”
“I didn't have a choice. We argued. I told him, that by right the money was mine, and he should tell father so, but he argued that it was father's choice. Even here we were overheard, so I suggested we continue here, but even after the change he still stubbornly refused. I got angry and shoved him, I didn't know the floor would give way under him.”
“No, but he was still alive wasn't he.”
“For a time. He asked me to take him to get help, but if I had done so father would have taken everything from me.”
“So you left your brother in the street to die, like he was an animal.”
“I didn't have a choice. I would have lost anything. For the love of God help me.”
“I am afraid you miss understand something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was only commissioned to find your brother's killer, and I have done that.”
With that, my friend turned his back on John Bathurst, and walked away.
“Count! Get back here! Get back here Count! Count!”
The Count had reached the first floor by the time the edge Bathurst was gripping had given way, screaming as he fell through the hole only be caught by a net on the first floor.
“What is this then?” Said the young Bathurst when he had struggled his way out of the net. “You'll naught be able to prove anything. My father will never believe you over me.”
Through the course of the man's bleating the Count said not a word. Very carelessly he struck a match and held it out to his side. “A light Delores?”
“Thank ye Sir.” Said the constable coming forward from where he had been hiding behind the remains of the duvet. Bathurst was struck dumb by the sudden appearance of the uniformed man.
“I think you now see that I can prove what you have done.” Said the Count. “Delores, if you would be so kind.”
John Bathurst was led away by Constable Delores, and in the follow weeks was charged with the murder of his brother William Bathurst. He would have faced the headsman if not for his father, who pleaded on his account. To this day, the man remains in Wormwood thinking of his deeds, and what it has cost him.
I feel it necessary to give some closure to the family that has had not one but two tragedies placed before it. With the revelation of Jenny Schultz's child fathered by their son, they adopted the girl into their family, after a brief in-fighting brought about by the Duchesses fear of the lower classes. John Bathurst and William Bathurst's inheritances was given to the young William Bathurst the Second, born six months after the crime. It is possible because of this happy event that Duke Bathurst survived another three years, three years more then he had expected, letting him see his grandchild grow.
