The Disgraceful Lord Gray

by Virginia Heath

  ‘Not yet. I wanted to look you in the eyes. I wanted to understand.’ But she didn’t. Why anyone would stoop so low? And were Bertie and her uncle also involved? ‘He said the warehouse is rented by Bertie. Is that true?’

  ‘As it’s in his name, legally it is.’

  ‘What sort of an answer is that?’ Thea gripped the other woman’s arm hard, not caring that her nails bit into her skin. Caro tugged her arm away.

  ‘Have they seen your uncle at the warehouse? The carriage?’

  How did Caro know all this? ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yet only you know this handwriting is mine?’ Her face contorted into an ugly expression. Calculated. Cruel. Completely mad. ‘Interesting...’

  ‘Interesting?’ Thea’s world was falling apart. Blown to smithereens. And it was just interesting? For the first time, Thea saw through the brittleness and the self-absorption to the woman beneath the ageing face she fought so hard to keep youthful. Her uncle might well be a criminal, too, something she still couldn’t quite believe, but he had been right. Her aunt was every inch the cold, callous, self-serving and unfeeling witch he had always accused her of being. ‘All this time, I tolerated your vanity and made excuses for your affairs, yet they were apparently the tip of the iceberg. You’re a criminal. A murderess...’

  Her aunt caught her expression and snarled, ‘How dare you judge me, Thea! You are the last person in the world who can judge me! I had no alternative. Not when you and your uncle forced me into it.’ She saw it then. Blind, unadulterated hatred burning in the other woman’s eyes. Hatred for her. Hatred that made no sense.

  ‘Forced you?’

  ‘He ruined everything. Years of planning. Years of sacrifice...yet he gave you everything and left me with a pittance!

  ‘Everything that isn’t entailed or cannot be nailed down was legally bound to you in trust the day before we married! Out of sheer spite! When he dies, which he will sooner rather than later, this house will go to some distant, faceless male relative and then where would I have been left? All the money has already gone to you! It was Edward’s petty act of revenge. One I should have foreseen!’ Out of nowhere her hand shot out and something hard and blunt struck Thea on the temple.

  She saw stars and staggered backwards, catching herself on the sideboard before she crashed on the floor. Dazed, it took several moments before she could focus properly on the pistol pointed at her. ‘You’re a monster!’ Why hadn’t she seen it before? ‘But they are coming for you!’

  ‘No, dearest. They are not. They are coming for Bertie and Edward. I have made very sure of that.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The King’s Elite stormed Gislingham Hall within twenty minutes of Thea’s mad dash home. Thanks to his carelessness, they had little choice. Powerless and ravaged with guilt and wretchedness, still soaked to the skin, Gray rode silently alongside Lord Fennimore and Hadleigh. His friends Seb Leatham and Jake Warriner rode close behind along with fifty agents and half of Suffolk’s Excise Men. He supposed they made an impressive sight. They were all fully armed and prepared for a full-scale battle. One he was more than happy to die in if he couldn’t make Thea understand.

  Except, when they thundered up the drive, the grooms and the gardeners all stopped work to come and investigate what all the fuss was about. They dismounted and were met at the front door by the equally perplexed ancient butler, still clad in his brown apron, a silver candlestick in one hand and his polishing rag in the other. He took in all the strange new faces and then settled on Gray. ‘Has something happened, Lord Gray?’

  ‘Where is his lordship?’

  ‘I believe he is resting, my lord. Bertie insisted he take a nap before Lady Crudgington returns this afternoon to finish his portrait.’ It felt rude to simply barge past him when the man had never done a thing wrong, but before he could reply, both Leatham and Warriner were halfway to the stairs. ‘Wait! You cannot go up there now! His lordship won’t be decent!’ But it was too late. They had.

  Gray followed, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to catch up. Although to do what, he wasn’t sure. His duty, probably, but he had stopped caring about that the second he had seen Thea’s tears. Now, all he cared about was her. Her and him, and whatever dregs of their love he could salvage, dreading the thought that there was nothing left to salvage and already mourning the loss of her.

  He arrived at the door to the sitting room where he had been such a welcome guest seconds before Leatham flung it open. It crashed hard against the panelling.

  Bertie stood alone in front of a chair, blinking at the unexpected intrusion. The book he had been reading hung limply from his hand. ‘What the blazes is going on?’

  ‘Albert Frederick Walsham.’ Hadleigh’s deep voice boomed over Gray’s shoulder. ‘I have a warrant for your arrest.’ Every bit of blood drained from the servant’s face as he backed towards the farthest door. ‘Where is Gislingham?’

  The door opened and the man himself appeared. Hair on end on one side of his head, shirt-tails untucked, but leaning proudly on his two canes. Something about the scene didn’t sit right. In fact, it made loud alarm bells clang in Gray’s mind. ‘What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?’

  ‘Where’s Thea?’

  ‘I thought she was with you.’ Gislingham stared Gray dead in the eye. Unwavering. But accepting. ‘And I shall ask again—what is the meaning of this rude intrusion, gentlemen?’

  ‘It’s all right, Edward.’ Bertie used his body to shield the Viscount. ‘It’s me they want.’

  The older man tossed one of his canes to the ground and took his lover’s arm. ‘Over my dead body. If we are to hang, then we’ll hang together. We always knew this day might come.’ They smiled at one another. Wistfully. It was the single most poignant display of affection Gray had ever seen. ‘Yet I would not have a changed a second of it. You were worth it.’

  Bertie’s hand closed around his. ‘As were you.’

  ‘Gentlemen, it is not your unconventional relationship which brings us here.’ Hadleigh stepped forward with the papers in his hand. ‘These arrest warrants are for high treason. There is one for each of you.’

  Neither Gislingham nor Bertie said a word. If their flabbergasted expressions were anything to go by, the power of speech had temporarily left them both.

  ‘Treason?’ Both men seemed to Gray to be genuinely confused.

  ‘We have evidence you have been smuggling brandy into these isles for years.’ Hadleigh had no sympathy for their denials. ‘Furthermore, we suspect you have colluded with subversive French nationals, paying them in guns in return for your contraband. Contraband you have had your minions distribute with impunity while you reap the handsome rewards.’

  ‘You are mistaken, sir.’ Gislingham’s tone was measured, reasonable, but it was obvious he was scared. ‘We might be criminals in the eyes of the law, but I can assure you, neither one of us has ever smuggled a thing.’

  ‘Furthermore, you are both charged with murder in the first degree.’

  ‘Murder? Who has been murdered?’ As the Viscount wobbled, then crumpled, Bertie supported his weight and guided him to a chair. The Viscount then gripped Gray’s arm, the mobile half of his face a mask of grief. ‘Not my Thea? Please God, not my Thea!’

  ‘No, of course not Thea!’ At Gray’s impassioned answer the old man slumped in his chair with relief. Not at all the behaviour of a selfish, callous man who had just been charged with treason. ‘Excise Men, government agents. Viscount Penhurst and the Marquess of Deal.’

  ‘The two men murdered in Newgate?’ Gislingham shook his head in denial. ‘I’ve never even met them, let alone murdered them! This is lunacy! On what evidence are these scurrilous charges brought?’

  ‘We have witnesses.’ Again Hadleigh’s tone was matter of fact. ‘The lease to your storehouse in Ipswich. And that is just what we have managed to find in the last
day. Once news of your arrest spreads, I’m sure more poison will seep out of the woodwork.’

  There was a shriek downstairs and what sounded like a scuffle. Lady Crudgington’s outraged voice. ‘I have every right to go upstairs! Unhand me, sir! Or you will answer to my fiancé!’ Lord Fennimore instantly went to the door in time to see her frogmarched in. ‘Cedric!’ She shrugged off the agent and clung to the old man. ‘What’s happening? What’s going on? Has this got something to do with you being a spy?’ Unlike Gray, his superior had at least been honest if he had confided that much.

  ‘There, there, my dear.’ Leatham, Warriner and Hadleigh all stared open mouthed at the sight of the old curmudgeon kissing Harriet’s hair. ‘I shall explain it all in due course.’

  ‘We’ve been arrested, Harriet,’ said Gislingham, still shaking his head in disbelief. ‘For treason and murder.’

  ‘I don’t understand? That’s...ridiculous.’

  ‘We know. The world has plainly gone mad.’

  ‘Have you seen Thea?’

  ‘I thought she was with you, Lord Gray.’

  ‘She went to find you.’ Bertie was still soothing the Viscount with a calming hand on his arm. ‘At least an hour ago.’

  ‘She found me.’ In the worst way possible. Lord only knew what she had heard or thought. ‘She learned all about this and fled home. In a state. I expected to find her here.’

  ‘Then perhaps she went to Caro? She dealt with her last upset quite well...’ He turned to Bertie with obvious concern for his niece when he should have been thinking about himself, casting more doubt in Gray’s mind as to his ability to commit the heinous crimes he had been accused of. ‘Is the boss here today?’

  His blood ran cold. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That for all her many faults, my wife managed to calm Thea after Archimedes’s accident.’

  ‘Not that. The name. Why did you call her The Boss?’

  Bertie and Gislingham shared a look, before Gislingham shrugged. Defeated. ‘Well, I suppose the cat is well and truly out of the bag regarding Bertie and I... You should know she’s been blackmailing us for years. Since well before I married the witch. It’s our private name for her. Makes us feel better about dancing to her tune.’

  * * *

  Thea had been constantly aware of the cold press of the pistol throughout the short walk across the deserted lawn. She had expected to be dragged to the stables and the carriage, not across the boundary meadow to the old and disused ice house at the back of Colonel Purbeck’s estate. Now, sat on the damp, cold floor, she kept one eye on her aunt and the gun while the other scanned for objects to use to aid her escape. The choice was limited to a rickety table and a three-legged milking stool. Both well out of reach.

  Caro was agitated, despite her claims to the contrary. And as every minute passed she became more so. She might have her own escape planned to within the last detail, but it all hinged on her men carrying out the plan to the letter of her instruction and Thea doubted cut-throats could be trusted on their word.

  But as her aunt paced, waiting to be rescued, Thea kept asking her questions, hoping that she would have enough time to give someone—anyone—the shocking answers that would save her uncle, before her aunt put the promised bullet between her eyes. The witch wanted no messy loose ends linking her to her crimes once she was safely ensconced in France with all her ill-gotten gains.

  Yet, as bizarre as it all was, Thea had heard too much to be shocked any longer. One dreadful crime after another had been unveiled. Unspeakable things that made no sense, but peculiarly made perfect sense to her crazed aunt.

  ‘Does Uncle Edward know you murdered his first wife?’ Something Caro had apparently plotted and meticulously planned for years before she carried out the crime because she had always had her heart set on huge wealth and a title. And after some scandal during her one and only Season involving a married French comte, there was no chance of her snaring a suitable candidate in the capital. That’s when she had turned her greedy eyes on the only viable option while she had languished in virtual exile in Suffolk—poor Uncle Edward.

  ‘Of course not. He still thinks it was a mystery illness which killed her.’ As opposed to the arsenic their then young neighbour had slowly fed her during her frequent social visits. ‘Your uncle can be very naïve sometimes.’ Because clearly, poisoning a man’s wife to take her place was the most natural thing in the world. Especially to a woman who had then used blackmail to force the grieving husband down the aisle. Caro had had lofty plans of birthing his heir swiftly and then dispensing with him, too. Except he had thwarted her on that score and never set foot in her bedchamber. Hardly a surprise, really, in view of the other revelation.

  She still couldn’t quite believe that her uncle and Bertie were lovers, although alongside today’s other earth-shattering and tawdry discoveries, it was the secret that bothered her the least. At least he’d had the wherewithal to transfer the bulk of his fortune to Thea before he had been forced into marriage, something which her crazed aunt was clearly still enraged about. She had hoped to retain the entailed half upon the birth of her first son, but despite the many lovers she had taken to her bed over the years to provide her with one, Caro’s womb had remained as barren as her cold, black heart.

  Her aunt smiled, regarding Thea in an odd, detached way as if the madness which consumed her had now completely taken over. ‘Nor has he any idea that it was me who facilitated his brother’s accident either.’

  Fresh betrayal and grief ripped through Thea. All these years, she had blamed herself and all these years her aunt had let her. ‘You murdered my father?’

  ‘It was necessary.’

  ‘Necessary?’ Poor Papa! Every second of that awful day surged to the fore, making Thea relive each moment with agonising clarity. The argument. The dreadful news. Aunt Caro comforting her afterwards, knowing full well his blood stained her hands. She lunged, an animalistic cry coming from her lips.

  ‘I’m going to kill you!’ Her nails bit into her aunt’s cheek until Caro pressed the gun to her temple and forced her back down to the floor, the barrel digging into her temple painfully.

  ‘Now, now, dearest. Go sit down. There’s a good girl. You cannot die yet, I might need you as insurance.’

  ‘What did my father ever do to you?’

  ‘He was in the way. He’d met a woman. He thought himself in love. After everything I’d suffered, I couldn’t allow him to remarry and father a son before I did. Another hideous brat to inherit what should have been mine.’ She shrugged. Once again flipping to the cheerful assassin devoid of any and all conscience. ‘Once I had a son, I knew it wouldn’t matter, but then your uncle exacted more petty revenge and had his stroke.’ As if her poor uncle had almost died on purpose! ‘With the clock ticking, I had to have a contingency plan.’

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

  ‘And wide-scale smuggling, treason and more murder was the obvious choice?’ Thea wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, except nothing about it was even remotely funny.

  ‘I had the connections.’ Caro never had stopped seeing her scandalous French lover. ‘And it’s not as if everybody doesn’t buy from the free traders.’

  She wished Gray were here. She hated him, but he was strong and resourceful and she still loved him despite her broken heart. He worked for the government. His mission was to have the perpetrators brought to justice after all, except they were going to hang two innocent men for her aunt’s many crimes. Because Caro hated Bertie and her uncle more than she loved money.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They had searched everywhere. Scoured every inch of the grounds and the surrounding countryside. Nothing had passed through one of their road blocks and nobody had seen a blasted thing. To all intents and purposes, Thea and her aunt had disappeared off the face of the earth.

  As Leatham and Warriner turned their h
orses back to the hall to regroup with the others to plan their next move, Gray couldn’t bring himself to turn back. She was close. He could sense her.

  ‘It’ll be dark soon. We won’t find her in the dark without lanterns.’ Leatham’s accurate assessment was unwelcome.

  ‘You go back and get lanterns. I’m going to check the grounds again.’

  ‘Gray—this is madness. We are going round in circles. If she was here, we’d have found her if...’ His friend’s voice trailed off. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Gray had been wrestling the awful possibility to the back of his mind since the search had started. If she was still alive. ‘I’m not suggesting we give up. I know how much she means to you. I’m just suggesting we take a break and fetch lanterns.’

  Fetch?

  Before pausing to reconsider the unlikely idea that had popped into his head, Gray kicked his horse towards Kirton House, leaving his friends to trail clueless in his wake. Trefor had a nose for Thea. He adored her. Was besotted. He always knew where to find her.

  He burst through the door to find his dog jumping with excitement. ‘Trefor—fetch Thea!’

  The dog tilted his head and Gray repeated his desperate instruction again, swiping away the errant tear which was making its way down his cheek. As if understanding his master was heartbroken, Trefor nuzzled his hand. Licked it. ‘Please fetch Thea, boy. Fetch Thea!’

  Finally, the animal seemed to have an epiphany and dashed out the door, his black nose inches from the ground. Miraculously, he started moving and Gray followed, trying not to hope, but praying for a miracle regardless. When they came within sight of Gislingham Hall, Trefor sped up and then bounded towards the door.

  He was sat patiently on the threshold as the three friends finally caught up with him. His tail wagging. Proud of himself that he had understood such an important instruction, while not understanding it at all.