“Wait. Let's sit down a while,” Oscar said gently. “We both need rest.”
Oscar and Emilia made for the bench desperately. They ached to sit down, but they could not walk too fast. When they reached it, she turned to him.
“Yes?”
“Oscar,” she paused. “Why did Lucian owe these people debts? What did they do? What service could they have offered us, for which he had not paid them?”
As Oscar looked back at her, blue eyes neither confirming or refuting her question, Emilia understood.
She covered her mouth with her hands. She rocked back and then forward, back and then forth, as the truth, shocking and inevitable, caught up with her. She felt as if she had guessed long ago in truth and had denied knowing. It was all too obvious now. Too clear.
Lucian was one of them.
As she thought about it, questions came tumbling out of her. “Lucian was one of them. He was not an unprincipled man. He would have stood against anything too shocking they wished to achieve. He probably threatened them. And so they murdered him.”
She covered her face and rocked, feeling the tears start, though she was too numb to let them fall.
“They think he betrayed them,” she continued. “It is not a monetary debt. It is a debt of honor. Oh, Lucian! My poor dear Lucian. Why did you keep silent?” That was the saddest part, if he had only told her, only trusted her enough to tell her of this group! They could have faced it together, could have told someone, taken action against them.
She stopped.
“He should have told me,” she said slowly to Oscar. “He should have been able to tell me everything. I am his wife!”
Oscar reached out and very tenderly patted her shoulder. He looked into her eyes. “Lucian loved you. He loved you deeply. Which is why he did not tell you.”
Emilia sniffed. “But why...” she trailed off. Suddenly she knew.
Why they were hunting her. Why they had threatened her. Why they needed to kill her.
Because they thought Lucian had told her. If he had told her, they would not let her live.
Oscar seemed to guess that she had understood that, because he leaned forward and, very tenderly, with his own kerchief, wiped her tears.
“Your husband loved you more than life,” he said quietly. “That was why he did not tell you.”
Emilia sobbed then. She rested her head on Oscar's shoulder, heedless of the propriety of it, and let the tears rack her body, cleansing her of grief.
She had not sobbed like that for years. Not since she had heard the news of Lucian's death. Perhaps not even then.
When she had stopped crying, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I did love Lucian,” she said in a choked voice. “And now I understand he loved me.”
Oscar turned her face to his and looked into her eyes. Very gently, he smiled. “And I can understand completely why.”
They kissed. Overhead, the sky, cloudy and gray, released its load and a soft, cleansing drizzle fell. It washed away her tears, mingling their grief and healing both of them.
Emilia finally understood what had happened to Lucian and she could, finally, allow her heart to mourn him. Allow her heart to find freedom and new things. To lay her beloved Lucian to rest.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
A DISCUSSION AMONG FRIENDS
A DISCUSSION AMONG FRIENDS
After a long walk, a stop at an acquaintance of Lord Everett to borrow cash for the coach fare back home, and an exhausting carriage ride, Evelyn arrived at her home.
Lord Everett came with her. They had decided to tell Bronson.
“Bronson?” Evelyn called out as she walked up the staircase, Lord Everett a few paces behind. When she did not hear a reply immediately, she felt her heart thud with distress. What if something happened to him?
When she heard his voice she almost fainted. “I'm upstairs.”
“Meet me in the breakfast room? I have something to tell you. And a guest.”
Ten minutes later, Evelyn sat at the table in the breakfast room, Bronson opposite her, Lord Everett on her right.
They told him their story. When they finished, Bronson looked very grave.
“You have proof of this?” he asked gravely. “Not that I doubt it, of course...” he demurred. “However, we need to bring this before the authorities. And they will require evidence.”
Lord Everett looked uneasy and Bronson smiled. “I assure you, we will mention no names. Moreover, I will address them myself. With Evelyn, if you would come too, my dear?”
Evelyn nodded. “Of course. Show him, Graham.”
Sometime during the return journey they had shed formalities and he had become simply Graham, she Evelyn. She noticed Bronson raise a brow and then shrug.
“Show me.”
Lord Everett produced the coat, boots, hat and mask.
Bronson went very quiet.
Then he stood. “Janet?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Tell Jarvis to prepare the coach. I'm going out.”
Evelyn and Graham looked at each other.
“Where are you going, dear?” Evelyn asked quietly. “Not that I doubt you, but...”
“Evelyn, we have to go to the magistrate with this. We cannot keep this knowledge hidden. And the more people we have searching for these society members, the sooner we will find all of them and the sooner we will find Emilia.”
Lord Everett cleared his throat.
“My lord, I think that is unwise. Besides,” he added slowly, “we don't need the whole society – just one.”
Bronson stared at him, and then he nodded. “Show me this tailor.”
Lord Everett smiled warmly. Evelyn realized that he had long resented the loss of his carriage and the chance to avenge his loss on the tailor was too good an opportunity for him. She wondered, not for the first time, why she trusted the man.
Bronson glanced at her and gave her a neutral look. Evelyn smiled. “Yes, he's always like this,” she whispered. Lord Everett was already heading downstairs, and Bronson grinned.
“My dear,” he said as they walked down the stairs together. “I have been frantic. Please, next time you go out, tell someone about it.”
Evelyn smiled fondly at him. “I would have, dear. I should have. Next time?”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He kissed her on the side of her head and then headed to the front door.
When Evelyn made to come with them, he held her hand. “My lady, you are exhausted. Please, stay here. We will not be long, I assure you.”
Evelyn began to protest but then she stopped. She was too tired, she realized. Her feet ached and her neck was stiff and sore from carriage rides. Her back was jolted and her legs were tired. She could hardly walk another step. Never mind take the whole journey again, only this time even further, for they would start from her Chelsea home.
“I will stay here and get some rest,” she said. Her voice came out as more of a whisper and he nodded.
“We will return soon. I promise.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her and then he and Lord Everett headed out to where the carriage awaited them.
Evelyn tried to distract herself. She sewed, she tried to write. She gave up and went up to the drawing room to play Mozart. However, that reminded her of Emilia and made her worry more. Raw and weary with concern, she was about to go downstairs and take a walk when Janet appeared.
“The master is back.”
Evelyn, heart soaring with relief, went downstairs to see them.
They had not found the tailor again. However, they had something much better. A list.
They had looked through his study and ledgers, through his books. They had found a list on which he kept a record of all the members of the society.
“As luck would have it, he must be the bursar,” Lord Everett chuckled happily. “He keeps track of all their donation
s to the club. And he also made their cloaks.”
They ran their eyes down the list of names. None of them asserted themselves for Evelyn. Lord Everett ran his eyes down the list and handed it to her. Then she remembered something.
“He was short.”
“Who was?” Lord Everett blinked.
“The man Lucian fought!” Evelyn exclaimed. “All we need to do is look at the measurements for the cloaks! Then we know the killer!”
Both men smiled. Evelyn ran her eyes down the dimensions. One man stood out.
“Lord Geoffrey le Marche.”
Lord Everett stared at her. “A Frenchman. That would make sense.”
Evelyn looked blank.
“Different style of fighter,” Bronson explained. “Even if Lucian was an expert swordsman, and, from what I remember, he wasn't too bad,” he paused, “someone trained in a different way with a different weapon, even, would have been somewhat challenging.”
Evelyn bit her lip. “Poor, poor Lucian.”
“Indeed,” Lord Everett said. “But now, we have one last thing to do.”
To end the violence, to end the debts. To find Emilia. To save her life. All those three things they could do, simply by finding Le Marche.
They were already leaving.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A DESTINATION
A DESTINATION
“Will we stop soon?”
Emilia asked the question of Oscar, who sat beside her in the coach. It was five of the clock, and they had been traveling since noon. Emilia did not know how far they had traveled exactly, but they were in the open countryside, surrounded by fields, trees and forest.
“We will stop when we reach Cambridge. Which is soon,” he added patiently.
“Cambridge?” Emilia looked at him.
“Well, why not?” he asked, laughing delightedly. “We have to stop somewhere, do we not?”
Emilia nodded. She leaned against him. He rested his hand on hers. “I suppose,” she said softly.
He gave a soft chuckle and kissed her ear. The sound reminded her of something. She turned to him.
“Oscar...” she asked, slowly.
“Yes, my dear?” He asked. He yawned, stifling it with his hand. He had fallen asleep at odd intervals ever since they hired the coach and Emilia moved her elbow against his own, trying to jolt him into wakefulness.
“I was wondering. When...” she shuddered. “When that man grabbed me, he laughed. The laugh,” she paused. “I knew it. At first, I thought I knew it from recently – from some ball or party I attended recently. But then I realized why I did.”
“Oh?” Oscar was looking intently at her.
“I knew it because I had heard it before. It was his laugh,” she added with a shudder. “The man.”
“The man?”
“The man who threatened me.”
Oscar stared. “The man in the woods. The one who led us?”
Emilia inclined her head deeply. “Yes. It was him. That man.”
Oscar stared at her. “But, Emilia? How can you be sure?”
“I was terrified of him,” she said blandly. “I heard him laugh twice. How could I forget? It was him.”
Oscar bit his lip. He was not about to argue with her. “I trust you,” he said quietly.
Emilia turned to face him. “Thank you,” she said briefly. She leaned toward him then and kissed him.
Oscar laughed. “That makes things less worrying, somehow.”
Emilia gave him a wry smile. “I'm glad, for if it worried you more I'd be offended. Now. Do you think we shall reach Cambridge before it's dark?”
“Well,” he paused. “We are traveling from a village just past St. Alban's, and we have been traveling for about five hours. Yes.”
Emilia nodded. “Good.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Well,” she said briskly. “I intend to choose our inn this time and, to make an informed choice, I would like to be able to see the places.”
Oscar roared with mirth. When he had calmed down, he turned to face her with a gentle smile.
“Emilia,” he began.
“Yes?”
“I should confess something. I love you. Very, very much.” He stroked her hair behind her ear. “Is that terrible of me?”
Emilia paused, head on one side. “Oscar?”
“Yes?”
“I must admit that it is terrible.”
He stared at her, disbelieving and horrified. “Why?”
“Because,” she said slowly. “I love you too. Very, very much. And I have no idea what we can do about all this.”
Oscar leaned forward, all the tension going out of him. He looked like a man experiencing immense relief and Emilia giggled.
“You silly man. Whatever did you think I was going to say?”
“I have no idea,” Oscar said slowly. “But I can tell you that what you did say pleased me. More than I can ever admit.”
Emilia laughed. “Good.”
They kissed. The kiss was soft and tender, a brushing of their lips that held so much of love in it made Emilia's chest ache.
She leaned back, sighing, just at the moment the coach started to slow down.
“Cambridge, my lord!”
They looked at each other. They smiled.
“Time to start hunting for an inn.”
They laughed and, laughing, paid the driver lavishly, directing him from Oscar's memory of the town from his studying years through to an inn where he could stay.
“Now, my lady. If you wish to look for our roof?”
Emilia laughed as she laid her hand in the crook of Oscar's arm and together, slowly, painfully, with people stopping to stare at them, maimed and seemingly crippled as they were, they made their way along the cobbled streets into the town.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
MEETING A MURDERER
MEETING A MURDERER
“Go! Onward! On!”
Bronson shouted it out of the carriage window to Jarvis, who took his lordship at his word. They had, at Evelyn's insistence, changed horses at London stables and now they headed out into the gathering night.
A brief query among the tailors and milliners revealed to them where Lord Le Marche lived. He was often in town, but he often disappeared for a week or two at a time. When he did that, he was apparently at his country estate. His country estate, they discovered, was not far away. It was about an hour's coach ride out of town. Near the town of St. Alban's.
Evelyn, certain that it was there to which Emilia had been taken, insisted they head there at once.
“The man killed Lucian. He clearly had a motive to do so. What would stop him killing Emilia to achieve his ends?”
That had persuaded the two men haste was needed. Now the coach, four horses, Evelyn, Bronson and Graham Everett, together with Jarvis on the roof driving, headed at breakneck speed for St. Alban's.
“How much further?” Bronson shouted through the window to Jarvis. Night was falling fast and there was no hope of reaching the place before the light went.
“Not long now, my lord. Twenty minutes.”
Evelyn felt suddenly tense. They were, all of them, heading to the dwelling place of a dangerous killer. One who had killed Lucian, who was no bad swordsman.
Bronson had never learned to use a sword. Lord Everett hardly knew much more, having been devoted to hunting in his youth. Evelyn was not sure what she would do if they faced the man.
The coach was slowing now, and she guessed that they were reaching the point where the road bent and they would head up toward the manor house, apparently named Greenfield Park.
She was right. The coach went left and then headed steadily straight, their pace reduced. They reached an avenue of poplars – she could just make out the pale bark in the fading evening – and then they were passing into the driveway.
Evelyn heard the coach crunch on gravel as they turned. It slowed, and then stopped.
She looked at Bronson and Lord
Everett. Bronson shot her an inquiring look from beneath heavy brows, Lord Everett exhaled.
“Here we go,” he sighed.
They opened the door and Bronson alighted first, and then held out his hand to Evelyn. Lord Everett stepped out last. Jarvis looked down at them.
“Should I wait?”
“Go to the end of the drive, Jarvis. Where the gate is. We'll shout if we need aid.”
He inclined his head. “Good, my lord. And,” he paused. “Heaven be with ye, eh?”
Bronson swallowed. “And you, Jarvis. And you.”
The coachman turned the coach away. The small band looked at each other. Bronson smiled.
“Let's go together?”
Evelyn swallowed and inclined her head and together, they walked up the steps.
Bronson reached the door first.
“Lord Le Marche?” he shouted. He banged on the door.
A thin-faced elderly man with a pale peruke answered. “My lord?”
“I would like to speak with Lord Le Marche,” Bronson said levelly.
“On what business, my lord? The count is dining.”
Bronson shot him an angry look. Evelyn spoke up.
“We are here on the matter of Lucian's debt,” she said clearly. “Tell him Lady Sumpter is here. He will understand.”
Bronson glanced at her concernedly. Lord Everett grinned.
“Brilliant,” he whispered.
Evelyn dimpled. “We will see.”
A moment later the man returned. “Lord Le Marche will see you now.”
Evelyn swallowed and nodded and they all walked in behind the tall retainer.
As they followed him Evelyn could not help but glance around the place. She could not recall when she had been in a place so beautiful. The floor was pink marble, the ceiling high and vaulting, supported on columns that also looked marble-faced. The place was small enough for the candles to light every inch of it and it glowed like a polished gem.
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