by Mary Balogh
Chapter XXI
Rannulf looked at Judith in some exasperation. She looked vivid and gorgeous with her red hair uncovered, nothing like the almost invisible shadow she had been at Harewood. She had also been out this morning, venturing into an area of London where respectable ladies did not go, dragging Freyja with her. No, that at least was unfair. Freyja would have needed no dragging.
It had been entirely unnecessary for her to go. She knew that he was going himself to see if her brother was at home. Branwell Law had not been there, of course, and all the inquiries he and Alleyne had made at various likely places had turned up nothing useful. Several men knew Law. None of them knew where he might be.
But Bewcastle came into the room before Rannulf could rip into Freyja—since he had no real right to rip into Judith. Perhaps it was just as well. Judith would surely have witnessed a family brawl. Wulf had come to suggest in that soft, deceptively languid way of his that it might be in the interests of all concerned if the effort to find Branwell Law were redoubled.
“I have just had a fascinating visit from Mr. Effingham,” he said. “He was under the strange illusion that I harbor felonious fugitives at Bedwyn House. Since he received no satisfaction here, he will no doubt seek it elsewhere from another perceived fugitive, who has presumably not found a safe sanctuary and perhaps is even unaware that he needs to. You did not, I suppose, find Mr. Law at home this morning, Rannulf?”
Rannulf shook his head.
“Someone else is looking for him, though,” Freyja said and won for herself a long, silent stare from Wulf’s silver eyes. But Freyja was made of stern stuff. She merely stared right back and told Wulf what she and Judith had already told Rannulf and Alleyne. She added that she had bribed the information about the other visitors out of the landlord.
Wulf’s eyes, still regarding their sister, narrowed. But instead of the blistering setdown Rannulf had fully expected, Bewcastle’s next words were directed at him.
“You had better go back there, Rannulf,” he said. “I smell a proverbial rat. I’ll go with you.”
“I am coming too,” Judith said.
“Judith—”
“I am coming too.”
She gazed with stormy determination into Rannulf’s eyes, and for the first time he wondered if there were not perhaps some truth to the old cliché about redheads and tempers. All he wanted to do was sort out this mess for her so that she could be at peace, so that he could get back to the business of wooing her. And this time he would do it properly. He would make her his lady ...
“In that case,” Bewcastle said with a sigh, “Freyja had better come too. It will be a veritable family outing.”
They went in one of Bewcastle’s private carriages—a plain one that he used when he did not wish to draw attention to himself. Soon they were back at Law’s lodging house. Rannulf could see no particular point in returning there, but Wulf was in one of his incommunicable moods.
The landlord tossed his glance skyward when he opened the door to the coachman’s knock and saw them all arrayed on his doorstep.
“Lord love us,” he said. “ ‘ere we go again.”
“Quite so,” Bewcastle said, quelling the man’s impudence with a single cold glance and causing him to bob his head respectfully instead and pull at his forelock. How did Wulf do that, even to strangers? “I understand that Mr. Bran well Law is a popular young man this morning.”
“That ‘e is, sir,” the man said. “First a servant last night, then that gen’leman there with another this morning, then a different gent, then them two ladies back there. Quite a morning it ’as been.”
“And you could give none of them any information about Mr. Law?” Bewcastle asked. “About whether he has been here during the last few days? About when you last saw him?”
“I could not, sir.” The man drew himself up to his full height. “I do not give out personal information about my tenants.”
“You are to be commended,” Bewcastle said. “Some men in your position might try to make some extra money on the side by taking bribes in exchange for information.”
The landlord’s eyes slid uneasily toward Freyja and away again.
“When did you last see Branwell Law?” Bewcastle asked.
The man licked his lips. “Last night, sir,” he said, “after that servant come ‘ere. And this morning.”
“What?” Judith cried. “You said nothing about this to me this morning.”
“ ‘e come after you left, miss,” the man said.
“But you could have told me he was here last night,” she said. “I told you he was my brother. I told you there was a family emergency.”
Bewcastle held up his hand in a slight staying gesture, and Rannulf drew Judith’s hand through his arm and settled his hand over hers. She was trembling—with rage, at a guess.
“The gentleman who called alone this morning,” Bewcastle said. “Describe him, if you will.”
“Blond hair, blue eyes,” the landlord said. His eyes had become shifty, Rannulf noted. “Short. With a limp.”
“Ah,” Wulf said. “Yes, quite so.”
It had not been Effingham, then, Rannulf thought with some disappointment. But surely he would be here soon. He was in London—he had already called at Bedwyn House.
“That is all I can tell you, sir,” the landlord said, making to close the door. Bewcastle set his cane against it.
“I suppose,” he said, “you did not admit this blond-haired, blue-eyed, short gentleman with a limp to Mr. Law’s rooms?”
The man recoiled in shock. “Let ‘im in, sir?” he said. “When Mr. Law was from ’ome? Not me. No, indeed not.”
“I wonder,” Bewcastle said, “how much he paid you.”
The man’s eyes widened. “I do not take—”
“Ah, but you do,” Bewcastle said gently. “I will not pay you one penny. I do not deal in bribes. But I will warn you that if a felony has been committed in Branwell Law’s rooms this morning and if you took money from the felon to let him into those rooms, you are an accessory to a crime and will doubtless pay the price in one of London’s notorious jails.”
The landlord gaped at him, his eyes as round as saucers, his color suddenly pasty. “A felon?” he said. “A felony? ‘e was a friend of Mr. Law’s. I seen ’im ‘ere before with Mr. Law.
‘e just needed to go in for a minute to get something ’e forgot last time ‘e was ’ere.“
“Then it was magnanimous of you to allow him in,” Bewcastle said while Judith’s hand tightened about Rannulf’s arm. “Unescorted, I presume? This dark-haired man?”
The landlord licked his lips and turned shifty-eyed again.
“I daresay,” Bewcastle said, “he paid you very well indeed to describe him as you did if questioned, to allow him in unescorted, and to claim that Mr. Law was here both last night and this morning?”
“Not very much,” the man mumbled after a lengthy pause.
“Then the more fool you,” Bewcastle said, sounding bored.
“You villain!” Rannulf dropped Judith’s arm and stepped forward. “I should throttle you within an inch of your life. What did he take from the rooms? Or, more important, what did he leave there?”
The landlord took one terrified step back and held up both hands.
“I din’t know ‘e were up to no good,” he said. “I swear I din’t.”
“Save the pathetic pleas for a judge,” Rannulf said. “Take us to Law’s rooms immediately.”
“I believe it might be preferable,” Wulf said, still sounding damnably unruffled, “to proceed more calmly, Rannulf. I am sure this good man has a tolerably comfortable room in which we can wait. I believe too that from this moment on he will be scrupulous in telling the exact truth to whoever asks it of him. It might save him his neck or at least years of his liberty.”
“Wait?” Rannulf’s eyebrows snapped together in a frown. Wait? When Effingham was out there somewhere and so was Branwell Law? When Judith’s good n
ame and liberty were still in peril? When there was probably planted evidence in Law’s rooms?
“If I am not much mistaken,” Bewcastle said, “this house will be receiving yet another visit soon.” He looked at the landlord again. “I believe you also agreed to show no recognition when the same dark-haired gentleman returns with a Bow Street Runner?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and looked from Bewcastle to Rannulf.
“Show us to a room within earshot of the door,” Bewcastle said.
It was a small, dingy room with dark, faded furniture. The four of them were ushered inside and left alone there, the door ajar.
Freyja laughed softly. “Sometimes, Wulf,” she said, “I cannot help but admire you. How did you guess?”
“I believe it was at our mother’s knee,” he said, “that I learned that two and two invariably add up to four, Freyja.”
“But what if they do not on this occasion?” Judith asked. “What if there is nothing in Bran’s room? Why will you not let us look, your grace?”
“The landlord will tell the truth now,” he said. “It is best, Miss Law, if he can say with all honesty that no one has been into your brother’s rooms since Effingham left them this morning.”
“Bran was not here last night or this morning, then, was he?” she said. “Where is he?”
They were rhetorical questions. She was not looking for answers to any of them. Rannulf took both her hands in his, squeezed them tightly, and then held them flat against his chest. He did not care what Wulf or Freyja might think.
“We will find him,” he told her. “And if Wulf’s guess is correct, as I would wager it is, his name will have been cleared by the time we do. Stop worrying.”
Though, of course, the brother was probably in serious trouble even apart from all this business of stolen property. If he had been desperate enough to leave Harewood in the middle of the night because so many creditors were hounding him, he would be desperate enough to do some pretty heavy gambling to recoup his fortunes.
“Don’t worry,” he said again, raising one of her hands to his lips and holding it there for a few moments until she looked into his eyes and half smiled.
Freyja, he saw, had taken a seat and was looking at them with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Bewcastle was standing slightly to one side of the window, looking out at the street.
“Ah,” he said, “not a moment too soon.”
Judith was terribly afraid. Afraid of what was about to happen, afraid of what would be discovered in Branwell’s rooms, afraid of what might not be discovered. She was afraid for Bran even apart from all this, afraid for her family and for herself. And she was afraid of this proud, haughty, powerful family which was fighting her battles for her.
Most of all perhaps she feared the look in Rannulf’s eyes, the firm kindness of his hands, the warm gentleness of his kiss on one of them. Did he not understand?
She could hear the landlord open the door again—they were all very still, listening. She recognized Horace’s voice and another, deeper, gruffer voice.
“I am with the Bow Street Runners,” that other voice was saying, “and investigating a large jewel theft. I must insist upon your letting us into Mr. Branwell Law’s rooms, where I expect to find evidence.”
“I s’pose it is all right, then,” the landlord said.
“I am hoping,” Horace said, sounding both grave and pompous, “that we will find nothing, Witley, though I fear the worst. Branwell Law is my stepcousin, after all. But I do not know who else would have stolen his grandmother’s jewels but him and his sister. They both fled during that same night. I pray this will be a wild-goose chase and they have already discovered back at Harewood that some vagrant broke into the house during the ball.”
“It is unlikely, sir,” the Bow Street Runner said.
There was the sound of boots on the stairs going up and then the jingle of keys and the squeak of a door opening upstairs.
“Wulf and I will go up,” Rannulf said. “Judith, stay here with Freyja.”
Freyja snorted.
“I am coming up too,” Judith said. “This concerns me as well as Bran.”
There was an open door at the top of the first flight of stairs, presumably opening into Branwell’s rooms. Judith could see the landlord standing just inside. He turned a worried face toward them as they stepped onto the landing. Horace was standing in the middle of the room, his back to the door, his arms crossed over his chest. The Bow Street Runner, a short, rotund, bald man, was coming out of an inner room, perhaps the bedchamber, clutching a glittering pile of what must be Grandmama’s jewelry.
“He did not even hide it very carefully,” he said with some contempt.
“And that, if I am not much mistaken,” Horace said, pointing to a chair that was just in Judith’s line of vision, “is one of Judith Law’s caps. Oh, my poor Judith, how careless of you. I was hoping you might be left out of this.”
“She more or less had to be an accomplice, though, did she not, sir?” the Runner said, setting down the jewels with a clatter on a small table and picking up the bonnet cap Judith had so detested.
She did not know what everyone else was waiting for.
“You are a liar and a villain, Horace!” she cried, striding into the room and drawing to herself the astonished attention of both men. “You planted the evidence in my room at Harewood, and you planted the evidence here. It is a wicked, dastardly form of revenge, especially against Branwell, who has done nothing to offend you.”
“Well, my dear cousin herself,” Horace said. “You have one thief to arrest without any further searching, Witley.” And then his eyes moved beyond Judith and the smirk on his face froze there.
“You might well lose that cocky air,” Rannulf said quietly.
“These are the Bedwyns, Witley,” Horace said, not taking his eyes off Rannulf. “With the Duke of Bewcastle himself. A powerful family, as you doubtless know. But I would expect your integrity to be above fear of such power. Lord Rannulf Bedwyn fancies Judith.”
“The game is up, Effingham,” Rannulf said. “The landlord who just let you into these rooms will swear that Branwell Law has not been home here for longer than two weeks—before the theft, that is. He will also swear that this morning you paid him a hefty bribe to let you in here unescorted and to tell certain lies if he was questioned, including one about Law’s having been here yesterday and today. I will swear to the fact that I last saw that cap at Harewood last week, that I have not seen it since though I escorted Miss Law to London. She has also not been out of the company of one or another of my family since we arrived here yesterday afternoon. If that is ail the jewelry that can be found in these rooms, I would guess that there is far more elsewhere. Judith, you would know better than I. Should there be more?”
“Much more,” she said.
“I wonder,” Rannulf said, “if you have been cocky enough to keep them in your lodgings, Effingham, on the assumption that no one would dream of searching for them there.”
The Bow Street Runner cleared his throat. “These are serious charges you are making, my lord,” he said.
“They are indeed,” Rannulf agreed. “Perhaps since we are on a treasure hunt, we should all invite ourselves to Effingham’s lodgings and have a look around.”
It was the moment at which Judith, watching Horace closely, knew that he was finally beaten. He had been foolish enough to keep the jewels in his rooms. And now he was further incriminating himself by turning red in the face and blustering. He was as cowardly now as he had been outside the summerhouse at Grandmaison.
She set her hands over her face briefly and stopped listening. This had all happened—all of it—because she had worn one of her unaltered dresses at Harewood the day of Horace’s arrival there and had not worn a cap. He had looked at her and leered at her, as men had been doing since she grew out of her girlhood, and everything had developed from that moment. It was all her fault.
Freyja
, she could see, was seated on one of the chairs in the room, her legs crossed, one foot swinging. She looked as if she was actually enjoying herself. The duke was still out on the landing, his back to the room, his hands clasped at his back, not participating in the proceedings at all.
“I-I was here earlier,” Horace was saying when she returned her attention to what was going on, “and found everything—all the missing jewels. I took most of them with me for safekeeping and left the rest so that I could bring you here with me, Witley, as a witness.”
“I believe, sir,” the Bow Street Runner said, “we had better go to your lodgings and get the rest of the jewels. And then I believe I am going to have to arrest you.”
Judith spread one hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Arrests led to trials and witnesses and publicity and terrible pain for the families involved. They led to punishment, often very harsh indeed. She heard herself moan and Rannulf’s arms came about her from behind to clasp her elbows.
“Since you have been hired by Mr. Effingham,” the duke said, finally stepping into the room and strolling across the floor to glance down at the jewels and the cap with apparent distaste, “it would perhaps be unsporting of you to arrest him ... Witley, is it? You may wish to leave me and Lord Rannulf Bedwyn to deal with the matter ourselves?”
The Bow Street Runner looked dubious, and Horace gazed about him in some dismay—wondering perhaps whether the devil or the deep blue sea was the worse fate.
“I am not sure about that, your grace,” the Runner said. “It goes against the grain to allow a man to escape his just and lawful punishment just because he is a gentleman.”
“Oh, I can assure you,” the duke said, his voice so coldly quiet that Judith found herself shivering, “there will be punishment.”
“Miss Law,” Lady Freyja said, getting to her feet, “I believe this is the point at which we are to be ordered from the room. Shall we go voluntarily?”
The day was already feeling quite surreal to Judith. It suddenly became more so. As she and Lady Freyja turned toward the open doorway, someone else stepped into it.
