by Allison Lane
“I’ve no idea. But the one place we didn’t look is this packet of letters.” He removed the faded ribbon and grinned. “Aha! Two of these are not from Kevin.”
She reached for the first. “It’s addressed to Mr. Truitt! But I don’t understand…” The writing was cramped and difficult to follow. She handed it to Andrew.
“Dear God,” he murmured as he read. “That explains it.”
“What?”
“The writer is Truitt’s partner. Two months ago, Ashley was in Somerset negotiating a contract. He discovered a granary full of moldy barley that could be had for a pittance. The letter suggests that they buy it, then mix it with good barley to increase their profits. It seems they used that scheme for several military sales. Damn his hide! No wonder provisions were so scarce.” He glared at Truitt’s battered body. “I should have broken a few ribs.”
She read the second missive. You fool! it began. Have you no regard for our necks? How can you commit such admissions to paper? It went on to forbid buying the bad grain. The customer is too near at hand to explain any spoilage. That scheme works only for overseas deliveries.
She handed it to Andrew as Truitt moaned.
“The greedy swine,” he growled, shoving Truitt onto his back.
Truitt’s eyes flew open. He tried to move out of reach, but managed only to flop about like a fish.
Andrew cursed him. “The regiment had a hard enough time enduring battle, illness, and inadequate accommodations, but drawing inedible rations did more to destroy morale than all the other problems combined. I swore I’d kill the bastard who sent us rotten meat and infested grain. I knew it wasn’t the government’s doing.” His foot pressed on Truitt’s throat.
“You can’t kill me,” gasped Truitt. Fear glazed his eyes.
“Why?” asked Andrew idly. “You didn’t care how many men died because of your treasonous greed.”
“Seabrook would never forgive you. He’ll protect me for Martha’s sake.”
“That’s Lord Seabrook to you, Truitt. You aren’t worthy of sharing his roof.” His foot pressed harder.
“No!” choked Truitt.
“No? You didn’t give Miss Fields that choice.”
Truitt gagged.
“Don’t kill him, Andrew.” Chloe stumbled across the room to grasp his arm. “He’s not worth the price. Let the authorities take care of him.”
Andrew shuddered, but eased the pressure.
Truitt gasped for air.
“Much as I would enjoy watching you suffer, Chloe is right – though a quick death now would be easier on Martha than watching you tried, convicted, and hanged.” When Truitt choked, Andrew smiled. “Yes, hanged. That is the sentence for treason. The truth will out. I’m sure close study of your private papers will prove enlightening. So I won’t harm you. I’ll not swing for killing vermin. Ring for a footman, Chloe.”
She obliged.
“You’re making a mistake.” Truitt blanched.
“Hardly. No matter what we find at Truitt and Company, these letters raise serious questions. And you tried to strangle a guest in my home. I’ll not tolerate that. Nor can I let you warn Ashley.”
Truitt’s sputtering ended when a rap sounded on the door.
“Fetch Lord Rankin,” ordered Andrew when Chloe let Rob inside. “Quietly, for official business that Lord Seabrook cannot attend to. He should be in the library. And bring Ned back with you.”
“Immediately, sir.” Rob nearly saluted.
“Don’t touch anything until Rankin sees the evidence,” Andrew added when Chloe picked up a pile of handkerchiefs. Then he turned back to Truitt. “While we wait for Rankin, why don’t you tell me how you started cheating the government?”
* * *
Chapter 13
“Sir Nigel hid the letters in his wife’s jewelry casket,” Andrew finished half an hour later. Rob and Ned stood guard over Truitt with orders to gag him if he interrupted Andrew’s explanation again.
“You are sure that Miss Fields knew nothing about the scheme?” asked Lord Rankin.
“Positive,” Andrew answered. “Sir Nigel never wrote to her, so she had no way of learning his business. She could not have found them herself. I had the casket in my keeping from the moment she inherited it until she arrived at Seabrook.”
“It was awkward carrying it to Moorside and back,” added Chloe. “I was leaving Miss Seabrook’s employ after the party, so Captain Seabrook’s offer was welcome. I noted the bundle Wednesday evening, but did not examine it. Duty kept me busy, and I wasn’t ready to read my brother’s words.”
“What of Truitt’s claim that Captain Seabrook attacked him without cause?” Lord Rankin asked, glancing toward the chair. Andrew had propped Truitt up, but he remained bound.
“I must refute it.” Chloe’s voice was hoarse but firm. “Mr. Truitt was ransacking my room when I returned from the drawing room. When I tried to flee, he grabbed me, hurled me against the wall, then wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed until I couldn’t breathe. My bruises must prove his strength. I do not know what transpired after I lost consciousness, but I awoke to find the captain subduing Mr. Truitt. Without his intervention, I would be dead.”
Andrew shuddered. “He was choking her when I arrived. I’ve no doubt he meant murder. His eyes had gone quite blank.”
“That seems clear enough,” decided Rankin. “Is Ashley here yet?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said Andrew. “William invited him, but he declined dinner and was ambivalent about attending the ball.”
Ashley had been irritated over Martha’s betrothal – William described him as an odd duck. He had apparently made a bid for her hand three years earlier. Now Andrew wondered if Ashley had hoped to wrest control of the company using Martha’s shares – or at least keep others removed from its operation. Truitt was greedy, but cautious. Ashley seemed to be merely greedy.
Rankin pulled Andrew’s thoughts back to Chloe’s room when he announced, “I’ll send men to find Ashley. The letters support arresting him for fraud. And we also have the attempted murder charge against Truitt. Bring him along.”
The footmen jerked Truitt to his feet and led him away.
Andrew remained with Chloe. The image of Truitt’s hands wrapped around her throat would torment his dreams for a long time to come. Her eyes remained bloodshot from the strain. Dark bruises blotched her fragile skin. Crescents marked where fingernails had broken the surface.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “My throat is sore, but it will mend. What happens now?”
“Lord Rankin will examine Truitt’s business records and any records in his or Ashley’s homes. The pair will stand trial at the next assizes.”
“Which of them killed Father?”
“Neither.” He met her angry eyes. “Not in any prosecutable sense. I suspect Ashley was in the house that night. George mentioned a head injury sustained about then. Sir Nigel may have found him in the library and bashed him with the poker before rushing to summon help.” That would explain the blood in the library. “In his haste, Sir Nigel tripped and tumbled down the stairs. No one pushed him. Ashley and Truitt wanted the letters. They might well have killed him once they recovered the evidence, but with Sir Nigel dead, they had no clue to the hiding place.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She moved to look out the window.
“I know I’m right.” He paused, but there was no way around it. “You do realize that Sir Nigel must have been blackmailing Truitt and Ashley.”
She nodded. “Why else would the letters be in the casket rather than in the hands of a magistrate? And that explains his recent infusions of cash.”
He relaxed. “It’s over, Chloe. I’ll have Sally bring you some honey for your throat. You don’t want people to ask questions at dinner.”
“I can’t—”
“You must. I don’t know what William will do about Truitt’s arrest, but for Martha’s sake, he may hide it until later.
The guests last saw you squared off against Laura. If you fail to appear for dinner, Mrs. Telcor will assume that Laura’s charges have merit.”
“No smoke without fire,” she croaked.
“Hateful, but she has always loved scandal. If you let Laura’s spite take root, you will have to abandon your dreams, so you must also attend the ball.”
“You cannot be serious.” She paled, making the bruises seem harsher.
“Unless William or the Truitts reveal this arrest, no one will know about it. No one heard your altercation – the children are either outdoors or napping, and the nurses were gathered for tea in the schoolroom. Your best course is to assume that Laura’s accusations will be utmost in people’s minds. That will prepare you for anything.”
“Very well.”
She looked so uncertain that he pulled her against him, murmuring in her ear until she relaxed. Only then did he excuse himself.
* * * *
Andrew found William in the library. Alone.
“We have trouble,” he said, pouring himself a drink.
“I heard. I’ve already confined Laura to her room and assigned a footman to make sure she stays there. I need to change for—”
“Dinner must wait. Summon George Truitt.”
William stared for a long minute, then sent a footman for George. “What happened?”
Andrew handed him a glass of brandy before speaking. “Truitt was arrested half an hour ago.”
“Arre—” William swayed, downing the brandy in one gulp. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I caught him strangling Chloe. Since I could not ask you to arrest Martha’s father, I called on Rankin. We are fortunate that he was in the house.” He explained the letters and Truitt’s attack.
“He actually tried to kill her?” William set down his glass, then dropped his head into his hands.
“Had I arrived any later, he would have succeeded.” Andrew barely forced the words past his lingering anger. “Thank God she managed to scream and that I was near enough to hear her.” The sound had nearly stopped his heart. “That charge will keep him locked up while Rankin investigates the rest – another reason I called him; Martha couldn’t handle your involvement. The investigation could drag on for weeks. And if evidence turns up to suggest treason, it could get very nasty.”
William nodded.
“According to the letters, Truitt has been fleecing the government for years. Damn him!” His fist hit the mantel. “How could he justify leaving us out there with rotten food and short supplies?”
“Perhaps the investigation will answer that,” said William heavily. “Are you sure he was involved? Perhaps Ashley forced his cooperation by making threats against his family.”
“No. The letters are clear on that point. Truitt was in charge. Ashley asked permission and was soundly rebuked for muddled thinking.”
William flinched. “Poor Martha. She dotes on him.”
“That’s why I asked you to summon George. You have to decide what to do about the ball.”
“Hold it, of course.” William seemed surprised.
“That wasn’t what I meant. Obviously we cannot cancel it. Half the guests are here, with the rest in transit. But what about the announcement? Do you still wish to wed her? If the government confiscates his property – which will happen if his actions are judged treasonous – Martha may lose her dowry.”
“I care not.”
“The other question is whether she can accept an alliance with the family who destroyed her father. I’ve seen how close they are. And coming atop Laura’s antics, this may be too much.” William paled, but Andrew could not consider sensibilities at this juncture. Time was too short. “Even if the betrothal stands, might it be better to postpone the announcement? How can she handle well-wishers when her father is under arrest?”
“I love her,” said William simply. “And I am convinced she loves me.”
Andrew agreed, but he had to consider all possibilities. Love was not always enough – as his own dilemma proved.
George arrived. “Is there a problem?”
“A huge one.” Andrew repeated his story as he replenished William’s brandy and poured another for George.
“There has to be a mistake.” George’s face was purple.
“No mistake. I pulled him from Miss Fields myself.” Andrew held up a hand, demanding silence. “I also read the letters. Ashley mentioned their long history of hiding rotten meat and infested grain in army shipments. Your father’s response acknowledged those shipments but claimed that the current customers were too close at hand to accept natural spoilage as an explanation. He also reminded Ashley that they must cease diverting a percentage of large shipments to other parties – in essence, selling goods twice. His files should show whether they contributed to our chronic supply shortage on the Peninsula. He can’t have kept everything in his head. But even without further evidence, the letters should be enough to convict the pair of a longstanding scheme to defraud the government.”
George moaned.
“Sir Nigel’s possession of those letters explains the rash of break-ins this past week – three at Fields House, one at Moorside. I suspect Ashley was responsible for the first and last. That head injury was probably sustained at Fields House – I found blood on the poker in the library – and your father was here during the Moorside incident. But that doesn’t explain the other two, including the attempt to kill Sir Peter Fields. Was Ashley well enough to search Fields House, or did Truitt do it? Were they acting together? Was that the emergency that delayed him on Tuesday? And whose idea was it to set Sir Peter on fire?”
“My God.” George sank into a chair, his head in his hands.
Andrew forged ahead. “Save the despair for tomorrow. You will likely need a battery of barristers to salvage your business – to say nothing of luck and customer good will to keep it running. Right now you must decide whether to make tonight’s betrothal announcement.”
George cursed.
“I have no intention of crying off,” said William. “I love Martha. If the government cuts up rough about seizing assets, we can adjust her dowry. But how will she feel about this?”
“She loves you.” George relaxed a trifle.
“She also loves your father.”
George nodded. “This will hurt her badly, but she is strong. And she despises dishonesty, no matter where she finds it.”
“Talk to her,” suggested Andrew. “There are several ways to handle this. You can claim that Truitt was called away on business – which he was, in a manner of speaking. The ball would continue as planned, with you announcing the betrothal. Or you can skip the announcement and send it to the newspapers tomorrow. That would raise speculation about your father’s absence and Martha’s intentions, but people will learn the truth by morning anyway. Or you can reveal the full truth tonight, then play down the betrothal out of respect for the family.”
“Which would you prefer?” George looked at William.
“Martha should be here. I won’t make the decision for her. I’ve always believed that truth is the only honorable course, but I will claim business if she wishes. How much curiosity can she handle? At the first hint of trouble, Mrs. Telcor will descend like the vulture she is. And some of the highest sticklers will use this to decry my choice of wife.”
“They will anyway,” said Andrew.
George winced.
“I care nothing for their opinions,” swore William. “But we cannot deny that they exist. Martha will be under close scrutiny even without hurling her into scandal. Is it fair to apply this additional pressure? And what about your mother?”
“If we reveal the truth, she must stay in her room,” decided George. “Her hysterics would embarrass us all.”
“I will fetch Martha,” offered Andrew. “Or rather, I’ll send her to you. This is your problem. Let me know which path you choose. I will see that Rankin and the footmen honor your decision. In the meantime, I must chan
ge.”
He left.
* * * *
In the end, they announced that Truitt had left on urgent business.
When word swept the drawing room before dinner, more than one guest frowned. Truitt’s departure reminded everyone that Martha came from trade. The obvious conclusion was that Truitt cared more for money than for his family.
Andrew sighed and tried to minimize the damage. No one dared cut Martha in front of lords Seabrook, Grayson, and Rockhurst, but it added yet another burden to her shoulders. Even as she smiled to her friends and helped William greet new arrivals, Andrew could see the strain around her eyes.
Mrs. Truitt was clearly embarrassed by her husband’s defection and furious that his business was reducing Martha’s consequence, but she remained determined to make the most of the occasion.
Andrew had discouraged William from sharing the truth with the family – the more people who knew a secret, the less secure it became. But William had insisted on telling Grayson and Rockhurst that Truitt was under arrest for attacking Chloe. Andrew suspected that they had shared the information with their wives.
But so far it had worked. The family rallied to fend off censure for Truitt’s absence. Grayson and Rockhurst laughed with George. Catherine and Mary introduced Mrs. Truitt to high-ranking guests, using their own consequence to stifle speculation and reminding people of Mrs. Truitt’s connections. Andrew deflected conversation onto neutral topics.
When Chloe finally appeared in the doorway, he heaved a sigh of relief. He’d been watching the door for half an hour, his heart thudding wildly whenever someone appeared. But it had never been her. He’d nearly decided to go fetch her – or at least check on her in case her injuries had worsened.
But now he could relax.
“You are lovely this evening,” he said, unable to quell a broad smile as he placed her hand on his arm. Sally had twisted her hair into a knot of cascading curls more elaborate than he’d ever seen her wear. To adorn it within the bounds of deep mourning – and hide the bruises peeking out above her high neckline – Sally had woven a long gray scarf into her hair, then wrapped it loosely around her neck. The end trailed provocatively across one breast, heating his blood.
