Fled? He remembered he had sentenced Kolb to spend the rest of his life in the dungeon while he had left the judgment of the stable boy and barn boy to the dowager duchess. She had been the one to get the guards to wring the truth out of them in the first place. What has she done to them?
“Both boys are not in the dungeon with Kolb?” he asked in thought.
“None that I had heard,” Martha whispered.
His instinct picked up that something was wrong, but he hid this from Martha, resorting to turning his back to her, finally getting on his feet and finding his way into the bath. “Maybe I should visit the dungeon to see and talk to Kolb myself,” he thought to himself and at the same time muttered the words, “Get the maids to fetch me some warm water and fresh fruits for brunch,” over his shoulder.
It signaled the end of their discussion, and perhaps Martha was unsatisfied with it. He wouldn’t know. He still had his back to her as she curtseyed and hurried out of his room to do his bidding.
He thought about everything–about his mother leaving the manor with Lydia, and about her suspicious movements in recent times. Then, there was Thomas and Andrew’s disappearance too. He hadn’t figured out the recent loss at the colliery too.
Something wasn’t quite right, and it was high time he acted accordingly.
Chapter 7
Close to the Truth
“Father?”
Cornelia had found her way back to the dungeon as soon as the new month began. The guards hadn’t bothered to spare her a glance as she walked by them, despite her courteous smile. Sometimes she wondered if they enjoyed what they did–being confined to the same underground dungeon as their prisoners.
As she neared the iron bars now, she found her father standing on his toes so he could see through a small hole in the wall. She stepped closer to the bars, wondering what he was doing. “Father?” she called again.
He slowly shoved his hand into the hole and waved his other hand towards her, asking her to give him a minute. Eventually, he pulled out his hand from the hole and a rat squealed in his hand.
“Father, put that away this instant!” she groaned at him.
“What?” he beamed at her, stepping towards her with the rat surprisingly calm in his open palm. “Meet Gabriel,” he said. “We have been each other’s companion for a while now.”
She almost went to her knees in tears, suddenly imagining how lonely it must have been for him in the cell. The guards weren’t chatty either. The rest of the cells in the dungeon were empty, save for the few men that had been imprisoned and released in the past five weeks.
“Why do you look sober, child?”
She sniffed back tears and tried to keep a warm smile on her face as she stepped towards him. “I have had Martha find a way to bring you your medicine…do you get it?”
He pointed to some bowls and bottles piled up in a corner in his cell, and she heaved a sigh of relief, feeling thankful to Martha. “I brought more,” she whispered.
Her father finally kneeled on the floor and placed his palms on the floor. Gabriel, quite reluctant to go, flicked its whiskers at him and then began to make its way into a small hole in the wall. How had he gotten to the previous hole in the first place?
“How is it up there, Child?”
Her father’s sudden question jolted her out of her thoughts, and she smiled at him, also passing his medicine in between the iron bars. The last dosage for him ought to have ended weeks ago, making him as strong as a bull. Yet, she was still skeptical the dungeon might be unhealthy for him.
“You haven’t answered my question, Cornelia dear. Is everything okay?”
She smiled at him again. “Yes, Father.”
“And Martha? How is she taking my…uh…situation? She hasn’t bothered to come to me once.”
“Because the duke would have no one come here but me. And she was quite forlorn over your imprisonment.”
“Was?”
“It is over a month, Father, and she has the whole manor to take care of.”
“Aye, that she does pretty well without getting the praise for it.”
A sad smile had dotted her father’s face, and she paused to watch him. He was fond of Martha, and it was saddening to see that he may never get the chance to tell her how he felt…the same way she would never be bold enough to tell the duke she cared about him…despite everything that had happened.
“Father,” she whispered, thinking about Duke Durham and what she had recently found from him. “Did you know the duke had a brother who disappeared years ago?”
The smile on her father’s face rescinded instantly. “Uh, aye, I did,” he whispered. “It was my first year in the manor when the late Duke Durham became so infuriated with his first son.”
“Then, what happened to him?”
He shook his head. “No one knows. The duke’s brother wasn’t someone anyone liked to talk about.”
“Why is that?”
“Why—why are you suddenly curious about him, Cornelia?”
Cornelia sighed. It was partly because she was suddenly feeling the urge to know more about the duke than she already knew about him. More so, she felt something was terribly wrong if no one spoke about the initial Durham heir. It might have something to do with the framing of her father too.
“Just tell me what you know, Father,” she whispered, ignoring his question.
Although her father seemed willing to prod her until she spilled what her concerns were, he bent his head and frowned as if he was thinking about it. “The dowager duchess,” he finally whispered. “She would not have his name spoken within the four walls of the manor. At first, it seemed because she hated how he had disgraced the family with his waywardness and callousness, but later, it was because she loved him better than she loved her younger son and hated to be reminded that he was gone.”
“She always loved the older son, despite that he wasn’t like—like Duke Durham?”
Her father squinted his eyes at her curiously, but she shrugged. “You did say he was wayward and callous….” she whispered, and he nodded. “Aye, that Duke Durham isn’t. And aye, it would seem the dowager duchess did love him more. She went out of her way to search for him when he disappeared.”
“Did she? Did she find him?”
“No. Everyone assumes he is dead already. Even the duke does.”
Cornelia sighed, dropping her gaze to her feet. She had really hoped she could find out more than she already did. “What if he isn’t? What if he had been the one to spread the rumor about his rightful place as heir instead of Duke Durham? Is it possible Martha might know more?”
Her father was suddenly quiet. He blinked twice at her and shook his head as if he was trying to deny the possibility. He inched towards the iron bar and slowly picked up his medicine along with the food she had placed beside it. “Everything I know, I know from the little I saw and what Martha knows.” he finally whispered.
Perhaps she was a bit paranoid too, Cornelia thought, although she wasn’t ready to do away with the possibility. She nodded and reached in between the iron bars to hold her father’s arm. “I am onto something, Father, and I will get to the bottom of it to prove your innocence, even if it means forcing the duke to listen to me.”
“It is going to be Christmas soon, Father.” she also whispered. “And I hope by God you are free and with me by then.”
She had expected him to ask what her plans, so she bit her lips anxiously as he placed his hand on hers and asked. “How, Child?”
“Yes, how?” a very familiar also echoed behind her.
Her entire body froze. Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned around in time to see Duke Durham stepping towards them with a questioning look in his eyes.
With the grim expression on his face also, it was obvious he had been standing there long enough to hear half, if not everything they had said.
***
Duchess Elizabeth watched through the open window as the new carriage with tons of coal
slowly stopped in front of the house. She wasn’t supposed to be there when the last carriage came in for inspection, but since Edward was currently at the Clinton Manor doing her bidding, she had no choice but to look over the rest of their plans.
As the carriage man and his escort stepped down from their horses, waiting for the usual inspection of the piles of coal they had secretly hoarded away from the Garnett Colliery, she finally stepped out of the house, waving her hand at them.
Of course, she had expected that neither of them would know who she was. It was always men from outside the duchy that Edward hired to do his dirty work. They frowned at her, obviously expecting to contact Edward and no one else.
“He isn’t here,” she told them without bothering to tell them who she was. “Is that the last cart?”
“Aye,” the shorter of the men responded. “It would seem there wouldn’t be more coal to steal away. The duke looks over everything himself now.”
“And there wouldn’t be any need to take more from the colliery,” she assured them. “We have enough now.”
The men glanced at each other and nodded. She glanced away from them, staring at the carriage. “You want to take a look?” they asked her.
She shook her head. “Get it out of the duchy as soon as possible. I will let him know, and he will come to you for the proceeds.”
It was the usual arrangement, and each man nodded before getting back on top of their horses. The escort, the shorter one, waited until his partner had gotten the carriage on the road before he trailed after it.
Duchess Elizabeth stared for long at the dust they left behind. She had been part of a dark secret for too long and somehow, she felt relief at the thought that it was finally coming to an end—if everything went according to plan at the Clinton Manor.
She stepped back into the house, preparing for a better year once Christmas came and ended in another week.
Another carriage would come soon to take her home.
***
Cornelia stared anxiously at Martha as both of them stood fixed to a spot in the middle of the master bedroom. An hour earlier, she had watched with much greater anxiety as Duke Durham stepped towards her in the dungeon with a curious glare.
She knew he must have heard her talk to her father about his brother and could have also heard her father speak about how the dowager duchess cared little about him, compared to how she doted on the older Garnett son.
“Your Grace,” she had started, hoping to explain herself, but he had held up his hand and had thrown her father an equal glare.
“Perhaps you were framed, Kolb,” he whispered. “Would you argue that you were?”
It took forever before the response from her father came. With a soft whisper and with his eyes averted to his feet, he muttered the words, “I was framed, Your Grace. I would never speak ill of you, or of any Garnett that lived.”
It was all the duke seemed to want to hear. He stepped towards her, held her hand, and sauntered out of the dungeon with her father looking on, dismayed and confused.
Why he had taken her into his room and had fetched Martha afterward still confused Cornelia. At first, it had seemed like he was furious with her for speaking about his brother, but there was something else. He had begun to pace the room, lost in thought and sometimes pausing to stare at them.
“Your Grace?” Martha eventually whispered, breaking the silence.
The duke paused and pointed at her. “You and I spoke about Edward Garnett today, Martha,” he growled. “And I am forced to think of the many years things went wrong with him. You do remember everything about him, don’t you, Martha?”
Martha didn’t look like she wanted to broach the topic. “Aye,” she whispered reluctantly.
“Then, tell me if I am wrong, for I was quite young the five years before he was proclaimed ill with—with the same sickness, if not worse than that which had struck Father for years.”
“What is he talking about?” Cornelia whispered under her breath.
“Quiet, child,” Martha chided.
The duke was oblivious of their exchange. He kept on with his question, having more and more thoughts coursing through his mind. “Had my brother not wasted a lot of Father’s—our wealth on gambling, whores and bad trades, Father chided him every day for it?”
“Aye,” Martha responded.
“Good, good. And for how long was he gone before the debtors came to Father? You should know that too.”
“Aye, I did,” Martha whispered. “He left the manor for up to two years, sometimes coming by to make the late Duke Durham furious at him again. He was always coming to take everything, the duke often complained.”
“And everyone thought he was mad–madder than Father who was declared so because of his fierce laws, aye?”
Martha nodded instead of responding with words, and Cornelia spared a glance at her and then at the duke. She was beginning to think he was onto something–and he didn’t seem to like what he was thinking.
“Has the dowager duchess arrived since she left the manor two nights ago?” he asked.
Martha nodded. “She arrived in a carriage an hour before sunset, Your Grace.”
“And the carriage? Was it the same that rides her back and forth the past few weeks?”
Martha didn’t know the answer to the question, but as the duke gave her a stern look, she shrugged her shoulders. “I assume he is, Your Grace,” she whispered. “Only the footman could confirm if this were true, but the Duchess Elizabeth hardly let anyone else drive her.”
Duke Durham had a smile on his face as if he suddenly had a solution to a problem he had faced for long.
“Do you still want to prove your father’s innocence, Cornelia?” he asked.
Chapter 8
Eve of Christmas
Duchess Elizabeth hadn’t heard from Edward nor from Lady Clinton in the past five days. She wondered if something had gone wrong, but since no one had come to her, bearing news or any information about Edward’s sudden appearance, she kept a calm smile on her face all through the week and went to bed earlier than usual.
She was getting nervous, yes, and it was getting more difficult to hide it. She couldn’t choose to take a carriage out of the manor either without rousing suspicion. She was aware of how more curious the duke had gotten about her frequent disappearances, and she wasn’t about to ruin every single step she had taken in the past to get rid of the burden on her shoulders.
At the moment, she was hurrying back to her room, having left everyone else in the dining hall downstairs. Perhaps her fear of the unknown had gotten to her, but she had felt the duke’s eyes on her throughout dinner. He had been reticent around her in the past few days too, and she had earlier assumed he felt ashamed over his behavior during the dinner party.
She had no trouble with what he did. In fact, having him disregard Lydia’s feelings for him had opened up new plans for her and Edward. Perhaps there was a way for Edward to have what the duke had without really taking much from him in the process.
“And it will end. It will eventua–”
Duchess Elizabeth paused in her steps. Her door was slightly ajar. Her heart raced rapidly against her chest at the possibility that he had come…right, when the whole manor wasn’t so busy to be oblivious of his presence. The guards might have noticed him stepping into the manor! She ran into the room, grunting under her breath as she found him waiting for her with a smile.
“What are you doing here?” she growled at him. “The guards would be here any minute if anyone knew you were here!” she growled at him.
He shook his head and inched towards her. “I was born in this manor, Mother. I know my way in easily as I know how to slip away unnoticed.”
Mother? She blinked at him. He hadn’t called her that in many years, at least since she had hatched the plan over thirteen years ago to hide him from everyone. “Just leave before David leaves the dining hall,” she told him. “We have the perfect plan for you now. You can have
all the wealth you want, and a woman too!”
He was shaking his head as if he wasn’t listening to a word she had said. “You don’t understand what I want, do you, Mother?” he sighed. “I do not really want the wealth–I never wanted it. I just wanted to live a life different from that which Father wanted….and I got in so much trouble for ever wanting to.”
She didn’t understand what he had said, but she didn’t have the patience to either. She stepped towards him, holding his hand and pulling him towards the door. “You met with the duke of Needleton, didn’t you? You convinced him of who you were and told him Lady Clinton has agreed to be with you…”
“Actually, she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to be with your son, the duke, either.”
Duchess Elizabeth froze. “You lie,” she whispered, turning to frown at him.
He withdrew his hand from her grip and pulled out a letter from his coat. “Here,” he whispered. “I waited for long at the house, hoping to hear from the duke of Needleton after I had gone to him, but instead, I got this letter from Lady Clinton. She agrees to keep my existence a secret but doesn’t want a part of our plan.”
She was confused. She really was. She had approached Lydia during the party, telling her of her son’s affection for another and suggesting a better alternative in her first son, Edward. Lydia had been shocked to hear he was still alive, but the idea to hurt David had seemed so pleasurable to her, she had presented her consent.
What had happened? Didn’t Edward prove to be a better suitor? “What did you do wrong?” she muttered hesitantly, staring at Edward.
“Do wrong?” Edward began to shake his head again. “You are just like him,” he groaned. “Just like father. You think everything that goes wrong is because I ruined it.”
She always hated to see him blaming himself over his own failure, but she couldn’t help but think it was all his fault since their last plan had failed.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have told pretty Lady Clinton that I was alive. She could be downstairs, telling your highly favored duke that I am in the duchy, waiting to take what is his.”
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