‘I think that would be wonderful. He has been a good friend to me. Declining would hurt his feelings. Besides, I have never seen a balloon ascension before, have you?’
‘No, I haven’t. I think it will be quite spectacular.’
‘Then it’s decided.’
‘Anna, I mean, Lady Forsham, said she would call on me tomorrow. And the next day is Grandmother’s luncheon. She said she has sent an invitation to your aunt.’
Oliver raised a brow and smiled. ‘There, you see? I told you that Ashton and his lot were of the good sort. Well, my girl, you will be busy tomorrow. I had better take you home before your social diary fills up completely.’
‘I doubt that will ever happen but lady Forsham is very kind to think of me. Do you think your aunt will come to the luncheon?’
‘I am not sure. She is getting on and she sometimes forgets where she is. I am sure her companion will advise me on whether or not she is well enough to go.’
‘I had not realised she was so frail. You must worry about her.’
‘I do. She is my last living relative. When she is gone I will be the last.’
***
When Lisbeth arrived back at Blackhurst House she was met at the door of the carriage by a very dower Rollands with an umbrella. Once inside he took her coat. Oliver saw that something was amiss.
‘Do you want me to stay?’
She looked at Rollands, who gave her a subtle sign which told her this was not something she most likely wanted to share with Bellamy. She shook her head. ‘No. I’m very tired and we have a big day tomorrow.’
He kissed her hand. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I will see you tomorrow.’
She missed his warm presence as soon as he left, but tried to focus on the matter at hand.
‘What has happened here? You all look like we ran out of jam,’ she said as she followed Rollands into the parlour. Mrs Rollands was standing there wringing her hands and looking very anxious.
‘Whatever can be wrong?’ Lisbeth asked in concern as she came up to her housekeeper.
Rollands cleared his throat. ‘It appears that Mrs Rollands has something she needs to tell you, your ladyship.’
She looked from one to the other. ‘Really? Should I sit down for this?’
Mrs Rollands nodded. Lisbeth felt even more apprehensive now. She sat.
‘It is just that I wasn’t sure what they were when I first saw them,’ Mrs Rollands said, still wringing her hands.
‘You have me all at a quandary. Please just tell me what you found,’ Lisbeth asked.
‘A book.’
Lisbeth blinked. ‘A book?’
‘Well, two actually,’ Mrs Rollands replied looking paler by the minute.
‘And where did you find these books, Mrs Rollands?
‘In the master’s study. When I were cleaning up after, well, after you two made such a mess in there. I couldn’t leave it like that you understand.’
‘I understand and I am sorry about that, Mrs Rollands, but my husband had many books in his study.’
‘Not like these two,’ Rollands supplied.
That got her attention. ‘Can I see them, please?’
Mrs Rollands turned and picked up two books. She offered them up like a sacrifice to her mistress. ‘I’m so sorry, your ladyship, but I didn’t want to bother you unless I knew for sure if they were something worth bothering you about. When I showed Mr Rollands, he was angry at me for keeping them to myself.’
‘She showed me just this evening, my lady. I am sure they are a ledger and a journal.’
‘Not just any ledger, I’m guessing, Rollands?’ Lisbeth asked as she took the longer book from the housekeeper. She hoped they could not see how her hands were shaking.
‘No, my lady. I believe it is the ledger from the last speculation. The names on the list are very familiar to me. Many are on the list we compiled.’
The ledger from the speculation? Lisbeth felt the blood drain from her face. This is the evidence she had been looking for but now she had it in her hand, she felt reluctant to open it. The ledger would help ascertain who put in what amount of money, but not that she had nothing to do with it. What would everyone think if she were just to announce this evidence had only come to light right now? Would it in fact make it worse for her? She studied the book on her lap for a moment then opened it. ‘You are right. Many of these names are on my list.’
This means she would know exactly who had invested with her husband, how much they invested and how much she would have to pay back. Who had the most to lose and who had the most motive to kill Nathaniel? She should be overjoyed but instead she felt anxious and unsure. These two books changed everything. They had the potential to destroy all she had worked for or give her all she needed to finally put this horrible mess behind her. She needed time to read them, think things through.
The thought of being able to pay back all the investors should be a happy one. It wasn’t that she worried over her own finances. She led a fairly simple life and gave herself a modest allowance. She paid her staff well and on time every quarter and she dined sufficiently for one who lived mostly on her own.
She ran her finger down the list. Oliver’s brother was there, so was Dalmere and several other men she had met this season, thanks to Bellamy. There were a few on the list she had not known to be investors. Perhaps tomorrow, whilst watching the balloon ascension she could hint that she knew Dalmere was an investor and question him on it. Should she tell Dalmere or Oliver about the ledger? First she must be sure it was for the right speculation, for her husband had been dealing in investments for many years. When she knew for sure, then she would tell him.
She turned to the other book. The journal. What would it say? Did she want to know? She could skip the parts about her and just look for entries where he may have spoken about the speculation. She already knew he had despised her, it was no use upsetting herself further by knowing exactly how much. Lisbeth knew, despite her perfect reasoning not to read about herself in the journal, she would read every damning word Nathaniel wrote.
She should be celebrating; these two books could contain the evidence she needed to prove her innocence. She could be holding in her hands the ticket to her salvation or the name of the killer.
She looked up. Both Mr and Mrs Rollands were waiting for her to say something.
‘Thank you for bringing these to my notice. I will read them and decide what is to be done with them.’
‘Are you sure you want to read them?’ Rollands asked.
She knew he was trying to tell her it was alright to ignore them if she wished. How could she? They were hard and real in her hands.
‘Where were they hidden?’ she asked her housekeeper.
‘They were sticking out from beside one of the bookshelves. I only noticed because I was putting the other books away on the shelf.’
Lisbeth gave Mrs Rollands a reassuring smile. ‘You did the right thing bringing them to me. However good or bad the contents may be. You can both go to bed now.’
She waited until both of them had left the room and then she opened the journal to a random page towards the back.
My preparations are nearly complete. I have made good my finances and prepare to disappear.
Lisbeth gasped. He had planned to run away and take everyone’s money with him? How typical. She shouldn’t have been so surprised.
I will be rich and live like a king! Those fools will never find me.
Lisbeth slammed the book shut and let it drop to the floor like it had burned her fingers. He really had planned it to the letter. What had he planned to do with her? Leave her to bear the consequences? Probably. Take her with him? No, why would he bother to do that? She was nothing but a burden to him. Then why did he leave her all the money? It still didn’t make any sense. Maybe he had planned for her to be blamed for his disappearance. It was quite likely he had planned to empty his coffers and then run off to destinations unknown, leaving he
r with his mess. Perhaps the journal will tell her, but she felt sick to her stomach at the thought of reading it.
Lisbeth picked up the ledger and, reluctantly, the journal and went upstairs to bed. Tomorrow she would decide what to do.
Chapter 16
From the journal of Nathaniel Carslake, Earl of Blackhurst.
July, 1813…My wife is like a timid mouse. I hate her. She is so annoyingly weak. There is no fight in her. She bores me. Even when I bed her she makes not a sound. I slap her about but it is not the same as when she used to fight me…
January, 1814…I have lost my son, my heir. I am furious she has given me a weakling son. A weakling like his mother. I am glad he did not grow up to be like her. Insipid and stupid. She caterwauls from dawn ’til dusk grating on my nerves. I dragged her by the hair into our room and threw her against the wall yelling at her to shut up but she kept on crying…
July, 1814 …I have tired of London. I have tired of the stupidity of my peers. I have a plan that will set me up for life. It is so cunningly clever even I am in awe of my brilliance. Those fools will never know until it is too late…
Lisbeth closed the journal and placed it on the table next to her. Tears threatened to stream down her cheeks in rivers of misery. She would not let them flow, would not give Nathaniel the satisfaction, even if he was dead. The fire was roaring in front of her but inside she was colder than a winter blizzard.
If nothing else, the journal proved that Nathaniel had planned to fleece his friends and run off to the Americas to build a new life there—without her. His last entry was two days before his murder and did not mention any suspicions regarding his wellbeing. It also proved that she had not been part of the speculation. This much, at least, was good news, but how could she show this to Oliver—to anyone? He would read it and think her a woman who had let her husband turn her into a wraith, who gave up on herself. The truth was she had. She had been that weak woman. A sad excuse, but at the same time it was the only way she knew how to survive him.
What surprised her about his scribbled, spiteful words was the anger she’d felt at herself. How could she have let it become so bad? Thankfully, she was not that same woman now. Lisbeth had lived through a trial, incarceration and the torment of the last two years as the Black Raven and was stronger for it. Stronger than she’d ever been. If nothing else came of all of this she knew one thing—she would never let a man rule her as Nathaniel had.
However, a decision had to be made about the dreaded diary. Could she let his diary and all the vile truth it contained be read by others? She felt ill at the thought. It did not paint a pretty picture of either her or Blackhurst. Letting the diary go public just to prove she wasn’t involved in Blackhurst’s plans would only cause humiliation and more scandal for her family. She had just reunited with her sister and grandmother, she couldn’t bear to lose them again. After all, it didn’t help her prove she hadn’t killed him. If anything it would strengthen the possibility. For who had more motive than she? It would end up doing more harm than good. Lisbeth decided she would keep the diary to herself, for now.
***
‘Eh?’ Aunt Petunia looked up from the lap blanket Mrs Turner had just put around her legs. ‘Virginia Marsdon, Lady Fortesque? I remember her well. She was second cousin to my first husband…or was it first cousin to my second husband? Younger than I, of course, but I could out dance her any day of the week. I was quite the dancer in my day, you know.’
Oliver took his seat opposite her in the carriage. ‘I bet you were.’
‘I used to host luncheons and picnics. Oh, how people would fall over themselves to be invited to one of my picnics.’
‘I believe Lady Fortesque holds excellent luncheons,’ Mrs Turner said.
‘I thought it was a picnic,’ she replied, looking a little confused.
‘No. It is a luncheon,’ Oliver assured her.
‘Will they have sandwiches?’ she asked.
He chuckled. ‘I have no idea.’
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘If they don’t have sandwiches, I’m not going.’
‘I’m sure they will have sandwiches of some sort, Aunt Petunia.’
‘Fine, but if there are no sandwiches I’m holding you responsible, my dear boy.’ She turned to her companion. ‘Mrs Turner, it appears we are going on a picnic.’
‘Luncheon,’ Oliver and Mrs Turner said at the same time.
Aunt Petunia raised a grey brow. ‘No need to get bossy about it.’
This could be a very interesting day, Oliver thought.
‘Is your Lady Blackbird going to be there?’ Aunt Petunia asked when they had finally got underway. ‘I have read that she made a lovely study at the park yesterday. Not sure what it was that she was studying, especially at a park. Black birds I assume.’
Oliver sat forward. ‘It is Lady Blackhurst, and where did you read that?’
She looked at Oliver. ‘Blackhurst? Henry did not like her husband. Said he was despicable and someone should put him straight.’
Oliver felt the hair’s on his neck stand up. His conversation with Dalmere at the Wainwright ball coming back to him. ‘Put him straight?’ he asked his aunt. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘Well, let me see. It was some time ago but I do remember he came in all agitated like he had on a badly starched shirt and it was bothering him. He was pacing up and down fit to wear out my rug. I told him to sit down or buy me a new rug.’
‘And?’
‘And?’ His aunt raised her brow in some confusion.
‘What else did he say about Blackhurst?’ He was dreading the answer.
‘Oh, yes, Henry. He said the man deserved some lead shot. I didn’t quite understand why he wanted to give him such a thing when Blackhurst was obviously rich enough to purchase his own.’
Mrs Turner looked at Oliver and then at his aunt before saying, ‘I don’t think he meant it quite like that, my lady.’
She waved her hand as if dismissing Mrs Turner’s announcement. ‘He wanted to run away with her and all. I told him not to be so ridiculous. One does not run off with another man’s wife even if the husband was a disgusting excuse for a human being, which is what Henry said he was. He was quite adamant he was going to save the…lady.’
‘That would be Lady Blackhurst. I remember you telling me about Henry’s affections for her,’ Oliver said, but he was feeling deflated and more than a little confused. Every indication suggested that Henry wanted to kill Blackhurst, had maybe even planned to do it. The question was whether his usually mild-mannered brother would have actually pulled the trigger?
‘If her name is Blackhurst why on earth is she called the Black Bird?’
‘They call her the Black Raven, Aunt. It is just a pet name the ton has given her,’ he explained. His mind still coming to terms with his aunt’s words. He knew she was not always with him in the present but her long-term memory seemed to be very much intact.
‘Eh? She has a pet raven? Well, I don’t think that is an appropriate pet for a young lady. She should get a dog.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, Aunt.’
And so the questions went on until his aunt fell asleep about five minutes later. He was thankful for the silence. He loved his aunt dearly but he was beginning to think bringing her to the luncheon was a bad idea. What if she brought up Henry and his feelings for Lisbeth whilst talking to her? What if she brought up Blackhurst? How would Lisbeth react? He would make that Mrs Turner paid close attention when he was not there and make sure to distract his aunt if she brought up Blackhurst or Henry.
When they arrived at Fortesque House, they made their way slowly to a light airy room. Again he was awestruck by the amazing fresco on the ceiling of the main hall, but again, time and duty prevented him from being able to truly appreciate it. French doors opened wide, inviting one to wander in the extensive garden beyond. A few couples were taking advantage of the opportunity to explore while a little sun poked through the eve
r present clouds.
Oliver helped Mrs Turner settle his aunt before looking around for Lisbeth.
His eyes went straight to her. She stood with her sister, looking at a miniature. She was smiling down at the palm-sized painting in her hand. Marie was laughing. He could only assume it was Marie’s son they were looking at.
Lisbeth was the most striking woman he had ever seen and it amazed him how he always felt this way on seeing her. When she sensed him looking at her she met his eyes across the room. His heart stopped at the sight of her. Her hair curled around her face in delightful ringlets. Oh, how his fingers burned to feel the silky texture of those ebony strands. Had it only been a few hours since he had been with her last? He felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He knew his heart was in danger but still needed the heat of the blaze. When she smiled his way he knew he was doomed but didn’t care. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her, Lady Fortesque and her luncheon, be damned.
Her gaze never left his. He watched as she said something to Marie, who looked up, smiled, and then whispered something in her sister’s ear before leaving her. Lisbeth moved gracefully across the room oblivious it seemed to the myriad of obstacles in her way, most at knee height. She navigated around the furniture with ease and Oliver was left to watch her in awe.
‘Ah, now I see why you are so smitten, Bellamy,’ Aunt Petunia remarked.
‘She is beautiful,’ Mrs Turner agreed.
She is mine! He wanted to shout it out for the whole room to hear, hell, for all London to hear. Instead he said, ‘She is exquisite.’
He took two paces forward and met her on the rug. She took his offered arm with a raised brow. ‘You look like you’re up to something.’
He grinned as he took her for a small turn around the room. ‘So suspicious. I just wanted a moment alone with you before I introduce my aunt.’
‘Oh, really?’ she asked, raising a brow.
He gave her one of his half smiles then looked at his aunt who was waving them over. ‘She is adorable but she can also be a little confused. Not all the time but sometimes she…forgets things, says things without thinking.’
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