A Truth Revealed

by Lucy Adams

  Closing her eyes, Bridgette took in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This was not at all what she had expected and certainly had never even thought that Lord Hazelton could be facing such danger!

  “We must return to the carriage.”

  Lord Millerton’s hands took hers, holding them tightly as she tried to pull herself from the coldness that seemed now to wrap itself around her. It was as though a fog had rushed around her, making it hard to see and to hear and to even feel anything other than shock.

  “Lady Callander — Bridgette,” Lord Millerton said, urgently, squeezing her hands and bending his head low so that he might look into her eyes a little more. “You must return to the carriage.”

  “Is he dead?” she found herself whispering, even though she knew it was so already. “Has he been killed?”

  Lord Millerton held her gaze, then nodded. “It appears so,” he said, his mouth in a thin line. “There was a knife protruding from his chest.”

  Bridgette sucked in a breath, shuddering furiously as she closed her eyes tightly and tried to accept what she had been told. “Who would have done such a thing?”

  “I could not say at present,” he answered, slowly, “but there is a good deal that I now need to discuss with the League.”

  She looked up at him sharply, a moment of clarity brushing through her and chasing away the fog that had been holding her for so long. “The League?” she repeated. “You said before that there was something about Lord Hazelton that they sought to learn more about.” Seeing him nod, she took in a deep breath. “Then, I should like to be a part of such an investigation.”

  “No, Lady Callander,” Lord Millerton said at once. “Last Season, you were in some danger from —”

  “You are very kind to try and protect me,” she interrupted him, a trifle stiffly, “but I will not be dissuaded. Lord Hazelton knew something about my late husband that he wanted to share with me. In addition, you have something about him that you must also look into.” She put one hand on his, as though her touch might convince him. “What if both are connected in some way?”

  He hesitated, then pressed her hand. “Let us first remove you from this scene,” he said, firmly, beginning to hurry her back towards the carriage. “No doubt someone else will soon notice him and we do not want there to be anyone who might connect your name with this dread situation.”

  She shuddered violently again as he led her away, going with him without hesitation. Her feet felt as though they were floating on top of the grass, her whole body feeling lighter than air such was her shock. Bridgette could not even recall walking back to the carriage, for the next thing she knew, she was sitting opposite Lord Millerton and being driven back through London.

  “Where — where are we to go?” she asked, in a small voice, her eyes lifting to Lord Millerton’s and seeing the concern etched in his expression. “You will not leave me at my townhouse alone?”

  Lord Millerton did not immediately answer, perhaps considering what he was to say next.

  “You have suffered a great shock,” he said, gently. “I think that it would be best if you —”

  “No, pray do not think that you know what is best for me!”

  The sharpness of her voice had startled him, she could tell. His eyes flared, his color paling for a moment and his lips pulling taut. She did not drop her gaze, holding his eyes with her own, her hands clenched in her lap. She meant every word, not wanting him to think that he knew what she required and deciding on her behalf what would be best. She was very well able to decide what she needed and, what she needed for the time being, was to be able to discuss what she had just seen and what the League knew of Lord Hazelton.

  “Very well, Lady Callander,” Lord Millerton murmured, quietly. “Then might I suggest that we go to Lord Watts’ townhouse to see if he is able to receive us?”

  She nodded mutely, her fingers a little less tight now. Staring blankly out of the window, she tried desperately to work out what it was that Lord Hazelton had wanted to say to her as regarded her late husband. Why had he needed to meet with her so urgently? It was clear that, from the three notes, he had believed himself to be in danger, but she had never once expected him to be killed because of it! Was it to do with the information about her husband that had brought about his death? Or was it because of whatever it was the League knew of him?

  “Do not worry, Lady Callander,” Lord Millerton said, in a soft voice, as she glanced back at him, seeing the quiet gentleness in his expression. “We shall discover the truth. Lord Hazelton’s death will not remain a mystery.”

  “I hope so,” she said, finding her voice barely louder than a whisper. “For I cannot bear it if he has lost his life because of me.”

  Lord Millerton said nothing but instead reached across and touched her hand, his fingers gentle on hers and providing her with so much comfort that she wanted to break into tears. Instead, she took in a steadying breath and set her shoulders, returning her gaze to the window. She was going to go the League and, together, they would find out the truth.

  She could not even consider any other alternative.

  “Goodness.”

  Lord and Lady Watt sat together, each with a horror-struck expression on their faces.

  “I cannot quite believe it,” Lady Watt said, as Bridgette swallowed hard, feeling a little more like herself now that she had arrived at the house and had taken a few small sips of some excellent brandy. “Lord Hazelton? Dead?”

  “I am sure of it,” Lord Millerton said, heavily. “I saw him with my own eyes. I am afraid I had to leave him, given that I had to take Lady Callander away from there almost at once.”

  Lord Watt nodded. “Of course,” he said, getting up to ring the bell. “You could not remain there, Lady Callander, given that there might very well have been danger lingering nearby.”

  “And so that you did not have any gossip attaching itself to you thereafter,” Lady Watt added, just as the door opened and the butler stood to attention. Bridgette turned to see Lord Watt rise to his feet and then go to the butler to speak to him in low tones, before turning her head back towards Lady Watt, who was watching her with concern in her eyes.

  “And you do not know what it was that he wanted to speak to you of?” Lady Watt asked, as she leaned forward in her chair just a fraction, her eyes fixed to Bridgette’s.

  Bridgette shook her head. “It was something to do with my late husband,” she said, as Lord Watt came to sit back down. “He was convinced that the person he knew as Lord Callander was not the gentleman that I knew.”

  Lady Watt frowned. “How odd,” she said, slowly. “And yet the League wished to know more about him for an entirely different reason.” Quickly, she told Bridgette all that the League knew about Lord Hazelton, filling her with a good deal of astonishment.

  “I see,” she murmured, glancing at Lord Millerton, who flushed and dropped his head. “And have you gone to speak to Madame Bereford as yet?”

  Lord Millerton shook his head. “No,” he said, quietly. “Not as yet.”

  Bridgette let out a sigh, rubbing at her forehead with one hand. “Then it appears there is more to Lord Hazelton than we knew,” she said, softly. “I must confess, I am greatly troubled with all that has occurred. I was confused by his description of my husband and was rather eager to know what it was he wanted to say to me about him. At first, I thought him jesting or confused, but he was so determined that I…..” Closing her eyes, she dragged in a steadying breath, refusing to allow herself to give in to tears. “I must be a part of this. I must find out the truth.”

  Opening her eyes, she saw Lord Watt exchange a glance with Lord Millerton, who gave a small shrug.

  “You know of the League, given your involvement with Miss Hemmingway and Lord Franks last Season,” Lord Watt said, after a moment or two. “You know that it can be exceedingly dangerous.”

  She nodded. “And yet it is not something I shy away from,” she told him, frankly. “If there is so
mething I should know about my late husband, if there is some confusion over the sort of gentleman he was, then I must know the truth.”

  Lord Millerton gave a small shake of his head. “There is no promise that we will ever discover it, Lady Callander,” he said, quietly. “What if Lord Hazelton was killed by someone who feared he might speak of something this young lady, ‘Sarah’ has said to him?”

  “Then I shall accept it,” she said, quickly, “but I cannot believe it to be true. Why else would he then have sent three notes to me, with a different time and place, only to then send a street boy to confirm which one I ought to follow? It was clearly something of great importance, was it not?”

  Her words hung in the air for a moment and, eventually, Lord Millerton nodded.

  “Yes, I suppose that is an understandable conclusion,” he admitted, softly. “Lord Watt?”

  Lord Watt opened his mouth, only for Lady Watt to place her hand over his. He looked across at her, a little startled, seeing how she nodded at him. He took in a breath and then returned his gaze to Bridgette.

  “Then it seems we are all in agreement,” he said, eventually. “Yes, Lady Callander, you may be involved in this investigation.”

  Filled with relief, she held Lord Watt’s eyes. “I thank you,” she said, before turning her gaze towards Lord Millerton. “What should we do first?”

  Lord Millerton cleared his throat. “I have still to go to Madame Bereford’s,” he said, a little awkwardly. “Mayhap I ought to call upon her first before we make any further decisions.”

  Lord Watt nodded. “That is a wise idea,” he said, as Bridgette opened her mouth to protest, not wanting to wait for a moment before involving herself. “And it will give you an opportunity to recover yourself a little more, Lady Callander.”

  Closing her mouth tightly, Bridgette tried her best to react graciously, even though that was not at all what she wanted to say.

  “I thank you,” she said, glancing back at Lord Millerton a little anxiously. “Although you will keep me informed of what occurs?”

  “Of course,” Lord Millerton confirmed, with a stern nod of his head. “And you must ensure that your doors and windows are tightly secured each evening, Lady Callander.” His expression was firm, sparking a sudden sense of unease deep within her soul. “Whilst I removed you from the scene very quickly indeed, we cannot know if the perpetrator was still watching.”

  “Indeed,” she whispered, suddenly a little afraid. “I quite understand, Lord Millerton.”

  “Very good,” Lady Watt said, rising to her feet. “Now, Lady Callander, you must return tomorrow to take tea with me. I insist upon it.”

  Bridgette rose also, accepting Lady Watt’s arm.

  “Come and we shall take a turn about the house so that you can restore your strength a little more before it is time for you to depart,” Lady Watt continued, practically. “Your color is a little better, at least.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Bridgette replied, still feeling a little wobbly as she walked with Lady Watt. “I confess I am still a little overcome.” She let out a slightly shaky laugh. “Even though I saw a good deal last Season, I appear not to have any mettle at all.”

  “You have more than enough mettle,” Lady Watt replied, firmly, patting her hand. “Now, come along and let us talk about something different, so that your mind is removed from what you have seen.”

  Bridgette allowed Lady Watt to lead her along, listening to her speak about something entirely banal and feeling her heart settle a little more. It had been a horrendous thing that had occurred but here, secure in the knowledge that the League would do all they could to help and quite certain that, in the end, they would be able to find out the truth in its entirety. She could not live with anything other than that.

  Chapter Six

  “Madame Bereford.”

  Sebastian bowed low, Lord Hearst by his side.

  “Good evening, my lords.” It was as if she emerged out of the shadows, wrapped in a deep red satin gown and shawl. Her white blonde hair gave her an ethereal appearance, tied up at the back of her head with gentle curls tumbling down around her ears. She had slanted dark blue eyes and a gentle twist to her lips that could either be a gentle moue or an angry pursing of the lips. “Is this your first time here?”

  Lord Hearst cleared his throat. “We do not come in search of pleasure this evening, Madame Bereford.”

  She did not move and her expression did not change, save for a small arching of her brow which Sebastian thought spoke of a flicker of curiosity.

  “Then you are not interested in any of my ladies?” she asked, a small purr to her voice. “How very strange.” Her eyes glittered. “I have even had some new ladies come from the ship ‘The Rose’ this very afternoon.” Her lips twisted and Sebastian could not quite make out whether or not she was laughing at him. “Can you not find even a flicker of interest now?”

  Sebastian put both hands behind his back, smelling something sweet and yet a little smoky at the same time. It caught at the back of his throat, making him cough a little. Madame Bereford only smiled, her eyes fixed to his.

  “We do intend to recompense you for your time, Madame,” he said, his throat still a little tight. “Might you be willing to speak to us for a moment?”

  She considered this for a moment or two, making Sebastian and Lord Hearst remain quite silent as they waited, feeling as though they were on the edge of a precipice, waiting for her to reach out to them.

  Eventually, Madame Bereford sat down quietly, her skirts swishing gently as she gestured for them to seat themselves also. Relieved, Sebastian sat down quickly, as did Lord Hearst. There was still a sense of awkward tension growing in the room, like a dark cloud spreading out above their heads. Sebastian held his breath as the lady arched one eyebrow at him, looking from Lord Hearst to him and back again.

  “What is it that you wish to ask of me?” she said, a little tartly. “If it is to sell you one of my ladies, then I can assure you that I have no intention of doing any such thing.”

  Shaking his head quickly, Sebastian let out a long breath. “No, indeed not,” he said, emphatically. “I have no intention of asking such a thing. Rather —” he exchanged a glance with Lord Hearst, “we seek information.”

  Madame Bereford narrowed her eyes. “Information?” Her tone changed in an instant, now lower and holding a pinch of anger. “I do not sell information, about either my ladies or my clients.”

  “An admirable position, of course,” Sebastian said, quickly, “but would you hold such a position if the person in question was deceased?”

  “Could we not tempt you then?” Lord Hearst added, a trifle too breezily for Sebastian’s liking. “After all, there is nothing that need worry you, given that the fellow is quite gone.”

  Madame Bereford kept her narrowed gaze fixed to Lord Hearst, who, after a few moments, dropped his own eyes to the floor, clearly somewhat discomfited by her eagle-like stare. Sebastian kept his own counsel, wisely choosing to remain quiet until Madame Bereford decided to speak.

  “I would know the name of this gentleman,” she eventually said, turning her eyes to Sebastian rather than continuing to watch the now cowed Lord Hearst. “And I will not promise to say even a single word about him as yet.”

  “But of course,” Sebastian said, easily. “It is a Lord Hazelton.” He watched the lady closely, looking for any sign of recognition. “Do you recall him?”

  Madame Bereford tipped her head, bird like. “And if I do?”

  Sebastian pulled a pouch from his pocket, the coins jingling cheerfully within. “I would know what he was doing here.”

  In one swift motion, Madame Bereford rose, stepped forward and plucked the pouch from his hand. She laughed at his astonishment, then tipped the coins out one after the other. Counting them twice, she settled them back into the pouch and then resumed her seat. Silence reigned over them for some time, leaving Sebastian feeling as though he were a mouse simply waiting for the
cat to strike.

  “Lord Hazelton came here frequently,” Madame Bereford said, with one delicate lift of her shoulder. “I found him to be both generous and kind.”

  “Kind?” Lord Hearst asked, the word sounding harsh against Madame Bereford’s gentle tones. “What can you mean?”

  Madame Bereford eyed him with something like disdain. “You are not a gentleman who has had any involvement in places such as this, I suppose,” she said, a wry smile twisting her lips that suggested, quite plainly, that she did not believe what she had just stated. “Kind, yes, Lord Hearst. He did not treat any of my ladies ill, did not beat them or injure them in any way.” Her brows furrowed, a thin line forming between them. “They are not all as kind as Lord Hazelton, if you understand my meaning.”

  Lord Hearst had the grace to look abashed. “I understand fully,” he told her, calmly. “And I am somewhat gratified to hear that Lord Hazelton was as you say.”

  “Although you do not approve of his being here in the first place,” Madame Bereford finished, with a glint of steel in her eyes. “Is that not so?”

  Sebastian spread out his hands. “We do not come here to judge, my lady,” he said, truthfully. “Rather we are looking to find out anything we can about him.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “To what end?”

  “To discover why someone might have felt the need to take his life,” Sebastian continued, sitting back in his chair. “Lord Hazelton did not merely become ill, Madame Bereford, but rather he was struck down.” He watched the lady closely but, again, her features remained in the very same position without any sort of change. “We must ask you this — was there a lady here that he often came to see?” A small flare of heat climbed up his neck but he ignored his embarrassment and forged ahead. “Or did he choose a different lady every time he arrived?”

  Madame Bereford tilted her head a little, her eyes fixed to his, assessing him. Her mouth remained in a tight line, her hands still flat in her lap. She gave no outward appearance of what she was thinking, her features seemingly etched in stone rather than flesh and blood. Sebastian held his breath, aware that if the lady told him that Lord Hazelton had no-one in particular, he would know all too well that she was lying and thus would know that there was no good reason to continue the conversation.