A Truth Revealed

by Lucy Adams

  “Lord Hazelton did not have any particular favorites.”

  He stiffened, disappointment roaring through him. One glance towards Lord Hearst told him that the gentleman felt a good deal of disappointment also, for his gaze was downcast and his brow furrowed.

  “Are you quite certain, Madame?” he asked, as firmly as he could. “I have heard otherwise.”

  Lord Hearst looked up and Madame Bereford quickly looked from one to the other, her eyes now as hard as flint.

  “You wish to suggest that one of my ladies is responsible for the death of Lord Hazelton?” she asked, one eyebrow arching. “I shall not accept it from you, gentlemen.”

  “No, no, we do not want any such thing!” Sebastian exclaimed, throwing up his hands for good measure. “Rather we would only seek to speak to such a lady, to see if Lord Hazelton said anything to her of note — or if other gentlemen came to her, asking her what Lord Hazelton had said.”

  Madame Bereford’s eyes flashed. “My ladies are not indiscreet.”

  “Might we speak to her?” Lord Hearst asked, making it quite plain that they knew that Lord Hazelton had a specific young lady to whom he liked to give his attentions to. “It would not be for long.”

  “And we would be more than contented for you to wait with her, of course,” Sebastian added, watching Madame Bereford with eager eyes. “Please, Madame. We only wish to find out the truth about what has happened to our dear friend.” He emphasized the word, wondering if the lady would be convinced by emotion but fearing that it would do no good whatsoever.

  Eventually, Madame Bereford, saying nothing to either of them, rose to her feet, walking to the corner of the room and, there, pulling on a cord. Then, she folded her arms across her chest, her eyes still fixed to Sebastian and Lord Hearst as though she expected them to do something foolish that she might be quite unable to prevent.

  “My lady?”

  Sebastian raised one eyebrow at the servant’s greeting. Madame Bereford was no lady and certainly bore no title but he had to admit that there was something about her that seemed to demand respect, even from himself.

  “Fetch Sarah.”

  His ears pricked up. This was indeed the young lady that the League had mentioned, even though he was quite certain that her true name was something entirely different. He looked at Lord Hearst, who now appeared to be quite encouraged, before turning his head back to look at Madame Bereford.

  She said nothing but continued to study him, her lips tight and her eyes still narrowed. Clearly, she disliked their intrusion, their demand for information, but yet was willing to do so in place of the money they had brought with them.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  Sebastian caught his breath as a willowy young lady, with jet black hair and dark eyes stepped into the room, her steps a trifle faltering.

  “Sarah,” Madame Bereford snapped, as the young lady dropped her head. “Tell me, did Lord Hazelton ever speak to you about particular matters?”

  The young lady lifted her head, glancing over towards Sebastian and Lord Hearst, a look of bewilderment on her face. Her eyes rounded as he gave her a small, encouraging smile, which was quickly followed by a look of fear.

  “No, my lady,” she said quickly, a lilting accent in her voice. “Never.”

  “You can speak truthfully,” Sebastian said, before Madam Bereford could say anything more. “Lord Hazelton is dead.”

  He rose, watching the young lady with sharp eyes, noting how her face crumpled, how her shoulders rounded and how she lowered her chin to her chest. A little surprised at her reaction, he glanced towards Lord Hearst, who merely shrugged, clearly not at all certain as to what to do next.

  “He did not speak to you of any particular matters or concerns, did he?” Sebastian asked, wondering how he would know if the lady told him the truth or not, given that she was hiding her face from him. “Or, if any other gentleman came to you, seeking to discover the very same questions we ask of you now?”

  For a long moment there was silence. Then, eventually, Sarah lifted her head and looked at him directly. There was a steadiness in her gaze he had not expected, a calmness of spirit that surprised him.

  “I have never had any gentlemen ask me about Lord Hazelton,” she said, her voice crisp and clear. “Nor did he ever speak to me about anything in particular.” Her eyes darted towards Madame Bereford for just a moment before returning to him, making Sebastian frown. Madam Bereford was smiling icily at them both, a look of satisfaction growing in her eyes. Evidently, whatever might have been said by Lord Hazelton, they were not about to discover it now.

  “I see,” he said, rising to his feet as Lord Hearst did the same. “Then I thank you for your time, Sarah. And you also, Madame Bereford.” He bowed low and then pulled a card from his pocket. Advancing towards them both, he held the card out to Sarah rather than to Madame Bereford, noting again how she glanced towards Madame Bereford before she took it.

  These young ladies were all quite at her mercy, he thought to himself, finding himself a little sorrowful about such a thing.

  “Just in case you recall anything more,” he told the lady, smiling at her. “Anything at all that might be of use.” He sighed and let his shoulders slump. “After all, we do not want his death to remain unsolved. Rather, we want to discover the truth so that he might be at peace.”

  Sarah looked up at him from below lowered lashes and he felt a sudden flurry of awareness at just how lovely a creature she was.

  “Thank you,” she said simply, her voice quiet but her gaze steady. “If I can remember anything at all, I will, of course, write to you.”

  “I am very grateful to you both for your consideration and your time,” Sebastian said, bowing low as though they were both young ladies of the ton who required such a thing. “We shall take our leave now and not take any more of your time, else I shall be late for my visit to Lady Callander.”

  Madame Bereford’s smile did not reach her eyes. “I thank you,” she said, gesturing towards the door. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  “Good afternoon,” Lord Hearst murmured as together, they made their way from Madame Bereford’s house and stepped out into the sunshine, leaving Madame Bereford and Sarah behind.

  “Well?”

  Sebastian let out a long sigh as he shook his head, seeing the disappointment flare in Lady Callander’s eyes.

  “We discovered very little,” he told her, somewhat disappointed himself. “Madame Bereford did not want to allow us to speak to her girl and thus, we had to make our way very carefully indeed.”

  “And this young lady, this ‘Sarah’,” Lady Callander asked, her eyes fixed to his, “she said nothing?”

  He shook his head. “She said nothing,” he confirmed, a little sadly. “I am quite certain that she was desperately afraid of Madame Bereford and thus would not have said anything to us within her presence, but —”

  “Then mayhap you ought to go to the lady in question without Madame Bereford’s awareness,” Lady Callander interrupted, quickly. “I mean, not you or Lord Hearst, given that she is fully aware as to who you are, but another gentleman from the League.”

  Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Send another gentleman to Madame Bereford’s house,” she said, without even a hint of embarrassment in her features. “And ask him to request or to choose ‘Sarah’.”

  “I see what you mean,” Sebastian said, slowly, his brow lifting. “And instead of doing as Sarah will expect, he can spend the time questioning her about Lord Hazelton.”

  “Precisely.” Lady Callander looked rather satisfied, sitting back in her seat with a small smile teasing her lips. “Although it should not occur for the next sennight or so, simply to ensure that Madame Bereford does not become suspicious of your motives.”

  He nodded quickly. “You are very wise, Lady Callander,” he said, seeing the hint of red brush against her cheeks. “And how have you been?” It had been a few days since they had come acro
ss Lord Hazelton in the park, which he knew had been a great shock to her. That being said, she looked as though she had recovered herself a little, for there was no longer that pale, wane look about her any longer.

  “I am quite well,” she told him, with a small smile. “Although I am frustrated that I have been able to do very little other than go about my business and pray that whoever took Lord Hazelton’s life does not know of what he wrote to me.”

  Sebastian nodded gravely. “The funeral is to take place very soon,” he said, quietly. “There is no rumor that has attached itself to either yourself or I, for which I am grateful for.” Lord Watt had sent some servants to the park once they had informed him of what had happened, and the servants had been able to take a firm grip of the situation. It had been they who had brought Lord Hazelton’s body to his townhouse, allowing his servants to take matters on from there. No-one seemed to have any awareness that it had been Sebastian himself and Lady Callander who had seen Lord Hazelton at the first.

  “I should like to attend,” Lady Callander said, softly. “He was not well known to me but still, I should like to pay my respects.”

  Sebastian nodded. “But of course,” he said, rising to his feet. “I should take my leave of you now.”

  She rose also, although there was something in her eyes that he could not look away from, a flicker of hope that he wanted desperately to answer.

  “You will be attending this evening, I hope?”

  Sebastian smiled, took Lady Callander’s hand in his and bowed over it, the urge to kiss the back of her hand growing ever stronger. Instead, he lifted his head and pressed her fingers. “I am,” he said, speaking of the evening soiree they were to attend, at Lord Lexington’s home. “The League meets the evening after that, and we will discuss all matters at length.” Seeing the question in her eyes, he chuckled. “And I am certain that your presence there will not be rejected, Lady Callander.”

  A look of relief passed over her features as she smiled at him. “I thank you, Lord Millerton,” she said, with such a warmth to her voice that it seemed to fill his very soul. “Until this evening, then.”

  He smiled back at her, finding his feet rather reluctant to step away from her. “I look forward to seeing you again, Lady Callander,” he said, before forcing himself to walk out of the doorway. It would not be long before he saw her again, he told himself, less than eager to return to his own carriage and instead wanting desperately to return to her side, to speak for a little longer, to be in her company for a little more time. Knowing that he was being overly sentimental and perhaps a little foolish, Sebastian shook his head to himself and forced himself to step out of the door and into the waiting carriage.

  Where, much to his astonishment, sat a young lady whom he immediately recognized.

  “Sarah,” he breathed, clutching his heart as he tried to speak clearly, still a little overcome with shock. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  Sarah’s eyes were huge as she looked back at him. “Can you help me?” she whispered, her hand reaching out towards him, only for her to pull it back as though she were afraid of what he might do to her. “I — I am afraid.”

  “Afraid?” he repeated, glancing back towards the door of Lady Callander’s house. “Afraid of what?”

  She shook her head, wordlessly, tears forming in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, only for the sound of a gunshot to catch his attention, spinning his head around. When he turned back to look at Sarah, he saw, to his horror, that she was pressed back against the seat of the carriage, one hand pressed hard to her chest as a flush of red began to spread out across the top of her gown.

  “Sarah!” he exclaimed, reaching out for her and tugging her into his arms. Bellowing for the tiger to open the door, Sebastian took a deep breath and practically ran towards Lady Callander’s door, climbing the steps two at a time. Without any consideration, he kicked the door open, the butler stumbling backwards as he looked in shock at Sebastian.

  “Send for a doctor at once!” Sebastian bellowed, as Lady Callander herself appeared in the hallway, looking at them both with wide eyed astonishment. “Lady Callander, this girl —”

  “Up the stairs,” she interrupted rushing towards him, her skirts held up in both hands. “Lift her up at once.” She reeled off a few more instructions to the rest of her staff before hurrying up after him, her hands tight in her skirts and her face set. Sebastian’s heart was quickening with fright, the lady in his arms now closing her eyes, her breathing ragged.

  “Just hold on,” he whispered to her, his brow furrowing hard as he looked down into her pale face. “Please do not succumb, Miss Sarah.”

  Sebastian followed Lady Callander into another room and gently placed the now unconscious girl down onto the bed, looking down at her with a sense of hopelessness. “What should we do now?”

  Lady Callander leaned over the lady and pressed one hand to her forehead. “We will wait for the doctor,” she said, softly. “For that is all we can do.” She looked at him, her face grave. “For the moment, Lord Millerton, that is all we can do.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bridgette held her breath as the doctor leaned over the unconscious lady in front of her, her fingers tight together and her heart pounding furiously.

  “It appears as though the bullet has gone straight through,” the doctor murmured. “No doubt, Lord Millerton will be able to find it within his carriage, should he look hard enough.”

  “I will inform him at once,” she murmured, without making any attempt to leave the room. Lord Millerton had been covered in the young lady’s blood and so had decided to return home quickly in order to change his shirt before returning. Her staff were already waiting for her every demand and he had made the butler promise that he would not let anyone come into the house save for him.

  Bridgette appreciated his consideration, his urgent desire to keep her safe, but her main concern was now solely fixed on the lady in her guest bedroom.

  “She may recover,” the doctor said, slowly, looking back at Bridgette from over the top of small pince-nez. “Only time will tell.”

  Bridgette shook her head, unwilling to accept that remark. “What can I do to help her? “she asked, as the doctor shrugged.

  “You should keep her as comfortable as possible,” he said, with a sigh. “I have sewn up the hole where the bullet entered.” Then he let out another small sigh and shook his head. “Although I am glad to say that the bullet has not decided to linger in the lady’s skin, I cannot promise that she will recover, my lady.”

  Bridgette nodded but said nothing, looking at the lady Sarah in her bed, wondering at the darkness that seemed to now creep into the room. She did not know where Lord Millerton had come across the lady, why she had been in Lord Millerton’s company nor where she had come from, but she fully trusted Lord Millerton and thus had not had any time nor inclination to demand answers from him.

  “The dressing must be changed in only a few hours,” the doctor continued, packing up his things. “Give her some broth or some such things if she awakens.”

  “If she awakens?” she repeated, with a frown. “You mean to say —"

  “It is in the Lord’s hands,” the doctor interrupted, snapping his bag shut with a small click. “Good afternoon, Lady Callander.”

  “Good afternoon,” Bridgette murmured, finding it very difficult to say anything more. The thought of the lady succumbing to her injuries, of dying within Bridgette’s own house was almost more than she could bear. The doctor left without another word, and whilst the butler inquired as to whether or not Bridgette wanted anything, she sent him away without any particular response.

  Walking towards the bed, she looked down at the young lady. ‘Sarah’, if that was her real name, was lying in bed with her eyes closed and dark purple circles underneath her eyes. Here and there, her rouge and her eyeshadow was smudged, speaking of a young lady who had run away from Madam Bereford’s house without much consideration. Perhaps she had seized
the only moment she had, hurrying away without even thinking about what she might do or where she might go.

  “Lady Callander?”

  She looked up swiftly from where she stood at Sarah’s bedside. “You have returned, then,” she murmured, as Lord Millerton came closer to her, his eyes fixed to the lady in the bed. “The doctor has only just left.”

  “Yes , indeed,” he answered, quietly. “He informed me of Sarah’s condition.”

  Bridgette let out a long breath, her eyes downcast and her shoulders heavy as they slumped down over her shoulders.

  “Let us hope she recovers,” he continued, coming nearer to Bridgette and pressing her hand with his warm one. “I do not know why she came to me, why she was waiting in my carriage, but she said to my tiger that it was a matter of great urgency.”

  “And someone did not want her to speak of what she knew,” Bridgette murmured, as Lord Millerton nodded gravely. “They must have followed her. You — ” She bit her lip hard as her eyes fixed to his, widening with a sudden horror. “What if the perpetrator now wants to ensure that Sarah can never speak a single word again? What if he comes into this house?”

  Lord Millerton frowned heavily, his brow furrowed. “You are quite correct,” he said, slowly. “There is now an increased danger in this house.”

  “And to you,” she told him, quickly, her fingers lacing with his. “The person would surely know that you were in the carriage with her, that you were the one who spoke to her earlier today.” She watched Lord Millerton closely, seeing how his gaze drifted from hers for a moment or two, considering. Then, he let out a long breath, sighing and nodding in agreement.