A Truth Revealed

by Lucy Adams

  “Oh!” Lady Callander’s eyes flared and he instinctively looked down, thinking he had stood on her foot or some such thing, only for her to squeeze his hand, his head lifting at once. “Yes?”

  “He has left the dance floor early,” Lady Callander breathed, as they stepped back into their first positions, one hand outstretched towards his, their palms pressed together as they turned first to the right and then to the left. “The lady he was dancing with looked greatly concerned.”

  Sebastian felt a great swell of satisfaction rising up within him. “Then it is as we hoped,” he told her, as she looked up at him. “Lord Chesterfield has been caught by the note from Madame Bereford and will soon be making his way there.”

  Lady Callander drew in a long breath, just as he took her in his arms again. “Then we must soon take our leave,” she said, softly, as he nodded. “I feel both excitement and anxiety, I confess.”

  “As do I,” he admitted, truthfully. “But he will not be able to hide the truth from us now. We will know it all, Lady Callander, and then the fog of confusion and darkness that has kept us bound for these last few days will release us and disperse entirely.” He smiled at her, stepping back and bowing low as the music came to an end. “Shall we depart?” Rising from his bow, he offered her his arm which she took at once.

  “Yes,” she murmured, as he saw Lady Madeline standing by the side of the room, her eyes wide as she shifted from foot to foot, her gown swishing this way and that. “It appears that Lady Madeline has noticed Lord Chesterfield’s departure also!”

  He chuckled, feeling his anticipation about what would soon occur beginning to rise up within him. “Indeed,” he agreed, with a smile. “As I am sure have the others from the League.” He reached across and settled his hand over hers as it rested on his arm. “Come tomorrow, it will be as though we have stepped into a brand new day and I, for one, am greatly looking forward to such a thing.”

  “As am I,” Lady Callander replied, softly, just as they reached Lady Madeline. “As am I, Lord Millerton.”

  The streets and alleyways of London were very different in the darkness of the night, Sebastian had to admit. They had taken his carriage a short distance, but then had alighted and hailed a hackney, for he had been quite certain that taking a hackney to Madame Bereford’s establishment would be wiser than taking his beautiful carriage.

  Now, they sat in silence as the hackney rolled along the dark streets, seeing the figures running this way and that, a faint glow of a fire coming from one end of the street. This was the darker part of London, the place where all manner of things took place. Hateful, vulgar things that Sebastian would naturally have kept well away from. He could tell by the wide-eyed look of Lady Madeline that she had never before been in such a place, for her breathing was quick and her gaze darted from here to there as her fingers twisted together in her lap. Lady Callander, on the other hand, was not even looking out of the window. Instead, she sat quietly across from him, her hands in her lap but without any tightness or strain present. Her eyes lowered, her breathing steady. The dim light from the fire and dull lanterns outside allowed the shadows to flicker across her features, and even as he watched her, Sebastian felt his heart fill with an even deeper affection than before.

  An affection that spoke of love. Love that would not be pushed away, nor kept hidden. Love that would demand that he take Lady Callander as his wife, so that he could always have her by his side, so that he could provide her with the home and perhaps the family that she might wish for. Their first meeting had been so very awkward, but once he had pushed through that, once he had found himself back in her company, conversing and smiling as she did so, he had discovered that ease of manner that had been there before. She had always been so kind and compassionate, and yet had such a strength of will that he found himself admiring her.

  “I think we have arrived.”

  Plucked from his thoughts, Sebastian looked out of the window, finding a lantern with a small candle flickering within it standing next to a small sign that read ‘Madame’s House’. He grimaced. He had seen it when he had come here with Lord Hearst and had felt his stomach twist at the sight. It was not a house, not a home. It was a sordid business and one that he would look forward to bringing to a close if he could.

  “Quietly now.”

  He climbed out first, looking all about him for a moment, before reaching up to take the hand of Lady Madeline and thereafter, Lady Callander. Lady Callander did not let go of his hand but rather held onto it as they moved towards the door, which was flanked by two rather large looking gentlemen.

  Sebastian cleared his throat, his brow furrowing. He could not make them out in the darkness but knew that they had not been present before when he had first come here.

  “Good evening,” he said, as quietly as he could. “I come in search of Madame Bereford.”

  A small chuckle left the throat of one of the men and Sebastian frowned.

  “We had to dispose of the two guards, Lord Millerton,” said the first man, making Sebastian’s brows lift in surprise, his laughter ragged as it escaped from him as he recognized the voice of Lord Hearst.

  “You did not recognize us, then?” Lord Hearst continued, stepping forward to slap Sebastian on the back. “That is good. Lord Chesterfield did not notice us either.”

  Immediately, the smile faded from Sebastian’s face as he looked at his friend steadily, trying to make out his features in the dim light. “Then he has gone inside?”

  “He has,” Lord Windsor replied, stepping away from his post as the second guard. “He did not so much as look at us. In fact, he appeared very anxious indeed.”

  Sebastian nodded, turning to see a few others moving out of the shadows towards them. His heart lifted. This was what it meant to be a part of the League. To have the other gentlemen ready to help, to step forward, to be present when it was required of them. “Then it is time,” he said, firmly. “Lord Hearst, Lord Windsor and Lord Lexington. If you would come in with me, then I would ask the others to remain at every door and window, ready to ensure that Lord Chesterfield nor Madame Bereford can make their escape.”

  There was a murmur of acknowledgement, only for Lady Callander to clear her throat loudly. When he looked at her, she lifted her hands.

  “You surely do not expect myself and Lady Madeline to remain out of doors?” she said, a little stiffly. “Whether you would wish for it or not, Lord Millerton, we are going to attend with you.”

  He grinned, reached out, took her hand and brought it to his lips.

  “But of course you are,” he said, warmly, smiling at her. “Come then, let us go in together.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Good evening, Madame Bereford!”

  Bridgette winced inwardly as she and Lady Madeline hurried into a room directly behind Lord Millerton. Only moments ago, he had thrown the door open wide, making it hit off the wall as it swung back, before striding into the room as though he were meant to be there.

  Behind her came Lord Lexington, Lord Hearst and Lord Windsor, the latter of whom shut the door tightly and then leaned back against it, his arms crossed. Bridgette allowed her gaze to run around the room. It was lit with only a few candles, a small fire burning in the hearth which made the room feel uncomfortably hot. There were large tapestries running down the walls which were ornate in their depictions, and a thick piled rug was at her feet. To one end of the room, there sat a very large desk, one which a gentleman might own, with only a few chairs scattered here and there, as though Madame Bereford did not expect to be entertaining a good many visitors at any one time.

  Her gaze moved to the lady herself. She was standing behind the desk, her hands planted on it, leaning forward over it. Her eyes were narrowed and as sharp as daggers, her mouth twisted in a cruel smile. Her white blonde hair was twisted into a style that pulled it back from her face almost entirely, save for a few stray curls that artfully danced around her temples.

  Bridgette was quite c
ertain that Madame Bereford held a beauty that no other lady could boast of, but there was a cruelty within those eyes that she could not help but see and it was that which made her shudder.

  Lord Chesterfield, who had been sitting in a chair opposite the desk from where Madame Bereford stood, had a stricken expression on his face. His hands were tight on the arms of the chair, his head twisted around to look at them all, and as his gaze fell on her, Bridgette saw something shift in his expression. His jaw worked furiously, his eyes holding a spark of anger that had not been there before.

  And then, much to her shock, Bridgette realized that there was another gentleman seated across from Lord Chesterfield, also facing Madame Bereford. He was, it seemed, quite relaxed, his eyes fixed to the lady before him rather than looking back at any of them.

  “We do not have a meeting, Lord Millerton,” Madame Bereford said, her voice low and filled with sweetness despite the flint in her eyes. “You must depart at once.”

  Lord Millerton shook his head, gesturing for the others to come a little further inside, save for Lord Windsor who remained where he was. “We have come at precisely the right time, Madame Bereford,” he said, as the lady frowned hard at him. “We have come to speak to both you and Lord Chesterfield.”

  Bridgette moved closer towards Lord Millerton, gesturing to the other man in the chair. With how Lord Millerton had been standing, he had not seen him at the first and, as he did now, he started violently, only for her to hear his swift intake of breath.

  “And Lord Cambleton,” he said, softly, making Bridgette’s eyes flare with astonishment as she recognized the gentleman. “Goodness, I did not think it would be you.” A small chuckle escaped him as they all saw Lord Chesterfield sink back into his chair a little, his eyes still angry. “You did not think that note really came from Madame Bereford, did you, Lord Chesterfield?”

  “This is ridiculous!” Lord Chesterfield practically threw himself from his chair, pointing one finger at Lord Millerton. “We are friends, you and I. What do you mean by setting up this sort of situation?”

  There was nothing but silence for a few moments. Bridgette held her breath, waiting to see what Lord Millerton would say and wondering if he felt any pain at having to speak to his friend in such a manner.

  “We were friends,” he admitted, quietly, “up until the day I heard that you have picked up something more in your recent shipping routes.” His eyes fixed to Lord Chesterfield, who said nothing in reply to this, his brow furrowing. Bridgette did not truly understand what Lord Millerton meant, wondering if this was nothing more than a hunch which Lord Millerton had chosen to pursue.

  “I do not know of what you speak!” Lord Chesterfield threw up his hands without warning, turning to stride towards the door. “Good evening to you all.”

  Lord Windsor chuckled, remaining steadfast and solid as he stood by the door. “I do not think you will easily be able to make me open this door for you, Chesterfield,” he said, his voice low and yet filled with what sounded like good humor. “Although you are most welcome to try.”

  Bridgette took in the two gentlemen, seeing Lord Chesterfield take a step back, as though assessing the situation. Lord Windsor was not overly tall but had a stockiness that clearly made Lord Chesterfield consider whether or not he would have enough strength to be able to physically remove Lord Windsor from his post.

  Evidently, he did not think so for, with a sigh, he turned back to Madame Bereford.

  “There is nothing you can accuse me of,” he said, stoutly, his arms folded across his chest. “I merely came to visit Madame Bereford’s establishment, that is all.”

  Bridgette could not help but laugh, the sound sticking to her throat as Lord Chesterfield whirled around, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her.

  “You cannot truly expect us to believe such a thing,” she told him, summoning her courage. “You are throwing a ball this evening, Lord Chesterfield! We have all been present at it!” She tipped her head and looked at him, seeing his lip curl but finding no fear within her heart. “Are you truly trying to suggest that you have left all of your guests and your responsibilities as host in order to come and gain a little pleasure from Madame Bereford’s house?” She held Lord Chesterfield’s gaze, caring very little for his reaction towards her. “Or is it more that you needed to discuss ‘The Rose’?” She mentioned the name of the ship that both Lord Chesterfield and Madame Bereford had spoken of at one time and saw Lord Chesterfield start in surprise, his arms loosening as his hands fell to his sides. Madame Bereford had not moved from her desk, and Lord Cambleton was sitting watching, as though he were at the theatre and watching a play being performed directly in front of him.

  “And you might also tell us why you killed Lord Hazelton,” Lady Madeline interjected, her voice a little higher than usual. “What excuse can you give for such a heinous act?” She jerked her head away from Lord Chesterfield, as though unable to even look at him — and Bridgette saw Lord Chesterfield stumble forward, one hand reaching out towards Lady Madeline as though he could not bear the thought of her thinking so ill of him.

  “I — I did not kill him!” he stammered, staring after Lady Madeline as though she was the only thing of importance in the room. “I swear to you I did not. It was only when he began to question the identity of Lord Callander that I — ”

  “Do be quiet, man.”

  Lord Cambleton’s voice was low and threatening and Lord Chesterfield fell silent at once, his face going a deep scarlet.

  “I see,” Lord Millerton murmured, turning to look at Lord Cambleton. “Then it was you who did such a thing.” He moved a little closer towards Lord Cambleton, who merely steepled his fingers and looked up at Lord Millerton with interest. “You made certain that Lord Hazelton could not speak of what he knew to Lady Callander, did you not?”

  Lord Cambleton let out another long sigh. “Again,” he said, a little plaintively, “I do not know what you speak of.”

  “Miss Sarah told me what she had to do,” Bridgette interrupted, before she could think to do otherwise. She pinned her gaze to Madame Bereford who, after a moment, lifted her hands from where they had been flat on the desk in front of her and set them in front of her lap, her head cocked just a little, as though she was a curious bird looking to discover whether or not Bridgette was friend or foe.

  “Miss Sarah told me that you had demanded she draw close to Lord Hazelton and that anything he said to her was to be passed on to you.” Her lips quirked despite herself. “But you did not expect her to come to care for Lord Hazelton, did you?”

  Madame Bereford let out a bark of laughter. “There is no such thing as love and affection with my ladies,” she said, mockingly. “There is only pretense.”

  “No,” Bridgette replied, softly. “You are mistaken, Madame Bereford. Miss Sarah told me everything. She cared for Lord Hazelton and thus, did not tell you all that he spoke to her about.” There came a silence in the room and Bridgette used it to her advantage, seeing the anger spark in Madame Bereford’s eyes, seeing the way her lips pulled flat. “You beat that girl until she told you something, although I know that she did not tell you all.”

  “You told these two men that Lord Hazelton had begun to suspect that the gentleman he had known as Lord Callander was not, in fact, the Earl of Callander. And thus, he had to be silenced, before he could work out the rest,” Lord Hearst said, taking a few small steps forward and standing a little closer to Lady Madeline. “Who was it that pretended to be Lord Callander?” He looked from one gentleman to the other. “Ah, it must have been you, Lord Cambleton. After all, you are only a baron from Scotland — thus, you do not have a great deal of significance within society. You could easily pretend to be the Earl of Callander to anyone you wished. And you chose Lord Hazelton in order to procure money from him.”

  “Lord Hazelton would certainly consider matters with a good deal more seriousness if it came from an Earl rather than a mere Baron,” Lord Millerton added, his eyes drifting fr
om Lord Cambleton to Lord Chesterfield. “And given that Lord Callander was something of a recluse and had never come to London, you thought your plan to be quite successful.”

  “You did not attend balls or soirees, I think,” Lord Windsor stated, from where he stood against the door. “Rather, you kept your meetings with Lord Hazelton confined to private meetings and mayhap only accompanied him to Whites when he was already a little jolly from the evening’s entertainment.” One shoulder lifted. “That way, if he referred to you as Lord Callander in front of those who knew you, you would simply be able to laugh at his drunkenness.”

  Lord Cambleton’s lips curled into a sneer. “You speak a lot of rot,” he snarled, darkly.

  “I do not think so,” Lord Windsor replied, quite politely. “Instead, I believe that I speak the truth, even if I am assuming a good deal.” He tilted his head and looked at Lord Cambleton steadily. “You are the falsifier.”

  Bridgette caught her breath, one finger pointed out towards Lord Cambleton. “Lord Hazelton informed me that the man he believed to be my husband had both a thick beard and full moustache,” she said, hoarsely. “You covered your appearance as best you could.” She eyed him carefully. “Perhaps ensure that your frame was a little thicker when it came to your ruse.”

  Lord Cambleton narrowed his eyes, one finger pointing out towards her and Bridgette felt a shudder run straight through her. “You know nothing.”

  “Give it up, old boy.”

  Stunned, Bridgette whirled around to see Lord Chesterfield slumping back in his chair, his eyes downcast, his chin on his chest and his hands resting loosely on the arms of his chair.

  “Denying it will do no good,” Lord Chesterfield continued, heavily. “They are wise to your pretense.”

  Lord Cambleton went almost sheet white, before the heat rushed back into his face, turning him a dark crimson. With a shout of outrage, he made for Lord Chesterfield, only for Lord Millerton to step directly in his path.