by Lucy Adams
“I do not think that is wise,” he murmured, and Bridgette caught her breath as she noticed a small glint of metal held in Lord Millerton’s hand. He was not taking any risks, a knife held gently out before him, which she knew Lord Cambleton noticed. The gentleman took a small step back, his hands raised but anger still coming from him in waves.
“Lord Cambleton pretended to be Lord Callander simply because we needed someone of high standing to convince other gentlemen to give us the financial backing we required,” Lord Chesterfield said, seemingly now nothing more than a damp rag that had been wrung out and left to dry. “That is all. No more, no less.”
Bridgette felt her stomach twist angrily, her face heating as she thought of her late husband. Lord Callander had never been an interesting sort, for he had always pushed away from society, had kept his own counsel and very rarely seemed to take enjoyment from anything. At times, she had thought he eschewed even her company, but she had come to respect him, her fear dying away in the few short months they had lived as man and wife. To know now that someone had been using his name, his title and his influence for their own benefit made her a little angry, although she was not quite sure why.
“You wanted the Earl of Callander to speak to Lord Hazelton, then,” Bridgette breathed, looking directly at Lord Cambleton. “Rather than you yourself, since you are merely a baron.” Her lip curled and Lord Cambleton snarled in response.
“It is only by chance of birth that some are given a greater title than others,” he stated, mockingly. “Your husband I had met on one occasion only and discovered him to be the most dull of all gentlemen.” He laughed and Bridgette’s stomach tightened. “I knew then that we could use his title and his bearing, for he told me, quite specifically, that not only had he never been to London but that he had also no intention of doing so. Thus, my plan was in place and I proceeded with it.” His lips flattening, he sneered at her. “For whatever reason, he decided to come to London after all, ruining all of my plans and forcing my hand!”
A vision of Lord Hazelton, slumped where he sat, flooded Bridgette’s mind. “Then you killed Lord Hazelton,” she whispered, the memory hitting her hard. “You discovered from Madame Bereford that Lord Hazelton thought he had seen Lord Callander again, even though he knew him to be dead.” She jerked backwards as Lord Cambleton took a step closer, only for Lord Millerton to put a hand firmly his arm. “Miss Sarah spoke a warning to Lord Hazelton, and he tried to ensure that our meeting was kept a secret.”
“But you were watching him,” Lord Millerton stated. “You killed him as he sat, waiting for Lady Callander.”
Silence once more flooded the room, the tension building with every single second that passed. Lord Cambleton’s mouth was shut tightly, his eyes darting from one person’s face to the next, as though he were assessing each of them and trying to decide what would be best for him to do. Bridgette shuddered violently, closing her eyes for a moment as a streak of fear ran down her spine. Was she truly standing in the place of a murderer?
“You cannot prove anything.”
Lord Cambleton’s words were thick with malevolence, another shudder running through Bridgette as he spoke.
“Lord Hazelton refused us,” piped up Lord Chesterfield. “If he had simply kept quiet about such things, then his death would not have been entirely necessary.”
Bridgette closed her eyes tightly, a swirl of panic in her chest. So Lord Chesterfield had known that Lord Hazelton would die and yet he had stood beside her and expressed his sorrow about hearing of such a thing. “You killed him so that he could not work out who it was that had been pretending to be my late husband,” she said, quietly, “so that he could not tell me of it.” Opening her eyes, she saw Lord Cambleton’s eyes dart away, his jaw working furiously. “But was that the only purpose? You only sought to keep him from speaking of your ruse?”
Lord Millerton narrowed his gaze towards Lord Chesterfield. “Why did you need Lord Hazelton’s money, Chesterfield?” he asked, angrily. “It involves your ships, I am sure, but I do not know what it is that is required of you.”
Lord Chesterfield let out a long breath, just as Lord Cambleton exclaimed aloud that he was not to say a single word. Out of the corner of her eye, Bridgette noticed that Madame Bereford was slowly sitting down into her chair, one hand reaching forward for something in her desk drawer.
“Wait!”
The room exploded at once. Madam Bereford pulled out a pistol and shot wildly. Lord Cambleton fell backwards with a grunt of pain, just as Lord Millerton threw himself at Madame Bereford, knocking the chair back and slamming it hard against the wall.
Bridgette could hardly breathe, one hand pressed against her heart as she surveyed the scene before her. Lord Cambleton was lying on the floor, his eyes fixed and staring, red blossoming out from his chest and spreading across his shirt. Lord Chesterfield was sitting in same chair as before, his eyes huge and his lips parted in shock. Lord Windsor also remained in his position, although his expression was one of complete and utter surprise. Lord Millerton groaned and pushed himself up, the chair leaning haphazardly against the wall, one hand holding the pistol and the other hand clamped around Madame Bereford’s wrist. Madame Bereford held a dazed expression, her eyes staring at Lord Cambleton’s prone body on the floor.
Lord Hearst was the first to move, followed by Lady Madeline who, instead of dropping to her knees to help as Lord Hearst had done, simply tottered back to collapse into a chair.
“He is dead,” Lord Hearst muttered, looking up at Lord Millerton, who pushed Madame Bereford into her chair and stood by her side, a perceptible warning.
“I believe you have killed your associate, Madame Bereford,” Lord Hearst continued, rising to his feet and looking at the lady. “Perhaps in the same way that you tried to kill Miss Sarah?”
Madame Bereford’s expression changed at once. Her eyes narrowed, anger burning in her eyes as slammed one clenched fist down on the desk in front of her.
“That arrogant, foolish, ridiculous girl!” she shouted, furiously. “I took her from the worst of places and brought her here, and she repays that kindness by keeping secrets from me? By pretending that she does not know whom I am speaking of?” She spat hard on the ground, her face an expression of fury. “Soon after she spoke to you, I had a man watch her every move.” Her laugh was scornful. “It was not I who shot at her, but rather he, although I will confess that he used my pistol.”
Bridgette shook her head, unable to even look at Lord Cambleton now. “And you do not care about what you have done?” she asked, as Madame Bereford tossed her head. “You do not care that you have sought to kill one and successfully managed to shoot another?”
“No,” Madame Bereford said, starkly. “I do not care. The truth is, Miss Sarah and the other ladies here are nothing more than property. Things to be traded and sold.” She shrugged. “Lord Cambleton made me an offer I could not refuse, particularly when it meant having a little taste of my homeland again.”
Surprise shot up Bridgette’s spine. “You are not English born?” she asked, quite astonished given the lady’s perfect manner of speaking, fair hair and blue eyes.
Madame Bereford laughed again, cruelly. “No,” she said, with a small smile. “I am from France. You may not hear it in my voice but that is because I have taken the time to train myself, to ensure that I do not speak in any way that could give me away.” She snorted. “I know how the French are treated in this country.”
Lord Windsor frowned, his jaw working for a moment. “They are treated kindly, unless they prove to be enemies of our country and our King,” he said darkly. “Which, Madame Bereford, I am convinced you are.”
Madame Bereford gasped aloud, one hand on her heart as though she expected him to apologize for such a remark, but Lord Windsor only snorted and looked away.
“These ships of yours, Lord Chesterfield,” Lord Millerton asked, turning towards the gentleman in the chair. “Why are they so important? What was it
that Lord Cambleton and Madame Bereford required them for?”
Lord Chesterfield swallowed hard, then lowered his head. Even Madame Bereford’s dark whispers did not seem to prevent him from speaking, for he sighed heavily and then began to explain.
“I could not pay my debts here,” he muttered, gesturing towards Madam Bereford. “She demanded that I do so but I told her I could not.” Shaking his head, he rubbed one hand across his forehead. “One of my ships had gone down recently, losing me a good deal of money. I was desperate. And thus, Madame Bereford offered to help me make back some of my fortune and promised to wipe out my debt in return for my assistance.”
“You could have refused,” Lord Hearst grated, darkly. “You could have told her that you would not do such a thing.”
Lord Chesterfield spread out his hands, his eyes heavy with regret. “I could not,” he said. “I was weak. I wanted my fortune to be replenished. And thus, I agreed.” He shrugged. “I have done as Madame Bereford and Lord Cambleton asked of me, using my ship to transport the cargo she requested. However, recently, I have been seeking a way to either hire or purchase another ship, to replace the one that I lost —”
“But you did not yet have the finances required, and so Lord Cambleton came up with a scheme to find someone to put in the money that was needed, is that not so?” Lord Millerton asked, softly. “This scheme was not of your own doing, Lord Chesterfield. It was Lord Cambleton and Madame Bereford using you for their own benefit.”
Lord Chesterfield shrugged, his head low and his shoulders slumped. “Yes, I suppose that is it,” he said, heavily. “I have had to play the part of a wealthy, contented gentleman who is making his way through society with all the joy and contentment one can have, whilst inwardly I have been struggling with what occurred with Lord Hazelton. With what I know my supposed associates have been doing.” His voice was a little muffled and Madame Bereford let out a scream of frustration, but Lord Chesterfield did not even blink.
Bridgette sucked in a breath and leaned heavily on the back of Lady Madeline’s chair, suddenly recalling the conversation she had overheard about the cargo.
“You were speaking to Lord Cambleton about this ‘cargo’ that was supposedly very precious indeed,” she whispered, as Lord Chesterfield lifted his head to look at her. “Lord Cambleton spoke of a difficulty with the cargo that was already present, promising to remove it so that it would no longer linger.” A chill ran all through her as she realized what this meant. “You spoke of Miss Sarah. It was Lord Cambleton who was asked to watch her by Madame Bereford. It was Lord Cambleton who followed her and attempted to take her life.”
Lord Chesterfield did not nod but neither did he drop his gaze. “I was very rude to you thereafter,” he said, quietly. “The truth is, Lady Callander, I have been desperate in my attempts to court Lady Madeline, so that I might gain her dowry and, in doing so, have a way to remove myself from this dread situation that I am now quite dredged in.”
Lady Madeline gave a slight start at the mention of her name, staring at Lord Chesterfield as though she did not know him. Then she looked away, her eyes blinking back what Bridgette thought to be furious tears.
“Then you were just as I feared,” she said, brokenly. “Another gentleman seeking only to secure me for his own purposes.”
“I need the money!” Lord Chesterfield cried, as though it justified his behavior. “I could not go on without it!”
Lord Millerton shook his head, his hand now firmly on Madame Bereford’s shoulder so that she could not move without him being aware of it.
“This cargo, then,” he said, speaking to Lord Chesterfield. “You brought people to England, did you not? People that Madame Bereford had arranged to be brought here.”
Madame Bereford made to say something but Lord Millerton pushed down hard on her shoulder and she glared up at him, her mouth tight and angry.
“Yes,” Lord Chesterfield muttered, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself. “It was an excellent way to bring in coin, of course, for a high price is paid for the transport of ladies and gentlemen, particularly if they are to be brought in without anyone knowing of their presence here.”
Lord Millerton glanced towards Bridgette, then to Lord Windsor, Lord Hearst and then to Lord Lexington who, thus far, had said nothing at all. She remembered what the League had been told about the ships who came to the docks, and how those who came from the ships were dressed as crewmen, so that no-one could tell one from another.
“Wait a moment,” Lord Lexington said, slowly. “You mean to say that the people you brought into England, you knew nothing of them?”
Lord Chesterfield nodded but did not look up.
“Then they could have been anyone,” Lord Lexington said, darkly. “Madame Bereford, tell us of these people.” His tone was hard, his eyes like steel as he glared at her. “You have already told us that you brought Miss Sarah here. Am I to surmise that more of your ladies are from France?”
Madame Bereford tilted her head, her smile a little coy. “Perhaps.”
“And the rest?”
Madame Bereford said nothing, her eyes looking away from Lord Lexington, ignoring him completely.
“The rest came off the ship as crewmen,” Lord Chesterfield said, slowly, as Madame Bereford drew in a sharp breath, narrowing her eyes at him. “I do not know where they went or what became of them.”
Bridgette looked sharply at Lord Chesterfield, an idea suddenly hitting her. “Did you ever take any of this ‘cargo’ back to France?” she asked, as Lord Chesterfield slowly lifted his gaze to hers. “Did you have any cause to do such a thing?”
Lord Chesterfield swallowed hard, looked to Madame Bereford who, Bridgette noticed, had gone a shade of white.
“Yes,” he said, heavily. “I have had to do so, on occasion.”
Bridgette looked sharply at Lord Millerton, seeing the color drain from his face as he began to understand.
“Then Madame Bereford, you have brought spies to England,” Bridgette said, hoarsely. “You have had them return to France with what they have learned, and then brought them in anew. And you have used Lord Chesterfield and Lord Cambleton to do it.”
It took a moment but, after a breath, Madame Bereford let out such a loud, furious laugh that it took everyone’s breath away.
“How foolish,” she crowed, laughing hard at Bridgette’s words. “Lord Cambleton knew precisely what he was doing. He came to me, approached me and made the suggestion that we might work together!” She laughed again, and Bridgette saw Lord Millerton’s hand tighten on Madame Bereford’s shoulder. “Lord Cambleton wanted to be more than just a mere baron. He wanted more wealth than he had, and I wanted more girls for my house.” She smiled cruelly. “It seems we were meant to work together.”
Lord Millerton lifted Madame Bereford without warning, so that she stumbled as he pushed her forward, out from her chair and towards Lord Hearst.
“Take her,” he said, hoarsely, as Lord Hearst took Madame Bereford’s arm. “Take her to Lord Watt. He will know what to do.”
Bridgette watched the smile slide form Madame Bereford’s face. What had she expected? She surely had not thought that simply because she was born in another country that she would be free of the consequences of what she had done?
“I am sure that you know what the punishment is for traitors,” Lord Hearst muttered, as Lord Lexington fell into step on the other side of Madame Bereford. “You shall face the highest punishment our Prince can mete out.”
“Although,” Lord Lexington added, “you might save your life by telling us all that you know.”
Madame Bereford said nothing, her head still held high as she was led from the room. The room fell silent and Bridgette saw the alarm written in Lord Millerton’s eyes.
“What has she done?” he said, hoarsely, as Lord Windsor and Lady Madeline drew near. “Just how many have been brought here, because of what she has done?”
Lord Windsor let out a long breath. “We can
not know,” he said, honestly. “But at least we are aware of it now.”
Lord Millerton shook his head, running one hand through his hair. “We have a good deal of work to do now,” he said, speaking of the League. “We must find every single one that Madame Bereford has brought in.”
Reaching down, Lord Windsor grasped Lord Chesterfield and pulled him, whimpering, out of his chair. No longer was there the proud gentleman standing before them, laughing and overly bold but instead there stood a broken, ashamed man who held not even the smallest amount of respect.
She had never really known Lord Chesterfield at all, Bridgette realized, finding not even a modicum of sympathy for him.
“I should take this one to Lord Watt also,” Lord Windsor said. “And then I shall return to make certain this is dealt with.” He gestured to the right, where Lord Cambleton’s body lay.
“Very good,” Lord Millerton murmured, holding out one hand to Bridgette. “Come, Lady Callander. Lady Madeline. I should escort you both home.”
Bridgette leaned into Lord Millerton at once, feeling his arm about her waist as she rested into him. “Perhaps we should return Lady Madeline first,” she murmured, looking up into his face and seeing the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, despite the circumstances. “If you would be agreeable?”
Lord Millerton reached down and kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment. “More than agreeable,” he said, before walking from the room, Bridgette held closely by his side.
Epilogue
“Should you like to come inside?”
Sebastian looked at Lady Madeline, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and finding himself feeling a good deal of sympathy for what she had endured.
“I shall take you inside,” Lady Callander said gently, glancing at Sebastian, who gave her a small nod of understanding. “And ensure you are settled with your father before I return to the carriage.” She smiled gently at Lady Madeline, who nodded but did not return it with a smile of her own, no longer appearing to be the self-assured, confident young lady that Sebastian knew.
