by Cheryl Holt
He scowled, transfixed by the Lyndon crest on the door. What now? Wasn’t it enough that Millicent Grey had accosted him at his office? Must he be accosted yet again as he was fighting with his daughter-in-law?
Two men climbed out. He recognized Benjamin Grey, and because of the similarities he could only assume the other was his cousin, Soloman Grey.
Lydia’s companion, Miss Jones, climbed out behind them, and Edward shifted uneasily. What was occurring?
“Mr. Boswell?” Benjamin Grey said as he walked over. “I’m certain you remember me.”
“Yes, Captain Grey, I do.”
“This is my cousin, Soloman Grey. We called at your home, but we were advised we would find you here.”
Edward bowed to Soloman Grey even though it galled him to be polite. Mr. Grey was considered by all to be a murderer, and Edward’s opinion was no different.
“Where is the boy?” Soloman Grey demanded without preamble. “Is he with you?”
“I presume you are referring to my grandson, Harry Boswell?” Edward asked.
“No. I am referring to my brother, Caleb Grey,” Soloman Grey responded.
Clearly, Mr. Grey was deranged too. Was there madness in the air? It seemed to be infecting everyone.
Edward turned to Captain Grey. “Captain, I spoke with your mother yesterday.”
“Yes, I am aware she visited you.”
“I heartily apologize for how my family has inflicted itself on yours. I have removed Harry from London, and he will never bother you again. I swear it.”
Soloman Grey gasped. “What have you done with him?”
“It’s not your affair, sir,” Edward answered with great dignity.
“Where is he?” Mr. Grey fumed, and he loomed in as if he might physically assault Edward.
Captain Grey placed a palm on Mr. Grey’s chest and pushed him back. “I’ll handle this, Soloman.” He peered over at Edward. “Shall we go inside?”
“No,” Edward said. “Tell me what it is you’ve come to impart then leave me be. I intend to be in London before nightfall.” And he had no desire to be trapped in there with Lydia.
“All right,” Captain Grey said. “I have to be very blunt with you.”
“By all means, please be blunt,” Edward replied. “I’m sure it will speed matters along.”
“We have substantial evidence to prove that your grandson, Harry Boswell, is actually Caleb Grey.”
“That’s not possible, Captain. My son, Milton, was married to Lydia Fenwick. She gave birth to Harry ten years ago. He has never been any other boy but Harry Boswell.”
On hearing his remark, the Grey cousins studied him so pityingly that he was unnerved.
“What is it?” Edward asked Captain Grey. “Don’t toy with me. Spit it out.”
“I have cause to believe your grandson, Harry, died in his sleep when he was a baby.”
Edward felt as if Captain Grey had struck him. “No, no, that’s absurd.”
Captain Grey went on. “Lydia and Miss Jones were afraid to inform you. Lydia thought she’d be blamed.”
“I would have absolutely blamed her,” Edward vehemently stated.
“It’s been a terrible secret they kept between them.” More gently, Captain Grey said, “Miss Jones swears they buried Harry in the woods. We’re here to discover if that’s true.”
“You plan to...to...what?” Edward inquired.
“We’ve brought shovels, sir, to dig up the grave. Miss Jones insists it’s not very deep so it shouldn’t take long.”
Suddenly, Lydia exploded out the door. She looked like a madwoman, and she flew at Miss Jones, shrieking, “No! No! You will not do this! You will not show them! You will not!”
Captain Grey grabbed her and pinned her arms to her sides. Miss Jones stoically watched Lydia as Captain Grey wrestled with her.
“It’s time, Lydia,” Miss Jones said. “It’s time for them to learn what happened.”
“We promised we’d never tell,” Lydia bellowed. “Especially Mr. Boswell! He can’t know. He can’t!”
Captain Grey motioned to a footman, and the man hastened over and helped the Captain drag Lydia inside.
With her disappearing, her screeching had stopped, and Edward turned to Soloman Grey. “What are you claiming, Mr. Grey? How could such an event have transpired?”
“After your grandson died, Mr. Boswell, Lydia kidnapped my brother out of his cradle. She’d gone to school with Caleb’s mother, and she was at our house at a party.”
“Her son was dead at home,” Edward scoffed, “and she was attending a party?”
“She was unhinged over his death, sir.” Mr. Grey gestured to the cottage. “She still is—as I think we can all agree.”
“Little Harry is dead?” Edward was so besieged he was trembling from head to toe. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Let’s find out if he is.” Mr. Grey’s eyes were kind and commiserating. “Let’s end this once and for all.”
Captain Grey emerged from the residence, and the footman who’d accompanied him was nowhere in sight so he must have stayed to restrain Lydia for which Edward was immensely grateful.
“Where is the grave, Miss Peggy?” Captain Grey said to Miss Jones.
She led them into the woods, and Edward followed the group in a sort of trance. She pointed to a lonely spot where there was a pile of stones marking the location. There was such a dreamlike quality about it that he could scarcely focus.
Shovels were produced, ground turned. Within a matter of minutes, a shovel hit a hard object. Men knelt, brushed away soil, and withdrew a small box. The forest had grown silent, the birds in the trees not daring to chirp or the wind to blow.
A footman lifted the box to Captain Grey, and he peeked in then quickly closed the lid.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Boswell,” he quietly murmured, “but your grandson, Harry, has been deceased for many years.”
Edward collapsed slightly, and Soloman Grey leapt over to hold him up.
“It can’t be,” Edward mumbled. “It just can’t be.” Rage surged through him, and he shook an accusing finger at Miss Jones who was off to the side and weeping. “I want her hanged. I want her and Lydia Fenwick both hanged.”
“We’ll discuss it later, Mr. Boswell,” Captain Grey said.
Edward gathered his wits and pushed away from Mr. Grey. Addressing the Captain and displaying as much fortitude as he could, he reached toward him. “Give me the box.”
“Are you sure, sir?” the Captain asked. “Wouldn’t you rather we buried him again immediately?”
“No. I will take him with me and inter him in the family plot next to his father.”
Captain Grey handed the tiny coffin to Edward, and he clutched it to his chest. He was weeping too, and he didn’t try to wipe away the tears. He’d struggled to like the child he’d believed to be Harry because he’d assumed a part of Milton had still been with them. Now he had nothing of Milton at all.
Captain Grey spoke to a footman. “Fetch Mr. Boswell’s driver and servants. Tell them to hurry. He needs their assistance.”
As they waited for them to arrive, Mr. Grey said, “Where is Caleb, sir? I have to retrieve him from wherever it is you’ve left him.”
Edward had the indenture papers in his coat. He yanked them out and hurled them at Mr. Grey. “He’s all yours, Mr. Grey. You may have him with my blessing—and good riddance to all of you.”
The Grey cousins were polite enough not to scold him for his rude comment, and he appreciated it. Shortly, his servants rushed up, and Captain Grey’s man must have told them what had occurred. They were thunderstruck, and they cast scathing glances at Miss Jones that she studiously ignored.
He felt as if he’d aged a hundred years since Captain Grey had pulled into the yard. His knees were so weak he could barely stand. His driver clasped his arm to escort him to his carriage. He would return to London with his pathetic bundle, would return home sick at heart, but before he walked off h
e called to Captain Grey.
“Captain,” he said, “I must ask a desperate favor.”
“Anything I can do for you, I will.”
“I want Lydia Fenwick out of my house. Now. I want her out! Remove her and lock the door after you leave.”
“I’ll see to it, sir. You have my word.”
Like a decrepit invalid, he staggered off, his driver and footmen whispering their condolences.
He cursed the Fenwick siblings, cursed the day Milton had met Lydia, and he made a vow to himself. If Captain and Soloman Grey didn’t have Lydia Fenwick hanged, he would kill her himself.
He swore it to poor Milton who’d been so horridly betrayed. And he swore it on the decaying bones of his dead grandson, Harry, who’d been tossed away—by a lunatic—as if he were a bag of rubbish.
CALEB GREY, LORD LYNDON, stood in a line of boys, their wrists tightly bound together. They were a paltry group, a collection of petty criminals and pickpockets, along with many from poverty-stricken families who’d sold their sons for a few pennies. None of them had volunteered for the jobs they’d been contracted to perform.
Ever since Mr. Boswell had deposited him at the horrid camp, he’d constantly been searching for a means of escape, but there had been no opportunity to flee.
He would sail away from England, and he was certain—once he departed—he would very likely never return. The chances were great too that he would perish at sea. Ocean travel was perilous and who could predict how his voyages would conclude?
He was mentioning his real name over and over. No one believed him of course, but he kept telling people anyway. He had no idea if he’d ever be able to get a message to Annabel or Soloman.
He didn’t actually know how to contact Soloman. Especially if Soloman went back to Egypt, they would be separated forever. He’d just found his brother then had lost him. Was he cursed? Was Fate determined to deny him his destiny?
Annabel and Soloman would hunt for him though, and he was anxious for news to spread that a child claiming to be Lord Lyndon had been at the docks, that he’d been forced onto a ship headed for Jamaica.
He’d engaged in numerous fights already with boys declaring him a liar and a fraud which he couldn’t abide. So he had a black eye, but those who’d been idiotic enough to touch him had quickly learned that he could throw a very fierce punch.
They were at the docks on a busy wharf. Ship captains had been stopping all day, selecting various boys, signing the papers to bring them on board where they would be ceaselessly disparaged, flogged when necessary, and worked nearly to death.
The larger, older boys had been chosen early on, and most of the captains looked askance at Caleb, viewing his bruised face as being the mark of a troublemaker, but he’d been assured he would be on a ship by the following morning.
Another captain sauntered up, and he studied Caleb, assessing his thin stature, his short height, his black eye.
“Sir, I am Caleb Grey,” he said. “I am Lord Lyndon.”
The man laughed. “Are you now? I’m the bloody King of Persia. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Caleb stared imperiously. “My brother is Soloman Grey. He’s staying with my cousin, Captain Benjamin Grey. If you will get word to them for me as to where I am, I will pay you handsomely.”
The captain scowled at the man in charge. “The child appears to be healthy, but is he deranged?”
The other man sighed with exasperation. “Is he still spewing his nonsense?”
“Insists he’s a bloody lord,” the captain replied.
“I am Caleb Grey, Lord Lyndon,” Caleb bellowed as loudly as he could. “There’s a huge reward for the individual who informs my brother of where I am.”
Several people glanced in his direction, but it didn’t help. He was walloped alongside the head, hard enough to knock him to his knees which pulled others to their knees too. They grumbled at him to shut his mouth.
Caleb straightened and told the captain, “When you read about me in the newspapers, don’t forget that you saw me here. Contact my brother, Soloman Grey. He’ll be very worried about me.”
“Read about you in the papers?” The captain laughed again. “I can’t read, but I’m supposing you can.”
“Yes, I can.”
The captain nodded. “I’ll take him. If he’s telling the truth, I’ll have at least one person in my crew who can put a few letters together. Might keep me from being cheated in my business dealings.”
Caleb was cut loose from the rest of the line, and they stood at the table where contracts were being signed. Caleb stepped away and was about to run when the captain grabbed him.
“Don’t be stupid,” he warned. “If you sneak off, I’ll chase after you. I’ll catch you too. You won’t like what happens to you after that.”
Caleb wasn’t scared by the threat. He’d always been punished with whippings and being locked in dark rooms and having food denied to the point where he wondered if he might starve. But the penalties had never forced him to behave as others were demanding.
This fellow wouldn’t be able to succeed either, and Caleb started inching away again when a flurry erupted down the wharf.
People craned their necks to discover what was occurring, but Caleb was too short and couldn’t peer over them. Ultimately, there was a break in the crowd, and he espied the Lyndon coach, the crest on the door clearly visible.
The greatest sight he had ever seen—and would ever see in his life—was his brother and cousin walking toward him. Captain Grey was wearing his uniform, and Soloman was dressed like a prosperous, prominent gentleman.
They were grand and regal and very, very angry.
“What is it?” the captain asked.
“Pair of bloody nobs approaching,” another answered.
Caleb yanked away from the oaf who’d been holding him so tightly.
“It’s my brother, you despicable cur. Release me and don’t touch me again.”
“You don’t give me orders, you little prig,” the captain huffed.
“It’s Lord Lyndon to you,” Caleb said. Then he ran and cried, “Soloman! I’m here! I’m here!”
At hearing Caleb’s voice, Soloman whirled around. “Caleb!”
Caleb dashed over and leapt into his arms. He didn’t care if he was Lyndon. He didn’t care if he was ten years old and should act his age. He was so relieved he might have been a silly, weepy girl.
“I knew you’d come for me,” Caleb said. “I knew it!”
“Of course I’d come,” Soloman responded. “I will never leave you behind.”
Soloman set Caleb on his feet, and Caleb led him over to the table. Soloman laid down a document, and it appeared to be Mr. Boswell’s receipt for his transaction regarding Caleb. Soloman scathingly assessed those assembled.
“This boy is Caleb Grey, Lord Lyndon,” he announced, and the bystanders gasped. “He is my brother, and I’m taking him with me. Does anyone have a problem with that?”
Soloman stared down all of them in turn. Captain Grey was beside him, and he stared them down too. It was obvious they were brave and tough and strong, and while many of the seafarers likely viewed themselves as being very brawny, none of them dared challenge the two Grey cousins.
Captain Grey frowned down at Caleb and asked, “How did you get that black eye?”
“There were some ruffians who didn’t believe who I was,” Caleb said, “and I can’t abide being called a liar.”
Soloman bristled. “Who hit you? Show me who it was!”
Caleb studied the other boys, all of them suddenly seeming much smaller and quite a bit less bold. “It doesn’t matter who it was. Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” Soloman asked.
“Yes. We needn’t retaliate. You have arrived, and I am ready to depart.”
Caleb and his brother marched off, Captain Grey bringing up the rear.
One man had the audacity to say, “Now see here! This is highly irregular!”
; Captain Grey flashed such a withering glower that the fellow slunk into the crowd.
The Grey men—Soloman, Benjamin, and Caleb—walked away together.
ELL?”
“Well, what?”
Benjamin glared at his mother, and she glared back. She was completely defiant, and he was exhausted by her.
His father had passed away when he was a boy so he’d mostly been raised by her. Luckily, he’d had Soloman’s father, his Uncle Ralston, to furnish a strong male influence. Otherwise, he’d have been at her mercy.
She’d always been obsessed with him receiving the Lyndon title—even though he hadn’t been particularly interested. He’d been much better suited to soldiering and rough living, but his mother hadn’t understood that about him. She’d been so zealous over the inheritance that when Caleb had vanished, it had occasionally crossed Benjamin’s mind that his mother might have been responsible.
With Caleb home where he belonged, Benjamin truly felt he would have to constantly worry about his mother. He had no doubt she would work to undermine Caleb, to thwart Soloman in his guardianship.
“What have you to say for yourself?” he asked her.
“I have nothing to say.”
“Really? It appears to me you’re holding in so many caustic comments you’re about to explode.”
“You know my opinion. There’s no need to state it aloud.”
“Yes, you’ve been very vocal about it.”
“If Soloman chooses to embrace that child and pretend he’s Caleb, that’s certainly his prerogative, but I don’t see why we must lie down like sheep and blithely accept his decision. There are courts and laws in this country. Caleb has been officially declared deceased! We should fight this!”
“There’s the problem with your position, Mother. I have no desire to fight it. I whole-heartedly agree with Soloman, and I won’t rehash this with you.”
“Of course you won’t,” she fumed. “Why would you? I am just your poor mother. Who cares what I think? Who cares that I will never have a son who is earl?”
“You’ll survive.”
“Will I?” she plaintively inquired. “You’ve dashed my one and only dream. How am I to continue on?”
