“Damn you, Durnham. Give me my property!” Hawthorne’s voice was guttural.
Edward turned and walked away, and even when he reached the front door, he could still hear his stepfather’s stick, beating the floor in frustration.
35
When Charlotte stepped into the house, it was quiet. Greenfelt let her in and told her Lady Catherine had returned from her evening out, and was now in bed.
She heard the censure in his tone. Not for the late hour, or that she had been off somewhere by herself, but because Catherine would be worried about her.
She took the criticism with a bow of her head. “I’ll go up myself, but don’t call Betsy. I can manage on my own.” She was wearing Betsy’s own clothes, after all.
Greenfelt hesitated, as if he wanted to say something. She waited him out, but he merely drew himself straight and gave a nod before melting back into the gloom that led to the kitchens.
She was halfway up the stairs when the knocker sounded. Loud. Almost defiant.
She ran down and hauled at the heavy door with one hand, the candle Greenfelt had given her held high in the other.
Luke stood on the doorstep, the angles of his face sharp in the flickering light. He’d always been lean, but Charlotte realized now he was thin. Almost as thin as he’d been when they’d lived by their wits on the street.
“Going to let me in?”
She yielded wordlessly, drawing back so he could enter.
“You’ve never come before.”
“Things have changed, haven’t they?” He stood in the entryway and looked around. At the sweeping staircase, the black and white tiles on the floor. The rich cream walls.
“Come this way.” She indicated to the withdrawing room, her tone oddly formal, even to her own ear, and he gave her a look, and a slight smile, as he entered the room.
Even in his ill-fitting clothes, with his hair too long and his face slightly stubbled, he owned the room in a way that would have made many noblemen of the ton jealous. He had presence.
“No wonder you never wanted to come back. I could never compete with this, could I, Charlie?” Luke took it all in, the blue silk and the velvet drapes, and she raised her head to look him in the eye.
“Don’t play that game with me, Luke.” She would not rise to his taunts. Especially ones like these. “You could have competed with this any time you liked in the last five years. You know it was never about the money.” She crossed her arms. “And when were you planning to tell me about the blunt you managed to ramp out of Hawthorne?”
He sucked in a breath. “So he told you about that?”
She gave a tight nod. “And you should have known I’d wish you all the best with it. There was no need for secrets. Why make it one?”
He gave a shrug, but it was not so nonchalant as he’d like it to appear. She saw his fingers were stiff against his thighs, and he looked away. “It was just after I got out o’ the Hulks, and you were living here with Lady La Di Da.” He turned to Charlotte, then, almost pleading. “I had to get you back, Charlie. An’ I couldn’t compete with what you had ’ere. I didn’t have the strength then, nor the money.
“So I went to him. And he was at a tricky stage, round that time. Didn’t want anything bad comin’ out ’bout what he’d gotten up to way back when.
“There were some letters. Your ma’s old neighbor told me about ’em. Begging letters your ma sent to him, asking for help. I told Hawthorne I had ’em. I knew he’d sent ’em back without an answer, but they were long gone. The neighbor probably burned them herself. Not that he knew that. And he gave me some money to make me go away. Gave me my start, so to speak. A leg up.
“I never ramped him again, but I kept him in my sights, and he knew it. Felt good, you know? Keeping him a little scared.” He turned away, walked toward the window. “God, I hate him. I hate the lot of ’em.”
There was nothing to say to that. She’d always known it. Tried to soften it. But it shaped his life, and kept him shackled worse than Ashcroft or the Old Bailey or even the Hulks had ever done.
“How different are things now, Charlie? Tell me straight.” He spun around to face her from across the room, and she felt her mouth go dry at what she saw in his eyes. “Will things ever go back the way they were?”
She shook her head, and a lump of charcoal seemed to lodge itself in her throat, making speech almost impossible. “I’ve seen things—patterns I’ve been caught in, that weren’t helping anyone, least of all you and me. We can’t go back to you terrorizing every man who looks at me, and my pretending I don’t really exist.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And this is Lord Nob’s doing?”
“No.” She choked it out on a cry. “It’s my doing. Me. I have come to this. I’ve been stumbling along so long with my eyes on the ground, Edward simply jolted me, made me look up and see where I was. And I didn’t like the place at all.”
He stared at her for a long time, tapping his fingernails against the desk just to the right of him. “And what was that place?”
“Nowhere. I wasn’t with you, and I wasn’t truly in the world Catherine made for me. Limping along trying to please everyone, and pleasing no one.”
“And you’ve chosen what? To finally throw yourself into afternoon calls and the season?” His voice dripped with contempt.
“No. I’ve chosen to be myself. To follow my own heart for a change. I don’t think I ever have.”
“And that’s a path straight to Lord Nob, am I right?”
She hesitated, saw him spin away from her again. “Luke! I cannot help loving you, but I will never love you the way you want. I don’t know what will happen with Edward and me. But I want to be free to see what can happen. I haven’t been free, and I’ve just realized it.”
He stood with his back to her, leaning against the desk with one hand. “I’m not blind. Lord Nob is going to snatch you up as soon as he can. He can barely keep his eyes away from you.”
“I don’t know about that.” Her response was soft. “But it makes me glad to hear you say it. I hope it’s true.”
He turned slowly. “You mean that. You really mean it.”
She nodded.
“Then my hate is all I have left, Charlie. The only bit o’ me that loved was the bit you held.”
“I still hold it. I’ve never let it go!” She dashed tears away that sat, fat and hot, on her lower eyelashes. “Don’t you understand, I love you in a way that doesn’t change with who you are, what you do? I love you like I would a brother. You’re my family, Luke, you and Catherine. I’m sorry if you can’t accept that, but I’ll say it to you as many times as you like.”
He ran a hand down his face, then rubbed his cheeks with both palms. He stood still, eyes closed, hands on his cheeks, his head down, then suddenly reared up, as if coming to a decision. “I don’t know if I can accept it. I just don’t know.” The small clock on the mantel softly chimed the hour, one o’clock, and he stared at it. “I didn’t realize it was that late. I’ve got to be going.”
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Mind how you use this, Charlie. It was my undoing, seems to me. Make me proud with it.” He walked toward her and gave her the neat bundle, his step only slightly off, just the hint of a limp. He lifted his hand and curled it around the back of her head, pulled her toward him, and kissed her forehead.
She stood still in his embrace. Breathed in the familiar, the oh-so-familiar scent of him. Wool, the faintest hint of brandy, and something that was pure Luke. Then he stepped away and she watched him walk out of the drawing room, heard the front door open and close.
She looked down at the bundle in her hand and a thought crept up on her. She began to fight with the cord that tied the papers together, then finally went to the desk and cut it with a pair of scissors. She lifted the first sheet with shaking hands and scanned the page.
It was Luke’s proof. His hard-won evidence. A bill of exchange, some signed by Fret
hers, others by Hawthorne. She had no doubt the bundle contained everything he’d managed to get so far. Hawthorne would never be able to snake his way out of what she had in her hands.
And then she saw it.
There were two people who would be damned by this evidence: Hawthorne, but there in the corner, smaller, but most definitely there, was Luke’s name, too. He couldn’t bring down Hawthorne with what he’d given her, unless he also brought down himself.
He’d be a hunted man, if the Crown got this evidence. He must have known it. That’s why he’d kept going, looking, always looking, for something that would damn the nobs and not point to him. But he hadn’t had the time.
Because of her.
Which meant only one thing. If he’d given this to her, he planned to take Hawthorne himself. Not lead the newspapers to him, and make a point. Luke would take his revenge personally.
And he thought there was a chance he wouldn’t be coming back.
36
Edward set another box aside with a sigh. The little wooden box had contained the evidence his stepfather had manufactured against him, but the papers he’d taken from Hawthorne’s office were not damning enough.
He pulled the next box closer and then frowned at the sound of a knock at the door. It was past one in the morning. He got to his feet and walked through, but his butler had beaten him to it.
“Lord Dervish, my lord.” Jasper’s hair was standing on end on one side, and he wore slippers rather than his day shoes, but he stepped back and presented Dervish with a flourish.
“My thanks, Jasper. That will be all for this evening.” He eyed Dervish with surprise. “Thought you’d still be in Kent.”
“I’ve come straight from there. Brought the carriage here directly.” Dervish followed him into the library, stripping off his gloves. “We got them, Durnham! We got them dead to rights. Five thousand guineas and barrels of brandy and silks, all hidden in the caves on Geoffrey’s lands.” Excitement and the thrill of success came off him in waves. He smiled, and Edward realized it was the widest smile he’d ever seen on Dervish. “It’s a serious blow to the whole operation. Whoever we didn’t arrest will have to find a new hiding place. We’re winning. I never thought we would.” He stopped in the center of the room and frowned at the boxes piled around Edward’s desk.
“There have been some advances in the case from this side, as well.” Edward waved a weary hand to the boxes, then sat down on the edge of an armchair. “It appears the man behind this plot is my stepfather, Lord Hawthorne.”
Dervish sat himself. Heavily. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, at a loss.
Edward lifted the brandy decanter to Dervish inquiringly, but he shook his head. Edward considered having a small glass himself but set the crystal bottle on its silver tray, unopened. He leaned back, massaging his neck. “Of course, Hawthorne’s involvement explains Geoffrey being mixed up in this like nothing else can. It also explains why they originally thought I would be easily bribed. But Hawthorne won’t confess to anything. He won’t so much as speak a name. So I confiscated his papers and I’m going through them.”
“And?” Dervish eyed the pile with more enthusiasm.
“Nothing.” Edward rubbed a hand down the bridge of his nose. “Yet.” But he’d seen Hawthorne’s face when he’d realized Edward had his papers. There would be something useful here.
“Your sister sends her regards.” Dervish spoke suddenly, with a suppressed nervousness.
“She well?” Edward watched Dervish through half-closed eyes. The man was utterly smitten with Emma. There was no doubt about it.
“She’s well. Finding it hard to cope with the neighbors, I think. But she’ll be back down in a few days. She wanted to arrange for some repairs to some of the workers’ homes before autumn and winter arrive, now that you’ve put some money into the place.”
Edward gave a nod and left it at that. Emma knew her own mind. She would encourage Dervish or not, as she decided, but he rather thought, if anyone could understand Dervish’s past, it would be Em. Her sons had nearly suffered the same fate. She would not hold it against him.
“How many smugglers did you arrest?”
Dervish pursed his lips with frustration. “Only four. Even with those, we never caught them actually loading boats. They were simply checking on the merchandise. Claimed they’d heard there was treasure in the caves, and came to see for themselves. They may get off.”
“Forget them. We need the planners.” He suddenly realized Dervish didn’t know about Gravelines. He could hardly believe, himself, how much had been revealed in the last day. “There is a small port called Gravelines on the French coast. That’s where the smugglers go with the guineas. They have an area fenced off there, and buildings with accommodation for three hundred English smugglers at a time. The boats come in and French government clerks meet them, count the guineas, and then give the smugglers the silk, gin, and brandy for the trade. That’s why they aren’t afraid of the French government stealing the guineas before they can exchange them. They are delivering the guineas straight to the French government itself. In a place set up to make the smuggling as efficient as possible.”
“How did you discover this?” Dervish gripped his knees, his knuckles turning white.
“I managed to find a smuggler involved in this business. He decided to get out of it, because he didn’t want to betray England. He said the emperor has decreed that only guineas are to be accepted for their trade items, with the intention of denuding England of all her gold.”
“Napoleon is trying to bring down the economy?” Dervish gave a slow nod of his head. “Because we went off the gold standard, he may be hoping if there’s no gold in England, the economy will collapse.”
“Could that happen?” Edward leaned forward.
Dervish shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you really want to find out? I can’t believe this, it’s …”
Edward nodded. “I know. When I first heard it, I was struck by the scale. The daring of it. It’s diabolical, and yet, I cannot help admire Napoleon for it. And if he succeeds, if our economy is in tatters, we won’t have the money to support our troops on the Continent. We won’t be able to support our allies.”
“We’ll be at Napoleon’s mercy.” Dervish rocked a little on his seat. “Did this smuggler also tell you about your stepfather?”
Edward hesitated. There was no need to bring Luke into this. To do that would bring Charlotte in, too, and he could not guarantee that her secrets would be safe with everyone who worked for the Crown. He gave a slow nod. “He gave me my stepfather’s name.”
“My God.” Dervish stood, his movements jerky, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. “If Hawthorne is involved, who else? This could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Forget having no gold, and a tumbling economy. The riots are bad enough as it is; what will they be like if the man in the street learns they’re being betrayed to the enemy by the House of Lords? For profit! Napoleon won’t have to bring us down. We’ll collapse from within.”
“We don’t know how many are involved. Tavenam, Hawthorne, Tavenam’s nephew, Blackley.” Edward stood himself. “Those are the only names I have, other than Frethers and Geoffrey, who are dead.”
“If only that was it. That would be containable. A few bad eggs. We wouldn’t even need to say anything. Just the concept of this is dangerous. It could cause a run on the banks, and total panic.”
Edward thought of Luke, of what he was trying to engineer, and realized his idea had not been so far-fetched at all. With proof of a few more noblemen involved in the plot, he could have stirred up a great deal of trouble. Trouble that would be justified, even as it tore England apart. “Perhaps we’ll be lucky—”
The hammering on his door cut him off. There was a panic imbued in the staccato rapping that made him run to the hall. This time he beat Jasper to it.
It was Clavers. “My lord.” Clavers was wild-eyed, and there was the pungent odor of smoke about
him.
“A man. A man broke into the library through the window. Calm as you please. And he …” Clavers raised a shaking hand to his eyes, and then straightened. “He and Lord Hawthorne argued, and then he killed Lord Hawthorne with a knife. Quick, with no fuss, like he was having his Sunday dinner. Cool as that.”
Luke.
Edward stepped back to let Clavers in.
“No. No!” Clavers stepped back, strain and urgency in every line of him. “The house is on fire, sir. Hawthorne threw his lamp at the man. Just laughed, the killer did. Just laughed as the fire caught the sofa, then the tablecloth. Said it was fitting his lordship bled out slowly in a living hell.”
“What happened then?” Edward was already out on the street with him.
“Didn’t see. I ran here fast as I could.”
Edward started running himself. And he was not sure, other than to rescue his house, what he was running for.
37
Charlotte ran.
There had to be another way. A way they could all win. She turned over what that way could be as she sprinted full tilt, her skirts held up and to the side with one hand.
She didn’t notice the man until she ran into him. He took the hit with an oomph, grabbing her with one arm and swinging her around to prevent them both going down.
“In a hurry?”
She reached out to steady herself on his forearms, and jerked back with shock when she realized he only had one arm.
“Yes. My apologies.” She pulled away to run on, and he tightened the grip he had around her.
“Not so fast.”
He was thin. Too thin. But he had height on her, and a strength she couldn’t match.
She looked up at him. “What do you want?”
“To know if you’re the servant girl you’re dressed as, or the lady of the house, trying to pretend to be a maid?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to you?”
The Emperor's Conspiracy Page 21
