by Lucy Adams
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 from 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.
“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, L
ord 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.
