‘It makes sense.’ Ashe outlined his theory. ‘I have refused them, of course. I don’t need their money.’
‘But they’re not likely to take no for an answer,’ Genevra supplied.
‘No. I do believe we’ll be encouraged to rethink our position.’ Ashe understood all too well this visit had been a warning and a chance, a last chance to throw in with Henry’s plans or face his cousin’s revenge.
Chapter Twenty-Four
This was how they’d do it: Henry would send a note to the house for Ashe. He wanted to talk and clear the air. Would Ashe please meet him at the mausoleum?
The tone of the note would make it obvious this was to be a confession. If Ashe had no idea what Henry wanted to confess, all the better. But Henry very much feared Ashe would have at least an inkling. His cousin had spent too much time holed up going over ledgers not to suspect something was wrong even if he didn’t know exactly what it was.
It wouldn’t matter after today. He could tell Ashe he’d stolen the crown jewels among his myriad sins and there’d be nothing Ashe could do about it. Ashe would be dead before he left the mausoleum. A paid man would be waiting in the foliage to take a prime shot and catch Ashe unawares while he and Henry talked. Then Trent would quietly kill the man who had shot Ashe and no one would be any wiser. People didn’t come looking for men who could be hired for murder. The shooter would not be missed and Ashe’s death could be ruled as many things: suicide, a gun handling accident, perhaps even an accident perpetrated by his crazy brother. Henry liked that option best. It would give him an excuse to put Alex back under the care of Dr Lawrence.
The note had been sent. Even now, it should be sitting on the front table at Bedevere, waiting for Ashe’s attention just as Henry would be waiting for him.
Plans were in motion, even a little surprise Ashe would know nothing about if all went well. In a few hours this would be over and Bedevere would be his.
*
Ashe was late. Alex checked his watch again and paced the foyer. It was a languid pace, a stroll really. He wasn’t upset. They were supposed to go walking this afternoon, a chance for brothers to talk. But Alex had seen him sitting on the lawn with Genevra enjoying a day of rare weather. When he’d looked out later, they’d been gone. He didn’t mind. His restless brother was happy at last. And in love, although Alex didn’t think Ashe even knew it. He would realise it soon enough and that gave Alex great comfort. Ashe would be content and that contentment would make him a fine trustee of Bedevere and a fine earl.
He’d not spoken of it with Ashe and hadn’t planned to until he absolutely must, but he thought he didn’t have long left in this world. There’d been a young doctor at the place where he’d been kept who’d confided his opinion of Alex’s condition to him. Dr Lawrence hadn’t agreed with such a bleak prognosis and had banned any further discussion, but it had made sense to Alex. The nervous breakdown had been a prelude, a sign of something larger. The depression, the despondency, the fits of forgetfulness, all typical. The young doctor had called it a disruption of his neurological system. He wasn’t crazy. That was the good news. It had sustained him the months he’d been away. But his condition would eventually lead to death. With luck he had a year.
Alex could feel the small changes already. It was nothing drastic, but he could feel his energy ebbing throughout the day. Some days, he could feel his thoughts slipping away before he could grasp them. Some days, his speech slurred on occasion. Some days his hand shook.
And some days, like today, he was just fine. Today was a blessing. He worked hard on those days. He’d worked hard today, writing everything he meant to tell Ashe against the days and the times that would come when he wouldn’t remember the answers his brother was looking for.
Alex paused by the front table. A folded note lay on the silver salver. Invitations were a rare commodity at Bedevere these days, but he imagined a time not far off when Genevra and Ashe would inspire a plateful of invitations. Bedevere would thrive again and Ashe’s children would run up and down the halls and sail their boats in the fountain.
Alex picked up the note. It was addressed to Ashe, but there was no postmark to indicate it had come from London or elsewhere. Whoever had written it had been local. No one in the house would write a note when they could just as easily speak with Ashe at dinner.
A fearful intuition pricked at him. Henry. Henry was out of the house now, driven off by his anger over Ashe’s impending marriage. A note would be the only way for Henry to directly reach Ashe. Before his conscience could cause too much trouble, Alex flicked open the note. His eyes scanned down to the signature —your cousin, Henry.
Alex read each line carefully. The weasel was up to something. Henry wanted to talk? To confess? There wasn’t enough hours in the day to hear that confession.
The request seemed uncharacteristic. Henry wasn’t exactly the penitent type.
Alex carefully refolded the note and put it back. Whatever Henry wanted with this meeting, he was up to no good. His coal-cartel colleagues must be getting nervous. Henry had to know his ‘business partners’ would turn on him if he didn’t deliver on his promises. He would have to give them something.
Thoughts clicked. Henry would give them Ashe. With Ashe dead there would be no more contest for the trusteeship of Bedevere. Only Ashe and Henry held any shares in Bedevere. A cold chill rushed through Alex. Ashe was walking into a trap. Henry didn’t mean to confess. He meant to do murder.
Alex made a quick decision. He would go in place of Ashe. Henry didn’t want him dead. Not yet, anyway. But first, he had to get something from his room.
Forewarned was forearmed. A ‘crazy’ man with a gun was bound to scare anyone and Henry had always been a coward.
*
‘Sir, your brother has gone out walking alone.’ Ashe nodded. Alex had been well since his return, but Ashe had made it explicitly known he wasn’t to roam the estate alone. It was his fault. He was late. He was supposed to have gone out with Alex. He’d thought Alex would wait.
‘Do you know which direction?’ Ashe asked. The receipts could wait. ‘How long ago did he leave?’ Alex couldn’t be that far ahead of him, he was only twenty minutes late.
‘Ashe,’ Genevra said tersely, ‘read this.’ She passed him a note. ‘It was here on the table, but I think this might explain where Alex has gone.’
Ashe read the note, his fist clenching around the paper until it crumpled.
‘Gardener, find my pistol.’
‘Bring one for me, too, if you have them to spare,’ Genevra said matter of factly. Gardener didn’t flinch at the request. Gardener was doing better than he was.
Genevra turned to him. ‘I’m going with you. If Henry plans to do evil out there, you will need me.’
‘No, Neva. I cannot risk you,’ Ashe said firmly. He would not put Genevra in harm’s way intentionally. ‘I need you here in case Alex comes back.’ He couldn’t quite give voice to the rest of the reason. He needed her here to be witness to the circumstances if he didn’t return. If Henry had something horrible planned and he didn’t come back, Genevra would be the one who had to seek justice.
Gardener clattered the down the steps, guns in hand. Ashe gave Genevra a final glance. Her grey eyes were dark and the stoic set of her jaw suggested she guessed at the unspoken reasons. She put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Be careful.’
Ashe felt as if he was riding out to do battle. When had it become so ugly?
When had this become so sinister? Henry’s malice ran deep, far deeper than anyone had given ‘lazy’ Henry credit for.
*
His horse covered the distance to the mausoleum in no time. He dismounted a fair way from the destination. If something nefarious was afoot he didn’t want to risk announcing his presence. He approached quietly, his pistol in hand discreetly at his side. If he’d guessed wrong and Henry had honourable intentions, he’d look utterly foolish coming armed.
But Ashe saw immediately his initial assumptions
were correct. Alex stood in the clearing facing Henry, his voice carrying in the clearing before the mausoleum. ‘You’re surprised to see me.’
‘The message wasn’t for you.’ Henry was nervous. His eyes darted everywhere and his feet shifted anxiously from foot to foot. Something was wrong. Ashe looked about trying to see what Henry hoped to see. Was there someone hidden in the bushes?
‘I know.’ Alex began to circle Henry. Alex had always been able to manage Henry. Watching him now brought back memories from childhood when Alex had been the only one who could bring Henry to justice for his cruel pranks. ‘It made the message that much more interesting. What in the world did you need to tell my brother that it had to be done in private out here, so far from the house?’
Alex prowled like a cat. Henry’s eyes followed him around the circle. Alex did not relent. ‘Did you mean to tell him you forged your uncle’s signature on several bills of sale? Or perhaps you wanted to tell him you forged my signature on the funds you took from Bedevere for the Forsyth investment?’
‘You’re a raving lunatic, no one will believe you. Dr Lawrence will say it’s part of your paranoia,’ Henry snarled. ‘All the knowledge in the world won’t save you.’
‘And nothing will save you.’ Alex brought his arm up, levelling a pistol at Henry. ‘We’re both lost souls, Henry. How does it feel?’
Henry paled. Ashe watched in fascinated horror. Alex had seemed almost fragile since his return, but today he was strong and commanding, the way Ashe remembered him, except now there was a cold edge to that command devoid of Alex’s usual compassion. Ashe waited, not wanting to intervene until it was necessary.
‘You won’t shoot me,’ Henry challenged, but his voice wavered as if he didn’t believe it himself. Ashe didn’t believe it either. Alex would shoot him. The coldness in him left Ashe in no doubt. The bigger issue was whether Ashe should let him do it.
‘Of course I will. I’m “crazy”. A crazy man with a gun is a very frightening thing. One can never tell what they’ll do.’ Alex paused, his eyes narrowing in consideration. ‘Or maybe I’m sane after all. Which is more terrifying because then you can be sure I know exactly what I’m doing. I will give you one chance, Henry. I want a signed confession from you about the forgeries and I want you to resign yourself from any attempt to control Bedevere.’
Henry looked petulant. ‘Maybe you’re not the only one here with a gun.
Maybe there’s a man in the woods waiting to fire.’
‘On me?’ Alex made an exaggerated show of amazement. ‘I’m a peer of the realm. Is that what you’d planned for Ashe? To have someone shoot him unawares when he came to meet you in good conscience?’
Ashe looked about the grove. If a shooter recognised him, that could still happen. It was becoming imperative for all their safety that the elusive hidden man be found. There was a slight movement on the periphery of the clearing and Ashe saw what he’d been looking for.
Within in moments, Ashe had manoeuvred behind the would-be assassin. It was the work of seconds to render the man unconscious. Ashe decided it was time to show himself. He picked up the man’s gun and stepped forwards.
‘Your man has been neutralised, Henry.’ Ashe smiled. ‘I have personally rendered him useless. It hardly seems sporting of you to have planned such an unpleasant surprise for me. Now, about that confession Alex has offered you. I suppose that offer is looking better and better.’
Henry was deathly pale now, all his plans in sudden shreds. ‘That confession is my death warrant. You know the penalty for forgery.’
‘As did you when you began all this,’ Ashe reminded him.
‘I’ll shoot you now if you prefer,’ Alex offered.
Ashe wondered if his brother would do it. He seemed in deadly earnest. He didn’t relish watching Henry gunned down in cold blood at the family grave site.
‘I think he means it, Henry. Come to the house, write out the confession,’ Ashe urged.
Henry’s face suddenly lit with something akin to hope as if he’d just remembered something. ‘That might be difficult.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because Bedevere is burning,’ Henry said with malicious glee. ‘You can smell it.’
The wind shifted and Ashe smelled the smoke for the first time. Alex vaulted up behind him on Rex and they were off, Rex driven hard by Ashe’s own panic.
They saw the dark billows of smoke looming over the house as they took the last rise. ‘Dear Lord,’ Alex breathed, his grip on Ashe’s waist tightening in horror.
It was only part of the house, Ashe noted. Already, he could see the workers from the road rushing towards the house. If he could get a bucket brigade going, there was still time to save the main wing. There had to be. Everything he loved was down there. Genevra was down there.
*
‘Mrs Bedevere, there’s a man here to see you.’ Gardener found her in the music room where she’d taken up vigil after Ashe had ridden out. All she wanted was for Ashe to come back safely, for the issue of Henry’s perfidy to be resolved once and for all.
‘Who is it, Gardener?’ The last thing she wanted was to receive guests and make small talk while she worried over Ashe.
‘He is one of the coal people, madam.’ Gardener’s voice carried a tone of disapproval. Clearly, Gardener felt the man was not fit company. ‘He called here once before to meet with Lord Bedevere.’
Genevra fingered the smooth butt of Ashe’s pistol. She did not want to worry Gardener with other suppositions. Genevra had kept the pistol with her—the afternoon had been strange. What if this was a man who’d come with news about Ashe or some new threat from Henry? She hurried downstairs, the gun hidden effectively from view in the folds of her gown.
She didn’t like the man on sight. He introduced himself as Mr Trent, a man of business, but he didn’t look respectable in spite of his expensive clothes. He didn’t carry the air of a successful businessman—there was something too sinister about him for that.
‘What do you want?’ she asked unkindly.
He chuckled at her coldness. ‘You must be Mrs Bedevere. Mr Bennington told us you were quite the spitfire. He was right.
Bennington knows his women. My business is with Mr Bedevere. Is he here?’
‘You know he is not,’ Genevra guessed. ‘He’s with Bennington. There was a note, as I am sure you’re well aware.’
Trent leered with satisfaction. ‘If he’s with Bennington, he’s dead already.’
Genevra held her ground. She would not give in to the fear those words invoked. This man meant for the words to upset her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Henry wouldn’t kill Ashe, he wasn’t that brave. ‘I doubt it. Mr Bennington has shown himself to be a fool on more than one occasion.’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Bedevere. Henry didn’t have to do the shooting. We hired a professional to do that. You’re right, Bennington doesn’t have the ruthlessness to do it in cold blood.’
Genevra’s bravado faltered. Did this Mr Trent know that Alex had gone as well?
A professional would not hesitate to shoot both of the handsome Bedevere brothers. There was a moment when she could imagine them lying dead at the mausoleum, taken by surprise with no chance to defend themselves. But then she thought of the night she’d gone to wait for Ashe there, how fluid his movements had been when he’d pulled his knife from his boot, how he’d sensed her presence before she’d announced herself. Surely no one would take him by surprise.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Genevra replied smoothly. ‘Mr Bedevere is a tough man to kill.’
‘If you’re right, he’ll be in time to save you. If you’re wrong, then you can both be together in the afterlife.’ He raised his hand in a signal and Genevra watched in dismay as three other men filed into the hall. ‘I’ll manage the chit, you fire the building. Make sure it takes.’
‘No! You cannot burn this house,’ Genevra protested, her anger rising.
Trent struck a match and watched it fla
re. ‘I assure you I can. It’s my match.’
No one was going to burn Ashe’s beloved Bedevere while she lived and breathed. With a steady arm, Genevra raised the pistol from its hiding spot against her skirts. ‘It’s my gun.’
‘You’ve only got one shot and I’ve got a hundred matches.’ Trent was a cool customer, unfazed by the pistol barrel. Her eyes held his. She let him see every ounce of her determination. She’d give him no reason to doubt this woman would fire the weapon and at this range she would not miss.
‘You can’t light matches when you’re dead.’
‘Then my men will light the match. You can’t shoot us all.’
‘Are you so eager to die for a stick of wood?’ Genevra challenged.
But her bravado was short lived. ‘I’ve had enough, boss.’ One of the men spoke.
‘I’ve got a pistol, too. Let me shoot her and be done with it.’
‘Cunningham.’ Trent swivelled his oily gaze towards the man who’d spoken.
‘Always the thinker. Well, what do you say, Mrs Bedevere? Are you eager to die over a stick of wood?’
Everything that happened next seemed to slow. A shot rang out from above in the stairwell and Cunningham fell, a rose of colour blossoming on his chest.
Another shot fired from Trent’s men, she turned to see Gardener fall in answer.
‘No!’ Genevra screamed. She remembered too late to fire her own pistol. Trent rushed her, grabbing for her gun arm, his hand imprisoning her wrist until the gun fell to the floor.
Trent dragged her upstairs past Gardener’s prone form. She screamed, she kicked, she struggled, but there was no one to hear, no one to help. The day labourers were working on the fences along the road. The aunts, thank the lord, were in Audley Village and it was cook’s day off. There was only Ashe and Alex if they were still alive.
Trent shoved her into a bedroom and slammed the door. He looped a length of rope over her hands and secured her to a bedpost. ‘Hopefully, Henry will prove as foolish as you believe and Mr Bedevere will come racing home in time.’ He laughed harshly. ‘But then I’ll be here, waiting on the front steps, and I won’t fail like Henry.’
How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption) Page 20
