Sole heiress! Tiverwell Manor, mine!
The Duke took the Duchess’s hand in his. “My dear, I have a bit of a side-business,” he said. “It provides us with an added income which can afford to pay off Lord Norton.”
“Is this legal?” the Duchess demanded.
“Not in the least,” Arabella’s father replied. “I’m not proud of it, but it gives me something to do, and it gives us the freedom to arrange the world as we please.”
Arabella frowned. “Does Mr. Conolly know of this?”
“Yes. Like him, I’d rather you told no one,” he said.
Arabella had more questions. Although, she recalled the ledger, in the secret room. It was the hint of an answer. She doubted that her father would tell them anymore. It was surprising that he’d told them anything.
“Has all of your capital from this gone into paying Lord Norton?” she asked.
“Yes, it has,” her father said. “As a matter of fact, I believe I will be retiring from it. I have achieved my own personal aims. Now, I will sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
“Keep your secrets, then,” the Duchess said. “I believe Arabella will figure them all out in time.” She looked unsettled, almost as though she had no inkling.
“No doubt, she will,” the Duke replied, getting up. “I must go out for a little while. I’ve an errand.”
When he left, Arabella looked at her mother. “I’ve seen the ledger for this secret business. Lady Catsmore’s name is in it.”
“Then leave the digging to me,” the Duchess said. “Lady Catsmore can’t keep a secret to save her life.”
Arabella smiled. She herself needed to get another look at that ledger. The list of names was still in her reticule.
Since Pappa’s out, I might as well go and have a peek.
“Excuse me, Mamma,” she said, standing up. “This has all been quite a shock. I think that I need a few moments.”
“Of course, dear,” her mother replied.
Arabella saw that her mother was frowning deeply. She was clearly still digesting the fact that her husband of two-and-twenty years had hidden something so big from her. Arabella left the room. When her mother was ready to talk, she would.
Charles received word from Lord Dunsmore, that he had infiltrated Madam Christina’s. Charles wasn’t sure that he knew what that meant, nor that he wanted to know.
The note simply read: I have been inside Madam Christina’s. They didn’t suspect me of anything. So far, the search has turned up nothing. Never to fear, Mr. Conolly! I have no doubt that tonight may produce something.
It was growing dark out. Charles went to the next note in the pile. He frowned. There was a blob of black wax sealing it. The handwriting was spidery—distinctively familiar.
Heart racing in anticipation, he opened it.
Dear Mr. Conolly,
By now, you know that I’ve been setting you up to take the fall. I have not, actually. I was merely using you as a screen, to get Constable Mills off of my back while I finish my kills list. I apologize for any inconvenience. However, I believe that you have been smart enough to keep yourself to an ironclad alibi.
As I write to you, I am preparing for my final kill. By the time that you bring this to the constable, it will already be too late. Despite what you may believe, I truly wish you all the best. By now, I already know of your affair with the Lady Arabella. Soon, you will be free to pursue her, without the road block that her father was settling in your way.
You are far more sterling than any gentleman could ever be.
Warmest regards,
Nemesis
Charles knew that if he was going to save his future father-in-law, he needed to act fast. He quickly scrawled a note to Lord Dunsmore. He folded up the letter, and then folded it inside of the one for Lord Dunsmore.
“Mrs. Osbourne!” he yelled, running down the stairs. His housekeeper came running out of the kitchen, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“What’s all the ruckus, Sir?” she asked.
“I need you to deliver this to Lord Dunsmore,” he said, placing the letter into her capable hands. “Immediately.” He pulled some coin out of his pocket, placing it into her other hand. “Take a cab.”
“Where are you headed, sir?”
“Tell Lord Dunsmore that I’ll be by Madame Christina’s.”
“Mr. Conolly! That’s a brothel!”
“A gentleman’s life is at stake, Mrs. Osbourne!” he said, getting into his coat. “We must hurry!”
“Mr. Conolly, you should bring a pistol,” she said, as she stuck her arms into her coat sleeves.
“I don’t have one!” he replied, thinking to himself that it was a categorical mistake on his part. There was nothing to be done, at that point, however. “Hurry, Mrs. Osbourne!”
“I will!” she yelled as he closed the door after him.
Arabella snuck upstairs, her heart pounding. She made her way into the secret passage, and thence into the secret room. She pulled out the list of names, and then opened up the ledger.
The flickering light from the candle threw light across the pages. She went through, scanning. She went between both of them, stopping every time she came to a feminine name that she didn’t know and cross-checking it with the list.
Nothing. There was no name from the list that Lord Dunsmore had given her and the names in the ledger. She wondered what the connection could be.
She noticed that her father hadn’t moved the letters, since she had been there last. She opened them up, perusing them at her leisure. There was another—this one, with the same spidery handwriting. The seal had not been broken.
She dared to break it, opening it up.
I have been following you, as you make your way through the city. There’s not a single step that you’ve made that I have not haunted. There’s nowhere that you can go, that I will not follow.
I know all of the secret places in your home. I’ve heard a rumor that you’ve accepted Charles Conolly to be your son-in-law. I can hardly believe it.
What’s more—I wonder, why do you accept him, but not me?
Arabella gasped. This was an actual clue. This person knew her father.
If only he’d opened this letter!
She fled from the room, with the letter in her hand. She went to Mr. Blankley.
“My Lady?” he asked.
“I need you to send someone to get this to Lord Dunsmore,” she said, placing the letter in his hands. Lord Dunsmore would do something with it. She had doubts about Constable Mills.
“Lord Dunsmore, My Lady?” Mr. Blankley asked, doubtfully.
“It’s important,” she said. “It’s a clue that he’s been looking for.”
“Of course, My Lady. I’ll send the kitchen boy immediately.”
“Thank you,” she said, watching as Mr. Blankley left. She stood in the front foyer, at a loss as to what to do. Lord Dunsmore would have it all in hand. All she had to do was to wait.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Arabella was seated at her bedroom window, which overlooked the back of the house. She could see the garden through the frost on the glass. She thought of Charles’s hand, on the small of her back.
She then got the strangest feeling—as though something were wrong. She got up, feeling almost ill.
“Annette!” she called out.
“Yes, My Lady?” Annette replied. She was just coming in with Arabella’s dress for dinner.
“Something’s wrong,” she said.
“What is it, My Lady?” Annette enquired; her forehead was creased with concern.
“I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. “I just feel it.”
“What do you want to do, My Lady?” she asked. “We can’t go out at this hour—it’s too dangerous.”
Arabella let out a deep breath. Annette was right—she couldn’t go racing off across town. Not at this hour. Not unaccompanied. Her father had taken the footmen with him when he went out.
For anot
her, she had promised Charles that she wouldn’t stir from the house without proper accompaniment.
She hadn’t questioned her father’s leaving, earlier. Now, she was curious. She stood up, then went downstairs. She found Mr. Blankley with the other servants, in the kitchen.
They all stood up, at once.
“My Lady?” Mr. Blankley asked, confused to find her there. She usually just rang the bell.
“Mr. Blankley, where did my father say that he was going?” she asked.
“The Millgate Club, My Lady,” Mr. Blankley said.
Arabella knew that her face drained of color. She suddenly knew—although she couldn’t say how—that they needed to call the constable. Her father had gone, right to where the murderer was likely waiting for him.
“You need to call the constable,” she said. “Tell them that my father is in danger.”
“How do you know, My Lady?”
“Just do it, Mr. Blankley,” she said. “Something bad is going to happen if we don’t.”
Mr. Blankley glanced over at the cook, who shrugged. She was a stout woman, with frizzy hair that peeked out from underneath her cap.
“I’ll go, right away, My Lady,” he assured her, walking out.
“Can I get you some tea, My Lady?” the cook asked. “You should sit down. You look like you’re about to faint.”
Arabella sank down into the chair that was pulled out for her. She had never been so afraid before. Annette patted her soothingly on the shoulder.
“You’ve set things in motion,” she pointed out. “You’ve done what you can.”
“Yes,” Arabella agreed. “Hopefully, it’s not too late.”
Charles had the hansom cab drop him off down the road from the Millgate Club. He made his way, quickly, through the alley, and onto the street where the Millgate was located.
Despite the lateness of the hour, there was a crowd. People in all manner of dress were out, many of them clearly inebriated. There were large crowds around the entrances to both the Millgate and the Stanhope Clubs, as well as the pubs.
Charles walked toward the brothel. When he reached it, he could hear the sounds of an out of tune piano playing inside. It was busy.
“Ay there, M’Lord,” a woman, dressed in a revealing frock leered at him. “Care for a roll in the sheets?”
“No, thank you,” Charles replied.
“Wot are ye doin’ ere, then?” she asked.
“Looking for my friend,” he told her. “He said he’d be here.”
“Prolly busy,” she stated, turning away from him, as another potential client passed by on the street.
Charles stood, his hat pulled down over his forehead, and the collar of his coat turned up. He leaned against the outside wall, pretending that he was mildly intoxicated.
He scanned the crowds in the street, gathering his druthers. He would go inside Madam Christina’s, and ask to see the Duke of Tiverwell, just to make sure that he wasn’t there. If he was, then Charles would cite an emergency. If the Duke was not there, then he supposed that he might be at the Millgate Club…perhaps he should’ve stopped there first.
Just then, the Duke of Tiverwell exited, alone. He began to walk down the road. Charles frowned. He hesitated a moment, waiting for the Duke’s footmen to come out.
What is he doing, alone?
A woman, dressed in a dark cloak, exited the brothel. She looked about. Charles looked down, pretending that he was looking for something in his pockets.
He began to stagger toward the brothel, stumbling bit to seem drunk. He saw the woman turn and begin to follow the Duke of Tiverwell. Charles waited for a moment.
She must be working with Nemesis, he reasoned. So, he started to follow the both of them, leaving a large gap of space in between them.
Charles followed behind them, moving as slowly and silently as he could. Neither one of them looked back. The Duke was staggering about, clearly far into his cups. The woman walked slowly, yet confidently. She had the regal bearing of a queen.
The Duke, and then the woman, both turned down an alley. Charles, his heart racing, began to run. When he turned the corner, he saw the woman, approaching the Duke from behind.
There was a flash—light on something metallic—which was then plunged into the Duke’s side. Charles panicked, bursting into a run. He moved silently, landing his feet softly, so she didn’t hear him coming. He saw everything—the Duke cried out, falling to his knee. The woman grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back to look at her.
Charles arrived in time to hear her say, “We meet at last, Your Grace” in a husky and melodic voice, raising the knife to make the killing blow.
Charles, running at top speed slammed into the woman grabbing her by the wrist. He held it up, preventing her from swiping it across the Duke of Tiverwell’s exposed throat as she clearly meant to.
She growled squirming in his grasp. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from getting away.
“Unhand me!” she said, her voice cold. Charles held her tightly.
“Help!” Charles yelled. “Help us!”
There was the sound of heavy boots running in their direction. The woman tried to get away from him but he didn’t let go. The Duke was kneeling, his hand against the large splotch of crimson that was spreading across hs side.
In moments, the three of them were surrounded by a group of constables. Charles didn’t know where they came from, but he was utterly relieved to see them.
“What’s happened here?” Constable Mills asked.
“This woman stabbed the Duke of Tiverwell,” Charles explained. The woman had stopped fighting, going limp in his arms. One constable had relieved her of the knife. Another one had arrived and was pulling out a pair of irons.
She said nothing, just stood there staring at the ground as the irons were closed around her wrists. Charles studied her, closely. She had long, voluminous dark brown hair. She had been beautiful, once. Her gray eyes were flinty and she had a fine-boned face. Time and hard work had ravaged her. He tried to recall if he had ever seen her before. He didn’t. She looked at him, a smile spreading across her face.
This is Nemesis. I had been expecting a man—so has Lord Dunsmore. What a mistake!
Charles left her to the constables’ care. He knelt down beside the Duke, who was breathing raggedly. He needed to be taken to a physician. “I’ll hire a cab,” Charles offered, supporting his elbow.
“My carriage is less than a block that way,” the Duke said. Charles offered him a hand, helping him to struggle to his feet. He glanced at the constables.
“I’m going to help him to the physician,” he told them. “I’ll call on you afterward to give an official statement.”
“Very good, Sir,” Constable Mills said. Their eyes locked, and Charles could tell—this was not at all what they were expecting. They had truly believed the murderer to be him.
“Lean on me, Your Grace,” Charles said. There was no time for anything else. The Duke was bleeding heavily.
Arabella was still sitting in the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. She followed Mr. Blankley as he rose to get the door. Constable Mills had arrived, his hat in hand.
“It was as you said, My Lady,” he replied. “Your father has been taken by Mr. Charles Conolly to the physician.”
“Is Father all right?” she asked.
“He was stabbed, by the murderer, in the abdomen,” Constable Mills said. “However, it was not a fatal blow. It appears that Mr. Conolly arrived in time to prevent it.”
“Is Mr. Conolly all right?” Arabella asked.
Why was he there?
“He’s well. He’s with your father. Evidently, he was sent a letter by the murderer. Fearing for your father, he went out to Madam Christina’s, where he followed the both of them down an alley. We arrived not long after.”
“Is the murderer caught?” Arabella wondered.
“She has been, yes,” Constable Mills confirmed.
“She?” There was a twist that she hadn’t expected. Despite the fine, spidery writing, she had still believed it to be a man.
“She. We’re trying to get a statement from her,” Constable Mills said. “Until such time as she divulges her tale, we will let you know. We just wanted to bring word of your father.”
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