Redemption (30 page)

“Correct,” Barnaby sighed. “It is a lot of trouble to go to
but Pendlebury is intent on claiming to be a victim. Anyone who is
audacious enough to allow himself to be sent to prison for a crime
he
knows
he
didn’t commit is either incredibly stupid, or arrogant enough to
know they will be let out at some point, and will be out of the way
while the real crime he committed is being
investigated.”

“Good
Lord almighty,” Ben growled as he studied the room. “Why not just
leave the country as soon as the crime was committed?”

“Because
he probably hadn’t gotten his hands on the cash by then or needs to
wrap things up a little tighter; sell more of the possessions for
more money, that kind of thing. He needs to not only get away, but
go far, far away, and stay there for a very long time. If he
doesn’t, he could go to prison for real if anyone did see him kill
Samson, or Lizzie vanished from Derbyshire. Once Lizzie answered
his letters and reappeared in London, he knew his release was
inevitable. In the eyes of society he will be exonerated, and his
reputation will be restored. The fact that he is actually guilty of
someone else’s murder has already been carefully hidden. Nobody has
any reason to suspect him of having anything to do with Samson’s
demise. Why would they when the dead man was connected to a man
like Trent?”

“Trent
confirmed that Samson was connected to him.”

“Yes, I know,” Barnaby sighed. “I think Samson was providing
Trent with information about which houses within the
ton
have the most
luxurious items worth stealing. We have no proof just yet, apart
from the fact that about ninety of the hundred social engagements
Samson has attended in the last couple of years have all been
robbed within six weeks of his visit.”

“There
is a trail?”

Barnaby
nodded. “Just not pointing to Samson, or Trent, for definite.
Without proof we have no case to take to the
magistrate.”

“Where
do we look, and what are we looking for?” Ben asked curiously as he
turned his attention back to the room.

Barnaby
sighed. “Well, put yourself in Julian’s shoes. If you were trying
to implicate someone like Trent, a gangster, and needed to hide
something that could incriminate you for someone’s murder, what
would you do?”

“Besides
leave the country? Certainly not put myself in jail,” Ben
snorted.

“If you
were looking at leaving your old life behind, and had even gone to
the extreme of securing a loan on the family seat you were going to
turn your back on, what would you do?”

“Hide
whatever money I had left.”

“Exactly. So if Julian is planning on leaving, it is fair to
assume he would stash some money to take with him in here, isn’t
it?”

“Julian
is nothing if not greedy,” Ben sighed with a nod, and lifted his
brows when Barnaby rounded on him.

“Exactly. So why would he agree to sign Bristledown over to
Lizzie? This is Julian Pendlebury we are talking about. He either
doesn’t intend to sign it over to Lizzie, or intends to sign it
over to her in the hopes that she will keep it and he can reclaim
it if he ever returns to London.”

Ben
snarled. “Lizzie would be implicated in the next phase of his plan
if he was ever found. He could say he had been at
Bristledown.”

“Correct. It is important that we find his cash and stop him
from having a source of income to live off when he leaves. If he
has signed anything over to Lizzie, then it is equally important
that she doesn’t do anything with it until Pendlebury is behind
bars where he belongs. One thing is for certain, anyone who is
innocent doesn’t go to these lengths.” He waved to the room they
were standing in. “Pendlebury is a worried man and has a lot to
hide.”

Ben
couldn’t argue with him. He agreed completely with Barnaby’s
deduction. Just what Pendlebury had to hide though was, worriedly,
starting to look a whole lot like murder; the murder of Joshua
Samson.

Minutes
later, Barnaby rocked backward and forward on a loose floorboard.
He tore up several planks and sat back with an air of satisfaction
as both he and Ben studied the secret hiding place that contained a
carefully wrapped parcel.

Ben
lifted it out and placed it on the floor before them.

“There
you have it,” Barnaby sighed. “Before you open it, let’s take a
closer look at the clothing, shall we?” He began to lay out several
items of clothing on the floor for Ben to see.

“What
are you looking for?” Ben asked studying each gaudy item with
distaste.

“I am
not looking for anything. I am looking at these. What do you
notice?”

Ben
studied each item before something began to become startlingly
clear. He held up one dress that would fit someone of quite mammoth
proportions, and held it up against something that would fit a
woman half the size. On top of that he placed another top that
would have fit a child, and on top of that he carefully stretched
out another dress that looked like it would fit someone quite buxom
but quite small in the waist.

“Well,
either Pendlebury’s mistress is hideously deformed, or he has been
stealing randomly from washing lines,” Ben snorted.

“Or he
has purchased these haphazardly from anyone and everyone he could
in order to create the picture of having a rather questionable
woman of ill repute living in his house.”

“He did
tell Lizzie that he had taken out a loan for his portion of the
property and didn’t care what happened to Pendlebury House once he
had gone.”

“He has
stripped it of everything saleable,” Barnaby added. “This isn’t the
action of a man with much sentiment. He would have no affiliation
toward Lizzie, who is not really even a relation. It is safe to
assume that he would not be generous enough to give her anything
without receiving anything in return.”

Ben
unwrapped the bundle, and swore at the veritable fortune that lay
before him.

“Well, I
can protect Lizzie from anything Pendlebury has planned, but what
could he plan to do with Bristledown except live there? He could
stay there for a very long time with this lot to pay his
way.”

“Exactly. If Lizzie owned it, and his involvement in Samson’s
murder ever became known, Lizzie would be implicated for harbouring
a criminal.”

“He
could blackmail her into anything, couldn’t he?”

“One
thing is for certain, he isn’t going to take your presence in her
life too well,” Barnaby warned him. “Pendlebury is a dangerous man.
You need to watch your back. Where is Lizzie now?”

“She is
at McArthur House,” Ben sighed. “She had just gone to bed when I
left to meet you.”

He
glanced at his timepiece, and suspected that both Lizzie and Patty
would be fast asleep by now.

“Wrong,”
a dark voice drawled casually from the doorway.

Ben
jerked around and cursed loudly when he looked straight into
Lizzie’s terrified eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Pendlebury,” Barnaby drawled. “I wondered when I would
finally get to make your acquaintance.”

“You are
out then,” Ben added in a voice that dripped scorn.

He tried
to keep his stance relaxed but everything within him was teetering
on the brink of civilisation. The sight of the tears on Lizzie’s
pale cheeks, and the red marks around her throat made his blood
boil, but at least she was there now, and Pendlebury hadn’t dragged
her off to deal with her the same way he had Samson.

“I
refused to allow the solicitor to leave without me,” Pendlebury
replied with a smirk. “I wrote the other day and demanded the
bloody idiot see me today, or else.”

Barnaby
shifted his weight and eyed the wicked looking knife Pendlebury
held against Lizzie’s throat.

“I don’t
believe I have met you before,” Pendlebury declared as he raked
Barnaby with a disparaging look.

“No, you
haven’t,” Barnaby said quietly. “But I know all about
you.”

Pendlebury lifted an arrogant brow and smirked.
“Oh?”

Ben
wanted nothing more than to knock that smirk right off the
convict’s face, and would have done if he hadn’t had Lizzie in a
life threatening grip.

“I see
you found my stash,” Pendlebury remarked eyeing the bundle on the
bed with arrogant supremacy. “Wrap it back up, I will take it with
me.”

“You are
not going anywhere,” Barnaby snorted, “Except back to prison where
you belong.”

“Have
you not noticed the plight of this young woman I have on the end of
my blade? If you think I wouldn’t hurt her then you are sorely
mistaken,” Pendlebury challenged.

“I have
no doubt that you would hurt her, but I am afraid that you shall
not get away with any harm you do to her. Samson’s murder has
already destroyed your life. You see, we found someone who saw you
following Samson on the night he died. The last he saw of you was
with Samson, a few yards away from where Samson’s body was found.
Given that Trent saw you arguing with Samson in his gaming house, I
think it is fair to assume that you were the killer. I am also sure
that if we search the entirety of this house, and go beneath every
floor, scrape out every fireplace, and look in every nook and
cranny, there will be some trace of a bloodied weapon, or stained
clothing that will incriminate you. However, if there isn’t, your
proximity to the scene of the death puts you in the frame for
Samson’s murder. Not only that, but your careful planning with this
clothing, together with the secret stash of money, make you look
incredibly guilty. This is not the action of an innocent man.
Nobody goes to these extremes just to avoid debts they cannot
repay.” Barnaby fingered several items of clothing on the bed. “You
set these out quite nicely but didn’t bother to do what most women
would do and check their sizes. Not one of these would either make
a complete outfit or fit one person. You undoubtedly purchased a
bundle off someone in a hurry and never bothered to check what you
had before you planted it. You have no mistress. You lied to Ben.
Trent doesn’t have a sister. You wouldn’t indulge anyone else; you
are too self-centred to be so frivolous with your money. Indeed, I
actually think that you are trying desperately to get Miss Pinner’s
wealth off her in whatever way you deem necessary.” He eyed the
wicked looking blade pointedly, and was unsurprised when Pendlebury
didn’t argue.

Ben
stared at Pendlebury in horror as the realisation dawned as to what
all of the man’s lies had been about.

“You
hurt a hair on her head and I shall hunt you down to the ends of
the earth,” Ben snarled in a voice that was condemning. “As her
beneficiary, you would inherit the lot if she died, wouldn’t you?
But why wait until she came of age? She has been under your
pathetic attempt at protection for years. Why now?”

“Because
the money was locked up tight until I reached one and twenty,”
Lizzie whispered. “He has tried to gain access to it. Ask the
solicitor. He has called upon them over the last several years with
various excuses why he should get his hands on the money but they
refused each and every time. Apart from a monthly stipend they gave
him to pay for my upkeep, he has been unable to touch any of the
money set aside for me. He had to wait until I came of age and
then, if anything happened to me, everything I own goes to him. If
I died while Julian was still my guardian then everything would go
to my aunt, Patty, rather than Julian. It was a condition my mother
had put in her will because she knew what a selfish ingrate Julian
really is. She was protecting my interests as best she
could.”

“You are
lying. I am the man of the family so what is yours will go to me
when you die,” Julian snarled all arrogant disbelief.

Lizzie’s
gaze remained locked on Ben. He was her calm oasis in a storm
tossed world where she struggled to keep her mind focused on what
she needed to do to stay alive. She had no idea who the man with
him was, but there was a toughness about him that warned her he was
a good man to have on side. Right now, she rather suspected that
she and Ben needed any help they could get. The steadiness in his
eyes was immensely reassuring. If he wanted her to remain calm and
allow him and his friend to control things then that is what she
would do.

“You
broke into my house,” Ben snarled, wondering where his staff
were.

“I don’t
know how he got in, Ben. I was putting the guard in front of the
fire in my room when I realised that I was no longer alone. When I
looked up, he was beside me. I think he climbed in through the
window,” Lizzie gasped.

It
wasn’t the sight of her step-brother that had worried her so. It
was his unkempt appearance that gave him an almost ghostly
appearance that was dark and dishevelled. It was clear that he
hadn’t washed for some time, and had gone straight to her upon
securing his release from prison. How he had managed to persuade
the solicitor to get him out of jail there and then was anyone’s
guess, but that wasn’t important right now. What mattered the most
was how long it would be before they could get him back to jail
where he belonged.