Taken by the Wicked Rake (24 page)

“Of course, Father. Did you not read my letter?” She kissed him on the top of the head, which was greyer than Stephano remembered it. But Narborough did not appear as frail as his family had put about. “And you?”

The earl sighed in relief. “Much better, now that I can see you. Could you bring me a cup of tea, my dear?”

Verity started for the door. Then she recognized the ploy that would take her from the room, so that the men could talk in private. She gave him a pointed look, and lifted her chin. “I will ring for a servant.”

He smiled. “Very well.” He looked up at Stephano. “So you are Hebden’s bastard, that has given us so much trouble these last months?”

Confronted by the one who might very well be his father’s killer, Stephano found he was momentarily humbled by the man’s rank and the directness of his speech. Then, he stepped forward to greet his wife’s father. “I am.”

The old earl examined him. “You are the spitting image of him. Darker, of course. But still. It was a bad business, all around, and we were all sorry to see your mother so ill treated. Both your mothers. But Kit was not an easy person to love. I expect you know that better than any of us.”

Of all the things he had thought to hear, when he finally came face to face with George Carlow, this was outside of his imagining. All he could do was nod.

And then, the old man turned to steel before his eyes. “But it does not excuse your recent behaviour. What did you mean by ripping pages from my journal or taking my daughter and sending this note to my family?” He slapped a piece of paper on the table between them.

“Father, he did not…” Verity began. Stephano held a hand up to silence her. It would do no good to either of them for her to speak for him. Then he leaned forward to look at the paper, wondering if it would do any good to deny the thing. It was not in his hand, nor were these his words. He was not even sure where the blood had come from. While the trail of splotches he had left on the chemise he’d sent were vulgar, they were nothing like the amount of blood spilled here.

He could see where the vile boasts of the letter might have driven Stanegate to shoot at him, for the thought of someone hurting Verity, and then disposing of her so casually was anathema to him, as it was to her family.

But if he had not sent the note, then who?

And then, it all became quite clear to him. Of course, it proved he had been an idiot almost from the start, and had badly misjudged the situation and his level of control over it. But he would gladly sacrifice his pride, for the truth to be known. He hid his smile of success, for there was still the necessity of proving it to the others. “The person who wrote this letter deserves punishment, for it was a most reprehensible trick.”

The earl nodded. “I agree.”

“But the contents are all lies,” he amended. “I kidnapped Lady Verity in an effort to force a meeting between us. But while she was with me, she was treated as a member of my own family.” Narborough frowned at him. “I can see that.” The windows behind him faced out onto the garden. He had likely witnessed all that passed between Stephano and his daughter, and must have been able to guess the details, easy enough.

“And I did not damage the journal that was removed from your library. It came to me in that condition, and I have no reason to think it had been tampered with after it left your house. Someone knew about that journal and defaced it at an earlier time.”

The earl nodded again, as though satisfied with his answer.

And here was where he would learn the truth of Narborough’s character. “If I may ask a question of my own, Your Lordship?”

There was a pause, as he considered. And then, the earl said, “Despite your heinous behaviour to ward my family, it was your father that died. You are more entitled to ask questions than any of us.”

“What had you written on those pages?”

“Apparently, something quite important. The person responsible for this must have learned of my penchant for record keeping and sought to obscure the details of the event. I can tell you that it contained my suspicions that I had done wrong by William Wardale, and made a grave error in testifying against him.” He looked to Nathan, his features etched in sorrow. “There is no apology sufficient for what happened to your father. He was adamant of his innocence, to the last day. But I could find nothing to prove his claims. And to know him hanged – and the part I played in it?” Narborough shook his head. “The guilt of it has weighed on my soul. And I fear I shall soon have to answer directly to William for the wrongs I did him.”

It was a touching story, but useless to Stephano. “While I sympathize with the plight of the Wardale family, I must ask you to tell me the rest of it. You were there. I was not.” And he felt some of the old sadness and confusion returning, in the pure and innocent way he’d felt it when he was a child and known nothing of Romany curses. “Please, Your Lordship. Tell me of the last moments of my father’s life.”

The earl gestured him to take a chair. And as he sat, the rest of the people in the room gathered closer to hear the story. Stephano could feel Verity, just behind him, resting her hand upon his shoulder.

“You must understand, William and Kit and I were close friends, or had been, until the events surrounding that evening. But we feared there was a traitor amongst us. Coded messages had been passed to enemies of England, and no one was above suspicion. Tempers were short and blood ran hot. For my part, I said and wrote things that I did not mean. I was too quick to judge.” Narborough looked like he felt true regret. And having read the vitriolic entries that remained in his journals, Stephano felt he had good reason.

“But I thought our troubles were nearing an end. Your father was the one set to crack the code that the spy had been using. And he claimed to be successful. He was ready to turn the information over to the Home Office, and agreed to come to my house and show me before the thing was done.” He looked to Nathan. “Your father was to meet us, as well. They were both late, of course.” He shook his head and smiled. “I was accustomed to that. They were younger, and heedless of time. But perhaps that night, they had reason. It was raining, and travel was not easy.”

“And when they arrived?”

“I did not hear them come. If I had, perhaps I could have stopped what occurred. I had been called away to the Alien Office unexpectedly. When I returned, I went to my study to get a book. The doors to the garden were open. The rug was wet.” He stared off into the distance, as though he could see it all again. “Perhaps that is it. For I remember wondering how it had gotten so muddy, if the struggle had happened outside. There was too much water. Perhaps there were too many foot prints for only the two men I saw there.”

“There might have been more than one man in the room?” Nathan asked, eager to clear his own father.

Narborough nodded. “But a perhaps is not the same as evidence. And the room got much worse, after Veryan and his lot arrived from the Home Office to take charge of things. The next morning, it was clean and dry. How could I be sure of my assumptions? But I swear, that night it was wet, and strewn with the broken needles from the rosemary bushes that used to be planted in the garden, just outside.”

Narborough made a face and paled, as though his illness was likely to return at any time. “They had come in, not from the front, but through the garden doors, and crashed through the bushes. There must have been a struggle. The room stank of rosemary. To this day, I cannot abide the stuff.”

He shook his head, as though to clear it of the scent. “And there lay Kit. Will Wardale was bending over him. My letter opener was still in Will’s hand. His other hand was spread over Kit’s ribs, as though he wished to stop the bleeding. But it was clear, by the way the stain grew, that he was doing no good. And there was a horrible bubbling noise when Kit tried to speak…”

“He was still alive?” Stephano’s chest felt tight at the thought. It had been twenty years, but it was almost as if he could feel his father’s last breath.

“For only a moment.” And in a gesture that shocked them both, Narborough leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, just as Verity had done. “I wish I could tell you he did not suffer. But for a brief time, he did. He tried to speak to us. In Latin, of all things.”

“My father spoke Latin?” Stephano almost laughed at the thought. “He was well read, certainly. But with me, he did not rise to the poetic.”

Narborough looked confused, as well. “It was broken Latin, at that. He was gasping for what little he could manage, and I am not even sure of what I heard. I thought perhaps it was some part of the code he tried to tell us. There are ciphers that are unbreakable, if you do not know the key. I have tried every Latin phrase I can think, that might suit.
Veritas omnia vincit. Magnasest Veritas et pervalebit.
Certainly not
In vino, Veritas.
Although if your father had a motto, that would have done well. But none of it means anything.”

“Father!” Verity’s hand had tightened on his shoulder as the old man had spoke, until her grip was almost painful. “You do not recognize your own daughter’s name?”

“Of course, I do, my dear. But what would you have to do with this? You were a baby when it happened.”

“In a cradle. With my toys,” she said. “One of them was a silver rattle, which was a gift from Stephano’s father. He had it with him on the night he died.”

She came around from behind him, so that she could see into his face. “You told me that you saw the thing in your father’s study. You disturbed his work with the whistling, and he took it from you. But it was broken when I received it.”

He smiled into her marvellous hazel eyes, which were dancing with excitement. “And you think that his last words…”

“Were ‘In Verity’s rattle’,” she finished, triumphantly. “Could he have been solving the code, when you disturbed him? He probably pocketed the rattle without even thinking. And if he suspected he was followed to the house that night, perhaps he forced the cipher key down into the whistle so that no one would find it.”

He gripped her hand in his, and gave it a tight squeeze of gratitude. “We must see.”

The earl made to rise. “I will send to Stanegate Court…”

“No need,” Verity was grinning now. “Marc, do you not know where it is?”

Her brother looked baffled. Verity gave an exasperated sigh. “You are the nicest brother a girl could wish for, Marcus. And you, as well, Hal,” she added in after thought. “But some times, you are both quite useless. I gave you a gift, on the birth of your child. Honoria did, as well. But mine was a family keep sake. The very rattle that Christopher Hebden was carrying with him on the night he died was at the break fast table this morning. You called it annoying and demanded it be taken back to the nursery. But it would be much more annoying if it whistled. And it cannot. Because someone put something down the hole. I will go and get it, and we will open it. If it holds the code key, then we will settle today what should have been done many years ago.” She turned and left for the nursery.

Stephano stood to watch her go, shaking his head in amazement. His Verity had been the key, after all. And his taking her, and everything surrounding it, had happened for a purpose. It had brought them to this day, where all could be revealed.

But her absence left the gentlemen alone. There was a moment of awkward silence, and he hoped that her faith in her brothers was well placed, and the truce was no sham.

“Tea, Marcus?” said Hal, smiling down the hall after his retreating sister.

“Something stronger, perhaps,” muttered Stanegate. “It has been an eventful day.”

“Excuse me,” Alexander Veryan muttered, clearing his throat. “A call of nature.” He shifted uneasily, looking like a man whose digestion could not be ignored, and made a hasty exit from the room. Stephano watched the slight narrowing of the eyes that the two Carlow brothers gave to each other, as though they liked the Veryan lad no better than he.

“It is his father that did the killing, you know,” Stephano said softly, and watched the men around him start.

“Keddinton? Certainly not.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The letter I sent to you? And the chemise?”

Hal muttered an oath under his breath, and it was Stanegate’s turn to lay a cautioning hand on his father’s shoulder, as the old earl paled in his chair.

Stephano continued. “It was not that vile piece of rubbish on the desk.” He licked his lips, as though it were possible to ease the apology he must make. “I have done many things for which I have no pride. But do you know me as a rapist or a murderer? The kidnapping was a threat to her honour, of course. But I took care that no one saw us depart. If you kept silent on her disappearance, and given me the confession I demanded, no one would have been the wiser. She’d have come to no physical harm while in my care. As you can see, she is very much alive and in good health and spirits.”

“You sent us the…” Stanegate paused as though he did not even wish to say the words. “The bloody shift. What did you expect us to think?”

He held out his hand to them, showing the healing cut. “The blood was mine.” As an after thought, he added, “And Verity was alone when she removed the chemise. I took it after. I was not there to see the results. There was no threat to your sister’s modesty.” Then, at least. But now was not the time to discuss that.

“I meant to shock you, nothing more. I gave Keddinton a message and shed the blood in his presence. I expected him to tell the truth. He had helped me before, and swore he had more love of justice than he did for either of your families. I was an idiot to trust him. I thought I controlled him. But from the first moment, he played me for a fool, and used me as a tool against you all.”

“And we are to trust your word, are we?” Stanegate asked.

“I will provide a sample of my writing, if you wish to compare. But if the rattle contains an undiscovered message from my father, there will be proof enough, soon.”

For a moment, the men around him seemed to forget their hatred of him, and looked thoughtful at the information he had given them.