Chapter Twenty-Four #2
She nodded. “I suspected as much. Jonnie’s memory is coming back, but only in small shreds. You’d better tell me. Knowing the truth will help him.”
“I suspect they were after Jonnie. Not me.”
Robert nodded. “You know they were.”
“All right,” Walter said. “They were.”
“And one of them was not a footpad,” Verity said.
The eyes of both her cousins widened in shock. “How do you know?” Walter muttered.
“That’s the bit Jonnie remembered.”
Silence. They were both clearly thinking about this.
“Er, does he remember who it was?” Walter asked, at last.
Verity nodded. “A man called Teesdale, whose father his father ruined.”
“Oh.” This was said in unison.
Verity went in for the kill. “And did you see him too, Walter?”
Walter nodded. “I…er…I did.”
“And?”
“Tell her,” hissed Robert. “She can take it.”
Walter’s eyes darted left and right as though seeking a means of escape. “Jonnie killed him.”
Verity stared. She had not been expecting this. Her husband, the man she was beginning to like because he’d dropped his veneer of being a rake, had really killed a man. Walter must have witnessed it. “You’re sure it was him?”
Walter nodded. “Ran him through with his sword stick.”
She’d seen that stick. She’d never guessed it contained a sword. “I think you’d better tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
Walter, more than a little reluctantly, began a recitation of the night’s events, beginning with the three of them playing cards at White’s and then leaving Robert in order to head back to Cavendish Square together for a nightcap.
He covered the surprise attack, telling it from his own point of view rather than Jonnie’s, of course.
He’d seen Jonnie run one of the footpads through, but not seen a second one of them break his friend’s arm.
He’d seen his friend go down and the gigantic footpad kicking him, and then the alarm had been sounded.
The man who’d turned out to be a doctor had emerged, waving his pistols and shouting the odds.
The injured footpads, deprived of their fallen leader, had fled, leaving behind the body of Thomas Teesdale.
Walter and the doctor, once he’d established he was helping a pair of gentlemen, had got the unconscious Jonnie into the house and the doctor had begun treating him.
Walter, meanwhile, had sent one of the doctor’s servants, a boy who’d been woken by the noise, round to fetch Robert and the two of them had dragged Teesdale, whom they’d both recognized, off the street before it grew light.
With the doctor still busy with Jonnie, they’d acquired a barrow from somewhere, probably stolen Verity assumed, and wheeled Teesdale’s body the conveniently short distance round to Sylvester’s house.
She held up her hand. “Who, pray, is Sylvester?”
“Ah,” Robert said. “The wicked uncle.”
“The wicked uncle?” Was this some melodramatic piece of fiction?
Walter nodded. “He’s wanted Jonnie’s earldom all his life. His father’s younger brother. A vicar, would you believe, but one with a blacker heart than any man of the cloth should possess.”
“I thought Jonnie was the one with the black heart. Isn’t he known as the Black Earl?”
Walter snorted with laughter. “Oh, that. Well, that’s all a bit of a show. He likes to be called that, but he’s got a heart of gold, if truth be told.”
That was a turn up for the books, or it would have been had not Verity already surmised that he was nowhere near as black as he was painted.
“So his wicked uncle sent this Teesdale to…to assassinate him?” It sounded ridiculous when said out loud. “Why would he have waited until now?”
Walter frowned. “That’s escaped me too. I have no idea.
But I’m certain he’s behind it. Teesdale’s an out and out bastard, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, but not daring enough to do something like this on his own.
Or rich enough. The man lives by being a card sharp, Jonnie says.
He’s very good at spotting a fellow cheating.
That’s why Teesdale never plays against him. ”
Robert interrupted. “I think I know why he’s suddenly decided to rid himself of Jonnie.
” He pointed at Verity. “You. Jonnie’s married now.
And you know what happens when a fellow gets wed.
” He blushed. “Babies. An heir. You know.” His face went redder still.
“Until now Sylvester’s just been waiting for Jonnie to die.
In a duel perhaps. On a horse. With no heir, Sylvester would have got the earldom.
Him and his dreadful son. The moment Jonnie got himself a wife, it must have been like signing his death warrant. ”
The thought that all Jonnie’s injuries might be her fault was a sobering one. Supposing those footpads had succeeded? Her heart gave a frightened lurch as she realized how that would have left an empty hole in her that could never be filled.
She swallowed. “So you put Teesdale’s body outside Wintringham’s house?” The daring of it amazed her. It could almost have been called funny if it hadn’t involved someone being dead. Even if he had wanted Jonnie dead in his place.
“On his doorstep,” Robert said, with a grin.
“With a note pinned to his chest.”
“A note?” Verity echoed, feeling a little faint, which was most unlike her.
“Of course,” Walter said. “A note to warn Sylvester off. And hopefully, before his household rises, that body will have attracted quite a crowd. He’ll have some explaining to do, I should think.
Especially as before we left to come down here, I sent a note round to the Bow Street Runners.
Told them, anonymously of course, that old Sylvester’s involved in a plot to assassinate a peer of the realm and that his coconspirator could be found dead on his doorstep.
They’ll have found that first thing in the morning.
At much the same time as Sylvester’s servants must have been discovering their visitor. ”
“Clever, ain’t we?” Robert said, fairly preening himself with smugness.
“I hope no one saw you walking through London with a corpse in a barrow,” Verity said. “You are my cousins and your mother would be horrified if you were to be hanged, or sent to Botany Bay.”
Walter grinned. “We were careful, Coz. No one saw us at all. We know the streets of London well, don’t we Robert?”
Robert beamed. “We certainly do.”