Chapter 13 #2
Forsythe laughed and tipped an imaginary hat to her.
"Very well, Banshee," he started. "The will presented as the last will and testament of Gregory Fitz-Wilton is drawn up quite legally giving George Fitz-Wilton control of all houses and estates young Jeremy has inherited and giving the same George Fitz-Wilton guardianship over Jeremy himself. "
"Shite," Ban muttered. "And don't call me Banshee."
"However, your man Oxford says the signature is a forgery, and I happen to agree with him.
There is another will somewhere, legally signed and sealed.
Your man managed to find a draft of it that was not destroyed, but the original is nowhere to be found, at least not by Mister Oxford. And I did not just say that."
Con, Fam, and Warrick grinned.
'That is the good news, if the actual will can be found."
"What's the bad news, Forsythe?" Con asked. "You always save that for last."
"Must drive your wife mad," Warrick added.
"My wife adores me, I'll have you know."
"That's a pity," Fam said. "The baroness has such excellent tastes in everything else."
"And how would you know that?" Forsythe asked sharply.
Ban looked at Isadore and winked. She gave him a half smile and blushed. When had he become such a calf-faced lout as to take pleasure in teasing her?
"She and Ethan are friends," Fam said with an exasperated sigh. They work on some charities together."
Forsythe relaxed and shook his head. "Of course. How is Lord Ethan?"
"He is well. He's here somewhere keeping Con's wife out of trouble," Fam replied.
"You mean keeping her out of here whilst we discuss this business," Ban said. "The bad news, Forsythe?"
The barrister took a deep breath. He handed Isadore a stack of documents. "These are copies of marriage contracts and a will dawn up in your name, Missus Fitz-Wilton. I take it you have neither seen nor signed any of these?"
"I most certainly have not." Isadore began to scan the pages. Her face grew paler as she read. She flipped the pages faster and faster and her hands shook.
When he saw Ban and his brothers' looks of concern, Forsythe explained.
"The marriage contracts deed control of the banks to Horace Sutton with the codicil that he will hand control of the banks over to George Fitz-Wilton in exchange for a modest sum of money.
The will deeds the banks to Jeremy in the event of his mother's death.
And..." The barrister took a deep breath as Isadore dropped the documents onto the table and pushed them away.
"In the event of Jeremy's death, the banks and everything else go to George Fitz-Wilton. "
"I'm going to kill that festering son of a whore," Ban muttered.
"What," Con started with a slashing motion at Ban. "Can Missus Fitz-Wilton do legally?"
"If she marries Horace Sutton?" Forsythe said. "Not a damned thing. You've got to find that original will. Do that and I will go to Chancery and have George Fitz-Wilton brought up on charges. Your man, Oxford, won't testify about the forgery, but the Duke of Chelmsford's brother will if necessary."
"The Duke of Chelmsford's brother who publishes those wicked naughty books?" Isadore asked, her eyes wide as she turned an accusing gaze at Ban.
"The very same. He's quite the expert on handwriting and signatures," Forsythe said. "So long as he remembers to wear his spectacles. His testimony will carry a great deal of weight should it be necessary."
"Is there anyone you Dyer brothers don't know," she inquired, shaking her head.
"Haven't they told you, my dear lady?" Forsythe asked. "Wicked is their business. Hence their need for me. Speaking of which..." He gave Con a pointed look.
"Could you excuse us, Missus Fitz-Wilton? We need to discuss a little business not related to your difficulties," Con said in his formal King of the Rookeries voice. Ban got to his feet.
"Of course." She stood and offered Forsyth her hand. "Thank you for everything, Mister Forsythe. I know this is not your usual sort of case."
"With these boys, nothing is usual." Forsythe bowed over her hand. As if summoned by thought Ethan stuck his head in the library door.
"Good morning, Isadore. Shall we go and have a cup of tea and a good gossip? Marianne has had a tea tray sent to her parlor for us. She and Beatrice are anxious to meet you."
"Lord Ethan, how good it is to see you." Isadore bustled off with Fam's lover without giving Ban a backward glance.
"What was that all about?" he asked Con as they all settled back into their seats.
"Col wants to meet with you," Forsythe told Ban.
"He wants to discuss this business with Ma Dyer's boys and the missing children, and please don't do me the insult of asking what business.
Archer Colwyn and I have no secrets, especially when it comes to keeping you miscreants out of prison.
He'll meet you at The Ten Bells tomorrow morning at eleven.
He already has me looking into some things, but he wants to talk to you, Ban.
" The barrister stood and gathered the various documents he'd brought with him.
He stuffed them into his leather portfolio.
"Find that will, Ban. My hands are tied without it. Fitz-Wilton has powerful friends of the worst sort--rich, titled, and ruthless. Any war between them and you four is going to be bloody and dangerous."
"I've got teams of my best men searching the other eleven houses on Isadore's list. They're experts at finding things rich aristocrats don't want anyone to find. As soon as they find it."
"I did not just hear you have teams of thieves breaking into houses all over London."
"Of course you didn't. I'll have Oxford bring it to you once we find it."
"Please do. He's the least murderous looking man on your crew. You sent Billings last year, and the Inns of Court are still talking about it." He gave an exaggerated shudder to emphasize his point.
"Wait a minute," Warrick suddenly said. "Did Ethan just say he was going to introduce Missus Fitz-Wilton to Marianne? And to my wife?"
Con suddenly looked a bit green.
"This could be bad," Fam mused.
"Bad?" Con practically shouted. "A woman who remembers everything she sees and my master thief of a wife?" He looked at Warrick. "And your ruthless wife? It's a fucking disaster!" He started for the library doors. Warrick was fast on his heels.
Forsythe began to laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" Ban asked. "Isn't your wife the one who drugged you and tied you to a bed?"
"Fuck you, Banshee."
Fam rolled his eyes and strolled slowly out of the room.
"Keep a close watch on Missus Fitz-Wilton, Dyer," Forsythe said, his expression barrister-serious once more. "Those documents tell me her brother-in-law will stop at nothing to get what he wants. And I do mean nothing."