Chapter 14 #3
Sebastian did not wait for Birchwood to rally a response. He exited hastily, slipping out of the side entrance Lord Birchwood himself had entered through before.
He swiped up the overcoat he had not expected to still be there, patting the pockets to see if any of his belongings had been pilfered. Satisfied that his items were right where he left them, he tapped the pocket where he had tucked Birchwood’s stack of documents.
All’s well that ends well…
With the situation handled neatly and efficiently, Sebastian removed his wig, stuffed it into his pocket, then disappeared into the darkness, becoming a shadow himself.
In his study, in the early hours of the morning, Sebastian scrutinized the papers had taken right out the Marquess’ pockets and discovered that Lord Birchwood had been carrying stolen documents.
The stack of parchment was nothing other than a bit of correspondence between some of the faceless lords who embraced cheeky nicknames while doing their shady business. Sebastian recognized several of the pseudonyms from the other file he had been given.
That was only Sebastian’s first thought.
The more he read through the packet of papers, the more he saw matters clearly.
All these men use nicknames… they adopt different monikers… so, what is Birchwood’s handle?
Birchwood… Birchwood…
His eyes darted around the room until they landed on the bookshelf. He popped from his leather seat and crossed the room in three quick strides.
Reflexively, he plucked the French dictionary from the shelf first, then set it aside.
No… something else. Perhaps I should try Latin, after all.
His instincts led him to remove the massive Latin book from its place on the shelf. He opened it and a faint cloud of dust rose to greet him.
Awful… just… disgusting.
Sebastian coughed loudly, then flipped to the “B” section. His slender finger skimmed down the length of the volume until he stopped at “Betula.”
Betula. Latin translation for birch.
It made sense. Betula. Birch.
Lord Birchwood was a man with many connections. He was hungry for more networking opportunities. And, as evidenced by his display at the Rolled Dice earlier in the evening, he was willing to mingle with all members of Society to find himself an ally.
So, if Birchwood is the debt collector, if he is blackmailing all these other Lords, including the Earl of Tripleton, then…
Sebastian slammed the Latin book closed and slid it back onto the shelf. He darted back toward his mahogany desk and leaned over so that he might again peruse the stacks upon stacks of documents that were littered there.
Birchwood is the person collecting all the money, but his name is in these ledgers. Why?
He ran his finger over the lists of numbers again. His hand had begun to sweat, so he slightly smudged the ink, but that did not matter.
If Birchwood is part of this whole criminal operation, if he is indeed working against his King, and deceiving other members of the peerage, why would he add his own name to this list? Why would he not use a false name? Could he not be Lord Tithering all the time?
No matter how Sebastian looked at it, he was stumped. He simply did not understand Lord Birchwood or what motivated him to implicate himself in the crimes.
I have to report him, Sebastian realized.
He stepped away from the desk, then hesitated.
If I report Lord Birchwood to the authorities and let someone else take it from here, what will happen to Lady Phoebe?
In his mind’s eye, he saw her sitting across from him in the small library, fiddling with her necklace while she shyly listened to him read aloud the passages from that book.
Then, he pictured her face at the opera when he had cornered her in the balcony suite and twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. Finally, he lifted his hands and touched his lips, remembering clearly the kiss they had shared not so very long ago.
I cannot risk Lady Phoebe’s reputation by outright reporting the man.
Instead, he knew what he needed to do, so, despite the hour, Sebastian snatched the documents up from his desk, donned his coat once more, and left his townhouse.
Within the hour, he was knocking on Colonel Learmonth’s door. A tired-looking butler answered the door, his eyes widening at the sight of Sebastian. He did not get a chance to ask anything before Sebastian spoke.
“I must speak with the Colonel at once,” he demanded. Then, after a second, he added, “I apologize for the late hour, but this is an urgent matter pertaining to the Crown.”
That was always the magic phrase. The Crown.
It gave Sebastian a great deal of pardon, and garnered a certain amount of respect, too.
Just as Sebastian expected, the butler hurried back inside.
Moments later, Sebastian was waved in by him and directed to the Colonel’s study, where he met with Learmonth himself.
He was dressed in a robe, indicating that Sebastian had pulled the Colonel from his rest. The Colonel’s thick raven’s wing black hair, which was normally coiffed in a neat, curling swoop fell in a messy flop across his forehead.
The Colonel nodded his head courteously, indicating that Sebastian was welcome and ought to shut the door behind himself.
Automatically, Sebastian followed the unspoken order, then turned back around and addressed the Colonel properly. “I apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour but—”
“But this is a matter pertaining to the Crown,” the Colonel finished. “And I will always be available for that. It is my duty, as it is yours. I appreciate your own wakefulness at this hour.”
“Indeed, Colonel Learmonth. As you know, I have been investigating a criminal who has been preying on members of Society throughout the country. He goes by the name of Betula.” The Latin rolled off his tongue far smoother than he would have thought he was capable of managing.
“I believe I have discovered his true identity.”
“Indeed?” Colonel Learmonth’s eyebrows rose marginally, as if he was only mildly surprised to receive this news.
“Our traitor is the Marquess of Birchwood.”
“Lord Birchwood is a criminal?” The Colonel reiterated, and it almost seemed as though he needed to hear the report twice so that he could accept it.
“Yes, sir.” Sebastian swiped aside the long tails of his overcoat and pulled out the packet of documents he had been studying.
He held them out to the Colonel. “I retrieved some of these from the Marquess myself.” The Colonel took the leather-bound packet, untied the bit of twine that held it closely sealed, then emptied the contents onto his desk.
Sebastian continued talking while the Colonel did all this.
“There is correspondence between two other notable names, claiming that Birchwood may be one of the more influential figures in the criminal organization. It all makes sense, given his social standing. He is in a perfect position to hide in plain sight. He just did not expect me to pose as a gambling partner tonight.”
The Colonel took a moment to briefly look over the documents before lifting his gaze to Sebastian. A small smile of praise lifted the corners of his mouth. It was scarcely there, but Sebastian would take what he could get.
“As always, Halshore,” he said, having long dropped formalities with those in service to the Crown. Here, titles did not exist, only the job they served to complete. “You have played your role well. However, I cannot help but wonder, why not expose the man yourself?”
Sebastian let a fabrication slip from his tongue with ease. “Because my duty is to the Crown, and I believe that all information should be submitted before I level an accusation at any man.”
“Good,” Colonel Learmonth said, as if he expected such an answer. “Very good. Now, get some rest. I will alert you when we are ready to move. An arrest must be made. If what you say is true, and we can produce the evidence, the Marquess of Birchwood deserves to be publicly disgraced.”
“Good night, Colonel.” Sebastian nodded once again, understanding when he was dismissed.
Smiling, he left the Colonel’s townhouse and returned to his own, knowing sleep would not come easily. Now that he had all but captured Betula, Lord Birchwood, and sent him to Newgate Prison, Sebastian was free to think of Lady Phoebe.
Once he entered the townhouse, Sebastian crept down the hall, careful not to wake Mrs. Vale or the rest of the staff. He moved quietly toward the last room…the small library…and slipped inside.
He took the book he’d read to Lady Phoebe that night off the shelf, dropped his overcoat to the floor, then sat on one side of the latticed partition and began to read aloud.
“The temperature was oppressive, but the lady felt no heat, save for that which pooled between her burning loins.”