Chapter 22
twenty-two
The thought of talking with Effie again didn’t help Tristan relax. And that day, he would rather be in The Octagon than in a carriage with George, as nervous energy had tormented him since the incident. But George wanted to confront Winchester, convinced the earl was involved with the anarchists.
“Honestly,” Tristan said as they drove to Archer Hall. “I think you’re exaggerating. Winchester can’t be involved in a conspiracy with the anarchists.”
“Just because the police haven’t found any evidence yet, it doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”
“It certainly means he’s more likely to be.”
“I spent the last week searching for evidence,” George said with the intensity he reserved for important business deals. “And I got confirmation of Winchester meeting the Russians often. I must talk to him.”
“Winchester is a pain in the arse. But a murderer? No.”
“I spotted him close to the anarchists’ seat. I saw him talking with them.” George raised a finger for each of his points. “He earned thousands of pounds after the bombing. What further proof do you need? What does an earl have to do with those people and their extreme political ideas?”
“Fine. Let’s say you’re right,” he said. “How do you plan to make him tell the truth without any evidence?”
George didn’t flinch. “I simply want to confront him, one gentleman to another.”
“Is that your plan? Great. That will do the trick.”
“Let me lead the meeting.”
Tristan didn’t add anything else. He had enough problems to deal with between the reconstruction of his locomotive, his feelings for Effie, and Rowan’s recovery. Winchester could wait, but if talking with him helped George drop the subject and focus on more urgent problems, then so be it.
Effie was another matter. She’d rejected him twice, but he wasn’t too proud to try a third time. If he could talk to her without hiding his feelings, she would listen to him.
“I hope you’ll support me,” George said when the carriage stopped.
“I always support you.” His voice softened.
George smiled fondly at him. “You know, when I play Ludo with Rowan, I feel sorry that you and I didn’t have the opportunity to share the same experience, playing together and laughing at silly things.”
“We were too busy surviving.” But he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about that either.
“Yes, but…” George gazed around as if searching for inspiration. “Having fun with Rowan is so easy. When I’m with you, we discuss money and business deals, and it’s always been that way. Perhaps we should change.”
He shifted on the seat, not sure he wanted to remember those dark days and how things had been different. “You helped Father and me get back our fortune.”
“Is it that important, though?”
Tristan didn’t answer. Because if the answer was ‘no’, his whole life would unravel like a threadbare hessian carpet. They couldn’t change the past. And that was it.
George exhaled. “You always clam up when we discuss something deeper than money, and they say I’m the grumpy one.”
“Let’s focus on Winchester, shall we?”
An uneasy silence settled between them, and he did nothing to break it.
The butler let them inside and showed them into the drawing room.
He fought a smile at the books on veterinary medicine scattered on the table and a rubber ball under a chair.
There were plants everywhere, the portrait of a setter hung askew, and the scent of cinnamon lingered.
Despite Winchester’s cold hospitality, the room was warm and cosy.
If anything, Tristan found odd the fact Winchester had agreed to see them.
“Montcrest.” Winchester gave a stiff nod of his head. “Fleet.”
“My lord.” George’s tone sounded strained. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“You didn’t give me much choice.” Winchester gestured at the armchairs. “You said it was a matter of the utmost urgency. Take a seat. If this visit is about Easthollow, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I haven’t changed my mind about selling it.”
Tristan was about to say something, but George wanted to lead the meeting.
“No, my lord. Easthollow is the last of our problems,” George said. “I’m more interested in knowing about your involvement with the anarchists.”
Winchester worked his jaw. “Excuse me?”
“You were seen in the company of the Russian anarchists days before the attack at Aldersgate Station,” George said.
“Aren’t the Montcrests those who have a history of high treason?” Winchester asked with a snarl.
“Take that back!” Tristan shot up.
Winchester rose as well. “How dare you come here and throw accusations?”
“Do you deny having met the anarchists?” George insisted.
Winchester clenched his fists. “That’s none of your business.”
The door opened, and Effie stepped inside. “Papa, I heard voices, and I was worried—” She gazed from her father to Tristan and closed the door behind her.
“My lady.” George bowed.
Tristan bowed his head, too, wishing she weren’t there to witness his short temper.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t be present during this conversation.” Winchester waved her off.
“Why?” George asked before Effie could talk. “Are you afraid of your daughter’s reaction at knowing her father is involved with the anarchists?”
“What?” She let out a half chuckle. “Nonsense.”
“George,” Tristan said.
“I’m not involved with the anarchists!” Winchester shook a fist. “Fleet is suffering from a delusion.”
“Will you deny having met the anarchists in front of your daughter?” George asked calmly. “You told Lady Effie you’d visited your son in Greenford the day I saw you with the anarchists. You lied because you didn’t want her to know you’d met with them.”
“I don’t understand where you’re going with these accusations.” Winchester’s voice rose.
Instead, George’s voice was cold and low. “Let me explain it to you. You ordered the bomb planted at Aldersgate Station.”
“This is absurd!” Winchester reddened.
Effie gasped. “How can you accuse my father of something so despicable?”
Tristan rubbed his temple. He shouldn’t have listened to George. They didn’t have a shred of evidence against Winchester, and he didn’t believe the earl was involved with the anarchists to start with. “George, we should go.”
“No,” George said.
“You’re making a fool out of yourself,” he said, moving his lips as little as possible.
“I want the truth. Winchester wanted to destroy our company, and he ordered the anarchists to bomb our locomotive.”
“That’s a lie.” Effie shook her head.
Tristan took George’s arm and gritted out, “We should leave.”
“Tell the truth.” George shrugged himself free and stepped closer to the earl. “You almost killed your daughter because you didn’t know she was at the station. You thought she was safe and miles away from London, but no, she was so very close to the danger.”
Tristan regretted having given that information to George.
Winchester lost his composure. “Nonsense.”
“How afraid you must have been.” George lowered his voice. “When you discovered that your daughter was at the station. Did you imagine her body torn apart by the bomb?”
“George!” he said as Effie gasped.
Instead, the earl went awfully silent.
“What a torture for you to think that your daughter was dead because of you.”
“Enough.” Tristan seized George’s arm and yanked. “You’re crossing a line.”
“You must leave.” Winchester’s voice lacked the anger it should have. He shivered, but Tristan doubted it was rage.
George didn’t move. “Have you already forgiven yourself? Do you blame yourself for the casualties? Tristan’s brother almost lost a leg because of you. And for what? So you could earn a few pounds? Was it worth—”
“The bomb wasn’t supposed to kill or hurt anyone!” Winchester shouted.
Silence dropped. Only the sound of the grandfather clock chiming loudly in the room.
“Papa?” Effie put a hand on her chest. “What did you say?”
Surprise caused Tristan to stand still. He kept his hand around George’s arm.
Winchester ran a trembling hand through his hair.
“I didn’t order anything, and I swear, I’m not involved with the anarchists.
I only…” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I heard about the possible plan of planting a bomb on one of Montcrest’s locomotives to blow it up when no one was around, but it was supposed to be a rumour. ”
“You didn’t think to warn the police?” Tristan released George’s arm; anger spread within him like fire on dry grass.
“It was a rumour, nothing more.” Winchester’s voice quivered. “And the attack wasn’t supposed to be aimed at people. No one should have been hurt.”
“My brother could have died.” He could barely control the intense twitch in his muscles. Had he been in The Octagon, he would have found a partner and boxed until he collapsed. “Effie was there.”
“I know!” Winchester shook with rage. “That proves I didn’t take the rumour seriously.”
“But you didn’t know I was at the station,” Effie said in a shaky voice. “You thought I was somewhere else.”
“Effie.” Winchester took her shoulders. “Trust me. I didn’t think the anarchists were seriously planning a bombing.”
“You didn’t think!” His breath came out in quick pants. “Your duty was to warn the police, or me. You should have told me.” Darkness spilt in his vision, and his pulse drummed in his ears. “All those people…you could have avoided the tragedy.”
“I regret not having taken the threat seriously.” Winchester regained some of his composure. “But what happened isn’t my fault.”
George shook his head. “I don’t believe you. I think you heard about the rumour and understood Tristan’s company would be damaged and decided to stay quiet for that reason, not because you didn’t think the threat was real.”
“No, dammit!” Winchester closed his fists. “I would never do anything like that.”
“I don’t believe you.” Tristan was shaking with rage, too.
“I’ve been kind to you so far. You refused to talk to me.
You rejected my offer, and I made a new one.
Not anymore. My brother might not be able to walk without a limp for the rest of his life.
You put my brother’s life at risk. You almost killed Effie.
I won’t forgive that.” Pulse drumming in his ears, he strode out of the room and didn’t wait for a footman to pull the door open.
He ignored his carriage as well and walked along the pavement.
If he didn’t go to The Octagon now, he would have a fit.
He ignored George calling him. Even Effie called him, but he kept walking.