Chapter 22 #2
They slipped into the corridor and made their way toward the servants’ staircase, moving carefully through the darkened house. Rosalind knew every turn well enough that they needed no candle, though each creak beneath their feet seemed impossibly loud in the midnight silence.
William’s words followed her all the way down.
We found something.
Whatever anger she still carried toward him, whatever hurt remained from that afternoon, none of it could compete with the possibility that he had learned something that might lead her to Papa.
She reached for the handle and pushed it open.
William and Gabriel were waiting inside.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Then William reached inside his coat and withdrew a folded sheet of paper.
“We found this in Algernon’s study.”
Rosalind crossed the kitchen immediately. Isabella followed, still carrying the candlestick, though more as mere trinket she had forgotten she was holding than a weapon.
William unfolded the letter upon the table. “It was addressed to Algernon,” he explained. “There is no signature.”
Rosalind looked down at the page. “Who wrote it?”
“We do not know.”
William moved the candle closer, and Rosalind began to read.
The first lines meant little to her. The writer complained of Algernon’s temper and the increasing difficulty of speaking to him. Farther down, however, the words changed.
You must make a decision regarding the prisoner at Bryn Hir. He cannot remain there indefinitely.
Rosalind stopped breathing as Isabella leaned closer beside her.
The estate is remote, but remoteness is not the same as safety, and every additional day increases the possibility that someone will discover what has been done.
“Bryn Hir?” Rosalind whispered.
“An estate in Wales,” William explained. “It belonged to my mother’s family before passing to Algernon. It is isolated and rarely used.”
Rosalind lowered her eyes to the letter again, reading those terrible lines a second time.
A prisoner was being held at an estate belonging to Algernon. Her father had last been seen entering Algernon’s carriage, and someone had gone to considerable trouble to convince everyone that he had left London of his own accord.
“You think the prisoner is Papa.”
“I do,” William said quietly.
Before Rosalind could respond, she noticed that Isabella had fallen silent. Her friend was no longer looking at either of them. Her attention had fixed entirely upon the letter.
“What is it?” Rosalind asked.
Isabella took the page from the table and moved it closer to the candle. She studied several lines before reaching into the pocket of her dressing gown and withdrawing her father’s supposed farewell letter.
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Do you always carry evidence about your person?”
“I began tonight.”
Despite the circumstances, Rosalind almost smiled.
Isabella placed the two letters side by side and bent over them. For several moments, she said nothing, her gaze moving carefully between the pages.
Then Rosalind realized what had caught her attention. “You recognize the handwriting.”
“I believe I do.” Isabella pointed to one of the words in the letter to Algernon. “Look at the final stroke here. See how it curves upward before leaving the page?”
Rosalind leaned closer as Isabella found the same formation in her father’s supposed farewell letter.
“And again here,” Isabella continued. “The letters themselves are different because whoever wrote this one was not attempting to imitate another hand, but the habits are the same.”
William moved closer to examine the pages. “You think the same person wrote both?”
Isabella studied them once more before nodding. “I am certain of it.”
The significance settled slowly over Rosalind.
Whoever had forged her father’s farewell letter knew about the prisoner at Bryn Hir. More than that, the person had written directly to Algernon about what should be done with him.
Algernon had known all along.
William watched her absorb the realization before speaking again. “There is something else.”
He told them about the boots he had found in Algernon’s study, the initials stamped inside identifying them as Edmund Carlisle’s.
Rosalind knew the maker immediately. Her father had ordered his boots from Harcourt and Sons for years.
“I remembered seeing Algernon at the bootmaker some weeks ago,” William continued. “He told me he was collecting an order of his own. At the time, I had no reason to question it.”
“But he was collecting Papa’s.”
“Yes.”
Rosalind looked from William to the two letters on the table.
“I think Algernon was attempting to close whatever business your father had left unfinished,” William said.
“A pair of boots waiting at a shop seems insignificant, but leave enough insignificant things behind and eventually someone begins to wonder why a man supposedly planning to disappear made no effort to settle them.”
It made horrible sense.
The forged farewell. Augusta’s story about another woman. The carriage that had carried her father away. Even something as mundane as a pair of boots had been dealt with afterward, each detail intended to support the same carefully constructed lie.
That Edmund Carlisle had abandoned his family.
They had thought of everything.
Almost.
They had not accounted for his daughter refusing to believe it.
Rosalind straightened. “How soon can we reach Bryn Hir?”
William seemed to understand the question beneath the question. “Nearly two days if we ride hard and change horses along the way.”
“Then we leave tonight.”
“Rosalind, it will not be an easy journey.”
“I do not care.”
“I know.” William stepped closer, his voice gentling. “But I need you to understand what you are proposing. We don’t know who is waiting for us there or how many people are involved.”
“We know Papa is in danger.” Rosalind gestured toward the letter. “Whoever wrote that believes keeping him there has already become too dangerous. They want Algernon to decide what to do with him, and I will not remain in London waiting to discover what that decision is.”
For a moment, William simply looked at her.
Then he nodded. “All right.”
Rosalind had been prepared to argue. The easy acceptance startled her more than an objection would have.
William reached for the letter and folded it carefully. “I know the road, and I have been to Bryn Hir before. If we leave tonight and ride through as much of the night as we can, we may be able to reach it sooner.”
“You do not have to come.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I do.”
Rosalind held his gaze.
There was no defense of Algernon now. No attempt to find another explanation or convince her that what they had uncovered could somehow mean something else.
William had searched his own brother’s rooms. He had taken evidence from them and brought it directly to her. Now he was prepared to lead her to an estate where they might discover that his brother had done something unforgivable.
Rosalind knew what Algernon meant to him. She knew how deeply the revelations about his family had already wounded him.
And still William had come.
“I believe you,” she said.
Something softened in his expression.
“I should not have accused you of—”
“Rosalind.” William shook his head. “We can settle everything between us later.”
Everything between us.
Her heart tightened at the words.
William held out his hand. “First, we bring your father home.”
Rosalind looked at his waiting hand before slipping hers into it.
His fingers closed around hers, warm and familiar, and for the first time since she had walked away from him that afternoon, some of the terrible pressure inside her eased.
“All right,” she whispered. “We find Papa first.”
A chair scraped behind them.
Gabriel rose. “And apparently we are all forgetting that I am coming.”
William looked over. “Gabriel—”
“Absolutely not.” Gabriel crossed the kitchen. “You are proposing to ride for two days into Wales, enter an estate where someone is being held prisoner, confront whoever is responsible, and somehow return with Lord Eastmere. You are not doing that with only Rosalind beside you.”
Rosalind lifted an eyebrow.
Gabriel caught the look immediately. “That was not an assessment of your abilities.”
“An excellent recovery,” Isabella murmured.
“I thought so.”
William gave his friend a tired look. “You do not have to come, Gabriel.”
“I know.”
The humor faded from Gabriel’s expression. “But you are my friend. If you are riding into Wales to discover whether your brother has imprisoned a man, you are not doing it without me.”
William studied him for a moment before holding out his hand. Gabriel clasped it firmly, and Rosalind looked away from the quiet exchange with a sudden ache in her chest. Whatever awaited them at Bryn Hir, William would not have to face it alone.
Neither would she.
She turned back to him. “You and Gabriel can see to the horses and whatever provisions we will need. I need to change my clothes.”
William nodded. “We will meet you at the rear entrance.”
Rosalind turned to Isabella. “I need to speak to Nelly before I leave.”
“You had better hurry,” Isabella said.
There was something suspiciously agreeable about Isabella’s response, but Rosalind was far too preoccupied to question it.
“I will only be a few minutes.”
“I know.”
Rosalind gave her friend a quick squeeze of the hand before hurrying upstairs, leaving Isabella with William and Gabriel.
Nelly woke at the first touch to her shoulder, blinking sleepily in the darkness. Confusion vanished the moment she saw Rosalind already dressed for riding, her boots on and cloak waiting nearby.
“My lady? What has happened?”
Rosalind sat beside her. “We found Papa.”
Nelly stared at her, sleep disappearing from her face. “You found him?”