Chapter Eleven #2
“Blessing! What would Mama say about such impertinence?” Joy shook a finger at her sister. “That is a most private matter to be decided between a husband and wife, and you know it. No one asked you how many babies you wanted.”
“I was merely making conversation.”
“Rubbish! You are placing your sharp little nose where it does not belong.”
Jansen fully expected one of them to throw something at the other, but within moments, they were both laughing and chatting about something else. He stared at them in bewilderment.
“Do not feel bad,” Lady Roslynn said to him. “Since my hearing started to fail, I struggle to keep up with the sisters’ conversations as well.”
“I am simply amazed we’re not disturbing little Rorie. How is she sleeping through all this?” he asked.
“That reminds me.” Blessing hurried over to the bellpull. “I’ll ring for Nanny.”
Soon, the sleepy tot was trundled off upstairs by a cheerful, red-cheeked woman nearly as round as she was tall, but it didn’t slow her. She moved with professional spryness.
“And what of your blackmailer?” Blessing asked as she returned to the settee.
“Forgive me for asking,” Jansen said, “but how is it that all the sisters know about everything?”
“Papa always called it the sister network. We are but a note away, and we always keep each other informed,” Joy said. “And as for our blackmailer, Jansen turned the matter over to the Bow Street Runners with the caveat that they do their best to keep Chance entirely uninformed about the matter.”
“You should pay them double for that. Chance will never let you hear the end of it if it comes to his attention.” Blessing leaned forward and barely touched her mother-in-law’s hand. “Mother Roslynn?”
The lady stirred, opening her eyes wider. “Forgive me. I fear it is time for my afternoon’s rest.” She nodded at them before turning back to Blessing. “Would you be a dear? I hate being a bother.”
“You are never a bother, Mother Roslynn. Never.” Blessing rose, tucked the lady’s lap blanket more firmly around her, then wheeled her away. As they left the room, Lady Roslynn delighted Jansen with a regal wave.
He rose to his feet and gave her such a formal bow that she left the room smiling.
“My, aren’t you the charmer,” Joy said, but her words dripped with admiration and affection.
“One can but try.”
“Did Mr. Rathbun say when we might expect an update?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, nervously chewing it.
“A few days, my darling. I am sorry, but the man has to have time to gather more information and speak to everyone.”
“I hate this,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “If I had ever known it would come to this, I never would have done it.”
He reached over and took her hand in his. “I will let nothing harm you or yours. I swear it.”
She bowed her head. “I know. And for that, I am grateful.”
“It is not your gratitude I seek—but your love.”
She studied him for a long moment, her expression one of awe and bewilderment. “But why? Why me?”
“Because you are the part of my soul that has been missing all this time.”
The color on her cheeks heightened, thrilling him immensely.
“I mean it, my darling,” he said. “We were meant to be.”
*
“Now, you two understand what you are setting yourselves up for?” Jansen asked.
Joy eyed the closed door to Ambrose’s suite, then looked at Aurelia, remembering everything her friend had said about her morose brother. “Yes.”
“All right, then. Deep breaths, ladies. It is my understanding that Ambrose has not bathed in several days. By now, he should rival Lord Smellington.”
Joy braced herself, but the room’s odor still very nearly knocked her back out into the hallway as soon as Jansen opened the door.
It wasn’t just unwashed male that stank so very badly, but rotted food, and a distinct underlying aroma of something growing somewhere it shouldn’t—an earthy moldiness.
She pressed her handkerchief to her nose.
“Get up, Ambrose,” Jansen ordered his brother. “Lady Joy and Aurelia have come to speak with you.”
What Joy had thought was a pile of unwashed clothing on the settee moved, pushing itself upright. Ambrose squinted at them, his greasy hair hanging down into his eyes. “Go away. All of you.”
This was Ambrose? Jansen and Aurelia’s brother? There was no resemblance whatsoever, and this slight, childlike man was more of a beggarly stable lad than an adult of the gentry.
“I will not go away. You will clean yourself up and listen to me this instant, Mr. Winterstone. Your wasting of a perfectly good life is over.” Joy clapped her hands, mimicking her mother and the speech she had given Chance the one time he had made the mistake of bemoaning his extremely blessed circumstances. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Ashamed of myself?” Ambrose sputtered and spat, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “I was cursed with this life in his shadow. I never asked for it.”
“Would you rather be the resident of the workhouses, then? Or a street beggar, perhaps? It is my understanding that you possess land, a house, and an allowance generous enough to keep them both in order. Many would gladly live in such an abundant shadow.”
“What do you know? You were born with a title, you little—”
Jansen stepped forward and lifted Ambrose by the throat.
“Insult her and die. Brother or no brother, you will not speak in such a manner to my angel. Is that understood?” He threw him back onto the settee, dusted off his hands, and stepped back.
“Keep him respectful, Aurelia, or you will have but one brother.”
“Yes, Jansen.” Jaw set, Aurelia shook a finger at her sobbing brother. “I know you are disappointed about losing that tart, but you are better off, and if you will stop sniveling long enough to think about it, you will agree.”
“I loved her, but she wanted a man with a title!”
“She wanted a man who spent more money on her than you were, wisely, willing to pay.”
“I loved her,” he moaned.
Aurelia threw up her hands. “We have discussed this over and over. I know of no way to make him see.”
Handkerchief still to her nose, Joy studied the miserable little man, trying to envision how Mama or Papa might handle this situation.
She decided to go with the most horrid fate she could imagine.
“There is nothing to be done but send him to Bedlam, Jansen. I will not have him around our children.” She prayed Jansen and Aurelia would understand that she in no way meant that and was merely attempting to shock Ambrose into pulling himself out of his malaise.
“Bedlam?” Jansen repeated, peering at her with an intensity that made her want to squirm.
“Yes. Bedlam. He has obviously gone insane. They can handle him there.” Pressing her handkerchief to her temple, she hid a wink that she hoped Jansen would take to heart.
He did. “Very well then, I shall have him committed immediately. Aurelia, inform Severns that Ambrose is to be ready to leave within the hour.”
Thankfully, Aurelia had seen the wink as well. “As you wish, brother.” She paused and gave Ambrose a sad look. “I shall miss you, Ambrose.”
“No!” Ambrose jumped to his feet and stood there slightly weaving. “You will not be rid of me that easily.” He pointed a trembling finger at Joy. “Just because that woman says—”
“Careful, brother,” Jansen warned.
Joy kept her victory hidden behind the filter of her handkerchief.
“I am not a danger to children,” Ambrose sputtered, then wiped his mouth on his grimy sleeve.
“Well, you are certainly not an example to be upheld,” Joy retorted. “Not only that, but your stench is crawling out into the hallway. You will be pleased to know that you even smell worse than the Marquess of Debt—Lord Smellington. You, Mr. Ambrose, have surpassed a member of the nobility.”
Jansen exploded with a barking laugh. “I believe she means Lord Pellington.”
“Either way,” Joy said, “he wanted to outdo someone with a title—well, he did.”
“I have no debts either,” Ambrose said with a growl, but Joy detected the barest hint of a little pride. They needed to tend to that little bit of pride and make it grow.
“Well, there you are,” she said. “Why don’t you go out to the country, enjoy your status as a gentleman of the gentry, and win some adorable young miss’s heart with your charm and wisdom? Aurelia assures me you possess both in massive quantities when you choose to allow others to see them.”
“Yes,” Jansen said, “preferably a young miss who won’t infect you with any diseases.”
“That is no way to speak in front of ladies, brother,” Ambrose scolded. He raked both hands through his hair, slicking the greasy mess back from his face. “Would you truly send me to Bedlam? You know what they say about that horrid place.”
“Without hesitation,” Jansen said. “In your current state, I want you nowhere near my children either.”
“And if I improve upon my current state?”
“You may stay here for one month while your home in the country is opened, aired, and furnished. I am happy to share whatever resources might be of help to get you started as the master of your manor.” He wrapped an arm around Joy, warming her heart—she had apparently handled the situation properly.
One never quite knew for certain when it came to such matters.
“After all, my angel and I will soon marry and set to the task of growing our family,” he said.
“We will need the extra space here in Town.”
“But I will still be welcome to visit here and at Winterswick?” Ambrose asked Joy. “I swear I am not a danger to children. I swear.”
“You will be welcome as long as you take pride in yourself and see yourself for the fortunate man that you are,” Joy said. “Our family would not be the same without you in it.”
“You are not even in our family yet,” Ambrose said quietly.
“No. I am not. But I intend to be. And when an Abarough woman makes up her mind, the devil himself shakes with fear.”
A knock on the door interrupted them.
“Yes?” Ambrose said, running his hands through his unkempt hair yet again.
Severns entered, then came to a hard stop, blinking as though the stench burned his eyes. “Mr. Rathbun is here to see you, Sir Jansen.”
“Good. Severns, please round up every male servant we have and help my brother get cleaned up.”
Nose wrinkled against the filth, Severns nodded. “Gladly, sir.”
Joy offered Ambrose her best curtsy. “I look forward to meeting the brother Aurelia has told me so much about.”
Ambrose gave an uncertain nod. “Thank you, my lady.”
*
While Jansen preferred to speak to the Bow Street Runner without Joy and Aurelia present, now that they knew the man awaited them in the library, there was no keeping them out.
He escorted the ladies downstairs with the cloying feeling that his brother’s stench still clung to him.
He kept snorting to clear his senses of the disgusting odor.
“You sound like a raging bull about to charge,” Aurelia told him.
Joy laughed. “I was thinking the very same thing.”
He snorted again, this time with a laugh. “And when have either of you ladies encountered a raging bull?”
“Fine,” Joy said, “then you sound like a horse about to snot on someone.”
“That analogy, I will accept.” He held the library door for them. “Mr. Rathbun, allow me to present my sister, Aurelia Winterstone, and my intended, Lady Joy Abarough. Ladies, this is Mr. John Rathbun of the esteemed Bow Street Runners.”
Mr. Rathbun removed his hat and bowed. “Pleasure to meet you both.”
The ladies nodded, then seated themselves together on the settee so the men wouldn’t feel the need to stand.
“What news have you, Rathbun?” Jansen motioned to the chair in front of his desk as he seated himself behind it.
The detective glanced toward the ladies with a pained frown, then seated himself. “It would seem the letters were posted from the same place, at the same cost, with a private service.”
Jansen’s hopes rose. “Good news, then. Was the service able to tell you where the letters originated?”
Mr. Rathbun worked the brim of his hat through his fingers. “They were able to narrow it down to two possible points of origin.”
“That is excellent news,” Joy said as she excitedly caught hold of Aurelia’s hand.
“Perhaps.” Mr. Rathbun gave Jansen a pointed look that he didn’t understand.
“Well, out with it, man,” Jansen said. “Where are the two possible points of origin?”
“That would be this residence and Broadmere House.”
“What?”
Mr. Rathbun gave an apologetic shake of his head. “We are quite certain, Sir Jansen. Those letters came from either this residence or Broadmere House. There is no doubt.”
“That is impossible.” Joy jumped up from the settee and rushed forward. “Surely you must be confusing the points of delivery with the points of origin.”
Hat in hand, Mr. Rathbun rose to his feet and backed up a step. “I am afraid not, my lady. My men double-checked the facts, and then I checked them again myself. I personally spoke with the private service as well.”
“So, someone in this house,” Jansen said, “or Broadmere House, is our blackmailer.”
“It would seem so, sir.” Mr. Rathbun tipped his head to one side. “Of course, to continue the investigation, we will need to speak with members of both households, servants and residents alike.”
“But then Chance will find out.” Joy’s voice trembled.
Mr. Rathbun nodded. “It would be extremely difficult to keep it from His Grace.” He turned to Jansen. “What do you wish done, sir?”
Jansen eyed Joy, knowing she both wished to discover the blackmailer and keep her brother unaware of the true nature of the Reader’s Dare Club.
But they needed to catch the miscreant. They simply had to before the demon stirred more unrest. “Start with this household. With any luck, you will find the blackguard here within these walls.”
“A sound plan, Sir Jansen. With your permission, we shall start right away.”
Jansen blew out a heavy sigh, feeling as though the weight of the world teetered on his shoulders. “Do so, Rathbun. And keep me informed every step of the way.”
“We will, sir. We will.”