Chapter Twenty #2
“I do not take orders,” Betts said as he shook off her hand, “from the likes of Thompson.”
Victoria’s mind raced to discover a means for her to respond. “Then, I ask again, why are you here, Mr. Betts?”
“I want to see my son,” he growled.
“I fear such is impossible, sir. If you,” she emphasized, “have a son, he does not reside under this roof. I am confident a man of your standing, especially with the implications of the barony you are destined to know, would realize you have no son residing within these walls,” she declared as she gestured for his withdrawal.
“Semantics cannot change the fact the child is mine,” Mr. Betts growled, “and I mean to see him.”
“Is there a problem, Miss Whitchurch?” Mr. Patterson asked as he entered the room from the connecting door, along with Mr. Brunswick and two other footmen.
“This gentleman entered without my permission,” Victoria explained. “He is Lord Betts’s son,” she warned.
“You cannot keep my child from me,” Betts warned. “I will have the law come for him.”
“And then what?” Victoria argued. “Send him off to some place where he might learn a skill and forget about him? Having done your so-called duty, you would ignore him for the remainder of his days. What future is that? Your father will never permit a child born without the legality of banns to inherit.”
Betts looked at the others gathered within and obviously thought they could do nothing to stop him. He violently shoved Victoria aside, sending her sprawling upon the floor.
Benjamin had known relief when he rode into the circle in the middle of the street upon which he lived. He could see the open door on Miss Whitchurch’s side of the house, and, for the briefest of seconds he thought perhaps she had anticipated his return.
Then he noted the unfamiliar carriage before the house and was immediately alarmed. Benjamin edged the horse closer and dismounted, only to hear a squeal that sounded very much as if it was Miss Whitchurch, as well as cries of alarm.
Without considering the consequences, he charged up the steps. A man stood over Miss Whitchurch, and Benjamin no longer saw reason. She was sprawled at the man’s feet, and he appeared to be prepared to kick her.
Benjamin caught the man from behind, pulling him upward and off the floor to slam the fellow down hard on the brick tiles. Heaving in anger, he lorded over the fellow who was attempting to rise to his knees.
“I advise you to stay down,” he growled, as two women assisted Miss Whitchurch from the floor. “Better yet,” he hissed. “Crawl your way out of my house and never darken my door again.”
“My lord.” Miss Whitchurch rushed to his side, her hand resting on Benjamin’s back, and that flicker of hope had arrived again in his chest. “It is Mr. Betts. He wishes to see the boy.”
“Conceiving a child does not make a man a father,” Benjamin declared in hard tones.
“Nor does it make a woman a mother. If you wish to visit the child, find Miss Cassandra and bring her here. Miss Whitchurch would gladly provide her sister access to the child. Otherwise, you should be gone from my home before I count to ten. Never cross over my portal again. One… two…”
Mr. Betts struggled to his feet as Benjamin continued to count, “Five… six…” Betts lifted his chin in defiance. “I cannot bring Cassandra here.”
“Eight…” Benjamin said over the man’s protests, while Miss Whitchurch demanded, “Why?”
“Because your sister has been dead since early June!”
Benjamin caught Miss Whitchurch when she swooned, scooping her into his arms to carry her to the nearest armchair, where he sat and cradled her on his lap.
Behind him, he knew Patterson and the others escorted Mr. Betts and the women outside.
He heard Patterson instruct one of the footmen to accompany the women home safely, while the butler and Brunswick led Mr. Betts to the fellow’s carriage.
Meanwhile, Benjamin held the woman who owned his heart upon his lap. He rocked her as he might have rocked the child. “I have you, love,” he whispered close to her ear.
She moaned and snuggled closer to him. “Cold,” she sighed.
“A blanket, Mr. Patterson,” Benjamin ordered as his butler locked the outside door.
Within less than a minute, Patterson returned with a covering. “Here, my lord.” His man spread a small blanket over Miss Whitchurch’s shoulders and back. “Poor dear,” Patterson murmured.
“See the others, including Mrs. Sullivan and the boy, into the main part of the house and send someone to tend my horse. Miss Whitchurch has had a shock. We will join everyone later.”
“Assuredly, my lord.” Mr. Patterson gently tucked the blanket about the lady before he ushered everyone who was looking on in concern from the room.
“Just rest as long as you need,” Benjamin told her. “I will not leave you,” he whispered as he kissed the top of her head. “You are safe with me.”
How long they remained as such, Benjamin did not know nor did he care.
The lady required someone she could trust, and, like it or not, he wanted to be that person in her life.
Darkness had filled the room before she did more than trace the outline of his stick pin.
“Could Mr. Betts have told the truth?” she asked at last.
“I cannot say with confidence,” he replied.
“We know your sister did not apply for the cook’s position at The Red Rooster, but we do not know if she found work elsewhere.
Now, with Mrs. Taylor’s demise, even if Miss Cassandra searched you out at your former quarters, she would not learn of your directions unless she called at Sustar’s. ”
“I thought I heard her that morning in the close when you pulled me into your arms,” she reasoned aloud.
Benjamin did not deny her hopes, though he knew she likely heard what she wanted to hear, as the mind sometimes plays such tricks upon a person.
Instead, he said, “With all that has happened of late, I am confident Duncan has not completed his inquiries on your behalf. Lord Liverpool has demanded Duncan’s constant attention, but only a day ago Lord Graham volunteered to take up the cause.
Graham performs often in a covert manner.
He has many connections that others do not. ”
“Do you think he could discover Cassandra?” she asked softly.
“I will send a message around to him and accept his assistance,” Benjamin assured. “You must understand, if Betts’s words prove true…”
“He was likely with her when Cassandra died. Perhaps he had something to do with her death.”
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Graham,” Benjamin said as he shook his brother’s hand.
“Your message said there was some urgency.”
Benjamin poured them both a drink before he explained his purpose. “I wish to accept your offer to assist Miss Whitchurch in locating her sister.” He motioned Graham to a nearby chair.
“Of course, but what has brought on your heightened concerns?” Graham asked as he lowered his weight into the chair.
Benjamin sat heavily. “God was guiding my steps today. I arrived home to find Mr. Jonas Betts harassing Miss Whitchurch. He had forced himself into the house.”
Graham grinned, his scar puckering his lips on one side. “I pray you kicked his arse into the street. Betts is a prat of the first realm.”
Benjamin sighed heavily. “I was too busy slamming him into the tiled floor to kick his arse. He put his filthy hand on Miss Whitchurch.”
“Next time, remember, we all know permanent ways to be rid of a body.” Graham’s smile widened.
Benjamin permitted Graham’s easy manner to calm his frustration. “Next time,” he said, “I will follow your advice. Yet, what was worse was the dastard said something that I must investigate, but I have no idea where to begin.”
“As I have said previously, I am your servant,” Graham assured. “Do you possess a starting point for our search? What has been done previously?”
“Unfortunately, I have failed the lady in that manner. I have become accustomed to her presence in my house, and I fear I have unconsciously not pursued any leads because I did not wish for Miss Whitchurch to leave. Moreover, it has taken the lady longer than it should have to trust me,” Benjamin admitted.
He sighed again. “While I was ordering Mr. Betts from my home, Miss Whitchurch was begging him to bring Miss Cassandra to see the child, to which Betts responded that Cassandra Whitchurch was dead. Has been dead since early June.”
“How would Betts know that?” Graham asked with a frown.
“Betts could have been performing in a purposeful manner to harm Miss Whitchurch, for she repeatedly rejected his advances, even going so far as to take up a position as a teacher in a girls’ school in Bath to avoid him, while the younger sister encouraged Betts’s advances,” Benjamin confided.
“And you came by this information how?” Graham asked with a lift of his brows in apparent amusement.
Benjamin found himself grinning. “I asked what those from Hampshire in Duncan’s office knew of Lord Betts and his son.”
Graham nodded his approval. “Always best to speak to those close to the source.”
Benjamin continued. “Miss Whitchurch has heard nothing from her sister since she left the child in Miss Whitchurch’s room at the boarding house, which is exactly what has Betts’s assertions making more sense—that Miss Cassandra has been dead since early June.
As best as we can derive, that was when Titan sent Cassandra Whitchurch to The Red Rooster, though, as I mentioned previously, Duncan and I confirmed the woman never applied for the position as cook at the inn.
Since she left the child with her sister, Miss Cassandra has made no attempt to contact Miss Whitchurch.
Never even presented her sister one pence for the care of the boy.
Though I would not say so to the lady, Betts’s assertion holds more merit than I would like to present it. ”
“If Miss Cassandra is dead, without money or identity, she would be likely to be found in a pauper’s grave,” Graham warned. “I can begin there, but I believe it would do me well to speak to Titan and, perhaps, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. To learn more about the young woman. Do you object?”
“Whatever it takes,” Benjamin assured. “We can no longer dance around this craziness. Miss Whitchurch refuses to have the boy christened, though Miss Cassandra told her in the note she left for her sister, to name the child, which sounds to me as if the woman had no desire to face her mistakes every day for the rest of her life. Yet, I cannot say that to Miss Whitchurch. She requires closure before she can claim her own life.”
“Does Miss Cassandra resemble Miss Whitchurch? I will be required to describe her to those I ask,” Graham asked.
Benjamin handed Graham a sketch of Miss Cassandra.
It was between two sheets of card stock and tied off with a ribbon.
“Miss Whitchurch drew this to show the boy something of his mother as he grew older. She had it put away with the things she brought from the boarding house. I did not ask if she performed so to keep her sister’s memory equally alive for herself, but it may be useful to whoever might have prepared the body for interment, especially if all roads lead to a pauper’s grave as you suggested. For identity purposes.”
“Is it a true likeness?” Graham asked.
“I did not view it, but I have seen several others of Miss Whitchurch’s drawings. She has sketched the child twice, and those were quite good.”
Graham nodded his head in understanding before asking, “I suppose if I find the girl’s grave, you mean to have her exhumed and…”
“And buried again on my Kent estate. Her parents cannot accept the girl in their home shire, and I plan to marry Miss Whitchurch, and she and the boy will want to honor Miss Cassandra and remember her. No one in Kent will know more than what I tell them. The child will be an orphan raised by his aunt. I will see to the boy’s schooling and assist him as best I can.
Miss Whitchurch and I will present the child the legitimacy his own parents refused. ”