Chapter 31
“Icannot thank you enough for your kindness, Lord Swinthorpe,” Georgia beamed as they were served tea in one of Swinthorpe Hall's drawing rooms.
The room was dark, facing east as the sun set and so drawing in the darkening sky, while fire illuminated the west. The dark mahogany furniture further added to the sense of gloom.
A fire in a brooding stone hearth cast long, dancing shadows.
Georgia felt uneasy but put it down to Lord Swinthorpe's choices in decoration and the reason they'd had to vacate Westvale so hastily.
I hope Keaton has received the letter I left for him, brief as the circumstances of our departure required it to be. He will need to know what has become of us.
“Not at all, Your Grace,” Swinthorpe responded with a grin, “I am only glad that I could offer my assistance in your hour of need. And Westvale's.”
Georgia looked to Amelia, who had taken a seat by the window and was staring out pensively.
“Amelia, there is no way that your father will look for you here. He has no way of knowing where you are. Even the servants at Westvale do not know.”
“I wish I could relax, Georgia. I fear all I have done is anger my father and Lord Emsworth and delay the inevitable.”
“It is far from inevitable,” Georgia pressed angrily. “Have hope.”
“Do you, Your Grace?” Swinthorpe asked suddenly, leaning forward in his seat.
“Yes, in the future,” Georgia spun her head to face him with conviction.
“The future?” Swinthorpe looked peculiarly intent.
“My future with my husband. And my cousin's future, independent of her parents, if need be.”
“Ah. My last conversation with my nephew on the subject of your marriage did not give me much hope,” Swinthorpe shrugged.
“Indeed? I always try to maintain hope, even if it is just a sliver. Life without hope is no life at all.”
“Certainly. I merely hope for the future of Westvale. I have had fears concerning that since my nephew announced his intention to marry you. In fact, I've had my doubts long before that.”
Georgia donned a coy smile. “I am happy to reassure you then that Westvale is in safe hands.”
“Indeed it is,” Swinthorpe agreed, draining the last of his tea, “and in the spirit of familial co-operation, may I speak to you regarding the matter of your brother?”
Georgia paused with her teacup halfway to her mouth. She put it down, the cup and saucer trembling slightly.
“You may. I am always open to any information regarding Elias' whereabouts.”
The Earl nodded decisively and stood. “Very well. What I have to say has recently come to light, and I have not had an opportunity to share it with my nephew yet. I have some correspondence relating to it, if I may?”
Georgia nodded, and Swinthorpe departed from the room. Georgia and Amelia exchanged astonished looks.
“If he truly has information, then I would like to know for how long and why it has not been shared before,” Georgia murmured, standing and pacing the room. “I can only presume Keaton told him of my brother, and he has been secretly aiding in the investigation.”
“If he can give you some concrete information, he will be doubly the hero,” Amelia avowed, leaving the window to sit on a chaise beside her cousin.
Georgia nodded, trying her best to steel her expression. “I hope it is good news, but even if it is not, to know is better than to wonder.”
“So, do you think that your marriage to the Duke has become something more than the forced arrangement it began as?” Amelia asked earnestly.
“I… I do not know, is the honest answer. Perhaps I am being a fool to myself and claiming hope where there is none. He is a difficult man to know... but let us say that annulment is no longer an option.”
Amelia's mouth fell open, and she blushed. “Oh, my. Georgia, you are so bold!”
“Bold? He is my husband after all. But yes, I suppose I do feel a good deal bolder than a month ago,” Georgia said with a secret smile.
“I do hope that one day I will find a handsome Duke of my own! In fact, an Earl or a Viscount or a Marquess... even a farmer would do!” Amelia chimed brightly, “Provided he is... strong and handsome, of course.”
“A good man is all I ever wanted.”
“And you have one, and from a good family.”
Georgia smiled happily.
The door swung open, and Swinthorpe strode back into the room. He was holding a letter. There was a smudge of ink on his index finger. When he handed the letter to Georgia, she noticed that it had smudged on the paper too.
“This correspondence arrived just a few days ago. I have not had an opportunity to look into it. But it may have some bearing. I kept it because it seemed to connect the two incidents that have the most bearing on our family, the Westvale family. The accident that left my nephew blind and the disappearance of your brother.”
Georgia took the letter and began to read. As she did, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
“…What is it?” Amelia asked, impatient, “Has your brother been found?”
“No,” Georgia mumbled, “but this purports to know where he is.
It says that a residence of a country house on the outskirts of North London tells a tale of a body found after an incident involving some notorious highwaymen.
The body was taken for burial on this gentleman's estate, which was nearby.
A pin was found and has been in the gentleman's possession since then.
“Amelia, the pin described in this letter is the sigil of Roseton. A rose with two thorns on its stalk, set against a hill. The Rose tun in Old English means the rose hill. Elias wore it on his lapel. My father, before him. Who is this letter from, Lord Swinthorpe?” Georgia demanded.
“The gentleman was named Viscount Broadmede. He is no longer in the land of the living. But, I am familiar with his family, and after my people brought this to light, I went to see the new Viscount. He gave me this...”
Swinthorpe put out a hand, and on his palm was a tarnished copper pin. It bore the sigil of Roseton. Georgia reached for it with trembling hands, eyes brimming with tears.
“Oh, Elias!” she sobbed, pressing the sigil to her cheek.
“We could go there. To the place where the man who bore this pin was interred,” Swinthorpe suggested, “I presume that is the pin that belonged to your family?”
Georgia nodded wordlessly.
“Then I am very sorry for your loss,” Swinthorpe declared with earnest compassion in his voice and eyes.
“I would like to go and see the place,” Georgia breathed shakily, “though, how do I know it is Elias who lies there?”
“I have a man in my employ who once worked for Broadmede. He knows something of the events of that night. He will drive you and relate the story.”
“You will not come too?” Georgia asked.
“I do not wish to intrude on your grief,” Swinthorpe said humbly.
“I can accompany you, Georgie,” Amelia comforted, taking Georgia’s hands.
“May I suggest otherwise,” Swinthorpe cut in hastily. “If your father is still looking for you, it would not do to be caught outdoors and alone. Besides, the spot in question is north-west London and not all that far, as the crow flies, from Silverton.”
Georgia watched Swinthorpe, suddenly uneasy. But the feel of the pin in her hand led to her dismissing her brief suspicions.
“Lord Swinthorpe is right, Amelia. Best to take no chances. You'll be safe here, and I will return the moment I find anything.”
“We draw near to Swinthorpe, Your Grace,” Thorne commented quietly.
“I can feel it,” Keaton muttered, fists clenched around his trusty cane, “the roads leading to my uncle's house are in a deplorable condition.”
“This is prime highwayman country,” Thorne remarked sagely, “they damage the roads to halt the carriages and make the robberies easier. We are not far from where Major Billy is supposed to have made his final robbery.”
“Which we now know it was not,” Keaton finished grimly.
He heard the distinct click of a pistol being primed as the carriage screeched to a halt.
“There is another carriage outside the house,” Thorne noted, “the driver is still with the conveyance, waiting.”
“Find out who it belongs to.”
Keaton alighted steadily from his carriage, hearing Thorne already crunching away across Swinthorpe's gravel drive from the other side of the door.
He, himself, strode towards the front entrance, orienting himself based on where he knew his own driver would have stopped, the scent of the roses that grew around the door, and the faint sound of a fountain that babbled in the distance.
Keaton knew the fountain lay in direct view from the front door, a straight line across the drive.
By the time he felt the step up into the porch, Thorne was hurrying back to his side.
“Lord Emsworth's driver, Your Grace.”
“I smell two rats,” Keaton muttered darkly, rapping sharply on the door.
It was answered by a servant who admitted Keaton on sight.
“Nephew!” Swinthorpe greeted from across the hall, “an unexpected surprise. Come and join my guests!”
“I have no desire to be in company with snakes like Silverton or Emsworth,” Keaton snapped immediately.
Thorne loitered on the porch, halted by an upraised hand from Keaton. Swinthorpe had not yet seen him. There was a silence, punctuated only by his uncle's approaching footsteps.
“Is my wife here?” Keaton demanded.
“No, she is visiting a grave where I believe her brother's body lies. It seems I have outdone your investigator. Come, I will tell you all.”
Keaton caught his uncle's sleeve as Edric turned away. “Where?” he asked.
Edric hesitated. Keaton heard him flick open a pocket watch, the metallic click unmistakable. Edric chuckled, then flipped the watch closed.
“The grounds of Paddington Lodge, I believe.”
“One of your properties, is it not?” Keaton breathed, remembering visits to the property, which had been Edric's home before his inheritance of Swinthorpe.
“Yes, does it matter?”