Chapter 20 #3
“I came to tell you my niece was missing. I wouldn’t have needed to hit him with the fire iron had you simply agreed to his terms.”
Daphne gasped. “You killed Father?”
“It was an accident. He fell back and landed on the grate. It’s your fault for dancing with Mr Hawke.”
Irving raised his hands. “If you think I’ll explain it away, think again. You hit him when he threatened to tell his daughter the truth.”
“No one knows that but us. There are no witnesses. Nothing can be proved in court. We’ll invent a story and blame the clerk. If we both keep to the same tale, there’ll be no problem.”
“And yet there are witnesses to all your misdeeds.” Daphne cleared her throat. “You may show yourselves.”
Dominic slid out from the shadows first. “I’d like to say welcome to hell, Augusta, but I’m told the journey there is the most harrowing.”
Stanton appeared in the doorway, Montfort behind him. “I was looking for something gripping for tomorrow’s front page. I presume The Sentinel will have exclusive rights.”
“If I beat Irving, will you say he fell?” Dominic asked.
Stanton grinned. “The Sentinel reports facts, but I can make an exception.”
The warehouse door clanged like it had been blown open by a sudden gust. Boots drummed on the wooden treads.
“That could be Bow Street now.” Dominic knew it wasn’t. They came with lanterns and noise enough to wake the street. The men who appeared on the landing needed no such theatre.
Stanton and Montfort stepped aside to allow one man to enter. He was broad, not tall, solidly built, the kind who would walk through a brick wall without breaking stride.
Dominic assumed it was Irving’s man, but Irving looked like he was about to soil his trousers.
“Mr Moseley would like a private word, sir. He’s outside in the carriage. He’s heard you’re sailing to Portsmouth on the morning tide.”
“What? No. He m-must be mistaken,” Irving stuttered.
“Then you’ll need to put his mind at ease, sir, what with you owing his brother a hefty debt. He’s seized your lighter at the dock gates, taken the cargo for the trouble caused.”
Irving gulped. “No. Tell him I’ll visit the office in the morning. There’s been a mistake.”
He kept talking. No one listened. At a nod from Moseley’s man, the lackeys snared Irving by the collar and hauled his scuffing boots into the dark.
Augusta clutched her throat and shrank back.
“Mr Moseley hopes his intervention was timely,” his man said. “He has a proposition, Mr Hawke. One that satisfies all parties concerned, if you’re willing to hear it.”
Dominic glanced at Stanton and Montfort. “We’ve enough secrets between us. I’ll not ask you to keep another. You can wait downstairs.”
Stanton glanced at Montfort and they both shrugged.
“We’ll stay,” Montfort said. “Justice has always weighed more than the truth.”
Dominic turned to Moseley’s man. “Give me a moment to free Miss Harland. Any decision will be made jointly.”
He crossed to Daphne, drew the blade from his coat and sliced through the rope at her wrists, then crouched and cut her ankles free. He drew her to her feet, his thumb moving in slow circles over her wrists where the bindings had bitten.
“Later,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear, “I’ll attend to every ache. Now, would you like to hear Mr Moseley’s proposition?”
“After tonight, I’ll consider almost anything.”
He faced Moseley’s messenger. “We’re listening.”
The fellow reached into his coat pocket and handed Dominic a letter. A quick scan showed the fifteen thousand had been returned to his account at Coutts.
“Mr Moseley can’t accept your payment, sir. It’s not how he does business. The debt falls to Harland’s beneficiary.” He glanced at Augusta when she whimpered. “He feels it only right that Lady Sanders settles the debt in her own way.”
“I can raise the money. Give me a week. A month at most. I have jewels—Samuel’s mother’s pearls—stored at the house in Mayfair.”
“Pearls wouldn’t cover the first instalment, ma’am.”
Daphne snorted. “It’s a lie anyway. She hasn’t a penny. Samuel left the pearls to his mistress in Norfolk.”
“There’s a boat waiting at Fobbing Marshes. Mr Moseley wishes to assure you that you’ll have no cause to see Lady Sanders again.”
Daphne turned to him, her hand coming to rest on his chest. “What shall we do? There’s no evidence to convict her other than our testimonies, and Augusta would paint us both as her enemies. Our mothers’ names would be dragged through every court in London.”
They had all suffered enough. The scandal would taint their children’s prospects, though he wasn’t about to voice that aloud.
“The clerk’s testimony implicates Irving, not your aunt,” he said. “Augusta must answer for what she’s done. Our mothers deserve justice. But I’d rather London not read every sordid detail.”
Moseley’s man spoke up. “Bow Street will receive her signed confession, and that of Mr Irving, confirming they both played a part in Lord Harland’s death. It will state they’ve left England.” He inclined his head. “Mr Moseley hopes that proves satisfying for all concerned.”
Augusta stepped forward. “For heaven’s sake, you can’t just spirit me away. I’ll not sign anything.”
“I think you will, ma’am, given the options.”
Dominic met Stanton’s gaze. A discreet nod passed between them. He turned and reached for Daphne’s hand.
“Take her. Moseley will see she pays for her crimes.”
“You can be sure of it, sir.”
Augusta’s protests echoed through the warehouse as she was led out. He barely heard them. Daphne’s hand was in his. He did not intend to let it go again.