Chapter 34 #2
Lord Stanley leaned forward.
‘Then tell me about Oswald. We know he installed the secret passageways, so do not insult us by denying it.’
Boulton licked his lips.
‘Secret passages are useful for gathering information. Listening to conversations. Our clientele often possess knowledge worth having.’ He hesitated. ‘And they are useful for concealing... smuggled goods. In exchange, we secured a knighthood for him.’
‘You mean to tell me you used the passageways to spy upon your own members?’
‘And others, yes.’
What else were the Odd Fellows involved in? Espionage? The scale of it seemed to widen with every answer. How far into society did this corruption reach? Charlotte wondered in growing alarm.
‘Why were these house parties arranged each year?’ Charlotte asked.
‘To discuss operations for the year. Family events provide excellent cover.’
So her suspicions had been correct. They truly had been conducting criminal business meetings beneath the guise of polite society.
‘Was the late Baron—my father—involved?’ Lord Stanley asked.
Though his tone remained controlled, Charlotte sensed the effort behind it.
Boulton shifted slightly in his seat
‘He was.’
Lord Stanley drew in a measured breath. His hand tightened almost imperceptibly upon the edge of the desk.
Charlotte’s chest ached for him, but she remained silent.
‘Is Oswald the third Grand Fellow?’ Lord Stanley asked quietly.
Boulton let out a contemptuous snort.
‘Oswald? The man is a babbling fool. No. He is one of the lesser members.’
Stanley’s expression hardened.
‘Then who is Falcon?’
Boulton went truly white then.
Not merely pale.
‘If I speak Falcon’s name,’ he said hoarsely, ‘my entire family line will be wiped out. You do not understand what he is capable of.’
For the first time since entering the room, he looked genuinely terrified.
‘It is not about me, Stanley. Hamilton may have no family he values, but I do.’
And there he stopped.
Nothing more could be extracted from him.
As he was led away, Charlotte released a slow breath.
‘I am sorry... about your father.’
Lord Stanley gave a slight nod, his expression tightening briefly.
‘I suppose it explains a great deal,’ he said at last. ‘And perhaps... it is better to know the truth.’
He attempted a faint smile, but Charlotte could see the grief beneath it—the quiet hurt of a son discovering his father had not been the man he believed.
‘Well,’ she said, her brows knitting in frustration, ‘it appears fear of the gallows is powerful, but fear of Falcon is stronger still.’
‘Yes. But at least we obtained a confession. It is a start.’
As they continued subtly pitching the gentlemen against one another, Oswald and Fraser folded like a house of cards.
Under Lord Stanley’s steady questioning—and the promise of protection for his family—Oswald finally confirmed Boulton’s confession.
Frustratingly, however, he claimed to know very little about the society’s leadership, insisting the identities of the Grand Fellows were concealed from lesser members.
Mr Fraser proved rather more useful.
Under Stanley’s relentless interrogation, he finally admitted what Charlotte and Lord Stanley had long suspected: that financial ruin had driven him into business with the Odd Fellows.
What followed chilled Charlotte considerably.
Fraser confessed that his vessels had been used to smuggle French goods into England—opium, silks, wine—and, more disturbingly still, to transport girls out of the country.
Though he insisted he had not personally arranged the kidnappings, merely provided ships at the request of Hamilton or Payne, Charlotte found little comfort in the distinction.
Yet when Stanley questioned him regarding Falcon, Fraser likewise professed ignorance. He did, however, reveal the various names under which their companies operated—information that would at last allow Lord Stanley to begin dismantling the shipping network itself.
Lord Bainbridge was brought into the study next, his cane clutched tightly in one hand. He appeared suddenly older—frailer somehow.
‘I had no idea,’ he said at once. ‘Hamilton, Boulton, and Oswald—criminals? What is the world coming to?’
He shook his head disapprovingly, as though reprimanding foolish schoolboys rather than hardened criminals.
Lord Stanley stood with his arms folded, leaning lightly against the desk.
‘I understand your son used to attend the late Baron’s house parties.’
‘Yes... yes, I believe he did. Frederick generally attended in my stead, but after he passed—and as we were already in the county this year—I thought, why not come myself? Lady Bainbridge does so enjoy house parties.’
‘And I believe you and your son were estranged?’
Lord Bainbridge flushed a dark, offended red before sighing heavily.
‘He became something of a recluse after childhood. What is life if not lived amongst society? I preferred London. He preferred the estate. Refused to obey me or marry. So I cut him off. To discipline him, you understand.’
Charlotte exchanged a meaningful glance with Lord Stanley.
‘And I never approved of his friends,’ Bainbridge continued. ‘I raised him with discipline. He knew better than to mingle with riffraff, but he would not listen.’
‘Perhaps he rebelled,’ Charlotte said quietly. ‘Sometimes the strictest expectations produce the sharpest defiance.’
For a brief moment, he looked uncertain. Then the stubbornness returned.
It required very little imagination to picture the beginnings of such a corrupt enterprise amongst privileged young men.
‘Did your son leave behind journals or correspondence?’ Charlotte asked.
Bainbridge’s face tightened.
‘The doctor ordered most of his belongings burnt, you understand. Because of his... disease. I could not bear to do it myself, but Hamilton and Wolverton assisted with the task.’
Charlotte exchanged a disappointed glance with Lord Stanley. Of course Wolverton and Hamilton would have destroyed anything incriminating. Wolverton must have taken the black book from Frederick’s rooms whilst helping clear them out. That would explain how it came into his possession.
She hesitated before asking, ‘Did you keep nothing of his?’
‘I did keep one or two items. They were stored in his armoire, you see.’ His voice faltered. ‘No parent should ever have to bury their child.’
Despite everything, Charlotte felt a genuine flicker of pity.
Even Stanley softened, if only slightly.
‘What sort of things did you keep?’
‘Oh, a few personal effects. A gold pocket watch... a miniature portrait of him as a child. Then there was a jewellery box that belonged to his mother—set with precious jewels, very expensive, you understand. I could hardly allow that to be burned.’ He then tapped his cane on the floor. ‘Now tell me what this is about?’
‘We will need to examine those, Bainbridge,’ Lord Stanley said.
‘What?’ He struck the floor sharply with his cane this time and pushed himself to his feet as though preparing to strike someone. ‘Certainly not. What right have you to rummage through my son’s private belongings? I will not permit it.’
For a fleeting moment, Charlotte caught a glimpse of what he might once have been in his prime—forceful, domineering, even intimidating. Yet now the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact he resembled little more than an overgrown child in the midst of a tantrum.
Lord Stanley remained unaffected by the outburst.
‘I regret to inform you that your son may have been involved in organising a criminal society engaged in kidnapping and murder.’
Bainbridge stared at him.
‘That is impossible,’ he said weakly. ‘Not Frederick.’
He sank heavily into his chair, as though something within him had finally given way. Perhaps, Charlotte thought, he had known the truth all along and simply lacked the courage to face it.
‘I was the best father... he would never...’
Stanley’s voice lowered, steadier now, as he explained their suspicions and the growing evidence against Frederick Bainbridge. With every word, the older man’s shoulders seemed to bow further beneath the weight of it.
‘We require certainty, nothing more,’ Lord Stanley said at last, more gently than before. ‘Allow us to search his things. Then we shall know the truth one way or another.’
After a long pause, Bainbridge reluctantly agreed.
‘Would it be possible to return to your estate with a few footmen and retrieve them?’
‘No need. I gave the jewellery box to my wife; she must have it upstairs. And the pocket watch and miniature are here.’
He withdrew the items from his pocket.
Charlotte and Lord Stanley examined them eagerly, only to be disappointed when they revealed no hidden secrets. The objects appeared entirely ordinary, though Lord Bainbridge reclaimed them as though they were priceless treasures.
Lord Stanley instructed a couple of footmen to accompany Lord Bainbridge to his wife’s room to fetch the jewellery box. But they did not expect it to contain anything of consequence either.
The moment Lord Bainbridge left the room, Lord Stanley spoke.
‘It is time we speak to Payne.’
Mr Payne denied everything. Neither veiled threats nor persuasion appeared to move him; he remained stubbornly defiant throughout.
‘I own warehouses, nothing more,’ he replied, folding his arms.
‘Warehouses with unusual security arrangements?’ Charlotte asked. ‘And rather curious business ties with Boulton, Hamilton, and Fraser?’
He shot her a sharp look.
Lord Stanley spoke in a calm, almost conversational tone.
‘And I suppose you never wondered what was stored there.’
Payne smirked.
‘My business is entirely above board. I have no idea what you are referring to.’
Charlotte’s hands tightened in her lap.
‘You are lying, Mr Payne. Your game is up. We already possess confessions stating you knew precisely what those warehouses were being used for,’ Lord Stanley said, hoping the tactic would prove as effective as it had upon the others. This time, however, it failed entirely.
Payne merely leaned back farther in his chair, looking infuriatingly relaxed.
‘It is their word against my own. I know nothing of what they are speaking of.’
‘Who organised the Odd Fellow operations?’ Stanley asked.
‘I know nothing of any such organisation,’ Payne answered without hesitation. ‘I am a respectable businessman.’
‘Do you know Falcon?’ Charlotte asked.
He shook his head.
‘I have no idea who that is. For all I know, you may as well be speaking of Napoleon himself.’
Charlotte glanced sideways at Lord Stanley.
‘Well,’ she said dryly, ‘that would certainly complicate matters.’
A corner of Lord Stanley’s mouth moved.
‘If you truly know nothing of the warehouses at the Liverpool docks,’ he said evenly, ‘then you will have no objection to our searching them and questioning your workers. And yes—I am fully aware of your “off the books” properties. Rose and Thorn, is it not?’
Mr Payne turned an unpleasant shade of green.
Then, in an instant, his expression twisted into fury and he launched himself across the desk.
Lord Stanley had only enough time to shove Charlotte backwards out of harm’s way before Payne struck him heavily across the face.
Charlotte gasped.
Payne swung again, but Stanley blocked the blow and drove him backwards with enough force to send the heavier man staggering. The Bow Street Runners immediately seized Payne, forcing him to the floor as more men rushed in from the hallway to assist.
Payne continued shouting threats as he was dragged from the room.
Silence settled over the study once more.
Charlotte turned quickly towards Stanley.
‘Are you hurt?’
A thin line of blood had appeared along his brow—Payne must have been wearing a ring.
Without thinking, she drew out her handkerchief and reached towards him.
Lord Stanley caught her wrist gently before she could dab at the cut.
‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘I can manage.’
Then he stepped back, not meeting her eyes.
Charlotte felt an unexpected sting of hurt as she lowered her hand.
Frowning thoughtfully, she watched as Lord Stanley began pacing the length of the study, restlessness etched into every movement.
‘Payne must be Falcon,’ he said at last. ‘No wonder they are frightened of him. The man is deranged.’
Charlotte admitted. ‘At one point I very nearly wished to slap that smirk off his round face myself.’
Stanley pressed his lips together, as though suppressing a smile.
‘They must all be brought before the magistrate in Manchester tomorrow morning. I cannot delay it any longer. Perhaps the warehouses—and their workers—will reveal more,’ he said. ‘There is little else to be done today. Come—you look exhausted.’
Charlotte had scarcely reached the door when a scream split the hallway.
Not a genteel shriek.
A raw, blood-curdling scream of genuine horror.
They ran from the room at once and hurried into the foyer as alarm echoed throughout the house.
Doors flew open as guests emerged from their chambers.
A crowd had already gathered near the main staircase, though an unnatural stillness hung over them—as though whatever had occurred had stunned the entire household into silence.
Charlotte’s pulse began to pound.
As they neared the foot of the stairs, she saw a cane lying abandoned upon the marble floor.
Stanley moved ahead of her whilst Charlotte pushed past Mrs Payne, whose hand was clapped over her mouth.
And then she saw him.
Lord Bainbridge lay crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, his body twisted at a grotesque angle, his neck bent unnaturally.
Dead.