Chapter Thirty-Four
Benjamin had been watching the Deering townhouse for three nights.
The ghosts of the past were most alive here, and it was all he could do to keep himself alert and focused on reality.
He had not slept more than a few hours at a time when Wells sent footmen to force him to change shifts.
And when he did sleep, he was pulled further into the dark bleakness of the past that had seeped into his present.
It did not do to give it any more hold than it already had on him, and so he avoided rest.
He had spent the last week combing the underbelly of London for any hint of what Deering might do.
What he was plotting. The one letter the man had sent had slipped through their fingers, and there had not been another peep from the man’s home.
All his and Wells’ investigating had come to nought—even the servants knew nothing.
The baron had sent the missive and then holed himself up in his chambers, only opening the door to allow food to be passed through.
It was as if he were holding vigil for something.
No one knew what. But Benjamin had a sick premonition that it was something terrible.
And so, having learned to trust his gut, he had taken up this post three days ago, holding his own vigil and lying in wait to trap the snivelling worm the second he showed his hand.
Wells had sent a message up to Edinburgh to ask Elkington to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.
Benjamin knew where she was staying; his informants kept a close eye on her to ensure she remained safe, but he felt it better to alert someone else of the danger she may be in, as he did not trust himself not to go charging up there to find her himself.
No, it was better if he did not seek her out.
Elkington and Elsie would be back in Edinburgh any day, and they would keep an eye on her—even beyond his faith in Elk, he knew Elsie had adopted Charlotte into her ranks, and he knew not to underestimate her loyalty.
Besides, the manner of Charlotte’s departure nearly a month earlier made it clear that his pursuit of her was not welcome.
She had cut ties with him completely, even instructing her bank not to accept money from his accounts.
He had transferred it anyway. Charlotte was endlessly clever and had managed her family’s finances with miraculous acuity, but she was no match for the innumerable loopholes that men like Bell and Collier could find when given the right incentive.
He had also handed over the deed to her family seat to Collier to ferry up to his solicitor network in Edinburgh so they could present the document to her and explain the legalities.
Benjamin had hoped to pass the gift on to her himself—the fantasy of her beaming smile and those faint eyebrows arching in surprise had dogged his every step—but he would not be the one to share the moment with her.
She had made her choice, and he would respect the decision.
Besides, Deering was up to something, and Benjamin could not let him go.
He was likely trying to cover up the slip with the shipping manifests.
He would not put it past the snake to try to wriggle out of the consequences of smuggling spies, just when Benjamin was about to finally pin him down for good.
Even though he had played his hand, Benjamin was not about to let him get away.
There was more evidence. There always was.
And Benjamin would find it. There was nothing else for him to do anyway.
After everything Deering had done to the people he loved—to him—he had to see this through to the bitter end.
∞∞∞
“A letter for you, Miss Aston.” Mrs. Walters had caught Charlotte just as she returned from the McFadden household.
She was in a bit of a rush. Elsie had arranged for her to meet with a publisher friend of hers, and there were hopes of discussing a book of her writing on the first measures that could be taken to alleviate poverty among women and children who lived in the London slums. A book!
Charlotte could hardly believe it when Elsie mentioned it over tea on Sunday afternoon, her one day off from governess duties.
The budding friendship between the two women had been well and truly solidified at dinner the week before, and Charlotte felt as if, though not yet, soon she might truly make a home for herself here—a life of meaning.
“Could you set it aside for me, Mrs. Walters? I am in a bit of a hurry,” she called over her shoulder as she unlaced her bonnet and patted her hair.
Hopefully, it had not become too mussed over the course of the day. She would not have time to plait it again. Never mind, usually her customary crown of braids held up well enough to the trials and tribulations of a busy schedule.
“Are you sure, miss? It is fine stock again—looks like the kind your English lords use. Even has a crest on it. Besides, it is addressed to Lady Charlotte Aston. I did not know you were a lady!” She said the last with almost accusing disbelief.
To be fair to Mrs. Walters, it would be quite a boon for her business if fine ladies began frequenting her boarding house.
Charlotte stopped in her tracks. She was not expecting a post from anyone who might have a crest on their stationery.
And she had only just seen Elsie two days ago—besides, they had no use for the Royal Mail when a messenger boy could deliver a missive through the city in a thrice.
She felt a tingle of apprehension along the nape of her neck.
Had Freddie written? It seemed unlikely.
She imagined he was still too piqued at her last letter to him, in which she had disavowed his behaviour and stated that it was high time he took responsibility for himself and the estate.
She had not told him that she would continue to look after the twins—she could not have abdicated that responsibility if she tried—but she doubted they were high on his list of concerns now that the full weight of his actions would come crashing down.
It had been painful to write the words, but it was now clear to Charlotte that her coddling had only done her dear Freddie harm.
This was the only way to show him love now.
“Thank you, Mrs. Walters.” Charlotte accepted the letter with an almost steady hand.
It was a script she did not recognise, but she broke open the seal in haste, realising she had not checked the crest. Her eyes jumped straight to the bottom to see who the sender was, and her heart dropped in dread before craning back up to read the letter’s contents.
A cold sweat broke out on her neck, and for a moment she thought she might have been shot in the shoulder again.
“Are ye alright, lass?” The ageing landlady reached out a hand to steady her, but Charlotte’s head snapped up, and Mrs. Walters jolted back in surprise.
“I must travel back to London for a spell. It seems there are some family matters I must attend to. I am sorry for not giving the proper notice. I assure you, I will pay through the end of the month.” Her voice was falsely cheery and nearly manic.
“I hope to return as soon as possible, but I cannot be sure when that will be.”
Mrs. Walters looked concerned but gave her a reassuringly maternal look. “Aye, lass. Dunnae worry. You can always find a place here. I hope the news is not as dire as all that.”
Charlotte’s smile felt wooden as she gave a shake of her head. “No, no. I just need to be home to sort some things out.”
She worried that if she stood there a moment longer, the older woman’s kind gaze might reduce her to desperate tears. She did not have time for desperate tears.
∞∞∞
Charlotte sat in Elkington’s carriage, watching anxiously as the scenery flying by the window darkened as night enveloped the countryside.
The days were already getting so long here up north, and it was hard to believe she had only received the letter this afternoon.
After packing her belongings swiftly—she had pawned some books but could not yet part with the gowns—she had left her trunk with Mrs. Walters and hurried on foot to Lady McFadden’s home.
Her employer had been kind and understanding, saying that she must take however long she needed to put her family affairs to rights and that she and the boys would manage well enough until she got back.
She had then pressed an extra week’s worth of earnings into Charlotte’s hands, refusing all protests Charlotte could muster, and sent her on her way.
Armed with the comfort of extra blunt, Charlotte made her way down Regent Terrace to the Wylde’s residence.
A month earlier, Charlotte would have gone dashing back down to London upon receiving the letter without stopping to tell anyone what had transpired. Now, when Elsie hurried into the sitting room, Charlotte nearly burst into tears.
“Oh, Elsie. I have wrecked everything, after all.”
Elsie traded a handkerchief for the letter Charlotte withdrew from her sleeve, ushering her to the settee where she skimmed the contents and looked back up just as Charlotte regained some control over her desperation.
“I cannot believe it.” Charlotte sat miserably deflated as Elsie read through it again. “How could the Chesterfields have possibly heard of your association with Scarsdale? They notoriously never come to town. And to refuse to host your brothers during their term break? It seems rather harsh.”
Charlotte’s brows pulled together. Elsie was so uncommonly bright, she found it surprising she did not understand the voracity of ton gossip.
“If it is out, it is hardly surprising that they have heard. Especially since the twins are such close friends with their son. Any number of people would have clawed to Derbyshire just to be the first to tell them the news.”