Chapter 24 #2
He raised his eyebrows. “Instead, he threatened me. He told me that if I left, or spoke a word of what I had discovered, he would implicate me in his criminal dealings, and I would never find respectable employment again.” He lowered his eyes to the teacup in his hands.
“So, I stayed. I continued working for him for several more months before I attempted to leave again. That time, the baron agreed, and I returned home to find my wife dead.”
Helena gasped. “No!”
“Yes.” Mr. Pritchard closed his eyes briefly, as though the memory remained painfully vivid.
“The authorities investigated and determined that she had died of natural causes, but I knew the baron had men in his employ for the smuggling. One of his smugglers, a rough sort of fellow, called upon me a few days later and asked whether I was ready to return to work.”
“I told him I was not, and that I never would be.” Mr. Pritchard's expression hardened.
“He then informed me that my son had been removed from the boarding school where he was being educated and was under the baron's care. It was then that I understood what had happened to my wife was not a warning to me. It was a promise of what would happen to my son if I refused.”
Tristan glanced toward Helena. She stared at Mr. Pritchard in disbelief. “He used another child,” she whispered.
“Aye. Just as he did with Mrs. Fenwick's daughter.” Mr. Pritchard nodded. “The baron has come as far as he has because he knows precisely what leverage to use. He threatens the people who matter most to those he wishes to control.”
“He is truly awful,” Helena said.
“He is without morals,” Mr. Pritchard replied. He paused before continuing.
“From then on, I felt as though I had no choice but to do his bidding. I continued working on his books, though he had nothing left to hide from me, and slowly but surely, I received more instructions concerning his affairs. Until, finally, I became the liaison between him and the men who carried out his dirty work. My Lord, what I have to tell you will be difficult to hear, but it must be said.”
“I understand,” Tristan said quietly, knowing that Mr. Pritchard would either speak of Frederick or Elinor.
“Your brother became acquainted with the baron, who wanted him to invest in a scheme he presented as lucrative and beneficial to your brother's prospects.” Mr. Pritchard breathed out shakily and took a deep sip of his tea, draining the cup before placing it upon the table.
“I had hoped he would stay away. He even mentioned that you had not encouraged his involvement, but he was determined. Of course, the investment was intended to fund a smuggling operation, and the baron told your brother that the investment had failed while he pocketed the profits from his criminal activities. But the baron underestimated Mr. Wycliffe.”
Mr. Pritchard explained further. “I learned that your brother had been making inquiries at the docks concerning ships that had been lost at sea.
He was investigating the baron's claim that the investment had failed because the ship had been wrecked in a storm. It was not long before your brother discovered the truth. I recall the baron remarking that he would handle the matter himself, but when he received a letter from your late wife, that was when I met Mrs. Fenwick.”
“Her husband had been in the baron's employment.
I was never certain precisely what happened, but there seemed to have been some disagreement between them, and the next thing I knew, he had drowned in the river.
I know one of the baron's men was responsible. Mrs. Fenwick was then sent to the Blackmere estate, and I was sent there shortly afterward, with the sole purpose of poisoning your late wife and silencing her.”
Mr. Pritchard rubbed his tired eyes. “While I took up residence at the inn in the village neighboring the Blackmere estate, I was summoned back to London. Your brother had arrived and confronted the baron. I was instructed to orchestrate the carriage accident and ensure that he would not survive it.”
Tristan stared at the man seated before him, who had played a part in the deaths of both Elinor and Frederick.
Anger boiled beneath the surface, but he would not allow it to take control.
He rose from his chair abruptly and walked to the window, watching the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the street below.
“Where is your son?” Tristan managed to ask.
“He is safe.” Mr. Pritchard's voice was weak.
“After the business at Blackmere, I returned to London, and in the dead of night, took my boy and disappeared. We remained in the country until April of this year, when I returned alone to London. My boy is with someone I trust, someone who has no connection to my past.”
“Why return now?” Tristan asked, turning from the window to face Mr. Pritchard.
“I was once an honest man, and I wish to be one again.” Mr. Pritchard looked like a broken man.
“I cannot live with what I have done, regardless of the position in which I found myself. I have wanted to confess my crimes and bring justice to the baron, but I know who I am in this world, and I know who the baron is.”
“And that is why you encouraged us to seek the truth?” Helena asked. “As an earl, my husband's word would be respected.”
“Not only that. With his standing in society, his position places him beyond the baron's power.” Mr. Pritchard looked toward Tristan. “And you deserved to know.”
Tristan hesitated before asking, “Why did you send the note asking my wife about the letters on the day we wed?” He paused. “She did not find them until much later. She would not have had any opportunity to do so before then.”
Mr. Pritchard shook his head. “That was my stupidity. I wrote all the notes on my way to London. I slipped the wrong one into the baron's letter to you.”
“Which one did you mean to send?” Tristan asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“It was a note to tell you that the man you rescued your lady from was a man with many secrets,” Mr. Pritchard answered.
“I realize my notes were cryptic, but I could not walk in here and confess all I had done without knowing whether you had discovered evidence of it yourself. I needed to trust that you would be willing to hear me out first.”
Tristan nodded, aware that years spent under the baron's control had left their mark upon the poor man. “Will you give evidence to the magistrate I have investigating the baron?”
“Aye,” Mr. Pritchard nodded firmly.
“Then I will need to know where your boy is and who is looking after him. I will see that he is provided for,” Tristan said.
“You need not do that, My Lord.” Mr. Pritchard rose from his chair.
“Indeed, I do.” Tristan's tone was final.
“I confess, I cannot understand the position in which you found yourself, or how difficult it must have been. But, as Mrs. Fenwick said, there is always a choice. I do not know what the outcome of this will be for you, or how you will be expected to answer for your actions, considering the circumstances. But if you are resolved to do what is right, then I am too. I promise, upon my name, that I will see your boy is cared for.”
Tristan held out his hand.
Mr. Pritchard stared at it, looking both shocked and overwhelmed. Slowly, he stepped forward, his eyes glistening as his expression broke. “Thank you, My Lord,” he said, shaking Tristan’s hand.
“I still have many questions, but perhaps it is best that they are answered when you give your evidence before the magistrate” Tristan said. “Would you be willing to meet here tomorrow morning at ten o’clock?”
“Yes, My Lord. I believe I should take my leave now. But thank you for listening; and thank you for bringing an end to all this.”
A few moments later, Tristan and Helena were alone in the sitting room once more.
Tristan leaned against the mantel, his head bowed and his eyes closed.
The grief he had felt three years before came rushing back in a fresh wave, mingled with the anger he felt toward Lord Ravenscroft, Mr. Pritchard, and Mrs. Fenwick.
Tristan soon felt arms wrap around him. He opened his eyes to find Helena before him, drawing him into an embrace. His arms closed around her, and he allowed himself to accept the comfort she offered as she held him.
“I am so sorry, Tristan,” she whispered against his shoulder.
Chapter 25
Pulling away from Tristan, Helena looked up and studied his expression. It was the first time she had ever seen him so distressed, grief and anger warring across his features. His dark eyes had fallen to the floor, and for a moment he seemed unable to gather himself enough to speak.
“Speak to me, Tristan,” Helena urged gently after a moment.
“I do not know where to begin,” he finally admitted.
“Come.” She took his hand and led him from the room.
Tristan fell into step beside her, allowing Helena to guide him through the house and toward the back garden.
Evening was drawing near, and the last of the daylight rested softly upon the lawns and flower beds.
He kept his hand in hers, and when she glanced back, she found him watching her with faint curiosity, as though he were only just beginning to understand what she was doing.