Chapter 23
Amelia
“It’s Xanthe,” Connor said, standing by a window as tires crunched to a halt outside.
“What the blazes is she doing here?” Duncan picked up the rifle. He drew something from inside his jacket—a fresh magazine. Next to Amelia, Tom groaned.
“No idea,” Connor said. “She thinks I’m still in London, or she’s supposed to. I drove straight here this morning.”
Duncan clipped the magazine in. “Get out there and get rid of her.”
Connor stared at his father, wide-eyed. “What?”
“Feed her a story and send her away. Bloody hell, Connor, I didn’t mean… And give me that knife.”
Connor wasted no time sliding it along the floor to his father, with a wary look at Tom and Amelia.
Duncan slung the rifle over his shoulder, picked up the knife, and grabbed Amelia’s arm, yanking her to her feet. She gasped. “Either of you move or say a word, and I’ll finish her off like a lame sheep.” He pressed the knife to her throat.
If ever there was a time to freeze… Amelia found herself staring up at the tapestry. The countess held her gaze, and Amelia stopped breathing altogether. Her epiphany about the tapestry—she remembered it! Life-changing, indeed. And it would be all for nothing unless they could get out of this.
“Tell Xanthe to go to the police,” Duncan said, as Connor went to open the door.
Connor halted, confused. Amelia looked down at Tom, awkwardly, without moving her head. He shrugged.
“Get her to say these two have been into the brandy again and lost the plot and wandered off. Tell them we’re out looking and there’s no need to raise the alarm just yet. Tell them we’re worried about Tom’s mental state.”
Connor nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
“Duncan, look,” Tom said quietly. “Whatever happened in the past, this would make it so much worse. Don’t do this to Connor.”
“Shut up, Tom.” Amelia felt a sting, and then warm liquid trickled down her neck. Tom’s stormy gaze darted to the blade at her throat. “Duncan…” he said, in warning.
“Be. Quiet.”
Tom’s jaw clamped shut. Blue veins stood out on his temples.
He met Amelia’s eyes, and she stared straight back, welcoming the connection as if it were physical.
She breathed just deeply enough to avoid passing out.
The conversation outside became audible.
Just like in the robbery, she was helpless, her life in some psycho’s hands.
“… I said she must have got your car mixed up with someone else’s, because there was no way my Connor would have come back from London without telling me. But then here you are!”
“I just got here. Some paperwork we overlooked. I was going to come and see you as soon as I was done. I didn’t get a chance to call—Xanthe, no, you can’t go inside.”
“Why ever not? It’s freezing out here.”
“Tom’s sprayed in there. For bugs. It’d be bad for the baby. Why don’t you go back to the village, and I’ll call in when I’m done here. It—”
“Babe, I need to talk to you, before you do anything more with any paperwork. I’ve been calling you and calling you.”
“Can it wait, because I’m—”
“No! Look! Look, Connor!” Amelia heard paper shuffling. “I’ve found proof.”
“You’ve what?” Connor’s tone was panicked.
“You’re the heir! You’re the true heir!”
Tom’s head jerked slightly.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Connor said.
“You’re the oldest son of the earl, the late earl—Eddie and Tom’s father must be your real father. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
A pause. “Xanth, I don’t know where you’ve got this idea from, but—”
“Here, look.” More shuffling. “Your house in London, your law practice, your master’s degree in America… The old earl—Tom’s grandfather—paid for everything.”
Duncan’s grip tightened on Amelia’s arm.
“Oh, no, Xanth, that was a family legacy, from an aunt of my father’s. It—”
“It wasn’t, Connor! That’s what your father—what Duncan—has told you all these years, but I have proof. All that money came from the old earl, Eddie’s granddad. There are bank accounts, deeds. There’s no great aunt. Look, follow the money.”
Another pause. Tom looked towards the door, thoughtfully.
“I have no idea what all this means,” Connor said slowly.
“I do. I’ve been looking into it for months.
I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain, but these are the last pieces of the puzzle.
It’s more than half a million pounds he’s given you.
Why else would the old earl have given you that kind of money, unless you were his kin, his heir even?
It’s obvious he wanted to set you up, after they lost Eddie! Well, practically lost him.”
“Where did all these papers come from?”
“All over, but most of it was in your dad’s—Duncan’s—study.”
Duncan grunted. Tom found Amelia’s gaze again, his mouth dropping open. It was Xanthe in the study? She had been at the estate for the Upstairs, Downstairs tour. She must have left her van beside the road and gone in on foot.
“Duncan’s been keeping it from you,” Xanthe said. “Everyone has. It’s been sitting there all along. And see this? It’s a copy of a page in the earl’s family book thing—the family rules.”
Tom raised an eyebrow.
“Says here that illegitimate children can be counted as heirs if the paternity can be proven,” Xanthe continued, “which we can do these days, with a DNA test.”
“Eddie’s still the earl, Xanth. Even if any of this was—which it can’t be—he’s older than me.”
“No, it says right here, look, that heirs have to be ‘in sound mind.’ Eddie should never have become the earl. It goes to the next eldest, which is you. All this, it’s rightfully yours.
” Amelia imagined Xanthe waving her arms to indicate the estate.
“It’s ours. It’s our baby’s. You could save it. We could save it.”
“This doesn’t make any—”
“Think about it. Everyone knew Eddie’s mum and dad hated each other. I mean everyone always wondered—”
“Connor, I need you in here!” Duncan yelled, his arm tightening around Amelia.
“I have to go and help Dad with a thing,” Connor said to Xanthe. “I’ll come to the village as soon as I’m done, okay?”
“Here, take all this and have a look at it, okay? I have copies. You need to stop the sale. We can’t let them smash the place down. We could make a go of it. Make a home.”
“Xanth, this is the last place on earth I’d want to live. Plus, the debts… I told you, there’s nothing left, anyway. Besides which, this is all madness.”
“It’s not, babe. Promise me you’ll read it. We have to move quickly. I mean, I hate to do this to Tom—he’s been so good to me—but the truth needs to come out. And it’s not like he cares about the title. The one he’s got had to be forced on him!”
“I’ll read it, I promise. But you have to go, okay? There’s a lot we have to do here, and—”
Duncan cleared his throat. “Connor! Don’t forget to do what we talked about.”
Connor took a big intake of breath, audible even from inside.
“Let me walk you to your van. And I need you to do something for us. Pop into the police station and tell the sergeant that Tom and his friend have wandered off into the moor. No big drama, just a heads-up, but they were drinking some strong liquor, and we’re concerned about Tom’s mental health…
” Their voices and footsteps trailed off.
Tom was watching Duncan intently. “Duncan? What was all that about—the money?”
Duncan made a growling sound in his throat, which reminded Amelia of something from the night of the murder, not that it was a murder, not then, at least. She frowned.
The argument! She remembered the conversation she overheard between the cyclopses—between Duncan and Connor.
Duncan had made that same growling noise.
The van started and moved off, gravel rattling under the tires. One of the main doors opened and Connor walked in, flicking through a stack of paper. He kicked the door closed.
Duncan lifted the knife and shoved Amelia forward. She fell to her knees beside Tom, touching her neck. The skin stung, and her fingertips came away coated with blood.
“It’s not bad,” Tom whispered, with a supportive, grim smile. “Like you cut yourself shaving.”
She shuffled closer and rested a hand on his knee.
He had to be taking this hard—betrayed by two of the people he trusted most. She should feel terrified, but instead she felt desperately sad—and guilty.
If she hadn’t been stupid enough to get caught by Connor, Tom would have retained the upper hand.
She might have got them both killed. And yes, she knew it wasn’t her fault. But.
“He’s not your damn father,” Duncan said, presumably to Connor, though he was staring intently at Tom and Amelia. He aimed the rifle at Tom.
“But these documents,” Connor said, riffling through them. “Xanthe was right. The money for the trust came from the estate. Why did you lie to me about some great aunt?”
“He’s not your bloody father!”
“Then what’s all this? The old earl was a total miser. Why did he give me half a million quid?”
Tom swallowed. Amelia caught the tiny movement and looked across at him. “I think I know,” he said gravely.