Chapter 21 #2
“The house Joseph Fielding owned,” Amabel said, “is a secondary consideration, Orla. You forged my signature on legal documents still in the possession of Hereward Ingersoll. You then took control of my funds, squandered them, and claimed the money was needed to pay off a mortgage that Papa Joseph’s estate had already eliminated.
You probably claimed ownership of the house as an afterthought when you realized selling it would bring scrutiny you could not afford. ”
Amabel stood by the windows, her arms folded, her posture serene and dignified. She spoke calmly, even mildly, though Richard was sure this display of composure was costing her.
A display of composure was certainly costing him.
Orla picked up the white quill pen in the silver standish and examined the nib.
“Mabel, you mischaracterize my good intentions. This is not well done of you, particularly with Mr. Johnson looking so serious and Mr. St. Didier so forbidding. I never said I owned that house. I said I was responsible for it, or managing it, or some such, and I did manage it. The rent was nominally yours, but you required feeding, housing, clothing. Need I remind you such amenities are not free?”
Richard stood before the desk. “You required feeding, housing, and clothing, Orla Fielding. You have expensive tastes—sapphires come dear—and you wanted funds with which to spoil Wealtha. I do mean spoil. Amabel’s needs were met from the Glen’s household funds.
You, by contrast, were and are a parasite. ”
The white feather went still in her hands. “Richard, that is an ugly word, especially from somebody to whom some very unsavory labels could be applied with perfect accuracy. If you apologize, I will overlook your lapse just this once.”
For the first time, Richard entertained the notion that his aunt might have a variety of madness.
“Madam,” Magnus Johnson said, “I myself have heard you refer to the Fielding house as yours—not to manage, but yours outright. Part of the legendarily small security you claim Joseph Fielding left you, even as you are known to have a jewelry collection to rival any in Yorkshire.”
He’d positioned himself by the door, and when not chatting over tea, Magnus Johnson looked like the country squire he was—fit, sizable, and possessed of pragmatism equal to even distasteful occasions.
“You misheard me,” Orla said.
“I did not mishear Mr. Ingersoll,” Amabel countered with equal assurance. “I did not misremember signing documents resulting in the release of my funds and Mr. Ingersoll’s discharge. The forgeries are obvious, Orla.”
“Forgeries? How can you prove I wrote them?” Orla retorted.
“You had the total remitted to your attention,” Amabel said. “A bearer note, true, but I am certain that your bank records will reveal the entire sum deposited into your account, and I will swear upon Papa Joseph’s sainted memory that I never, ever gave you leave to steal my inheritance.”
Orla tried to put the quill pen back into its stand and missed twice. “You are being unnecessarily dramatic, Mabel, and—”
“Amabel.” Richard, St. Didier, and Amabel herself had spoken as one.
Magnus Johnson smiled slightly. “You had best cease prattling, ma’am,” he said.
“I have heard your lies myself, and now you are accused of forgery, theft, and misappropriation. If I examine the facts closely enough, extortion and blackmail might apply as well. The prospect of being charged with a half-dozen or so hanging felonies ought to imbue you with some reticence.”
Richard waited for some condescending little rejoinder from Orla, though she finally seemed to realize that she was in real peril. She glowered at Johnson and then pointedly shifted her gaze to stare at the biographies shelved across the room.
A failed attempt at some kind of cut.
“We might also see you charged with blackmailing Abernathy Blackstock,” Richard said. “His heirs could have standing to sue you for the funds you extorted from him.”
Orla swung her glower in Richard’s direction.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The man is dead and gone, and his life was made a misery by your own mother.
She subjected him to scandal and ridicule, followed by years of uncertainty.
What he spent having her declared dead would buy the Fielding house and all its furnishings twice over. ”
“He had Marie declared dead,” Richard said, “precisely because you’d told him she was yet extant, and you’d told him that she had a son as well.
In the alternative, Joseph Fielding apprised Blackstock of the truth.
The one thing Abernathy Blackstock had likely begged heaven for year after year—a legitimate son—became another taunt in your hands. ”
“You excel at taunting the unsuspecting,” Amabel said.
“You have taunted me with my failure in Mayfair for years, subtly, cruelly, but we now have reason to suspect that my terrible experience there was your doing as well. Her Grace of Chanderton provided supporting details in today’s post. She reports that Samuel Hastings bragged about being paid for his efforts to ruin me, at the same time he won wagers predicting my downfall. ”
“More misuse of the Fielding rental monies?” Magnus Johnson asked. In the past two minutes, he’d seemed to gain three inches of height and six of muscle.
“I paid that young man to provide you an escort.” Orla’s words took on a snarling tone.
“I knew you’d fail to gain attention from bachelors worth the name, and if Samuel took a few liberties, well…
You are from the country. Your standards of conduct could not possibly measure up to London expectations, and I might have intimated as much to Samuel’s aunt.
You simply proved my predictions correct. ”
She rose, hands braced on the blotter. “If you lacked the sense to keep your virtue safe in the presence of a bounder, then you were better off back in Yorkshire. You should be thanking me.”
Amabel turned a serene expression on Magnus Johnson. “Arrest her. She is a menace to the king’s peace, a liar, a thief, a blackmailer, and worse. She has betrayed every trust ever reposed in her.”
Orla resumed her seat, seeming not to have heard Amabel’s decision.
“You betrayed my mother as well, didn’t you?” Richard asked, though he no longer needed Orla’s corroboration of family history. “She begged you for help when Abernathy Blackstock’s temper became evident, and you turned her away.”
“Of course I turned her away. She doubtless provoked him and got exactly what she—”
Richard had to move quickly to interpose himself between Orla and St. Didier, who’d somehow crossed the library in the space of a heartbeat.
“St. Didier,” Richard said, “the sentiment is appreciated and all too understandable, but you must allow the law to take its course.”
“I meant only to put a hand over her vile mouth.”
“And you’d do it gently too,” Amabel said. “I mean to ask you for a different kind of assistance.”
St. Didier stepped back. “I am at your service, Miss Amabel.”
“You are also a friend of the Duchess of Chanderton. Might you prevail on her good offices to acquaint polite society with Orla’s various crimes? Note in particular that the fast friends Orla made in her school days have abetted her mischief.”
“Naming at least one name would be appropriate,” Richard said, silently commending Amabel for giving St. Didier a means of enforcing justice in the arena where he wielded the most power. “If Hastings is extant, I want his particulars as well.”
“Done.” St. Didier stared hard at Orla. “A jury of your peers might not convict you of anything other than being a miserable excuse for a human being, but polite society will bruit your misdeeds about from Land’s End to John o’ Groats. Depend upon that.”
Orla turned her head rather than meet that stare, and she kept her mouth shut.
“Orla Fielding,” Magnus Johnson said, “I am arresting you on suspicion of forgery, theft, and misappropriation. Further charges might result from additional investigation. You may gather up such personal effects as you will need for an incarceration of several weeks and such means as you have to pay amenities while you’re jailed.
You are fortunate that the assizes are so near at hand. ”
“I don’t understand.” Orla had risen again, this time making a great display of leaning on the desk as if for support.
“I am not well, and surely in a civilized nation, a lady can await the hand of justice, such as this travesty of accusations and lies has anything to do with justice, in the comfort of her own—”
“You have one quarter of an hour,” Richard said, “to gather up some necessities. Don’t think to bother Wealtha with your troubles. She knows the scheme you hatched to torment her father, and she is affronted personally and on his behalf.”
“Take some books,” Amabel said, with what appeared to be complete sincerity. “You will need them to occupy the time.”
Orla turned a sniffy expression on each person in the room. Richard wanted to parody her, but settled for waiting her out. When nobody reacted to her posturing, she made for the corridor, head held high.
Magnus Johnson closed the door in her wake. “She is very likely facing conviction,” he said. “Even in York, she is unpopular. My mother has had occasion to remark as much.”
“She will not be convicted,” Amabel said.
“She will throw a few things into a valise, collect what coin and jewelry she has, and disappear down the steps that connect her dressing closet to the lower floors. From there, she will take the bridle path into the village and hop the two o’clock stage for Leeds and Liverpool. ”
“The path completely obscured by trees?” St. Didier asked.
“Should I stop her?” Johnson asked.
Richard was of two minds. “She will prey on others, Amabel.” But she’d be gone—no hearings or trials, no upheaval in the village, no public testimony quoted in the newspaper.