Chapter Sixteen #2
Eltenham had just killed his son. Although the rifle Eltenham held in his hands had been spent, Neville didn’t know if the earl had brought a second firearm.
Neville imagined Eltenham wouldn’t want to leave witnesses.
But neither Neville nor Millie were people even Eltenham could make disappear without inviting inquiry.
Eltenham met Neville’s gaze. “Had I known about your nuptials, I would have offered your mother congratulations on her visit earlier today.”
“Lord Eltenham…”
As Millie spoke, Neville followed her gaze to the still-smoking rifle in Eltenham’s hand.
“Did you just—?”
“No,” Eltenham interrupted. “Poachers. Saw them myself as I was coming in. Likely mistook light for movement.”
“Poachers?” Millie scowled. “But that doesn’t make any—”
“Millie.” Neville placed a discreet hand on Millie’s back. “Poachers.”
“Yes… poachers,” she echoed.
Another man ducked under the door. Between the three lanterns, Willard’s body was now in full view. Neville stared down at his nemesis. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen the man covered in blood. This time, however, would be the last.
Millie put her head down and stepped backward as a footman would, a silent request that her identity not be revealed to this stranger. Neville further shielded her with his body.
“Lord Neville, allow me to present Mr. Barnes, Justice of the Peace in these parts.”
Barnes…Barnes. Neville narrowed his eyes. The same Barnes, he’d wager, that had placed the ad in the paper seeking John.
Eltenham turned toward Barnes. “Lord Neville’s…footman is attending him.” He handed him the rifle. “The poachers left this behind. Tragedy. Barnes was just about to put out a warrant for their arrest, weren’t you?”
“Yes, my lord,” Barnes said.
Eltenham assessed Barnes with a hard expression. “As to the misunderstanding earlier this year, the one my son brought to your attention involving young John…”
Neville stiffened.
“That misunderstanding has all been cleared up. Correct?”
“Just so,” Mr. Barnes replied.
Eltenham turned to Neville. “Being newly wed, I presume you will wish to return to London as soon as possible. Mr. Barnes, hire them a post chaise, would you?”
Barnes bowed. “I would be happy to be of service.”
“We would be delighted to accept,” Neville replied carefully.
Behind Neville, Millie made a sound of protest. He glanced over his shoulder, silently communicating that he had not forgotten about the women in the house.
“There are a few things I would like to discuss with you, Eltenham,” he said. “Privately.”
“Well?” Eltenham turned a supercilious gaze on Barnes. “Do go see about the post chaise.”
Barnes hesitated only a moment, then he left the room.
Eltenham turned to Neville. “I presume you wish to discuss my son’s guests?”
“Guests?” Millie queried.
As Neville nodded, he reached behind him and grabbed Millie’s hand.
“Your mother brought those guests to my attention this afternoon. Needless to say, I’d been unaware Willard was, ah, entertaining.”
“There’s a Bow Street Runner out there,” Neville warned.
“Yes,” Eltenham agreed. “Mr. Dixon and I have met.” Eltenham sighed. “I’ve asked him to assist in returning Willard’s guests to their proper homes, with the assurance they will receive adequate compensation for their distress.”
“Adequate compensation,” Millie murmured derisively. “Does justice have a price?”
“The price of justice is at your feet, my lady.” Eltenham looked down at the body. “As for the guests…they will receive a thousand pounds each, provided they wisely refrain from discussing their ordeal.”
“Paltry, considering,” Millie replied. “He was your son. Your heir.”
“I have another. My brother’s boy. Excellent man.
” Eltenham’s inhale narrowed his nostrils.
“I do not blame the boy for his nature. I do, however, find fault with his appalling lack of discretion. Indulgence is one thing. Indulgence without heed to family and position…” He shook his head.
“That is something a civilized society cannot tolerate.”
Millie let out a sound akin to a growl, and Neville judged he had only so much time before she told Lord Eltenham exactly what she thought of him. He caught Millie’s hand in an even tighter grip and guided her outside.
“He’s a monster, too,” she whispered.
“Yes. A different kind, however.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m glad you kept that part to yourself until we were out of the barn.”
“Well, of course. The man had just killed his son.”
“Keep walking.” He released her hand. “I would hold you if I could, but as you are…”
“I understand,” she said.
“I see Asquith heading this way. We’ll find out what’s being done up at the house, but I would like to leave the details to Dixon. I won’t feel entirely easy until you are off this property.”
She sent him a sidelong glance. “Haven’t I proven I can take care of myself?”
“You’ve proven that and more.” He gentled his expression. “I owe you my life…in more ways than one.”
She smiled softly. “And when you thought me a murderer, you would have taken the blame.”
“I’d lay down my life,” he whispered sincerely.
“I know,” she said, voice cracking. “As would I.”
Not the words of love he desperately needed to hear, but close. And all, at present, they could manage.
“Ho!” Asquith called out as he approached. “Is Willard dead?” His voice held almost no emotion.
“Very much so,” Millie answered.
Asquith stared blankly at the barn door. Neville knew, however, just beneath Asquith’s surface, emotions ran rampant, sentiments Neville couldn’t hope to understand. Neville’s heart panged for his friend. His nemesis was dead, and by someone else’s hand.
Whether or not that would heal or further hurt Asquith was anyone’s guess.
Asquith’s gaze moved to Millie. “How are you?”
“Well enough. I would have shot him. I almost wish I did. How do I live with that?”
“Painfully.” Asquith snorted—galgenhumor, as the Germans might say. The grim wit of someone facing a hopeless situation. “I almost beat him to death, and I’ve had to live with those consequences for a lifetime. Don’t carry guilt, Mil. Not for him.”
“If I promise to absolve myself, will you absolve yourself, too?”
Asquith lifted his brows. “There’s an idea.”
Neville rested a hand on Asquith’s shoulder and squeezed.
Asquith acknowledged the gesture by briefly pursing his lips. “I understand Eltenham has already ordered you a post chaise?”
“Yes,” Neville replied. “Unless you need us here, I’m inclined to get myself to a place where I can wash and change.”
“I’ll hire a postillion to get my second horse back to London.” He glanced back at the house. “A woman up there told Dixon she wishes to speak with you. Wheelwright?”
“Cartwright,” Neville corrected. He turned to Millie. “Do you mind?”
“Go on,” Millie said.
As Neville walked on, he caught a snip of the conversation continuing between his wife and his friend.
“Was the woman in the stables—”
“Don’t ask a question you don’t truly wish me to answer,” Asquith replied.
“Don’t break her heart, too. That’s the least you can do to make up for your insult to Lenora.”
“And what of my heart, Mil?” Asquith snorted again. “No—don’t answer. This doesn’t concern you. And I never promised Lenora…”
Asquith lowered his voice to a lever Neville could no longer hear. He’d have to ask Millie to explain about the woman in the stables. Clearly, he’d missed something.
Meanwhile, he headed up the stairs and through the open doors of the house. Just inside the hall, he saw a familiar face.
“Enchantée, Mrs. Cartwright,” he said. “Or should I call you Cath?”
Mrs. Cartwright gripped her stomach with one arm, propping up her other so that she could nibble on the nails of her ungloved hands.
“You asked to see me?” Neville prompted.
She nodded. “I—I need you to know I was not part of your abduction.”
“Weren’t you?”
She shook her head.
“Willard said your job was to lure me to the theater.”
“That is what he asked me to do. But you must believe I had no idea what Willard had planned.”
She looked wide-eyed. Frightened. Of consequences? Or because she, too, had been harmed?
“You weren’t part of my abduction, but what of Temperence?”
Mrs. Cartwright looked away.
“How long have you known Willard?” he asked.
“I was fifteen when he took me off the street. He lost interest in me long ago.” Her eyes glistened. “But he wouldn’t let me go. I was useful, you see. Someone the girls would trust.” She met Neville’s gaze. “I’m not a monster. He held my daughter—his daughter—over my head.”
Amazing how much pain, how much damage one man’s arrogance could cause. “You’ll have to stand trial.”
“I know.” She chewed on her lip. “The ladies that abetted in the Morris abduction were sentenced to death.”
“A hundred years ago. You’re more likely to serve a prison sentence.”
She nodded.
“I will see to it that your daughter has a place to stay.”
Mrs. Cartwright wiped her cheeks. “Thank you, but no. Mr. Dixon has promised to take her to London and to my friends. I don’t want her to have anything to do with the aristocracy.”
Her bitterness did not surprise him.
“I just wanted you to know, to understand,” she finished.
“I do,” he said.
And he believed he did. A few months ago, he would not have believed her. He would have been all judgment and condemnation. He still felt strongly that justice needed be served, but his heart had softened.
He now knew what it was to love something so much you’d do anything to keep it safe.
“Be well, Mrs. Cartwright.” He turned to take his leave.
Instead, in the parlor beyond, he spotted Dixon conferring with two other men. Court officers? Clergy? Dixon glanced up, said something to the men. He intersected with Neville just outside the front door.
“How are Willard’s guests?” Neville asked.
“There are three of them—not counting Mrs. Cartwright and her daughter. They are, of course, rattled,” Dixon replied. “Devastated, I suspect. But relieved, too. I’ve just been speaking with the rector. His wife is going to take them in until the families can be contacted.”
“I would stay but—”