Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Agnes, Harry, and Oscar stood outside of Charles’s rooms in London.
“What if he won’t receive us?” Agnes let out a nervous breath.
They had stopped at a teahouse before coming here to calm her nerves, planning their confrontation over little sandwiches.
Their evidence was secured in Harry’s letter case.
Contacts at Scotland Yard were ready in the event it came to that.
“Then we can go straight to the police,” said Harry. “Samuel is on standby, waiting to support our claims.”
The peculiar investigator had also met with them over tea, explaining the evidence in detail to prepare them against any arguments from Charles.
He spoke in detail about the differences in paper and handwriting with impassioned specificity.
Agnes couldn’t remember everything he said, but she liked him and his interesting way of thinking.
Harry reached his hand out to touch her back, and she stepped forward. Oscar swatted Harry’s hand down.
“Have you forgotten where we are, you lovesick boy? He could be watching us. Someone sure is.” They looked up and down the busy street around them. Everyone appeared to be going about their day, but it did feel as if they had eyes on them.
The door swung open. They were greeted by Morty, the middle-aged man who had served as butler here since Charles had come of age. Agnes had met him a few times, and he always seemed amiable enough. Richard had been the one to provide his reference.
“Lady Skelton.” The butler nodded. “Oscar.” He nodded again, but his eyes lingered. Perhaps he held a subscription to the Antinous Journals.
“And who is this?” he asked, shooting Harry a look of deep suspicion.
“This is Mr. Evans,” Oscar explained. “He’s a good man. He’s the accountant for the Skelton estate. We have important matters to discuss, if you would please inform Lord Skelton we are calling.”
Morty’s expression grew nervous and he looked out onto the street, scanning the windows. “The master won’t like this, but I will try. Have a seat in the parlor before I announce your visit. He won’t be pleased, but perhaps he will find it more difficult to dismiss you if you’re already inside.”
The three of them shuffled through the front door, and Morty showed them to the parlor. Down the hall Agnes could hear muffled voices. The butler knew his master well. Charles was not pleased, and he stormed into the room.
He bypassed all greetings and niceties. “The only reason you three have to be in my home is to inform me of your decisions. Lady Skelton, time ran out for you long ago. My men are ready to begin auction of the Bootham house next week. All my offers are off the table, unless Mr. Evans hires you to work in the pharmacy. In that case, I do not need to be informed, as it is none of my concern.”
Charles turned to Oscar. “You’ve resigned from your position as steward. I have already replaced you, and even if I had not, you would not be welcomed. And Mr. Evans, I do hope you are here to tell me we will be business partners.” He walked over, extending his hand to Harry.
Harry did not return the handshake, nor did he stand. He gestured for Charles to sit, but the man remained standing. “No, Lord Skelton. We have other matters to discuss. There have been new developments regarding the final will and testament of Richard Brus, the late Baron of Skelton.”
Charles scoffed. “That has been read and done with. I am just waiting for the accounts to be placed under my control and for Lady Skelton to vacate my property. You’ve been rather tardy with fulfilling such requirements.
I’ve brought in my own solicitor to hurry the matter along.
Expect a call from him tomorrow.” Agnes gripped the side of her chair at his threat.
“Yes. I would be awaiting his call if I had not discovered that a certain page of the will in my possession was forged.”
“Why are we speaking in hypotheticals? That is not true.” Charles had forgone all manners. Spit flew from his lips as his words were articulated with fury.
“But it has. Tell me, Lord Skelton. Where is your copy of the will?”
“It was stolen. I experienced a break-in after the funeral.” For a man so flippant, there was too much sincerity in Charles’s expression to be authentic. He was telling lies, and doing a poor job of it.
“Well, fortunately for all of us, I have a copy of the original will. You see, the late Lord Skelton was a skilled printer, up to date in many current technologies, including the use of his hectograph.”
Skelton stared at Harry and then Agnes. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“No. I had to learn about it myself. See, a hectograph allows the reproduction of any document, especially one written in aniline ink. Fortunately Lord Skelton liked to fill his pens with it. It seems he had made it a habit to make copies of his official documents.”
Oscar had explained the process to Agnes, as he had helped Richard many times to produce copies of illustrations for the Antinous Journals.
It was rather simple. A master copy was momentarily laid into the tray of gelatin to transfer the ink onto the gel.
Papers were then placed on the gel to pick up the ink left behind by the master, reproducing the image.
Harry removed the copy of the original they had found in Agnes’s journal from his letter case.
“In this copy, the will is word for word the same as the one in my care, with the exception of one important part—the part detailing Lady Skelton’s inheritance.
In the original, Lady Skelton is set to receive a much more substantial account as well as .
. .” Harry read from the will line by line, although Agnes knew he had it memorized, “the York townhome located on Bootham Street and all of its contents. She is also set to receive the dower house, the steward’s cottage, and quite a bit of the surrounding property. ”
Charles was seething, face devil-red, forcing air through his clamped teeth.
“That is impossible. I am not sure who created this farce of a document, but I did not expect you to entertain such absurdity, Harry. You have had the will in your possession since before Cousin Richard’s death.
You cannot believe this work of fiction over reality. ”
Oscar stood up from his seat, hands fisted at his sides. “Stop it, Charles. You know that this is what Richard wrote in the will we all signed. You had it stolen from my rooms. I know it.”
“You can’t prove that.”
Agnes patted Oscar’s hand as Harry spoke up.
“But we can prove that will I was given has a fraudulent amendment. You see, as Oscar has informed us, the former Lord Skelton was a bit of a paper purist. He bought the same type of paper, a linen rag paper, from the same manufacturer for the last decade for all of his important documents. He never varied. It is an interesting discovery that only one page of the will I was given is cotton rag paper, a type that the baron never purchased.”
Charles laughed—a malignant, spiteful laugh.
“Oscar would say anything you want to hear about that man. No one will listen to his fabrications about Richard’s obsession over what?
Paper? I’ll make sure of that.” He turned to Oscar.
“Your relationship with Cousin wasn’t professional, was it?
If you tell them your lies, I will tell them the truth. ”
Charles’s gaze locked on the papers that Harry held, and he stomped across the room.
He grabbed for the will, but Harry pulled it away.
“This document is under my safekeeping. But if something were to happen to it, Oscar helped us make many more copies. The hectograph is a marvelous invention, if I do say so myself.”
“How do I know you are not bluffing?”
“You can’t be sure, but it seems like a pretty serious risk.
As your employee, I would advise you not to make it,” Harry said confidently.
It was intoxicating to watch her future husband like this despite the circumstances.
“We have a proposition for you now. We will not take this matter to the police. You will not be sent for hard labor, and your social position will stay somewhat intact.”
“Even though you don’t deserve mercy,” Agnes said through gritted teeth.
The three of them had considered every option. Oscar had urged Agnes to bring Charles to justice, but Agnes told Oscar she would not allow the man to make public his relationship with Richard. Oscar deserved to live the remainder of his life in peace without fear for his safety.
Harry continued, “You will receive Skelton Manor, since it is entailed, and a modest sum. It is enough to live on and take care of the property.”
“And its tenants,” added Oscar.
“We will even include the dower house in our offer. We have no need of it. Lady Skelton will keep the York house, as it is her home and contains her life’s work.
She will also receive all of the remaining accounts.
You end up with more than what Richard entrusted to you, but in return, we demand your silence. ”
Charles swung his arm, and the scotch glass that had sat on the table in front of him shattered on the floor near Agnes’s feet.
Harry shot out of his chair and grabbed Charles by the arm.
“You will control your temper, or we have no deal.” Harry met Charles’s eyes in challenge even though the top of his head barely met the baron’s jawline.
Charles shoved Harry off and pulled his arm back. Agnes gasped.
Before Charles could take a swing, Oscar and Morty were on the man, each holding an arm. “I suggest you calm down, Lord Skelton. We have the upper hand here.”
Charles spat on the ground, shoving both men away from him. “Don’t touch me. I know what you are,” he said, looking at Morty. “It was Richard who had me hire you. I should have guessed you’d be one of them.” He thrust his arms in the air. “Get out, get out! All of you.”