Chapter 28 #2
“It is from my uncle,” he said. “He says to meet him at the same location on the first letter. Or… or Beatrice will die.”
He looked up. Everyone was staring at him in horror. But he was no longer in shock. He was resolved and decisive as he pointed at Nathaniel.
“Go find the magistrate and tell him what has happened. Get him to follow us. Theodore, you and I will go together to this location, but I will need you to hide and pretend you are not there, witness everything, in case Reginald tries to hurt me.”
Theodore nodded. “I can do that.”
Everything moved quickly after that. The ladies were brought smelling salts by a servant. Nathaniel left to find the magistrate. And Theodore and Rupert took Rupert’s carriage toward the location that was listed at the bottom of Reginald’s letter.
Every second that went by was agony. The carriage was not moving fast enough. And as time ticked by, fear and dread and rage mounted inside of Rupert. If he was too late… If he did not reach her in time…
He could not bear to think of it.
The only thing that brought him any comfort was imagining all the ways he would ensure that Reginald never drew another breath.
He and Theodore did not speak during the carriage ride.
Fear made it impossible to speak. But at last, they reached the location the letter had indicated, in an industrial part of the city filled with warehouses near the Thames.
It was deserted, very dirty, and not at all the kind of place he would ever want Beatrice going.
While Theodore hid himself behind some barrels outside of the warehouse, Rupert approached the door. He knocked on it once, sharply, to alert his uncle of his presence, and then stepped inside.
The inside of the warehouse was very dark, and it took several seconds for Rupert’s eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw he was in a cavernous space that was mostly empty, save for some barrels and crates. From the ceiling hung ropes and levies. The smell was dank and moldy.
He was also not alone.
Standing several yards away from him, wearing a calm, peaceful smile, was his uncle.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Rupert drew himself up.
“Where is she?” he snarled.
“Safe,” Reginald said, a smile curling up his lips. “For now.”
“I want to see her.”
“In time.” Reginald took a step closer to him, and Rupert saw a glimmer of something in his eyes he had never seen before. It looked like madness to him. “But first, I want to speak to you.”
Rupert shifted. He did have questions he wanted answering, and maybe it was better to keep Reginald talking. That way, he could try to find out more information about where he might be holding Beatrice. Then, if Theodore was listening, he might be able to go and rescue her.
“What do you want to speak to me about?” he asked at last. Meanwhile, his eyes were sweeping the warehouse, looking for anything that might give him a clue to Beatrice’s whereabouts.
“I want you to know why I did this,” Reginald said, his eyes seeming to gleam with malice even in the darkness. “So that you understand. It is not personal, Rupert. You were always a sweet boy. A little weak and aimless, but sweet.”
Rupert’s jaw tightened. “I am not weak or aimless.”
“Oh but you are,” Reginald drawled. “Why else were you off traveling the continent when you should have been at home caring for your sick father?”
Rupert’s anger sharpened. “I came home as soon as I heard he was sick.”
“But you were not there,” Reginald pressed.
“Not like I was all those long years… All those years of waiting. You must understand, nephew, that I was the one who was meant to be the duke after you. For years, your parents struggled to conceive, and it was understood that I would inherit after your father. He even told me, on many occasions, that he was glad, at least, that he had a brother like me, to become duke after him. That I was as good as any son. That I would make an exemplary duke. And then… and then you came along.”
Reginald’s face twisted with hatred, and Rupert marveled that he had managed to repress so much dislike for so many years.
“And you, you ruined everything!” Reginald pointed at him accusatorily even as his voice became shrill. “You took my birthright from me! My title! My estate! Everything that was going to be mine!”
“I am my father’s trueborn son,” Rupert said, disgusted. “I took nothing. It is mine by law and tradition.”
“You do not know what it is like to wait for fifty years for a title, only to it be taken from you!”
“No,” Rupert said coldly, “but I do know what it is like to have it taken through lies.”
Reginald scoffed. “It is mine! I deserve it!” he shouted.
“I was the one who nursed your father through his illness! I was the one who ran the estate while you were off gallivanting in Europe! I am the one who kept your household running smoothly and took care of everything! I am the one who earned it!”
He is mad, Rupert thought, barely able to hide his shock, as he watched his uncle’s face twist, his eyes bug from his head, and spit fly from his mouth. His greed and his ambition have driven him mad.
And a madman might do anything.
Rupert swallowed and steadied himself. When he spoke again, it was with forced calmness.
“What exactly do you want?” he said. “Tell me what I have to do to get Beatrice back safe and unharmed.”
His uncle’s face stilled, and then he reached into his front pocket and drew out a piece of paper and a quill and ink.
“I want you to sign away your title. Give it up, in favor of me. That is the price you will pay to get Beatrice back. Otherwise…” His eyes glittered. “She dies.”