In the Barrister's Chambers (26 page)

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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

BOOK: In the Barrister's Chambers
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Chapter 39
“Jack! Wake up, man!”
Jack's eyelids cracked open. A lamp was brought close, and he winced in pain. Despite the pounding in his head, he forced his eyes to remain open. Anthony, Brent, and Devlin hovered above him.
He was lying on a settee, his head resting on a rolled-up coat. Jack struggled to rise, but Anthony placed a large hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.
“Easy, Jack.”
“Where am I?” he demanded.
“Your office in chambers. Dr. Astor has been treating you.”
“I was at the theater. I was shot.” Jack's arm throbbed, a different pain than in his head. He glanced down and saw a thick bandage wrapped around his bicep. His shirtsleeve was cut.
“You were lucky. The bullet just grazed you. An inch to the left and it would have shattered the bone,” Brent said.
“How did you find me?”
“Shots were fired and people came running from the theater. They found you unconscious in a back alley. Mary Morris sent a note here. We came as soon as we heard and sent for Dr. Astor,” Devlin explained.
Jack's memory returned with a vengeance. “It was Simon Guthrie. He shot me. He murdered Bess Whitfield.”
“Guthrie? Randolph's friend?” Anthony asked.
“Yes. He was known as Sam and one of Bess's last lovers. He must have been searching for the diary.”
“Do you think Randolph knew his friend killed Bess?” Anthony asked.
No, Jack didn't believe Randolph knew. “I think Simon duped us all, Randolph included.”
But Simon was still free and he was dangerous. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that Simon would have killed him if he had the opportunity. Simon had to know that Jack would hunt him down. Simon would be desperate. He would go to Evelyn.
Christ, Evelyn! She was in danger. “How long have I been out?”
“At least three hours,” Brent said.
Three hours!
Jack swung his legs over the side of the settee, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his head and arm.
“I have to go to Evelyn. That bastard will go to her next.”
Anthony, Brent, and Devlin exchanged worried looks.
“We'll all go with you,” Anthony said.
 
 
“Simon, I wasn't expecting you,” Evelyn said.
Simon shut the library door and turned back to Evelyn. He glanced at the book in her hands. “What do you have there, Evelyn?”
“You wouldn't believe it! I found Bess Whitfield's diary.”
He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Let me see it.”
She frowned, some instinct making her fingers tighten on the diary. Simon's normally impeccably styled dark hair was disheveled, and there was a fresh cut on his cheekbone. She looked closer, noting the dirt smudges on his fawn-colored trousers. Simon had always appeared mature for his age, but today he seemed a decade older.
She bit her bottom lip. “Did you get in a fight? Is all well with Randolph?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I'm embarrassed to admit that I fell from my horse this morning. Now let me see the diary.”
He came close, and Evelyn backed up a step. She wasn't certain she was ready to share that her own father was Bess Whitfield's longtime lover and benefactor.
He stopped and cocked his head to the side. “Where did you find it?”
“I've only just discovered it on the bookshelf. It was hidden in a false book. I want to read more.”
He waved his hand. “Go on and read.”
She flipped the pages. “Bess writes about Viscount Hamilton and Earl Newland. I want to find her entries on Sam. Perhaps we can learn his full identity.”
Simon's voice was level. “Perhaps.”
“Here! I see something.” She read out loud.
Dear Diary,
Sam tried to persuade me to use the diary to blackmail many of my current and past lovers. As if I would! That's not the purpose of its existence. He's a fool! I would blackmail him with his true identity as a respectable Oxford student, before I would turn on the others. I refuse to destroy my diary, and therefore, I must take efforts to hide it from him.
Evelyn's brows knit. “Bess doesn't mention Sam's full name. Only that he was a respectable Oxford student. It couldn't have been Randolph. Mary Morris had said Sam was dark-haired. Who else at Oxford could it be?”
Her mind was racing now. The only other Oxford student she knew was Simon....
Simon and Sam. Their names were frighteningly similar.
Evelyn looked up as the shock of discovery hit her full force. “You! You are Sam, Bess's lover!”
“So you have finally figured it out,” he said in a low, composed voice.
“You don't deny it?”
He shrugged matter-of-factly. “It makes little difference now.”
Will it never end? First her father, then Simon. Had all of London slept with the actress? Or just the important men in her life?
“So you knew about the diary and wanted it for your own purposes?”
He chuckled. “Is that all you believe? You are a grave disappointment, Evelyn Darlington. As the daughter of a professor and a self-proclaimed scholar, haven't you guessed that I killed Bess Whitfield?”
Her breath caught in her lungs; her mind spun in shock. Through the roaring din in her ears, she breathed one word. “Why?”
His lips curved, and he replied with heavy irony, “She got in the way, and I had to dispose of her.”
She was shocked as she saw him with abrupt clarity. It was like the final pieces of a puzzle that fit into place. The acquaintance she had been fond of for years no longer stood before her. Instead of the studious intelligence she had always admired, a predatory gleam shone in his eyes.
“I suspect you know the truth about your father, too?” Simon asked.
She gasped. “You knew all along?”
“So did Randolph.”
Her composure was as fragile as an eggshell. Fear and horror at the evil before her battled with her need to know the truth.
“Tell me everything,” she demanded.
“You want the truth?”
“I have a right to know!” Her voice was shrill to her own ears.
Simon laughed. “Bess was right. I did plan on using her diary to blackmail her rich lovers—one of whom was your father. But the bitch refused to go along with my plans. She cared more for the fickle affection of her lovers than wealth. She was an emotionally weak creature, but a crafty whore. Unbeknownst to me at the time, she gave the diary to her cousin Randolph for safekeeping. Randolph must have read it and learned that your father was one of Bess's lovers. Randolph idolizes your father and must have hidden the diary inside one of the books in an attempt to protect him.”
“But Randolph said he went to Bess's home that night for her to give him something of great importance. We all assumed it was the diary.”
“He lied! He already had the diary. I suspect he went to Bess's home that night to tell her he had successfully hidden it.”
“Did Randolph know you were Bess's lover?”
“Ha! Randolph thinks he's so smart, but he's an idiot. He hadn't the slightest notion that I was swiving his cousin.”
“He was smart enough to hide the diary where you never found it,” she countered.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “I searched all over for the diary. I was searching Bess's bedroom when she came home unexpectedly early one night. I questioned her about it, but she would not tell me where it was hidden.”
“So you murdered her when she refused to speak? Viciously and repeatedly stabbed her?”
“No. I murdered her because she was a whore and she deserved to die.”
She heard the bitterness spill over into his voice and a sudden anger lit his eyes. Her stomach clenched tight.
“What about Randolph?”
“The fool just walked in. I never intended to frame Randolph for the murder. But it worked out conveniently nonetheless.”
Another revelation. “You were the one that broke into our home and ransacked my father's library!”
“Yes. I searched here too, but I underestimated Randolph's creativity.”
Simon picked up the false book, opened the cover, and stared at the empty compartment where the diary had been hidden. With a loud curse, he threw it across the room. It hit the fireplace with a thud and landed on the carpet.
Alarm bells went off in her head. Simon wouldn't confess everything unless he planned on killing her.
He was in front of the door and blocked her escape, but she began to retreat inch by inch, determined to put as much distance between them as possible.
“You won't get away with any of it,” she said.
In two quick strides he had her cornered and snatched the diary from her hands. “I already have, Evelyn.”
“You're crazy! Jack Harding will come for you.”
“Mr. Harding is lying unconscious in an alley behind the Drury Lane Theatre. By the time he wakes, I'll have you with me.”
Simon had harmed Jack? “If you think I'll go anywhere with you, then you are insane.”
He pulled a knife with a wicked-looking blade from his coat pocket.
“I'll scream.”
“I'll kill everyone in this house. Don't think I can't overpower two old men—your ancient butler and your father. Your robust housekeeper and your maid won't make it down the stairs. I'm aware of the skeleton staff of servants your father keeps and that there are no others. They stand little chance against me.”
Fear battered at the remnants of her control. Her heart jumped in her chest at the fearful images of Hodges's and her father's bloody bodies.
He strode to her father's desk and withdrew a piece of foolscap. “I want you to write a note to Mr. Harding.”
“What for?”
“To tell him where you will be waiting for him, of course.”
He forced her to sit in the chair behind the desk, then started dictating. With a shaky hand, she scrawled his fearful instructions, all the while her mind racing with thoughts of escape.
He can't mean what he says. I'll never willingly walk out of this house with him, knife or not!
Lamplight flickered off a gold letter opener resting in the corner of the desk. It had been a commemorative item from Lyndale's peers, inscribed with the date he had left Lincoln's Inn. But its significance or inscription was not what interested her, rather its razor-sharp edge and pointed tip.
Simon paced in front of the desk as he dictated, and when he pivoted, she deftly swiped the letter opener from the desk and slipped it into her skirt pocket.
She wrote the last of his instructions and pushed the note away.
He walked behind her chair, his fingers biting into the tender flesh of her shoulder. He leaned down, his sour breath hot against her cheek. “Time to leave.”
She recoiled at his touch and expected him to jerk her out of the chair.
A foul-smelling cloth was pressed to her mouth and nose instead. She struggled wildly, but was no match for his wiry strength.
Then there was nothing at all as blackness enveloped her.
Chapter 40
Panic and rage spurted through Jack as he read the note.
Mr. Harding,
I have someone you want. Kindly pay your respects to Bess Whitfield at your earliest convenience.
SG
“We're too late! He has her!”
“Too late? Where is my daughter?” Lord Lyndale asked.
Jack's gaze snapped to Lyndale. They were in his library. Jack had left his chambers and sped here, his mind a crazy mixture of hope and fear. Anthony, Devlin, and Brent had followed and they now waited outside.
“Simon Guthrie has Evelyn. He was one of her lovers and murdered Bess Whitfield,” Jack said, his voice rough with anxiety.
“Dear God!”
“I'm going after him.”
Jack made for the door, not wanting to waste another minute speaking with Lyndale when Evelyn was in the hands of that madman.
Lyndale grasped Jack's arm, his hold surprisingly strong. Unspoken pain was alive and glowing in the older man's eyes.
“You don't understand,” Lyndale said. “This is my fault. Bess Whitfield was my mistress for over ten years. I supported her lifestyle and ensured the success of her acting career.”
Jack halted. “Did you know Simon Guthrie was Bess's lover?”
“No! I knew Bess kept a diary naming her lovers, but I never read it.”
Silence loomed between them like a heavy mist. Jack eyed the fake book with the hidden compartment now resting on Lyndale's desk. When Jack had first entered the library, he'd spotted it on the carpet by the fireplace and had immediately concluded that the diary had been hidden there.
It all made sense now. The break-in at Lyndale's home weeks ago. The ransacking of the library. Simon had been searching for the diary, but had never found its hiding place.
“Did you know the diary was hidden in your library?” Jack asked.
Lyndale shook his head. “No. As my Fellow, Randolph had access to my library. He must have hidden it here. Never did I suspect it was right under our noses the entire time.”
Questions flew through Jack's mind, but he bit his tongue. Jack had lain unconscious for hours. It was now dark outside, and Evelyn was alone with a murdering monster in an isolated graveyard.
“I will find her.” His voice was like steel.
Jack ran out of the house, panic such as he'd never experienced before rioting within his chest. The thought of Simon hurting Evelyn, or worse—killing her—tore at his insides.
Don't think of how he savagely murdered Bess Whitfield!
His breath caught in his throat, and his thoughts turned to the last time they had made love. He would never forget a single detail of her lovely face as she cried out his name in ecstasy. Afterward, he had once again asked her to marry him, and she had accepted his proposal. He was well aware that she sought his love, and yet he had remained stubbornly silent.
How could he have been such a fool?
Fearful clarity opened his eyes. He loved Evelyn. His vow not to become involved, not to love someone in an effort to stay focused on his legal career, shattered like broken glass. His insistence to marry her and keep her out of Randolph's arms or any other man's had nothing to do with honor or repayment of a debt to her father and had everything to do with love.
When he first left his father's home and entered Lincoln's Inn, Jack had little ambition in life. He thought he would fail as a barrister until Emmanuel Darlington had taken hold of him. But the true change in Jack had occurred once he had a taste of his first trial, had experienced his first victory; he had thought that he had found his calling and would want for nothing else in life.
But then Evelyn had approached him in the spectators' gallery after Slip Dawson's trial, and Jack's life had been turned upside down. Her golden beauty and blue eyes had initially attracted him, but it was her sharp intelligence and unfailing courage that had stolen his heart. Nothing that he had believed was most important in his life—his career and status as a highly paid barrister—was as important as Evelyn. The harder he had tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted.
He loved her.
And now it may be too late to tell her.
Jack ran to the parked carriage on Park Lane. He barked directions to the driver and flung open the door.
Three pairs of eyes looked at him.
“Where is she?” Anthony asked.
“The graveyard where Bess Whitfield was buried.”
The carriage jerked forward. Jack handed Anthony the note, and it was passed to Devlin and Brent.
“The good news is she's alive, Jack,” Devlin said. “The bad news is he's using her as bait to get to you.”
Anthony handed Jack a pistol. “It's a trap. But the bastard doesn't know there are three of us to back you.”
Devlin nodded. “We're all armed and crack shots.”
Brent remained silent, then reached out to touch Jack's sleeve. “Don't worry, Jack. You'll yet be able to tell her you love her before the end of the night.”

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