Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (3 page)

After settling in with their brandies, Mayburn started, “I will get straight to the point, my lord. It is about Lillian.”

So the man used her Christian name. Slut.

He was probably another one of her admirers come to extol her virtues. Brandy or not, Kane was hardly about to sit through this. Gripping the leather, he stood.

“I want to get her away from my brother,” Mayburn continued.

Kane blinked, then lowered himself back into the chair. He examined the young man with new regard. That light in his eyes was fervor, and it seemed that Lillian was its focus. He could be a prodigious tool, this one, if wielded well.

“Why would you wish to end their affair?”

“Because she can do better.”

“Meaning you, for instance?”

“I would never allow her to remain a kept woman. She deserves to be married with full rights to such stature.”

Kane sighed for effect. “Your brother uses her.”

“Abominably. But she does not see it.”

“You two are close?” Kane asked, already knowing the answer. Only a select few knew of the acrimony in the Kane family. Lillian was always one to keep her skeletons in the cupboard. To her disadvantage in this instance.

“She is exceedingly dear to me. But my brother unjustifiably resents our relationship.”

“She loves him, I hear. Perhaps it is for the best that they remain together?”

“How can you say that?” Mayburn cried, slamming his fist onto his thigh. “She has no prospects with Dillon. She can bear no recognizable heirs. Deuced if I can understand why my father allows him to treat her so disrespectfully. But he has always indulged Dillon beyond what is defensible. If no one else will save Lillian, then I will.”

“And how do you propose to do this?” Kane inquired, his mind racing to make the best use of this man.

“I don’t know.” The gent sulked. “She has refused any opportunity to run away.”

“So you came to the conclusion that…”

The man blinked, his gaze as blank as parchment. “What?”

Nodding encouragingly, Kane led, “That it is your brother who must be removed….”

“To where?”

Not the sharpest tack in the pile. “Away from Lillian.”

“So instead of her running away,
he
leaves?”

“Excellent notion.”

Mayburn shook his head. “Dillon will never leave her. He has it too good. He gets everything he wishes from her.” His cheeks reddened. “Pardon.”

Kane waved him off. “I know of these things and they do make my blood boil, but there is naught that I can do.”

“But if he were gone—”

“With your brother out of the picture, Lillian will no longer be under his manipulative sway.” Kane leaned closer, and Mayburn leaned in as well. “She would then be, say,
open
to other, more constructive, influences.”

Mayburn exhaled softly, excitement shimmering in his gaze. “That would be most excellent. For Lillian, of course.” He frowned, scratching his head. “But how to accomplish this? He does not visit the country, nor take the waters at Bath. In fact, he hardly ever leaves Lillian’s side.”

Although he would not admit it to the young man, Kane had tried tricking Beaumont into leaving
London. Or at least leaving Lillian for an extended time, to naught. Urgent messages calling the marquis to the country. Fake funeral announcements of relatives. Even illicit invitations from some of the most tantalizing specimens the demimonde had to offer. The bloody man was like a cork stuck in a bottle, unwilling to be removed.

“It is her birthday today,” Mayburn pronounced, pulling Kane from his frustrated musings. “I was wondering what to give her.”

“Arsenic, perhaps?” Kane muttered under his breath.

“Wh-what?” Those dull eyes blinked. “Do not even jest about such matters! Lillian is the light of London. A fair creature of—”

Clearing his throat, Kane interrupted, “A book, perhaps.”

“Will you call on her today?”

“No, Beaumont does not allow it.” Not since Lillian had told the meddlesome marquis about the encounter in the solicitor’s office. Kane really could not have been blamed for his outburst over the fact that his father-in-law, Lord Janus, would leave his entire estate in trust for a worthless chit. Well, it would bring any man to violence.

“Interfering wench,” Kane muttered, recalling how Lillian had tried to stop him from throttling the solicitor who had imparted the wretched intelligence. Who could blame him for striking her? It was self-defense and only what she deserved, not a fortune to call her own.

“Pardon?” Mayburn eyed him oddly.

“I meant wretched interfering of him. Beaumont influences Lillian, turning her against me.” It was Lillian who had turned Lord and Lady Janus
against him, convincing them to change their wills. She was the source of his current ill state. Because of her, he was denied his rightful legacy. Barred from the funds that were his due. It was her fault that he had been forced to enter into that funding scheme that was now falling to shreds. It was only because of the scheme that he had formed his liaison with the troublesome Cecilia Langham. Lillian was the linchpin to all of his problems, and his only solution, to marry Lillian off and siphon the funds, was denied him by the protective Marquis of Beaumont.

Like lightning, an idea flashed in his mind. His heart began to pound and his face broke out in a sweat. It would solve all of his problems, tying them up in one neat little bow. Anticipation rushed through him, making him almost shake with excitement. He had not been this elated since his cousin Louis had died of the pox, making him a baron. The plan was inspired in its simplicity. He was even more brilliant than he had ever supposed.

Trying to keep the enthusiasm from his tone, he declared, “I am grateful that you had the fortitude to approach me, Mayburn. Your concern for my daughter does you great credit.”

“Thank you, Lord Kane,” the man stated warily, as if unused to such flattery. No wonder, the num-skull could not have much opportunity to attract it.

“It has planted a seed in my mind. One that, I believe, with a bit of careful tending, can grow into the remedy that will be Lillian’s just due.”

Mayburn straightened, looking quite manly, thanks to that Weston cut. “Really? You think it is possible?”

“Yes. But there are some things that I need you to do for me.”

“Anything, my lord, anything at all.”

“You can start by telling me everything you know about your brother and his relationship with my daughter….”

“G
ood day, Lillian.”

Lillian started. “Russell! You surprised me.” She tried not to show her irritation at the interruption. The servants were usually quite good about not allowing visitors into her private garden.

“I thought that Dillon could not stand cats,” he stated, dubiously eyeing the kitten in her lap and the many felines roaming the grounds. “They make him sneeze.”

“He indulges me. Besides, they do not enter the house.”

She felt crowded with him standing over her, and she certainly did not expect her visitor to sit on the pallet alongside her. So she gave Blackie one last scratch behind the ears, placed the feline down onto the ground, and stood.

Brushing off her gown, she asked, “What brings you here this afternoon?”

His smile was pleased. “I have the perfect gift for your birthday.”

“Oh, you needn’t have bothered, Russell—”

“But of course I did. And it is only a week late because I was having it made.” He turned, reaching for something on the ground behind him.

Smiling faintly, she tried to rally herself for the appropriate gratitude. She found it hard where Russell was concerned. With Dillon, at least, she could express her feelings plainly. The regard between them was so secure that she felt free to speak her mind and know that their relationship would only be better for the honesty between them.

With Russell, she felt as if she were walking on eggshells. He was a sweet boy—young man, she corrected herself—and Lillian felt certain that he would grow out of his infatuation with her soon enough. Until then she did not wish to crush his spirit.

He spun, grinning, with a hatbox in his gloved hands. With a dramatic flair, he lifted off the cover and lowered it so that she could see.

“A bonnet,” she cried, not exactly sure why he would choose such a personal gift. But it was a nice gesture. “How lovely. Thank you, Russell; it was quite thoughtful of you.”

“Ah, but it is not simply any bonnet, Lillian. It has the Mayburn crest stitched onto the front. With our family motto, An enemy to one is an enemy to all.”

And there it was: a snarling lion surrounded by spiky swords—the Mayburn crest—on the crown of the bonnet, with silly yellow ribbons splayed generously around it. Who in the world would wear such a thing?

He practically preened. “I selected the additional blue feathers for your beautiful eyes.”

“Why, it is just…lovely…of you to have gone to such trouble.”

“My lady, if you will pardon me?”

She turned, relieved at the butler’s interruption. “Of course, Hicks. By the by, the new uniform looks well.” Cream and black had been her choice, and it suited his tea-skinned coloring.

A slight smile just barely flitted across the butler’s impenetrable veneer. “Thank you, my lady. Visitors here to see Lord Beaumout.”

“Inform them that he is at his club.”

Hicks pursed his lips, saying tentatively, “The leader of the party is Solicitor General Dagwood, my lady.”

“The Solicitor General? Here?” Foreboding overwhelmed her; Kane had been too quiet of late. What was he up to now? It was around the time of her birthday, and the sands of time until she could claim her inheritance were thinning. Recalling Dillon’s recent charges, she hoped that she was simply being highly strung. That Kane had given up on taking her funds. But she doubted it. He viewed them as his, stolen by her even though she’d had nothing whatsoever to do with her grandfather’s decision to change his will.

“What could the Solicitor General want with Dillon?” she murmured under her breath.

Russell grasped her hand. “Do you wish to sit, my dear? You seem upset.”

“No, thank you.” She gently shook off his hand. “I am fine.” She bit her lip. “Do you know, Russell, what exactly the Solicitor General does?”

Russell smiled, obviously pleased to have been
consulted. “The man is a commoner, chosen from the ranks of the prominent barristers to serve the Attorney General. It is all very convoluted and political.”

“But what is his function?”

“Well, he is a Law Officer of the Crown.”

“But what does he do?”

“It is a bit complicated. You should not concern yourself—”

“I will endeavor to keep up with your explanation, Russell. Pray tell me everything that you know about his role.”

He sighed. “If it pleases you.”

“It does.”

“Very well.” He straightened, as if giving a homily. “The man is assigned the task of representing the Crown on legal matters. This can entail serving a function in the courts, providing legal advice, questions involving public welfare.”

“When the rights of the Crown are involved.”

“Yes,” he replied, as if surprised that she understood. “And more. Law Officers are consulted in the most important instances. For intricate legal matters involving debts to the Crown, thefts from the Crown, exceptional prosecutions…”

“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, alarmed. His cheeks had reddened, making him suddenly appear fevered.

He swallowed. “I just recalled something…that I…neglected to do.”

“Something serious?”

“Yes. No! I mean, it can wait.”

“If you are so concerned, you may leave through the back gate, if you wish.”

“No, no. I will come with you,” he replied, wip
ing his brow with a handkerchief. “I have never met the Solicitor General and wish to ensure that all is proper.”

“Very well. Where is he, Hicks?”

“I asked them to wait in the front drawing room.”

Russell took her hand and rested it on his arm. “Don’t worry, Lillian, I will take care of you.”

Butterflies were swarming in her middle, and she was glad for his company. Whatever scheme Kane had afoot, she was thankful for the support of Dillon and his family. Her situation depended on their esteemed place in Society, and Russell’s presence could be beneficial.

The Solicitor General was much younger than she would have imagined for a Law Officer of the Crown. Despite the streaks of silver at his temples, much of his hair remained jet black, and his pallid face bore few of the telling lines of age. He had firm, if regular, features, but what was most distressing were his eyes. They were like black coals of burning ambition.

The man bowed. “Solicitor General Dagwood, at your service.”

“Lord Russell Mayburn.” Russell nodded. “And may I present Lady Janus.”

Lillian’s nod was cool. The man smelled of cigar, a cloying odor that she always associated with overgrown boys patting themselves on the back.

The man waved to his companions. “May I introduce Police Officer Kim and Police Officer Kelly of the Bow Street office.” Each man wore street clothes with the requisite tipstaff hanging from his hip.

One of the police officers stepped forward and unscrewed that very brass-topped tipstaff, revealing
a parchment inside. He handed it to the Solicitor General, who held it up. “This is a warrant for the arrest of the Marquis of Beaumont.”

“On what charge?” Lillian cried.

“Murder.”

Russell’s face blanched.

Lillian felt her knees wobble, as if a violent wind had swept into the room.
Kane
. This had to be Kane’s doing.

Anger infused her spine with iron, and she stepped forward. “Who is Lord Beaumont supposed to have murdered?” she inquired derisively. “Or is the victim a fabrication as well?”

“Lady Langham.”

“He hardly even knows her!”

The impetuous man smirked. “He
knew
her better than you obviously know him. They had been having an affair, I am sorry to say.” He did not appear apologetic in the least, with his pointy chin jutting out and his know-all nose high in the air. “Lady Langham threatened to tell her husband of the affair, and Beaumont killed her.”

“I have never heard so much twaddle in all my life!”

“Calm down, Lillian.” Russell laid a hand on her arm. “We do not know the facts. Does my father know of this charge?”

“
Meritless
charge,” she interjected, crossing her arms.

“The Duke of Greayston will be informed once his son is in custody.”

“He will not allow this to stand,” she declared. “And rightly so. Dillon is incapable—”

Dagwood turned to Russell, as if she were unworthy of his attention. “Is Beaumont here?”

For a moment she was a young girl back at Helmsridge, as valued as a piece of the furniture, perhaps even less so because she had to be fed.

“We have a warrant for his arrest,” the Solicitor General continued, bringing her back to reality. “We can search the residence if you insist upon it.”

“He is not here,” Russell replied.

“Pray tell where he is.”

“I would not know.”

Russell was right; she needed more information to be able to untangle Kane’s web. Trying to recall everything she knew about the heavyset brunette with small eyes and a calculating manner, she stepped forward. “How did Lady Langham die?”

Dagwood raised his chin. “She was battered to death with a fire poker.”

Russell pressed her arm. “This is not for—”

“Lord Beaumont is incapable of such violence.”

“Tell that to Lord Langham, who mourns his wife.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“That matters have proceeded to arrest so quickly may indicate that all of the facts are not in order,” she suggested, noting the look of irritation flashing across the police officers’ features.

“Has Lord Langham offered a reward for a quick arrest?” Russell asked, blessedly aiding her line of reasoning.

“Of course. But it is inconsequential—”

“Not to the runners,” Lillian supplied.

The Bow Street Runners’ faces darkened.

“The
police officers’
integrity is impeccable,” Dagwood intoned.

“But are their facts?”

Dagwood raised a supercilious brow. “Tell me, Lady Janus, where was Lord Beaumont last night? With you, perhaps?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. He seemed so blasted sure of himself, as if he knew the answer before having asked the question. What would be the best response to help Dillon and not land him in even deeper waters?

“I take your silence as a no,” Dagwood declared smugly. “We will find Beaumont and arrest him. A title and money will not help him to escape justice.”

Lillian wiped her suddenly moist brow. “May I ask one final question, Solicitor General Dagwood?”

Shooting the police officers a look of exasperation, he pinched his face in a patronizing smile. “Of course.”

“Why are you involved in this matter?”

“Law Officers often conduct prosecutions.”

“Why handle it personally?”

“I am trying to avoid a miscarriage of justice,” he declared, puffing up his chest.

“Are you sure that you are not trying to use Lady Langham’s death as a stepping stone for your own ambitions?”

He stiffened, and alarm flashed in his black gaze, quickly clouded by an affronted mien. So it was true. Dillon was only a pawn, being hounded by a man heady with the whiff of ambition.

Not even bothering with courtesies, Dagwood swept from the room. The two men followed at his heels.

Lillian paced, anger fueling her limbs.

“How could you have accused him of that, Lillian?” Russell cried. “The man is a Law Officer of the Crown!”

“I can’t quite believe that I said it either,” she admitted, chewing on her thumbnail. “But it’s true. The man can’t see his nose for the ambition that blinds him.”

“Now you have only earned his ire.”

“It makes no difference as to how he will proceed.” She fell into a chair, trying to brake her racing thoughts and untangle them for purpose.

“Do you wish to lie down?”

“What?”

“You must be distraught….” Russell seemed the one overcome; his face was white, and his eyes were round with alarm.

Reaching out, she squeezed his hand. “Do not fear for your brother. Things will be all right.”

“But how?”

“All I know is that we are going to need help.” Mr. Nicholas Redford came to mind. She grimaced, thinking of how just a week before she had dismissed the notion of ever needing to retain the investigator. Ironic.

“The Solicitor General would not dare arrest Dillon unless his evidence was secure,” Russell mumbled.

She looked up sharply. “What are you saying?”

“Where was Dillon last night?”

“Don’t even consider the possibility!”

“Dagwood obviously knows something that we do not. Something damning.”

She certainly knew something damning. Damning, but it might just save Dillon’s skin. But how to use that knowledge?

“But what if it is true?” he cried. “What if we don’t know Dillon at all, but we’re blinded by the regard we hold for him?”

Dragging her attention back to the poor boy, she squeezed his hand. “Listen to me, Russell. Your brother did not kill anyone. He is the kindest, gentlest of men. He is incapable of the deed Dagwood described. I do not care if ten righteous vicars swore on dog-eared Bibles that he had done it. I will never believe it so.”

He looked away, his brow troubled, his lips pinched.

She lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “So when you read the nasty headlines, or hear the gossipmongers wagging their tongues, remember that Dillon did not kill anyone.”

“Your loyalty is admirable.” He jerked away his chin, standing.

“It is not loyalty, Russell. It’s common sense.”

He turned, facing the window. “Pray that we can all remain so steadfast.” After a moment, he asked, “Shall I go to Dillon’s club and warn him?”

She realized that she was chewing on her cuticle, a habit she had considered conquered long ago. Lowering her hand, she shook her head. “No. We cannot stop it. Go to your father. Tell him everything. He will know what to do.”

“What about you?”

She did not believe in coincidences, only the failure to act on them. “I am going to see a man about an enquiry.”