The Counterfeit Gentleman (34 page)

“It is not only breach of promise,” Bethia said bitterly.
“He married her by special license, got her with child, and
then informed her that the marriage was invalid because
she had not secured her father’s permission. That is out and
out fraud, for you will never convince me that he did not
plan such action from the very beginning.”

Lady Letitia was about to repeat that it was indeed quite
unfair, when she realized that not all the papers that had
been thrust into her hands were love letters. There was also
a certificate of marriage and a letter from the late earl’s so
licitor.

She herself had no real grasp of English common law ...
except for the part that pertained to marriage. And there
were certain discrepancies in these documents that the
courts might find very interesting.

Deftly, she steered the conversation away from the late
earl. “Do not despair totally, my child,” she said. “Even
though none of us were allowed to testify at the inquest, all
of Digory’s friends can appear at the trial as character wit
nesses.”

Her two young companions immediately began dis
cussing what strategy might work in the courtroom, and
they did not notice when she slipped the two crucial docu
ments into her reticule, leaving the love letters on a side
table.

Once that was accomplished, she wasted no more time. “If you do not mind, I shall take my leave now.”

“Oh, must you?” Bethia asked. “I was hoping you could stay for dinner so that we can make our plans.”

Lady Letitia had already made her plans, and the first
order of business was to send for Digory’s solicitor, but she did not tell Bethia that. There was, after all, no point in get
ting the child’s hopes up when it might all come to naught.

So she pleaded exhaustion, and Bethia and Adeline were instantly all solicitude, reproaching themselves for not hav
ing noticed her fatigue, which was in truth nothing but
playacting.

“And could I perhaps borrow Big Davey again?” Lady
Letitia asked, making her voice as feeble as possible, which
was not at all easy, considering that she was filled with
righteous energy. “I may yet run into trouble on the way
home, and my coachman is rather elderly.”

Another plumper, but Bethia and Adeline swallowed it whole, even insisting upon helping her out to her coach as
if she were too ancient and decrepit to walk unaided.

Ah, the gullibility of the young—it was really a crime to
take advantage of it. But at least her motives were good.

As soon as they were out of sight of Bethia’s house,
Lady Letitia cast off her die-away airs and rapped on the
roof of the coach with her cane. The coach stopped, and a moment later Big Davey opened the door, looking as if he expected to find her prostrate on the seat.

“Do you know who Mr. Rendel’s solicitor is?” she de
manded.

“Aye, that’d be Mr. Kidby,” Big Davey said without
blinking an eye.

“Then fetch him to my house at once,” she ordered.
“We’ve not a moment to lose.”

* * * *

Lord Quissenworth was not happy when Cavenaugh and Edington were ushered into his office. He had a strong sus
picion that they had come about that Rendel fellow, and he
did not have the slightest desire to get mixed up in such a sordid affair.

Unfortunately, he could think of no way to prevent his
two former agents from dumping the problem into his lap.

“There is nothing I can do,” he said when they finished
presenting their case. “I have no knowledge of the event—I
was not at Almack’s yesterday evening, and I do not be
lieve I have ever actually met Rendel, so my testimony as
to his character would be worthless.”

“We aren’t interested in having you testify,” Cavenaugh
said. “We want you to persuade Prinny to grant Rendel a
pardon.”

“Rendel was invaluable to you when we were fighting
the French,” Edington said. “You owe it to him.”

Lord Quissenworth would have laughed in their faces,
but he had a niggling feeling that any levity at this point
would be extremely foolish if not actually dangerous.
“There is not the slightest possibility that the Prince Regent
will intervene,” he said, keeping his voice calm despite the
unreasonableness of their demand. “If it were only a case of
murder, I am sure I could persuade him to commute the
sentence to transportation. But I am equally certain that he
will never forgive Rendel for pretending to be a gentleman.
His Highness will take the deception as an affront to his
dignity. So you see, there is nothing I can do. My hands are
tied.”

As if he had not heard a single word, Cavenaugh said,
“Let me explain to you just how it will be. Simply put, it
matters not what the verdict is, Rendel will not hang. Nor will he be transported. If he is found guilty, then he will
mysteriously escape from jail and never be seen in England again. Do you understand me?”

So venomous was the look in Cavenaugh’s eyes that a
chill went up and down Lord Quissenworth’s spine. For the
first time he began to believe all the wildly improbable sto
ries he had heard about the activities of his former agent.

“If we have to do this without your cooperation,” Eding
ton added dispassionately, “some guard or innocent by
stander may be hurt. But the choice is yours.”

“I shall see what—” Lord Quissenworth cleared his throat
and started again. “I shall investigate the possibilities.”

“Good,” Edington said. “We will return tomorrow for
another discussion. And you may rest assured that if you
need money for bribes, I shall willingly provide whatever
amount is required.”

Lord Quissenworth was not reassured in the slightest.
But once the other two men left the room, he was at least able to breathe again and his heartbeat slowed to a more
normal speed.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of arranging for
extra guards to be put on that cursed imposter Rendel. After
all, what his former subordinates were demanding was to
tally unethical and completely illegal, and if it ever came
out that he had participated—even though he was co
erced—then his career would come to an abrupt end.

On the other hand, if he did not cooperate fully, he rather suspected that he would spend the rest of his life—which might be considerably shorter than the three score and ten allotted to men—looking over his shoulder.

This was clearly a case where prudence demanded that
he bend a few rules, Lord Quissenworth decided, or if necessary, he was even prepared to break the law. It was, after all, morally justified since Rendel had in truth served England well in her hour of need.

A bit more thinking along that line, and Lord Quis
senworth managed to persuade himself that it was nothing more nor less than his patriotic duty to rescue Rendel, the
unsung hero of England, from imprisonment.

* * * *

Lady Letitia did not waste any time on polite formalities.
As soon as Owens ushered in Mr. Kidby, she handed him
the letter written over a quarter of a century earlier.

“Do you see what caught my eye?” she asked.

“Indeed I do,” the solicitor said. “If I were writing a letter
like this, I would be much more specific. Something along
the lines of, “The Ecclesiastical Court of whatever, meeting
on the n-th day of whenever, has ruled that the marriage of
whoever, et cetera, has been declared invalid.’ Yet all this
Mr. Thwaite says is, ‘Your marriage to the Earl of Black
stone is invalid.’ In addition, I am not at all sure that a court
would have dissolved the marriage for the reason herein
stated, unless the father of the bride petitioned for redress. I could be wrong, but the marriage laws are not all black and
white. There are a lot of gray areas in cases such as this one.”

“I have one more document,” Lady Letitia said, handing him the marriage certificate.

He read it swiftly, then whistled under his breath. “My suspicions have now become a certainty. The only way the
late earl could have had this marriage declared invalid is if
he perjured himself. The law is quite clear—a widow does
not need anyone’s permission to remarry, no matter how
young she is.”

“Then you think we have a case?”

“If we can prove that Mrs. Rendel’s first marriage was
legal and that her first husband was dead at the time of her marriage to the earl, then I think we may have a very inter
esting day in court. There is, of course, a chance that the
earl had the foresight to destroy the pertinent records years
ago. Or the parish church may have burned since then, or
the sexton may have kept inadequate records in the first
place. But I shall send my junior partner himself to Corn
wall. Do you have any idea where the first marriage and the
death of the first husband may have occurred?”

“No, but I can provide your partner with an escort. Big
Davey Veryan will doubtless be able to supply the informa
tion you need, and in addition, he will be able to persuade
even the most recalcitrant vicar to cooperate.”

“I believe I will also send clerks to each of the ecclesiasti
cal courts that would have had jurisdiction in this case, just
to be sure that we are not wrong in our supposition that
there was no actual hearing. And to hedge our bets, since we
do not know for sure that the necessary documents still
exist, I shall secure the services of the best barrister in the
City and instruct him to do his best to delay the actual trial,”
Mr. Kidby said, “although realistically speaking, we have
little chance of gaining more than a few extra days. Too
many important people will be demanding instant justice.”

“Or instant injustice, as the case may be,” Lady Letitia
said.

That evening Bethia delayed as long as possible, but
eventually she had to retire to her bed, which was
empty and cold even though at Mrs. Drake’s behest the
maid had brought up a pair of hot bricks wrapped in flan
nel.

Absolutely miserable, Bethia shivered in the dark. How
could she sleep without Digory beside her? Who would
chase away the nightmares that still tormented her?

He had promised that she would never again have to
sleep alone ... and he was a man of his word ... which
meant she was not—could not be—alone.

Closing her eyes, she could almost feel his arms pulling her close, almost hear his words calming her fears, and she knew he had spoken the truth.

Nothing could keep them apart. Reality was not this
empty bed; reality was the two of them together forever.
Immeasurably comforted by this sense of his presence, she
whispered, “My love, although you are not close enough to
feel the touch of my hand, and you cannot hear my words,
you will always be in my heart. No matter what happens,
no one can ever truly separate us.”

Her sleep that night was deep and dreamless, and she
woke up the next morning with no more fears. While she
did not precisely bounce out of bed, at least she was able to face the day with a degree of resolution she had not thought
possible the evening before.

Which was a good thing, because rather than the usual
stack of invitations, there was only a single letter on the
tray when the maid brought up Bethia’s hot chocolate. When Bethia broke the seal and unfolded the paper, she
discovered it was neither an invitation nor a note of sympa
thy and support.

Instead, it was a cleverly drawn caricature entitled, “The
Barbarian at the Gate,” and it depicted her husband dressed
in knee breeches and a peasant’s smock and wearing a
hangman’s noose around his neck instead of a cravat. He
was banging on the door of Almack’s, but from the window above him, the patronesses were emptying a bowl of punch
over his head.

Bethia’s first reaction was anger, but almost at once she
began to chuckle. What the person who had sent this had
forgotten was that the barbarians had been the victors—
they had swept across Europe and had conquered not only the more primitive countries, but also the vast and mighty
and “civilized” Roman Empire.