The Secret Duke (46 page)

Thorn controlled impatience and disappointment. A petitioner, no more than that. “Which lady?”

“A Miss Flint.”

Ah, now this was different. “What is your connection to Miss Flint, sir?”

“I am her solicitor, Your Grace. I was honored to handle the affairs of her great- grandmother, Lady Raddall, and when Lady Raddall left . . . Miss Flint a bequest, I was given charge of the matter.”

So the lawyer knew the name was false.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Clatterford?”

“I hope you will assist me to remove her from the house. She had cut the acquaintance some weeks before the unpleasant events.”

Had she?
“Why?”

“Because, as you suspect, sir, she became uncomfortable with some of what was happening.”

“Then why return?”

The man grimaced in agitation. “That I have only from her housekeeper, sir. Mistress Gussage sent to me in distress last night. When her mistress didn’t return she walked to Lady Fowler’s house and found it under guard. She was not allowed to speak to Miss Flint. She immediately sought me out, but it took some time for her and her son to find me, it being late. At the earliest possible time today I went to Lady Fowler’s house. The people there are most officious, but one directed me to you. I assure you, sir, Miss Flint is incapable of any crime.”

Then you don’t know her as well as I do. Bella Barstowe would do whatever she felt necessary in a just cause.
Thorn could only hope that she never felt it necessary to truly overthrow the monarchy. However, here was a sober, reputable gentleman willing to vouch for her, which could be useful.

“To the best of your knowledge, Clatterford, she has taken place in no treasonous activities?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“Are there others who will support her?”

The solicitor looked extremely uneasy, which wasn’t surprising when he knew he was using a false name to refer to the lady in question. “I’m sure I can find some, Your Grace, but she has lived quietly.”

Thorn rose. “Very well, sir, I’ll do what I can. Where are your offices?”

“In Tunbridge Wells, Your Grace.”

Thorn paused by the door and looked a question.

“I came to Town to persuade the lady to return with me to the Wells. We were to leave today.”

“May I ask why?”

“To live, sir. I have arranged for her to come under the wing of some ladies there with the intention that she take her rightful place in society.”

“And she has agreed?” Thorn asked, much interested.

His surprise was misinterpreted. The solicitor took offense. “I believe some improvement is possible, Your Grace.”

Thorn decided he liked Clatterford. “I wish Miss Flint well in the Wells, and I assure you I will do all in my power to enable her to go there.”

He meant it. If Bella was established in society, it would make many things easier, and there would be ways Thorn could help bring it about. He saw Clatterford out and was about to return to Lady Fowler’s house when a courier arrived bearing a letter from Rothgar.

Thorn admired the vague obligation made possible by haste, and the words chosen in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. No man married to the Countess of Arradale could believe women to be universally weaker than men, but the king took that as the word of God.

Thorn considered Bella as a representative of the weaker sex and shook his head, but she could play a part. Evesham and Abercrombie would fit the king’s standard. He knew nothing of the other women who’d taken to their beds, but that reaction seemed hopeful. The sticking point would be the thin and sour Miss Sprott. She seemed the type to insist on hanging for her principles.

Thorn set Overstone to compose the right missive to the king, and Joseph to devising exactly the right clothing for an eventual royal audience. When he set out to return to Grafton Street, at least he left two people happily employed.

 

Bella was sewing, having picked up an item from the basket of charity sewing kept in the parlor. She’d encouraged the others to do the same. They all needed something to occupy their minds, especially now that they were forbidden to discuss the important matters.

Her mind returned, as she knew it would, to the inn parlor in Upstone, and to Thorn reading to her as she sewed. It was probably unnatural of her to find that memory even sweeter than their time in the bed, but it had been so uncomplicated, which made it easier to visit.

What danger he was in, however. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if he came to grief through helping her.

She was alerted by some inner sense, and looked up to see Thorn in the doorway. She worked very hard at not smiling at him and had to pray her blushes didn’t show.

“We are ready to begin the recording of your accounts, ladies. Miss Flint and Mistress Evesham, please.”

Bella rose, thankful that Mary was his first choice. Her account would probably be the most coherent and unbiased. They went to the scriptorium, where a young man stood beside the table on which he’d arranged a neat pile of paper, a number of fresh pens and three ink-wells, one uncapped. Prepared for anything.

There was another clerk present, with his own supplies, though not so impressively ranked. Presumably he was to record everything for the Lord Chancellor. An elderly man sat in the corner, seemingly only to observe.

They all sat and the questions began.

All went well and Mary’s account made it clear that most of the ladies had played no real part in the writing or printing of the treasonous paper. Betsy Abercrombie remained in danger, however.

Next, Thorn summoned Ellen Spencer.

Ellen arrived already protesting her innocence with a desperation that suggested she was being dragged up the steps of the gibbet and was guilty as the devil. When Thorn commanded her to calm down and simply give her account of the past few weeks, she burst into tears.

Thorn looked to Bella for help. She’d obeyed his instructions not to speak or react, but now she took Ellen into her arms. “Ellen, dear, you must not go on so. We all know you’ve done nothing.”

Ellen looked at her. “But I have, Bellona! The worst possible thing.” As if she might be able to keep it secret, she whispered, “Murder. And Helena Drummond knew of it.”

Bella shot Thorn a look, but there was nothing he could do, and Norman’s clerk was taking all this down—as was his own.

She thought to wonder where he’d found such an impeccably ducal clerk.

Someone had to ask, so Bella did. “Whom did you murder?”

Still whispering, Ellen said, “I didn’t precisely. . . . Because he didn’t eat the cake, you see. But I tried to. And they told Lady Fowler, so Helena knew. And she made me
do
things.”

Bella refused to ask the next question, but Thorn did. “What things, Mistress Spencer?”

“The news sheet. I wrote out fair copy.” Ellen covered her face with her soggy handkerchief. “Such terrible things. Things against the king, who is such a good man.”

“Get that down,” Thorn said sharply. “Mistress Spencer, no one is going to take further action against you for the matter of attempted murder. You were in temporary distress because you thought your employer was in danger, and you attempted to save her in the only way you knew. Your character is vouched for by a number of people whose opinion is valued.”

He knew all about that?

How?

“It is?” Ellen asked, emerging slightly from her soggy shield.

“On my honor, ma’am.”

Bella took the sodden handkerchief and substituted her own, and Ellen blew her nose. Bella was still trying to make this new piece fit.

Ellen began a moderately coherent account of recent times. It turned out to be particularly useful, because Helena Drummond had known she had Ellen under her thumb and hadn’t bothered to conceal anything from her. Bella suspected the Irishwoman had enjoyed forcing Ellen to hear and see things that distressed her.

Helena had pretended to consult with Lady Fowler, but as that poor woman was rarely capable of rational speech, it had been more a matter of telling her what was happening, but Ellen had been instructed to stand witness to Lady Fowler’s agreement.

“And generally she did agree,” Ellen said seriously. Now that she’d revealed the worst, a sensible woman was slowly emerging. “Lady Fowler wasn’t in her right mind, so she agreed that having her name attached to a great revolution would be a memorable triumph. She did not fear death, but she feared being forgotten.”

Thorn said, “But the plan and the news sheet proposing it, those were entirely a creation of Helena Drummond?”

“From what I heard, Your Grace, yes.”

“Do you have anything else to add that you think might be of significance, Mistress Spencer?”

Ellen Spencer considered, almost a different person now in her neat composure. “Only that the ladies here cannot possibly be traitors, Your Grace. Some are silly and some are bitter, but all are honest and loyal.”

A sensible woman, but unkind, Bella thought, glad to see Ellen Spencer’s back.

Thorn looked at Bella. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Flint. Do you agree with Mistress Spencer’s assessment of innocence?”

“Completely, Your Grace.”

He looked down at a list. “Whom do we have left? Miss Sprott, Mistress Ormond, and Miss Abercrombie. We’ll see Miss Abercrombie next.”

Bella was concerned about Betsy. She had been an enthusiastic supporter of the Drummonds, perhaps simply because she was a weak woman always attracted to the strong, but she was also silly, and might say something to incriminate herself. Thorn seemed to guess that, however, and asked her simple questions. Out of good sense or terror, Betsy volunteered nothing.

Hortensia was next and she exuded hostility, but she kept her words brief and to the point. As she’d detested the Drummonds, it came out well. Clara Ormond was so obviously just a sweet, elderly lady that no one could suspect her of anything.

When she left, Thorn said, “And there we have it.”

“Not quite,” said Bella. “There’s Agnes Hoover, Lady Fowler’s woman. Now her mistress’s body is in its coffin she may be persuaded to speak with you, if someone else keeps vigil.”

Thorn turned to Norman’s clerk. “Can you attempt to find the substitute, sir? Perhaps Miss Evesham would be the most suitable, but whichever lady is willing.”

The clerk bowed and left.

As soon as he was out of the room, Thorn said quietly, “This clerk is mine, as is Mr. Delibert, a solicitor. We can speak freely for a moment. We’re attempting to interest the king in leniency. If this can be achieved, he may send someone to investigate on his behalf. It’s crucial that each and every lady is clearly sober, righteous, and conventional.”

Bella twitched her brows at him, but said, “I understand, Your Grace. I must thank you again for your efforts.”

Lud! Was he going to find someone to impersonate an emissary of the king?

Norman’s clerk returned then, and soon Agnes Hoover arrived. She was as stoical in bereavement as she’d been all along, but she gave a damningly caustic description of the Drummonds. Her opinion of the rest of the women wasn’t kind, but it offered no basis for prosecution.

Once she’d left, Thorn said, “Thank you, Miss Flint.”

Bella wanted an opportunity to speak to him privately and persuade him to end this dangerous deception, but she had to stand, curtsy, and leave.

 

Thorn hated to have Bella out of his sight, and he hated to leave her worried about his safety. He could see no reasonable opportunity to reveal that he was, in fact, the duke. It could scatter her wits and she needed all her resources to get through the next days. As soon as the ladies were all safe, however, he would explain everything and hope for happiness.

The sooner, the better. He sent for Norman. “It’s my opinion that all these ladies are innocent and should be set free.”

“With respect, Your Grace, I do not agree. Clearly some were willing accomplices of the Drummond sisters, or more. In fact, that is what the Drummonds claim.”

Damn him. He enjoyed exploding that without warning.

“You have the Drummonds?”

Norman smirked. “Yes, sir, and they claim Miss Abercrombie and Mistress Spencer were enthusiastic participants. My clerk informs me the Spencer woman admitted as much.”

“She admitted to compulsion.”

“Because she feared prosecution for murder.”

“I can assure you, Norman, that no one died and no one is going to bring a case over that.”

“The Drummonds also claim that Miss Flint was a supporter of their cause and often said as much to them.”

Snakes indeed
, Thorn thought.
Vipers.
They either were determined to destroy others with themselves, or were cunningly trying to link their fate to those who might be rescued.

He’d hoped not to have to try to interest the king, for George was unpredictable in such matters, but it was now the only course. Rothgar, of course, had been right.

He’d toss in an explosion of his own. “You should know that the king is interesting himself in this matter, Norman, and is inclined to leniency—apart from the Drummonds, of course.”

Norman’s lips tightened. “I understood that His Majesty was much incensed.”

“But only against the true villains.”

“I will await confirmation of that, sir.”

“Of course. You have your duty to do. But I would advise a respectful approach. Some of these ladies, including Mistress Spencer, have powerful people concerned on their behalf. Even in addition to myself.”