The Wicked Wager (31 page)

He then called Pickering to his side.

“You are all wondering why I have not
suspected Pickering? Why have I left him off the suspect list from the very
beginning? What has he done to deserve my trust? Again I must convince you
through deduction rather than sentiment. Lady Babbage refused to acknowledge
anyone not of her class. The amount of money her son required was large. A mere
butler could not provide such sums on the salary he makes. He has been my eyes
and ears for a long time. He was the first person to discover my sister’s dark
activities. He did not wait for proof, but immediately informed me of what he
had discovered. He knows me well enough to not dither on such important
matters. I knew he had no reason to lie to me. Now, what could he gain from murdering
my sister? Did he hold a secret tendre for her and was denied her favours? Or
perhaps she had slighted him on more than one occasion. He works in the kitchen
and could easily procure a knife. He knew of the blackmail being conducted and
how many people had a reason to kill her. It would be difficult to pin it on
one single person. He could have also been aware of all those people who were
out of bed that night, giving him the perfect opportunity. He knew of at least
two people, Emma and the earl. He had even noticed Mr and Mrs Barker awake on
the night of the murder. He had my permission to roam the house that night.
What could be a more ideal situation? He did not kill her for those very same
reasons. He knew I was aware he was within the household that night. A servant
would never believe he would be trusted over other members of the household.
Unfortunately, they are the first to be suspected. If you remember, upon
hearing of my sister’s murder, Mr Barker immediately said that a servant did
it. The last thing Pickering would have used to commit the crime was the
butcher’s knife, for it came directly from the kitchens, and hence pointed
straight at him. The moment my eyes fell on the blade, I knew he was innocent.”

“But then what about the blonde man seen
roaming that night with a blade. Who was he?” Nutters asked, caught in the web
the duke had been weaving.

“Precisely! That is why I must now come to
its source.”

Everyone turned to stare at the last person
left to be discussed.

“There was only one person who always had a
reason to roam at night, only one person whose presence in the hallways at one
in the morning would be overlooked as a common occurrence. The insinuation that
a blonde man with a blade committed the crime came from the mouth of my dear
wife, the duchess. She had been aware of my sister’s dark habit of blackmailing
people. She knew who was being blackmailed and how many people had reason to do
away with her. She was the only one who had no reason to remove the
incriminating blackmail letters. She was also aware of Joe’s existence. That is
why the entire drama of seeing a vision or a ghost of a tall blonde man with a
blade was played out for my benefit. What she did not know was that I had the
doors locked that day or that Pickering was keeping so close an eye on things.
The fates played a cruel joke on her. Everyone was out of bed that night, in a
sense aiding her plans, though their actions that night proved their innocence.
Even Joe had been lucky enough to get inebriated …”.

“Oh, I have had enough,” the duchess said
irritably. She leapt up, pulling Prudence along with her. A glint of metal
sparkled in her hand in the firelight.

The duke was the first to realise that she
held a tiny pistol jabbed into Prudence’s side.

Someone let out a horrified shriek. The
shout didn’t even procure a blink from the duke who kept his eyes trained on
his wife.

“I will say what I need to and then leave
you all in peace. I suppose you know?” the duchess asked, lifting her brow at
the duke.

He nodded.

“Fine, let me enlighten the rest. You have
been speaking long enough these last two days. I am getting heartily sick of
your voice. Now, credit me with the same respect you all afforded the duke and
stay silent while I speak,” she said, glaring around the room.

No one moved an inch. Satisfied she
continued, “I was a famous burglar in Italy and I have conducted some fabulous
thefts in my days,” she said, smiling reminiscently, “I fled from there when my
identity was discovered. I found the duke ripe for plucking, still grieving for
his dead wife. I was going to steal his family jewels, but by then I was tired
of running. I fashioned myself into something exotic, different from prim
English misses. He fell in love with me. Imagine my surprise when he actually
proposed. I would have been content as his mistress. We married and I soon
became bored. My life had been filled with excitement, romance, and drama. Now
I was a boring duchess of an equally uptight duke. I became restless and soon
got in touch with my old accomplices. I could only advise them as to techniques
and plots through letters. Yet those moments gave me a thrill like in the olden
days. Then my dearly departed sister-in-law discovered my secret. She tried to
blackmail me, threatening to tell the duke. However much I wanted to return to
my old life, I could not afford to do that. I had created such a comfortable
place here with all its luxuries. Besides, I am older and no more as nimble. I
can no longer scale walls or run as fast. My feigned madness allowed me to
write late into the night to my friends. I loved annoying everyone with my
little speeches of the spirit world. No one took me seriously, and that suited
me fine. That is exactly what I wanted. Perhaps I planned to run away for a short
time and cheat some rich man of his treasures for the fun of it. I could then
return to my home at my convenience, and what could one say to a mad woman? I
could run away when I pleased, since I was loony. It was so perfect until she
spoiled it all. I placated her with some paltry sums, but her demands kept
increasing until I could take it no more. I knew she was blackmailing a number
of you, and I knew of this whole game of the earl and Joe being present. It was
the perfect opportunity, so I stole into her room while she slept and stabbed
her.”

She kept her eye on the duke, as she jabbed
Prudence with her pistol. She forced Prudence to stand and inched her way
towards the door. She stopped and spoke again,”I was smart enough to plan my
escape if I were discovered. I, for one, have never underestimated the duke’s
intelligence … now, my friends wait in the dark night, so I bid you adieu,” she
said, smiling happily.

She dragged Prudence to the door, and no
one dared stop her. She had murdered once; she could do it again. She pulled
her hostage to the front door and out into the garden.

A carriage sat waiting on the outskirts.
She climbed into it, pushing Prudence to the ground. She kept the pistol
trained on the girl until the carriage went out of sight.

“Will you follow her, My Lord?” Pickering
asked.

“We will never catch her. She would have
planned it well,” the duke replied sadly.

“Did you know?” Catherine asked her father.

“I became suspicious after my sister hinted
once that I should look into my wife’s past. I started keeping a closer eye on
her and noticed how intelligent she was. I wondered if she was pretending to be
mad and could not understand her reasons for doing so. I hired Nutters to do
the investigation. I started the investigation out of curiosity, wondering
where she came from, what kind of madness did she have, and whether it ran in
the family, since I was expected to produce an heir. I stopped visiting her in
bed as soon as she showed her unstable traits. It took me a long time to find out
the truth. My sister tried to tell me a few days before she died. I think my
wife had refused to play her games anymore. I had brushed her aside and warned
her to stay out of my business. I did not want to confess that I suspected the
same thing. I wanted the proof that Nutters was going to procure for me before
I took any action. I became worried having her under the same roof, and I think
somewhere deep in my mind, I knew what she was capable of … and she proved me
right.”

 “Lord Raikes,” Catherine said,
crushing her white silk gown under her fingers.

“Call me, William.”

“Don’t you think our wedding has happened
too soon? You did promise me a courtship. Perhaps we should wait a while before
…” Catherine said nervously.

“Before?” he prompted, smiling.

“Well, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Elaborate, my dear. The
wedding wine is making me feel a bit dim,” he said wickedly.

“To become husband and wife …”

“Too late, we are already married.”

“I mean to … to … share the bed,” she
whispered finally.

Lord William Raikes stared at his trembling
wife, his face serious.

“Answer me first. Do you love me?”

Catherine bit her lip and then slowly
lifted her lashes. She saw his intense expression and understood his fear. She
knew he loved her, and he was afraid that once more he would be rejected by his
love.

Her heart squeezed painfully and she caught
his hand in hers and nodded, her eyes darkening with emotion.

He grinned in delight, “Then I no longer
have to woo you. As for not sharing the bed, then you are in for a
disappointment.”

Then they did, and she was not disappointed.

***

Emma sat in her wedding finery in her new
home. She watched the earl pour them a glass of wine.

“So you admit the duke is far cleverer than
you?” Emma asked, pulling the pins out of her hair.

“I do not! The point of the wager was to
show that the duke could be fooled, and he was fooled by his wife no less … for
ten whole years!” the earl replied.

“Humph, but you lost. You did not prove it.
He knew who you were from the very beginning.”

“Yes, but the point is he was duped, and I
managed the end I wanted.”

“What’s that?”

“Why, marrying you within two months. I
even got my poor friend married off to your cousin in the bargain.”

“That was not your doing. You could not
have imagined that they would fall in love.”

The earl grinned as he leaned in for a kiss,
“Are you sure about that, my love?”

Emma eyed her husband sceptically. He
pushed her back on the bed and dived under the covers. He had the rest of his
life to convince her of his intelligence. For the moment, he had work to do…

“Ooh, is this even possible?”

“Yes, and more”

“Oh, I don’t think … I see …”

“There is more …”

“Nooo”

“Yes”

“Ah, I see now what you mean.”

“You will see a lot more, my dear, I am
just getting started.”

And they lived happily ever after.

***

The Duchess of Arden tapped the ash off her
cigar, “So, he is the richest man in all of France?” she asked huskily, sizing
up her prey.

“He is a sharp one. He didn’t make all that
money by acting a fool.”

Her full lips curved into half a smile.

“If I could dupe the duke, then this frog
faced man is hardly competition.”

“Don’t be over confident, he is brilliant.
Be careful, I think you have met your match.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, throwing the
glowing stub away.

She took a sip of her whisky and arranged
her face into a helpless expression before sashaying towards her new target.

The End

(Continue overleaf for a sneak peek of my upcoming release
and how to get a complimentary copy.)

It was April in England. Therefore, it stood to reason that
it was raining.

The English, it also stood to reason, were delighted because
the weather was horrible and they had a reason to complain. But today the
Londoners specifically were even more ecstatic because it was not only raining
but also storming. Thunder, lightning and raging wind swept through the streets
of London carrying with it pounds of garbage, scrawny cats, chimney sweeps, and
the unfortunate young lady in ballooning pink skirts who had decided to sneak
out of her respectable home to canoodle with a not so respectable man.

In the better parts of the town the plump aristocrats sat on
plump cushions deploring the state of the economy, politics, and literature.
The exception to this was the Blackthorne mansion, a veritable fortress where
the current Duke of Blackthorne, Charles Cornelius Radclyff, resided. It was
said that the history of the Radclyff family could be traced back hundreds of
thousands of years (that is if one had an open mind and considered Darwin’s
theory to be utter rubbish).

Sir Henry Woodville, the oldest living creature in the
Blackthorne mansion, could not be sure how far back the history could be
traced, but if one tried, he was positive that the ancestors of the Radclyff
family were the original creators of Plato’s Atlantis, and after bit of drink,
he confessed they could possibly have been Adam and Eve. It is whispered in
expensive drawing rooms that Sir Henry Woodville could be a teensy weensy bit
senile.