Edith Layton (23 page)

But since that was no longer strictly the truth, Julianne realized her voice lacked conviction. She was glad when her cousin merely shook her head.

“Poor Julianne,” Sophie said. “You’re too faithful and trusting by half!”

“I came to no harm,” Julianne said. “Except for my reputation, I see. But I’ll be going home soon.” And so she would, she resolved, as soon as she heard what happened to Christian. She settled back with her sewing and relaxed. The interview might be embarrassing and difficult, but she thought she could get through it without too much lying. But first she had to write some letters.

Julianne went to her room and wrote three notes before she had to meet with Sir Maurice.

The first was to Mr. Murchison, to ask if he knew what was happening with Christian.

The second was to Amyas-Anthony again. She’d written to him the moment she’d reached home, to tell him she was safe. She frowned, realizing that hadn’t been true. So now she wrote, simply and starkly, that he must never come to the baronet’s house again because he’d been seen, and they all believed he was her lover. She looked at the little stack of banknotes she had left to her name, took out just enough for her seat on the coach home, and added,
Use the enclosed, please, for him. Good men of law are costly. Please try to find the best.” Then she folded the notes with the note. Whatever else the supposed captain was, whoever he was, she sincerely believed he was wholly for Christian—or whoever he was.

The third note was enclosed with the other two, and addressed clearly. It said merely: “What is happening? At least, send word. You owe me nothing, believe me. But I worry.”

And then she was ready for her interview with Sir Maurice.

“My dear,” Sir Maurice said, rising to his feet as she came into his study. “How are you feeling? I must say you look much improved, that color suits you. But what hue would not? Please, sit down.”

Julianne took a chair, glad she’d worn a gown so rosy that it would make a dead woman look well.

The baronet came out from behind his desk and put his hands behind his back. Julianne glanced round his study, approving of the many shelves of books, all of which looked old, valuable, and much read. It was a neat and orderly room, very much like the man who stood in it: expensively furnished and tasteful, and filled with antique knowledge. And like him, everything in the room was in good repair, in spite of its obvious age. Sir Maurice might be dry and pedantic at times, and old as the hills, she supposed. But he kept himself trim, and in spite of everything she couldn’t help liking to look at him, if only because those unusually clear blue eyes so reminded her of Christian.

He leaned back against his desk and folded his hands on his lean stomach. “I’m told you are not happy here,” he said. He held up a hand before she could answer. “I can scarcely blame you. You’re a country girl, my dear, heart and soul. Your cousin likes fashion, constant hubbub, and the nightlife of London. You do not, that’s easy to see. Moreover, I’m told you want to go home.”

He cast her a strange look, and cleared his throat. “But what have you got at home? Your parents, of course, and it’s to your credit that you love and enjoy their company. But what sort of a future is that for you? They have each other. You are young; you need a life of your own, a husband, children. I’m also told that your opportunities for obtaining such are limited at your home. I have seen for myself that you are wise beyond your years, and so, too discriminating to settle for any of the fashionable fribbles who pay court to you here in Town.

“So I think I’ve come up with a neat solution,” he said. “I am old, but not dead. I am rich, but not wed.” He smiled. “A little romantic poetry. Are you surprised? Don’t be. I’ve been thinking of this for a long while now. In short, my dear Julianne, I am much impressed with you, and would like to offer you my hand in marriage.”

She stared.

“If I were younger,” he said, “doubtless, I’d sweep you into my arms and profess my undying love. But I cannot pretend to be a prisoner of lust—a pretty sight I’d be if I were!” he said with a grimace. “And though I dislike thinking of it, it’s plain to see my love won’t
be undying. I’m not on Death’s doorstep, but the likelihood is that I won’t be with you for the rest of your life. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have contemplated this if it weren’t for Death’s presence. I’m not a sentimental man, and my own marriage was not a love match. But I have a strong sense of family, as you know. My son was my future, and when he died, I lost my chance for perpetuating my line. I remained in the north and tried to forget. It wasn’t until I saw you that I realized I could still ensure that my name would not vanish.

“I am not too old to beget children,” he said, watching her closely. “This is not an offer of love, perhaps; but, rest assured, your life won’t be bereft of it.”

She said nothing. But her eyes widened as she shrank back from him.

He nodded. “You’re also a sensible woman,” he said in a cooler voice. “And to tell you the plain truth, I think you should consider that mine might be the only other respectable offer you’re likely to get—when the tale of your doings about Town are known, that is to say. And be sure, they will be known.”

He waited while that sank in, and added, “I don’t know what you did the other night with the good captain who was helping with our inquiries, nor do I want to know. I would ask that we wait six months before we marry, so that I may be sure nothing lasting comes of it. That, you will agree, would only be prudent of me.”

She shot to her feet and stood trembling, staring at him.

He went on smoothly, “I’m also told you continue
to worry about the fate of the pretender to the earldom. That’s a piece of utter foolishness and a complete waste of time. And money,” he added with a sly smile that made her suddenly fear that her notes had already gone astray.

“I tell you right now, my dear, that the man who claims to be Christian Sauvage will never hold the title,” he said firmly. “From prison he came, and there he will stay—if he’s lucky. Well,” he said, straightening, “I didn’t expect an immediate answer. I leave it to you to think it over. If you consider, it is a generous offer. You’ll be a very wealthy woman, even richer when I pass on. And who is to say?” he asked with a negligent wave of his hand. “Life is impermanent, who knows that better than I? One day, perhaps, it may even be that your child will be the rightful heir to Egremont. The man who claimed to be Geoffrey Sauvage’s son is an imposter. Hammond is the last of that line.

“After him, of course, there’s me,” Sir Maurice said. “It’s a thing few people have mentioned, perhaps because I am not expected to live much longer. So it is entirely possible, if not particularly probable, that our child could be master of Egremont one day. I’ve seen stranger things in my time.”

“I have not!” she finally gasped, too shocked, angry at his presumption, and frightened for Christian’s sake to be tactful. “The answer is no, it could be nothing else. I don’t know what gave you the idea that I’d accept, I never encouraged you by word or deed.” She paused, embarrassed for herself as well as for him. “I’m not what you think me, but that doesn’t
matter. Thank you for your consideration, but it would be impossible. Please forget this interview, sir,” she said as she rose to her feet, “as I promise I shall. You needn’t worry about anything I might say. I’m going home.”

“And what about your friend, the imposter?” he asked smoothly.

She was on her way to the door but turned when he said that.

“Should you like to know what will become of him? Or perhaps know that if you were my wife, I might consider letting him leave the country in safety—on the proviso that he never return? I have that power, as well as the connections to make it possible. I don’t really believe that the good captain is the object of your affections, Miss Lowell,” he said coldly. “I never did for a moment. I saw your eyes when you looked at the imposter, you see. And I tell you, my dear, you can never deceive me.”

She stood still and straight, trying to think of what to answer.

There was a tap on the door. “Yes?” the baronet asked in annoyance, without even looking that way.

“Sir,” the butler said, as he cracked open the door, “you have guests.”

“I invited no one. Send them away,” the baronet said, never taking his eyes from Julianne.

“Yes, sir. But I believed you would want to see them.”

“Indeed?” the baronet asked icily. “And why?”

“Because there is a man from Bow Street, sir, and a magistrate, and some other gentlemen as well. And they say they are here with the earl of Egremont.”

C
hristian stood in the doorway. He was immaculately dressed; he wore his usual cool smile and looked as though he’d never been in prison, as though he’d never missed a minute of sleep.

Julianne caught her breath. She was about to take a step to run to him, then stopped, confused, remembering where she was and who was with her. Then she noticed that Christian wasn’t even looking at her.

“What sort of joke is this?” Sir Maurice demanded.

“No joke, sir,” he said. “Why should you think so? I have, after all, the papers to prove who I am. I presented them from the start: a record of my parent’s marriage and one for my birth, as recorded in church registries. And fortunately, or unfortunately, I’m also in the unique position of having what few other men do to prove their existence: legal records of most of my adult life. Those are of my trial and transportation, every place I went, from Newgate Prison to the Hulks, to the ship
Retribution
and my arrival at New South Wales. And I have sworn depositions from
those who encountered me everywhere down the line. Where do you see the joke?”

The baronet’s head went up.

Christian’s smile was not pleasant. “I am Christian Sauvage. But if it makes you feel any better, I am not the earl of Egremont, after all.”

He turned to the doorway. “May I present the true earl and heir to Egremont? My father, Geoffrey Sauvage. Come in, sir, if you please.”

“I do not please,” the gentleman who strolled in through the doorway said as he stripped off his gloves. “But I do what I must.”

He entered the room as though he belonged there, and he looked as if he did.

Julianne stared. The man was middle-aged, muscular, and obviously fit. He was dressed like a gentleman of means. As he handed his high beaver hat to the butler, it could be seen that his full head of brown hair was brushed back in the latest windswept fashion. His strong-featured face was tanned, and when he smiled, as he did now, his teeth were large, white, and even. His eyes were Christian’s, to the life.

Geoffrey Sauvage didn’t bow or extend a hand. He merely stopped, stared at the baronet, and smiled that broad white smile. “Sir Maurice,” he said in a deep, rich mellifluous voice, “this meeting is a long time coming.”

The baronet inhaled sharply. Julianne could see his thin nostrils pinching together.

“But I remember you well,” the gentleman told him. “I saw you last on the docks, as we were being loaded onto the
Retribution
. You and that maggot, Sir
Gordon, who swore we’d robbed him, and perjured his soul—if he still had one. I heard he died a few years back. I’m sure you heard of that, too. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you more than heard. He was rich but of little account; no one ever investigated his sudden death. Choked on a bone, they said. Rather,
she
said, that sluttish housekeeper of his. But she’d have said anything for as little as a ha’penny.” He shrugged. “It’s done, little sense in unearthing that death, when there are so many others.”

He kept his eyes on Sir Maurice, who stared steadily back at him. The only sign of emotion the baronet showed was a loss of color in his already pale face.

“It was foolish of you to come to bid me
bon voyage
,” the gentleman told him. “And in the company of Gordon. Because he always dressed like a rainbow, and so I couldn’t help seeing him and you when I took a last look at my homeland before I went below deck. I vowed never to forget your face or where I’d seen it before. I didn’t remember until halfway across the sea, and little good it did me then. I suppose you were there because you wanted to make sure all ends were tightly tied up. You couldn’t have expected us to survive. We ourselves doubted it.

“And this must be Miss Lowell,” the gentleman said, his deep voice growing honey smooth and warm as he turned to look at her. “You’re all grown-up and are as lovely as my son has said.”

Julianne cocked her head to the side. A tremulous smile slowly bloomed on her parted lips. Her heart leapt so high she had to catch her breath. “I remember
you. You weren’t so tanned then, nor so…You were a thin man…but your voice brings it all back to me. I loved your voice. You’re Christian’s father, aren’t you? Geoffrey Sauvage—I
do
remember you!” she cried.

He smiled. “Yes, I’m a bit larger all around and older than sin. But I’m back. If you’ll forgive me now, child, we have work to do here. We can catch up later, if you’ll be so kind. Proceed please, Christian,” he said, sounding suddenly weary, “so we can have some peace and end this thing.”

Christian nodded. “Sir Maurice,” he said, “I think it’s best we call your other guests in. The sooner we’re done with this, the better for all of us.” He gestured toward the door.

Hammond and Sophie and her parents trailed in from where they’d been standing in the hallway, looking wide-eyed and nervous.

“And let me introduce the rest of our party,” Christian said. “My brother, Amyas,” he said, as Amyas strode in.

Julianne heard Sophie gasp.

“And here is my brother, Daffyd.” Christian said. A lean, handsome olive-skinned young man, dark as a Gypsy, Daffyd looked dangerous as he stared at the baron. But then he glanced over at Julianne, and she saw his strange and arresting blue eyes light with pleasure. He nodded to her.

“Mr. Murchison, you know,” Christian went on, as the runner came in, “but perhaps not Mr. Turkell, chief magistrate for the district, nor Sir Eugene Clift, the noted barrister.”

The men entered the room, and bowed, briefly, before they folded their hands and stood, staring at the baronet.

“Very dramatic, to be sure,” Sir Maurice said in his usual dry tones. “And the reason for this little charade?”

Christian’s smile was not pleasant. “The end of this charade, I’d say. We mean to end it, sir.”

Sir Maurice stood very still.

“I originally came back to England to do just that,” Christian said in even tones. “I was the one to receive the letter telling of my father’s inheritance, you see. He was on a business trip. I was astonished at what I read and showed the letter to my brothers. Whatever we expected from the country that had thrown my father away, it was never notice that he’d inherited a rich earldom. But then, we never knew why he’d been falsely accused and sent away in the first place. But reading the letter, we began to understand.”

“A very big mistake,” Amyas said, rocking back on his heels. “Never try to deceive a criminal. Our minds work along similar paths, you see.”

“We made some inquiries,” Christian went on. “We may have been on the other side of the world, but we have resources here. That helped us discover a disturbing thing. Too many earls had died by too many accidents and in too quick a succession. In short, we realized that being earl of Egremont wasn’t a secure position. Certainly not one we wanted to expose our father to.”

“So I returned home to find two sons gone on what they said was an affair of business,” Geoffrey Sauvage
said, shaking his head. “They left a note telling me they were looking into a venture they couldn’t afford to let wait. My other son was there to swear to it and try to allay my fears when they didn’t return right away. How could you?” he asked Christian sadly.

“I told you,” Christian said earnestly, “I was the natural one to come to England, claim the title, and try to sort things out.”

“He
was
the next in line for the earldom,” Amyas said. “I couldn’t do it, nor could Dayffd. Christian could prove who he was if he had to, so they couldn’t actually hang him for it. I came to watch over him though, Father, just as I told you.”

“I would have, but I lost the coin toss,” Daffyd said gloomily, scowling at Amyas.

“You were the youngest,” Amyas said quickly. “Anyway, it was a good and fair way of deciding things.”

“Oh, aye,” Daffyd said bitterly. “Good and fair, coming from you, Amyas? Certainly. Still, I kept my part of the bargain as long as I could. But here he is. Try keeping back the rain.”

“You did too well,” his father said seriously. “There wasn’t a moment to spare as it was.” He stared at Sir Maurice. “My son was scheduled to be tried on Saturday and hanged next Monday. It couldn’t be proved that he was a liar, so they tried to claim he was a thief.”

“So, I suppose those items walked from Sir Gordon’s house to follow you two home those years ago?” Sir Maurice asked with a mirthless smile.

“No, they were stolen,” Geoffrey Sauvage said quietly.

“But we finally found out who the thief was,” Amyas said, glowering at Sir Maurice, “with the help of a footman at Egremont.”

“Helpful fellow,” Daffyd muttered. “With a bit of encouragement, that is. He don’t work there anymore.”

“Lucky to work anywhere,” Amayas growled. “To see what he did, and keep mum about it? He’ll be lucky to work in hell.”

“Newgate is almost the same,” his father said, still looking steadily at the baronet. “That fellow will pay for his part in all of this, too. But his wasn’t the major role; he only observed the theft and was paid for his silence. At least we can prove who the real thief is now. And though money can buy almost anything, it can only buy one judge at a time—your pardon, Magistrate,” he added, glancing at one of the men who had come in with him. “But so it was, and that’s why my son was clapped in Newgate again.”

“He’ll not be sitting at the next assizes,” the man promised.

“My son was on his way to his doom,” Geoffrey Sauvage said, “and only because of who he was.”

Amyas nodded. “They’d never have done it though, not if I had to bribe the other half of the guards at Newgate, kill the rest of them, and burn the place down. Merely metaphorically speaking,” he added as he saw the runner look at him. “I had Christian’s papers in the hands of Mr. Clift,” he added, tilting a shoulder toward the barrister, “even as my father’s ship was sailing up to the dock in London. It would have made them think twice before they tied the hangman’s knot.”

“Again, I say it was too great a risk,” Geoffrey Sauvage said.

“Again, it was one I chose to take,” Christian told him. “Rather than you, sir.”

“But it was
my
risk to take,” his father said.

“No,” Christian said. “That was the problem. They knew what you looked like, you must see that now. Whatever you told Julianne, you haven’t changed that much. But no one could possibly remember me. If they weren’t sure who I was, they were less likely to kill me right off. That bought us time to make inquiries, and discoveries.”

“Time to throw you in Newgate Prison,” his father said. “My God, Christian, how did you bear it?”

Christian looked at Julianne, and smiled. “Barely sir. But I did.”

The baronet looked from Christian to Julianne. Seeing her trembling, growing smile as she gazed at Christian, he drew himself up. “So,” Sir Maurice said coldly, raising his head, “we have a new earl of Egremont, is that it? An undisputed one, to be sure. And his heir is safely out of prison. All’s well that end’s well.”

“Not quite,” Christian said, putting up a hand. “There’s the matter of the murders.” He looked at the baronet, and Julianne was shocked to see sadness in his expression. “You heard that we found out the truth about our conviction, Sir Maurice. There’s more. When we realized how close my father was to the earldom, if all the other rightful earls died beforetime, it all fell into place. We’ve been working on it for months, and now have evidence about Charles’s
and Frederick’s deaths. Statements from your hirelings, telling us how Charles’s vertigo was made worse by being tossed off that cliff, and how Frederick, with his notoriously weak heart, happened to be startled by those highwaymen.”

Christian shook his head. “You hired two men, the best, I’ll grant. That’s probably why you didn’t exterminate them when their chores were done. Possibly you meant to use them again, who knows? In any case, our friends here knew them, as they know all the good criminals in London. Our friends are even better. Even better for us, they were very persuasive. When your men were made to understand that their fellow criminals were even more pitiless than the law, they told everything. It’s all on paper now. And finally it all made sense. You were such a pillar of the family no one seemed to remember that you’d be heir to Egremont if all the younger ones died. And certainly no one imagined that you’d make sure they did.”

Hammond made a hissing sound and stepped back, his face a study in confusion and rage. “You meant to exterminate me?” he asked the baronet, in horror.

Sir Maurice didn’t reply.

“No,” Christian said. “We think I was the one he was striking for. Though accuracy wasn’t important, since you’d be next.”

“Aye,” Daffyd said. “So I was told. I’ve a few friends in that camp. The wench with the blade disappeared. She’ll be found and dealt with, never fear.”

“So you see, we’ve more than enough evidence. The only thing left to settle is the settling of it,”
Christian said wearily. “That’s why these other gentlemen are here.”

The baronet tensed and looked to the door. The runner stepped forward, as did Amyas and Daffyd. Geoffrey Sauvage moved quickly, putting himself between the baronet and Christian.

Sir Maurice did an unexpected thing. He relaxed, leaned back against the desk, and forced a smile. “Well, then,” he said, “what is there for me to say?”

“You’re right,” Geoffrey Sauvage said. “‘I’m sorry’ is hardly adequate. I’d been working on finding the reason for my conviction for years. Damme for a poor spirited fool, but I was so resentful of what had been done to us that when I had enough evidence to prove my innocence, I found I didn’t want to return to England again. My hesitation meant many deaths. I never suspected it might, or I’d have swum back here if I had to.”

The baronet shrugged. “They weren’t deaths of any account,” he said, “and some
were
stupid accidents. You see, the direct heirs to Egremont were unworthy. They were ignorant, wasteful men. They’d have beggared the estate and ruined one of the finest collections of art in the land, a treasure trove unlike any other, equaling the one the Prince is amassing.”