If He's Sinful (27 page)

“She?”

It was only one word but Penelope knew she was not the only one who heard a lot in that one small word that was alarming. Fury. Grief. Dread. Cornell and Whitney quickly moved closer to Brant. She began to doubt her opinion that it would be best if Brant heard the truth about his mother from the vicar’s own lips. What the man had just said was as good as pointing the finger right at Lady Mallam. Only that woman could be
she
and Brant had the wit to know it. He looked dangerous.

The vicar obviously sensed the danger he was in for he began to scramble backward, like some strange crab. Brant kept pace with the man’s awkward attempt to escape. It was an eerie dance made all the more so by the way Cornell and Whitney moved to keep pace with Brant. Penelope felt her insides tighten painfully as she waited for something, anything, to happen.

“You said
she
.” Brant’s voice sounded more like a predator’s growl than any other voice she had ever heard. “
She
threatened to take away your position here. There is only one who could do that. Aside from me, that is. Are you telling me it was my own mother who paid you and then took Faith away?”

The vicar opened his mouth but nothing came out. To Penelope’s astonishment, the oldest boy abruptly pushed past Ashton and Victor and confronted Brant. She saw a flicker of hope lighten the vicar’s face but the hard, furious look of disgust his son gave him vanquished it.

“I am Peter Beeman, his eldest son,” the boy said. “It was Lady Mallam who came to have a private talk with Father just before our Faith disappeared. I cannot tell you what was said but suddenly there was money again.” Peter sighed, his eyes gleaming with tears that he struggled to keep from falling. “I would rather we had Faith.” He glanced toward the carriage. “We will bury her. I will not have my father lead the service—”

“Peter!” Beeman shouted but quailed when Brant glared at him.

“It would be a blasphemy considering he is the one who sent her to her death.”

“I did not!”

Peter stared down at his father, his siblings slipping up to stand beside him all wearing the same look of utter disdain and fury. “Yes, you did. You knew there was no chance she would ever return to us. That is why you told the lie about her running off to Spain with a soldier. I have no doubt you have already composed the letter telling us she has died. You but waited for the right time. And just where did you think a woman who was so adamantly against our Faith marrying her son would send the girl? I think she told you. Mayhap not directly, but she said enough that you knew what our sister’s fate would be and you did not care.”

“No, son, I would never.”

“I mean to bury her in the plot near my home,” said Brant, both he and Peter ignoring the sputtering vicar. “I will send word when it is time for the ceremony. You and your siblings are welcome. Your father is not. Believe me in this”—he looked down at Beeman—“I would throw you out of this cottage, this village, if not for these children.” Brant looked back at Peter. “You will tell me the moment you think he is trying to be rid of any of you or to hurt you in any way. I may not be able to do so legally, but I now name myself your guardian. Treat me as such.”

Brant started to get into the carriage but his friends quickly moved to his side. And Victor asked, “Do you need us to come with you to confront your mother?”

For one long moment, Brant stared at the blanket-wrapped form of the young woman he had wanted to marry and then looked at Victor. “I have no mother.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ashton stared down at a sleeping Penelope, her face still streaked with tears. It had been a horrific day. He worried about Brant, but knew his friend had meant it when he had insisted Ashton take Penelope home and stay with her. Cornell, Victor, and Whitney would watch over Brant, he assured himself. The man had not really requested any assistance, but he had it. Ashton suspected his other friends were in for a very uncomfortable time. The way Brant had said he had no mother had held a deep note of finality to it.

He could not believe what the woman had done. Since the day he had met Brant when they were still boys, Lady Mallam had ruled her son with an iron hand. As Brant had changed from boy to man, he had rebelled against his mother’s control but he had remained a dutiful son. She had gone too far this time. She had murdered the woman Brant loved simply because she had not approved of the match of her son and a lowly vicar’s daughter. They could not prove that Lady Mallam’s intention was to cause Faith’s death but placing a sweet country innocent, the daughter of a vicar, in a brothel could only lead to the worst of consequences.

And how had the woman known about Mrs. Cratchitt’s? How had she known who to get to do her filthy work for her? It might not hurt to see if one could find out the answers to those questions. Lady Mallam was not going to take well to being disowned by her son. Considering what she had done the last time Brant had stood firm for what he wanted, Ashton believed she would bear careful watching.

What Penelope had done at the brothel had stunned him, too, but in a good way. It had been astonishing, almost miraculous. No one could watch her speaking to the dead, helping them find peace and seeking the truth from them, without believing. It was either believe or think her utterly mad. And Penelope was not mad.

He had ceased a long time ago to think her some charlatan who made money off the gullible people of the world, but he had never fully believed that she had some special gift that allowed her to speak to the dead. He had seen her insistence that she could speak to the dead as an adorable eccentricity, curious about her family and their claims but very doubtful that anyone could do the things she claimed they could do. That doubt was fully vanquished now. He was feeling just a bit like an ass.

Since he now believed that Penelope could see the dead, could even find where the bodies were buried, it meant there was a good chance that the whispers about the Wherlockes and the Vaughns were all true. There was an alarming thought. It was even more alarming when he realized that the house he was taking her back to was packed full of Wherlockes and Vaughns. Twelve of them. How many more of them had gifts? Had Penelope been telling him the truth when she had spoken of all the children having such unusual skills?

He had not seen that yet, but had noticed odd things about a few of them. There was no denying Hector could tell when someone lied but was it a keen eye for such tics and twitches that gave a person away or a true gift? Septimus most definitely had a touch that eased a person’s pain, even a highly respected doctor believing in that gift. Paul claimed he could see things but complained that he had not learned how to give his warnings in a way that helped anyone. The boy had certainly known when there was danger approaching several times.

That sort of thing was not so hard to accept, he thought and nodded to himself as he gently stroked Penelope’s hair. However, a boy who could help heal with just a touch? A little girl who caused a storm when she was unhappy? Another boy who could toss things around without lifting a finger?

Ashton frowned. He had seen that; he just had not wanted to let the memory of it stick in his mind. Now that he was trying to be accepting of the miraculous, he could let himself think of the time when the men had ransacked the house. Jerome had definitely been hurling things at the intruders yet he had never lifted a finger.

He leaned his head against the back of the seat. It was something he could turn round in his mind again and again but it would make no difference. He was caught up in a world he did not fully understand and he had to accept that.

The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the Wherlocke Warren an hour later. Ashton nudged Penelope awake, smiling at the childish way she rubbed her eyes. Promising her he would return later, he gave her a kiss at the door and handed her into the care of her brothers. In desperate need of a bath and a change of clothes, he leapt back in the carriage and ordered his driver to take him home.

Penelope stood in the doorway for a moment and watched Ashton’s carriage disappear before shutting the door. It was going to be a lot of work but what she really needed was a long soak in a hot bath. She could still smell the dead on herself and she wanted that dark scent gone so that she could begin to dim the power of the memories of all she had seen today.

To her relief, one of the footmen, or NedTed as she had begun to call the two men in her mind, immediately offered to bring hot water up to her bedchamber. It was nice to have servants, she mused as she went up the stairs. Half the way up the stairs she suddenly realized that there had been something different about the house. She paused and stared back down into the hall. Her brothers stood at the bottom of the stairs, grinning up at her. That was suspicious in itself. Then she gasped as her mind finally grasped what was different.

Where was the destruction caused by the men who had broken into her home last night? They had not had time to clean up much before going to the brothel yet the hall looked cleaner than it had before the attack. She ran down the stairs and into the parlor, stopping in the doorway to gape at the room, which had been an utter mess only hours before. The few broken pieces of furniture were gone, replaced by pieces far better than she could afford.

“Who did this?” she asked, sensing her brothers and NedTed behind her.

“His lordship sent over some men to give me and Ned a hand in cleaning up the mess,” said the one who was obviously Ted. “They brought a few things with them from the attics of Radmoor House ’cause his lordship said he could see that some of your furniture was badly broken. Sent some maids, too, and they cleaned everything to a real shine for you.”

Penelope went through the rest of the downstairs although the damage had not been as severe in any of the other rooms. Everything was scrubbed clean and she found several more pieces of furniture she had not owned or bought. She did not know whether to let her pride rule and complain about Radmoor taking charge without her knowledge, or simply accept a kindness. Penelope saw Ted walk by with two buckets of steaming water and decided she would consider the matter while she bathed.

Ashton sank down into the hot tub with a sigh of pleasure. That pleasure vanished rapidly when his mother strode into the room. He grabbed a washing rag and placed it over his privates. She might be his mother but he was far past the age where he could comfortably allow her to view him utterly naked.

“So modest,” Lady Mary said and giggled as she sat down on the bed and looked at him. “Was it very bad? I noticed your man walking by muttering about burning your clothes.”

“Was what so very bad?” The look she gave him told Ashton she was not going to let him play that game, that somehow she had found out where they had gone today. He sighed. “Yes, it was very bad. How did you know?”

“Gossip is already starting to wend its way through London.” She nodded when he cursed softly. “It appears there were a few gentlemen there rather early in the day. One even got dragged off to the Bow Street Office before he was identified and released.” She smiled. “’Tis difficult to recognize an earl when he has none of his trappings on.”

Ashton laughed. “I am surprised they would admit to where they had been.”

“From what I have heard, there are many obviously false explanations for why they happened to be in the area to see what happened. It was a gruesome business with everyone in the place being dragged off and questioned. It is a tale that is too good to be silent on even if one has to lie, badly, about why one was near a brothel. The tale has also spread like fire through the tradesmen, who then tell their customers, who then tell their employers, and so on. There were not a hundred bodies, were there?” she asked softly.

“No. There were thirty-two including the woman Brant had wanted to marry.” He told his mother all about Faith and what they had discovered at the vicar’s. “Is there talk of Penelope?”

“A little,” said Lady Mary as she stood up. “No one recognized her or even got a good look at her. There are a few who say she must have been there because some woman in her family or a friend was taken and killed. Well, enjoy your bath before the water chills.” She paused in the doorway and frowned. “I have always considered women who run brothels naught much more than vermin for making their living over selling other women, but this Mrs. Cratchitt—well, she is a monster, is she not?”

“She is. I but wish there was some way to punish her aside from a hanging, some long, painful punishment.”

“There is hell, m’dear, and that is where that monster is surely going,” she said quietly before shutting the door behind her.

Ashton hoped his mother was right. That woman had taken the lives of two and thirty people and he knew three were utterly innocent. There was no doubt in his mind that others were, too. He wondered how many men were feeling appalled that they had ever gone to that woman’s brothel or were wondering if they had been given some stolen girl who then ended up buried in the cellar. Since the dead cannot speak, except to ones like Penelope, Ashton doubted that many of society’s men would trouble themselves over the matter for very long.

It was nearly time for the evening meal before Ashton was done bathing, resting, and dressing. He had even had a brief talk with Alex, who had been sorely disappointed that he had not been able to join them today. Alex was still too busy trailing after Penelope’s solicitor.

Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Clarissa arrived. Ashton scoured his mind for some memory of an event or a meeting they had agreed to but found none. It was obviously time for another lecture on his neglect. He cordially invited her into the small blue parlor, leaving the door wide open. He also whispered to the footmen to go and find his mother immediately. He still suspected that Clarissa would try to be caught in a severely compromising position with him so that he would be honor-bound to join her at the altar. The woman obviously felt she could seduce him if she could just get him alone for a while. Ashton wanted to tell her that she could dance naked through his bedchamber and he still would not touch her, but bit back the insult.