Truly Yours

Chapter Seventeen

They retraced their steps, with the addition of a satchel Hareston found to put the money in.

"You are going to put the cash into that shifty-eyed banker's vault?" Daniel hefted the weighty bag onto his lap in the hackney, while Rex moved his cane to make room for Duncan on the opposite seat. "Is that wise?"

"We'll deposit it to a new account, with my name as trustee for Hawley's estate, after we watch Breverton count it and hand over the receipts. The rightful heir will be able to withdraw it, but not without my signature."

"Can you do that?"

"Legally? I have no idea. But I am doing it anyway, both to protect the money and hold it as evidence of heaven knows what. We could not very well put it back in the broken globe and leave it in a half-empty house." He eyed Duncan with suspicion as the small man looked out the window, innocently watching the scenery-or planning the best routes to and from Hawley House. "Nor would I trust the butler. As far as that goes, I do not want anyone wondering about my motives in taking the money away."

"Or wondering where you are stashing it, eh? Royce House would be the target of every cat burglar in London."

"Exactly. The bank is the best place for it, especially until we discover where it came from and why Sir Frederick had it at home. I am hoping Sir Frederick's son will do the right thing and restore Amanda's mother's money to her, plus her dowry. I also want to read Breverton's name on the bank's door. There was an L.B. in the journal."

Daniel frowned. "I thought he spoke true when he told us he did not know what Sir Frederick was doing with the money."

"No, he said he had no record of what the baronet was doing. There is a difference. The truth can be as narrow as it can be broad. Maybe he did not even know where the dead man was stashing it, and that was the question to which he replied. Who would have thought the fool had a fortune in a globe of the world?"

"Not the butler, that was for sure. I thought the fellow would cry when the gold fell out. He must have been searching for days."

Duncan spit on the hackney floor. "He never found the journal, neither. Amateur. It took a real expert to open that safe without the combination."

"But it took a clumsy oaf to find the money." Daniel sounded glad his cousin was the bumbler, for once. "I wonder why Hawley hid it instead of leaving it in the bank?"

"Maybe he did not trust Breverton?" Rex considered. "But he could have moved his accounts to another institution more easily. Who knows if this is all of his money, anyway. He could have been investing it, and merely squirreling away the profits until the next shipload of smuggled goods or whatever." Rex was still holding to the theory that Sir Frederick was connected to the Free Traders somehow, since his name had been mentioned by Harrison. The property he was buying could have been warehouses near the docks, or isolated farmsteads on the outskirts of town, depots for unloading illegal goods for distribution in the city's higher-paying markets.

"Maybe he was just dicked in the nob. A chap would have to be batty, hoarding his gold at home like that. Someone might have found it. Or no one might ever have found it if you hadn't smashed the globe."

"No, the solicitor distinctly said Sir Frederick planned on taking the money with him. I doubt even Sir Frederick thought he could carry all of this"-he tapped the bag with his cane-"through the pearly gates. And he was buying property, remember. He had plans, perhaps ones requiring sudden moves. I wish we knew what they were."

Breverton refused to answer, if he knew. He counted the money in front of the cousins-twice, to be certain-and filled out the correct documents of proof of deposit and Lord Rexford's trusteeship, but he told them his dealings with Sir Frederick outside the bank were private, not subject to whatever writ or warrant the viscount produced. As for smuggling, how dare they ask if Sir Frederick had anything to do with that foul business, besmirching a dead man's honorable name?

Was Breverton himself connected to the illicit trade with France?

The banker angrily shoved the receipts at Rex and showed them the door, instead of replying.

"Perhaps you'd be helpful enough to give us your first name?" Rex asked, in case the name on the door belonged to Breverton's father or brother. "I am sure that is not an insult, just idle curiosity."

"Lloyd," the banker snarled, pointing to the gilt lettering right beside Rex's still swollen nose. "As any blind man can see. Lloyd, with two Ls."

One was enough, as in L.B.

They took a different hackney to the solicitor's office next, to inform the lawyer of the transfer of monies, so he could notify Edwin Hawley, the new baronet. Rex also asked him to try to estimate how much of the money belonged to Miss Carville. The solicitor was happy to oblige, and his initials were not on the list.

Then they went to Bow Street, to deliver Duncan Fingers with a handsome gratuity for his day's work, after asking if the old man had anything in his many pockets that did not belong to him.

"A'course not. I went straight, don't you know. I works for Bow Street."

Daniel rubbed his nose. Rex picked the little red man up by his ankles and shook him. Coins, a stickpin and a watch fell out his pockets, along with files and picks and skeleton keys. Rex took the stickpin and the pocket watch to give to Amanda for her stepbrother. He let Duncan keep the coins, for a promise not to speak of what he'd seen or heard that day.

"No one'd believe me anyways," the old man said, scuttling away.

Inspector Dimm was glad to hear they'd found something. But they still needed a motive for the murder.

"Being attics to let is not call to get shot. Half the members of the royal family could be in danger if that were so. Robbery? Who would have known the blunt was there?"

He studied a smoke ring above his head, an odd halo for Bow Street's senior detective. "Maybe your young lady did, member of the family and all. She could have come to demand what was hers by right after they argued about her dowry and the to-do with her suitor at the assembly rooms. She admitted they had words. Couldn't rightly deny it, when six people heard the shouting in the afternoon."

"Words do not pull triggers, and neither did Miss Carville. Hawley was involved in something illegal, with cohorts." He showed Dimm the journal with its initialed entries.

"I still say they could be names of his mistresses," Daniel said, "and the illegitimate children he's supporting."

Dimm considered the possibility. He supported any number of nieces and nephews-all born on the right side of the blanket, thank goodness-on a great deal less money. "Hmm. Could be."

Rex disagreed. "The snake cheated his own son and heir. He wasn't liable to pay for his by-blows. No, I think these initials represent partners in some kind of crime. Any one of them could have had a falling out over shares of the profits or something."

Dimm puffed on his pipe. "Maybe they were just gambling debts. Toffs keep records, don't they?"

"Then why keep it so quiet and hidden away? Why does no one at the clubs recall him as a heavy gambler? Sir Frederick was dealing with the Devil."

"Know that for a fact, do you?"

"No, damn it, just by instinct or intuition."

"Or by wanting it to be so? That won't free your lady."

Rex knew that all too well. "I'll keep looking."

Their last stop was at McCann's Club, where he left a note for a man the manager swore never came there. The manager lied. He also took the coin and the note, which consisted of the list of eight sets of initials. One was possibly the banker, Lloyd Breverton. Another, J.J., might be a merchant named Johnston, Johnson, or Johnstone, who might have hired Brusseau, the valet who might know more than he'd said. A third was N.T. The only man Rex knew with those initials was his father's nemesis, Amanda's prosecutor, Sir Nigel Turlowe. The coincidence was damning.

Daniel wanted to stay at McCann's for a snack, while Rex wanted to see if the note was delivered and where, or if an answer might come. The meal came, but no reply. Afterward, Rex wanted Daniel to take the sketch of the murder weapon to Manton's Shooting Gallery to see if anyone could identify its maker or owner, but Daniel was having none of that. "Leave you with a bad leg and a pocket full of gems for any London cutpurse to steal? After leaving that Fingers fellow to spread the word among his cronies? I ain't the one with a breeze in the belfry."

So the pistol would have to wait for another day. Still, they were closer to unraveling the knots; Rex felt it. He could go back to Amanda with good news, and bad questions.

Amanda was waiting with his dog in the front parlor. The drugged sleep had not refreshed her, so she had gone back to bed in the morning. The gentlemen had already breakfasted and left without telling her their plans, according to the butler, saying only that they expected to be back before dinner.

After her nap, Amanda helped Nanny move her things to another chamber, insisting the older woman would sleep better on a full bed and a softer mattress, and truly, Amanda was well enough not to need constant nursing. She did not say that the noise of Nanny's snoring would set her recovery back a week, at least.

She ate and rested, and dressed in a muslin gown sprigged with blue flowers that reminded her of the color of Rex's eyes. She found a workbasket and some sheets that needed darning, so she sat with that, as a tiny way of repaying Lady Royce for her hospitality.

Verity waited by her side, occasionally pacing to the window or the door, whining. The big brown dog wanted her master to come home. Amanda could sympathize with the mastiff's sentiments. Then she thought how lucky Rex was to receive such unconditional love, from anyone.

A dog did not care if its owner was guilty or innocent, of high birth or low, wealthy or impoverished, brilliant or as dumb as a brick. People were far more fussy and far less faithful. Amanda contemplated having a love that lasted, dreaming of a gentleman who did not care that her reputation was gone, along with her dowry. He would not mind that her hair was cut as short as a sheep's, or that her fingernails were broken, her education incomplete. He would love her anyway, with his mind and his body. He would love her for who she was, not what she looked like or what she could bring him, and love her when she grew wrinkled and gray, or big with child, or seeped in scandal.

Her chances of finding such a constant companion were poor to nonexistent. Unless she got herself a dog.

Then the dog drooled on the sheet she was mending, shed brown hairs on her pale skirts, and left a dirty paw print on her slipper. Perhaps she needed a cat.

Verity cocked her head and perked her ears, as if she could somehow recognize which carriage passing by carried her master. "Silly dog."

Then the carriage stopped, Verity barked, and the front door opened. The dog was not so silly after all. Rex was home.

Verity bounded to his side, then Daniel's, barking in excitement, leaning against Rex for a welcome pat and almost knocking him over in her exuberance. One would think he'd been gone a month, instead of a day.

The hours had seemed that long to Amanda, too, and she hoped she did not seem as obvious in her welcome. She might want to throw herself at Rex, rub her face against the wool of his uniform, drinking in his scent, wriggling for his touch, craving his attention and his approval.

"Good girl, Verity."

Amanda was a lady, not a dog. She rang for tea instead. According to Nanny, tea was best for removing those tired lines from his face, the worried look from his eyes. The starchy butler had not been eager to serve her, so Amanda had fetched her own meals from the kitchen, but Rex was Lady Royce's son, and a viscount, and Dodd's employer for now. Besides, she did not want to leave his presence, not when he looked over from the dog's ecstatic greeting and smiled at her.

Good girl, Amanda. She thought-half hoped-he might come pat her curls, or scratch her neck. Then she blushed at her wayward thoughts. Where was that tea tray anyway?

Rex thought Amanda looked exquisite, her hair shining, her skin glowing with health. Her eyes had lost the purple shadows beneath them, her face had almost lost the gaunt sharpness. In just the last few days she had gained a bit of rounded softness to the bones at her neck above her gown's collar and at her narrow wrists. Lud knew Verity must have added a few pounds now that she did not have an entire estate to patrol. The unmannered beast had almost shoved him over, which would have made him look like a clumsy cripple to Amanda.

"Down, Verity."

The dog obediently sat near Daniel, as if it knew food was coming soon. Rex made his careful way to a seat in the parlor, concealing his limp as much as possible, knowing Amanda was watching. Then he chided himself for foolish vanity and put his leg up on the footstool she thoughtfully slid over. He thanked her and waited for the tea to come, then watched her pour it out with the elegance he had come to expect in her graceful movements. A man could get used to such domesticity.

As usual, Daniel complained about the dearth of raspberry tarts, macaroons, or poppy seed cakes. He made do with toast fingers and jam.

Dodd fussed with the silverware and the serviettes, obviously hoping to hear what news the cousins brought, but Rex dismissed him, sending the man for heartier fare for his cousin. After all, Daniel had not eaten for at least an hour.

When the butler had gone, and Daniel had shut the door firmly behind him, they could finally discuss the day's discoveries. Rex mentioned the notebook and the money in the globe, now in the bank waiting for Edwin Hawley. He explained his theory of an organized crime cartel, although Daniel still clung to the idea of other sons and daughters. Rex explained about needing a motive that might lead to a suspect, and recited the initials to her from memory. Other than Breverton, Amanda had no guesses as to identities. Sir Frederick never spoke to her about his affairs or interests or acquaintances.

Daniel wiped a dab of jam from his chin. "The fellow had deuced few confidantes, it seems."

"So we are no further along to finding his murderer?"

"A bit further," Rex told her. "But not close." Then he set his cup aside. He hated to be hard with Amanda, but he had to know. "Do you understand what would happen if you fled the country?"

"You mean if I ran away? I expect everyone would believe me guilty, if they do not already."

"They would be certain of it. But they would also put up reward posters with your picture and send bounty hunters to track you down, for the rest of your life. You would never be free, not really, no matter how far you ran. There are other aspects you might not have considered, since they affect you less. If you took flight, you see, I would be found guilty of reneging on my vows to produce you for trial. Sir Nigel has sworn he will prosecute me if he is denied his day in court, although I doubt it would come to that. I do not care about that worm. I do care about my honor."

Amanda bit her lip. How could she swear not to flee, if the alternative was hanging or deportation or life on the prison hulks? What sane person would not run away if the alternative was inevitable death? "I understand that a gentleman's word is his bond."

"For my family, especially."

Daniel nodded around a mouthful of toast. He fed a slice to the dog, then said, "Very honorable, the Royce name, for centuries back."

"We have always defended the innocent," Rex added, "no matter the consequences. We are already mistrusted and feared for our, ah, beliefs. My father lives as a recluse because of his love of the truth. Since the murder of a baronet has become so sensational, so would your escape from justice. The Crown would demand satisfaction, urged on by Sir Nigel, I do not doubt. The earldom could be attainted, which would kill my father. Lady Royce, your godmother, would suffer also, for harboring a killer."

"I… I do not understand why you are saying all of this. I thought you trusted me. Have I not said how grateful I am? Do you not realize that you, and you, Mr. Stamfield, are the only ones who have stepped forward to help, the only ones who believe me."

Amanda was upset and hurt. Last night he'd said he liked her. Now he was treating her like an actual criminal. She looked from Rex to Daniel, to find both of them staring intently at her. "Have you found something that leads you to disbelieve in my innocence, in my word to you, in my own honor?"

Lord Rexford was the one to ask the question: "Will you tell me about the man you met at night?"

She could not meet their similar eyes, Rex's so vivid a blue, Daniel's a bit paler, but both with dark rings surrounding the irises. "No."

Rex tossed his toast to the dog. "Then how can I trust you?"

She laughed, without humor. "You can trust me because I am at the mercy of the courts, and you. You know I am reliant on you for everything, your rescue, your investigation." She picked up a sliver of toast. "For my very food. My stepfamily-what there is of it-has not replied to my pleas. Flee? I have nowhere to go, and no wherewithal to get there."

Rex stood with effort, his leg gone stiff, and poured the jewels into her lap. "Now you do."