Emily Hendrickson (29 page)

Mr. Fynes coughed, then commenced his reading of the will. David, quite naturally, took over the entailed estates, as well as the bulk of the fortune. Elizabeth was impressed at the number of estates that the family owned. In addition to Crompton Vale and Penhurst Place, there was a hunting box in Scotland, a manor house in Oxfordshire, and a house in London that possessed an excellent location.

His brother. Lord Augustus, was to receive a handsome bequest. This would go to his son in the event his father was no longer living at the time of the earl’s death. Then Egbert also received a tidy sum in his own right. Not the vast estate that David received, naturally. But nothing to scoff at. She noted that he sat in his chair with a nonplussed expression on his face, from which she reckoned that he had not expected to be remembered quite so generously.

A suitable amount had been designated for the distant relative and steward, Jeremy Vane. An ample amount to permit Sidthorp and his wife to retire was also included, plus other random amounts for various others. The servants filed from the room at a word of dismissal from Mr. Fynes.

Elizabeth sat on her chair, tensed, waiting. What next?

Mr. Fynes cleared his throat once again, then took a sip of water. This was followed by a long look at David.

“There is an unexpected complication. A challenge to David Percy, Lord Leighton and now Earl of Crompton, has been issued by one claiming to be the rightful earl.” There were a number of gasps at this news. Elizabeth glanced at David, suspecting he had been warned in advance, for he looked not the least surprised. “I have had lengthy communications with his solicitor recently. This young man asserts that he is the legal son of the now deceased sixth earl’s elder brother, Edward. As such he would have legal claim to the title.”

There was a rustling of fabric as everyone looked about them. Elizabeth could not see that any new figure had entered the room.

“Mr. Vane, would you please come forward?”

Aunt Bel gasped. “Of all the ...”

Lord Augustus mumbled something that sounded like “Presumptuous puppy.’’

Jeremy Vane strode to where Mr. Fynes considered him with an unsmiling face.

“I have carefully studied the letters from your solicitor. I confess that I do not know why you have waited so long to make your history known.” Here he paused to look up at Jeremy from beneath his brows. “Surely, if you felt the title rightfully yours, you would have been most anxious to lay claim to your birthright. Do you have any additional papers to offer? For I must tell you that what has been proffered so far falls considerably short of convincing me. I doubt the House of Lords will accept the claim, either.” Mr. Fynes clasped his hands neatly before him on the desk, staring at Jeremy with a hard expression.

Elizabeth decided she would not like to challenge Mr. Fynes at any time, in a court of law or elsewhere.

Jeremy extracted several papers from a folder, then presented them with a flourish to the solicitor. “These bear the signature of my father. I also include papers which prove the validity of his marriage to my mother.”

With this done, Jeremy tossed a confident smile at David, then stepped away from the desk. He waited for a moment, then continued. “I daresay that you will wish to study them further, but I assure you that the signature is legitimate. If referred to Committee in the House of Lords, I believe they must support my claim.”

“Lord Augustus, will you have a look at this?”

With the customary creaking of his corset. Lord Augustus rose to his feet, then ambled to the desk. He perused the various documents, frequently raising his eyes to look at Jeremy, then David. “I cannot say, in truth. But I am not a one to remember signatures. It appears like it, but I could not swear one way or the other in a court of law.” His final look at David was one of apology.

Elizabeth reached out to cover David’s hand with her own, trying to offer comfort during what must be a dreadful ordeal. That Jeremy should wait to present his case immediately after the earl died was highly suspicious to her. He must be responsible for the earl’s death. But . . . how could they prove such a thing? She would like to institute an inspection of his room. It might be well to check the estate books, come to think on it. Anyone who guilty of murder could be guilty of embezzlement as well.

“Pity you did not think to demand a hearing before my brother died,” Lord Augustus mused. “He was the one who knew Edward best, y’know. There ought to be a number of letters with his writing on them. He was not much to correspond. Like me, there. Hated to put pen to paper. But Harold kept what few he sent. Where are they? We can compare the writing on them.”

“Papers?” Jeremy queried with seeming innocence. “I have seen no papers as you describe among the late Lord Crompton’s correspondence.”

“What did you see, cousin Jeremy? Or more to the point, what did you do?” David had risen to face his defiant relative with a surprisingly cool demeanor. He stood with crossed arms, looking rakishly handsome but most assuredly determined.

Elizabeth watched the two intently, a worried frown pleating her brow. How could David be so cool? He said those papers she’d found had been important. If so, how?

“I did all the tedious little jobs no one else wanted to do,” Jeremy snapped, glaring at David. “And I learned far more about this estate, as well as the other places, than you will ever have a chance to know.”

“Dashed odd, seems to me,” grumbled Lord Augustus. “I smell a rat.”

Egbert rose from his chair, then sauntered between David and Jeremy. He looked at one, then the other. To Mr. Fynes he said, “Choose David, please. I could not bear to think of the family being represented by this rabbit.”

Jeremy tensed, clenching his fists. “Should I be declared the new earl, you will be out of here in a flea’s leap.”

Egbert shrugged. “Tol-lol. With you in residence as the earl, I scarce believe I should want to stay, old chap.” After this shot Egbert strolled back to stand behind his father. Although his bequest had been read, he was not about to leave the field of battle, as it were.

“I fancy you have done your job well enough,” David inserted smoothly. “I am told you even took to doing minor repairs. Like plastering?”

At this thrust Jeremy paled, but stood firm.

David strolled to the desk, picked up the quill knife, examining it as he walked to the fireplace. He glanced at Jeremy, then began scraping the wall where the recent plaster had been applied. As might be expected, it had not hardened to match the old, but was still somewhat fresh, although not moist.

Jeremy strode to the fireplace, his face mottled with anger. “Here, what are you doing? I demand you stop at once!” He reached out a hand to wrest the knife from David’s hand, only to be pushed away while David easily kept the knife out of his reach.

“Problems, Jeremy? What difference could it make to you if I dig at this plaster?” David’s eyes flashed with menace as he stared at his cousin.

“I do not want my property damaged,” Jeremy declared in a shaking voice. “And why do you want to dig there, anyway? Seems a dashed fool thing to do.” He shrugged off David’s detaining hand, but did not make another attempt to take the knife away from him.

“Almost as foolish as concealing papers in the wall, eh?” Another chunk of plaster fell to the floor. David raised the knife again. It glittered in the light from the Argand lamp.

The former steward winced when the piece clicked on the hearth. He stared at it, then looked back to David.

“What do you mean?” Jeremy said, looking distinctly taken aback and not a little worried.

“What he means is that you hid some papers in the wall.” Elizabeth rose, crossing the room to join the two by the fireplace. “During that dreadful rain the new plaster stood out, for it was not quite dry. I saw it and wondered. You did not do a very good job of it, or so Ben tells me. With David’s help I dug until the packet of papers came to light. I should like to know how you thought you could get away with the deception,” she demanded, standing between the two men.

She faced Jeremy, hands on hips, wishing she had the gun that now reposed beneath her pillow at Montmorcy Hall. How she would like to wave it beneath this scoundrel’s nose and threaten him for daring to challenge so fine a man as David Percy.

“I should like to know that as well, Jeremy,” came a raspy voice from the shadows in the back of the room. The supposedly dead earl stood erect; one hand rested on a chair, the other clasped a cane. At his side the dour Filpot hovered like a sentry on guard.

“Dear heaven! Harold!” Aunt Bel exclaimed, then fainted dead away against her high-backed chair, a heap of black bombazine.

Made of sterner stuff, Elizabeth whispered, “Oh, Lord have mercy,” and groped for the nearest chair. Ignoring her aunt, who would regain consciousness eventually anyway, Elizabeth concentrated on the old earl. She slowly sank to the seat, while she watched him come nearer and nearer.

Jeremy froze, looking as though he saw a ghost. “But you can’t be . . .”

“Why? Because you poisoned me? The potion was tested, first by Purvis, then the local apothecary, so we know what it was. Opium.” The earl drew closer, one step at a time, making his way with determination. “You believed me safely out of the way so you could stake your illegal claim to my title once I was no longer about to refute your dastardly attempt.” He waved several papers in the air with his free hand. “I was the only person alive who could identify my late brother’s signature, the only one who stood between you and your claim on the title. Or what you hoped to claim.”

Elizabeth recognized the papers the earl carried as the ones that had been concealed. She glanced to see if Jeremy also grasped their import. He had.

“Where did you get those?” he said, his confidence rapidly seeping away.

“My future daughter-in-law discovered them. David found himself a treasure in that girl. None of your namby-pamby sort, she. A true partner in the best sense.”

Jeremy darted a look at the plaster, now deeply gouged, then back to the earl. “You cannot prove a thing.”

“No? Mr. Fynes is taking the estate books to have them gone over. After checking a number of pages, David and I both suspect that you have diddled the estate, my lad. I have been remiss there, trusting you too much.” The earl exchanged a firm look with his solicitor, then continued, “I am reluctant to take you to court for that out of respect for Edward’s memory, but I daresay I can convince the cook to reveal that you paid her to put certain herbs in my food. Only it was to poison me, was it not? You kept feeding me doses of opium. Then, when I became too weak for regular food, you convinced her to put the poison in the potions my valet brought me. Everyone seemed to suspect Filpot. It was he, however, who discovered the part that Cook played in the entire affair.’’

“I refuse to listen to such rubbish,” Jeremy exclaimed, while looking as though he would dearly like to flee. He took several steps in the direction of the door before Egbert casually moved between Jeremy and his objective.

“Rubbish?” The earl queried. “I think not. You see, I have those missing papers in my hand, and it will take but minutes to compare them with the ones you have offered to support your claim.”

The earl suddenly sank onto a chair that Filpot had brought forth. “I expect, with the tender care of my new daughter, to be as fit as ever.” With this, he turned to Augustus. “I apologize for the deception. But do not worry, I shan’t turn you out.” Then his eyes shifted to Egbert, and he added, “As yet.”

Mr. Fynes walked around the table, accepting the papers from the earl. He examined them, then compared them with the ones Jeremy had set forth. Giving Jeremy a narrow look, he then turned to David.

“I believe you have no cause to worry for your future, my lord. Your father is safe as the present earl, and you certainly have your title assured.”

“I would wager, although I could not say for certain, that you are indeed my brother’s son, for you have the look of him,” the earl said to Jeremy. “But your mother was never married to him, of that I am certain. You know, had you made known the whole of your tale, I might have been more generous with you. A good education, good marriage, you might have had so much, although you could never have had the title.”

“It is not fair,” Jeremy cried, his face blotched red with anger and frustration. “He intended to wed her, she told me so after he died. The title should be mine. Mine, I tell you!”

David exchanged glances with Elizabeth. She stepped closer to him, wishing to be near his protection. She said to the pretender, “You wanted David out of the way so that there would be no chance that he could fight your claim to the title and estate. He would have made a compelling defense before the House of Lords Committee, one they’d not have rejected.” She narrowed her gaze. “I rather fancy Egbert would have been next to die. But as for me—I suppose I merely got in your path, an annoyance to you, someone to eliminate. You sir, are no better than a murderer even if the Earl survived, for you had intent to kill.”

Mr. Fynes moved to Jeremy’s side, taking a firm hold of his arm. “I believe we shall handle you and your false claim immediately. I trust a new life in Canada will be to your liking? Or perhaps transportation to Botany Bay would please you?” He offered the choice in a wry voice, for he, and everyone in the room, knew there actually was not a chance that Jeremy would refuse the ticket to Canada.

“This is outrageous,” Jeremy sputtered, but walked along with the solicitor. His words were brave, but his shoulders drooped in defeat. He knew he had little choice in the matter, for if the earl chose to prosecute, who would take his part against a peer of the realm?

“There is a ship sailing this week. If you are to be a passenger on it, we had best get you on your way immediately.” The solicitor turned to Sidthorp, who ushered Jeremy away to his room at once. Packing would commence instantly, and by the following day Jeremy Vane would be an unpleasant memory.

Elizabeth hoped that the former steward would not be allowed to escape with his filched money. Concerned, she spoke up. “The funds he took? Can they be recovered?”