Chapter Twenty-Eight
“She is a liar and a thief, and her daughter is no better.” Yarnell offered his defense of the accusations against him.
“You are also a thief,” Gabriel said. “You coerced Miss Waverly to steal for you. Or do you deny you currently possess an early medieval brooch and buckle that came to you the same way this dagger did? Your cousin has already admitted he brought them to you.”
Pritchard had indeed blurted all he knew. Faced with three dukes, he at once threw in with them against his cousin. Yarnell turned a sneer in his direction.
Mr. Yarnell was good at sneering, Amanda thought. It was his only expression. She supposed it gave him some distinction, at least. Otherwise, a more ordinary man could not be imagined.
He stood no taller than she did, and while not slight of build, he showed none of his cousin’s corpulence either. Dark, closely cropped hair topped his head. Dark eyes squinted from beneath thick eyebrows. If one saw him in town, one would assume he was a gentleman from his dress and speech, but not a well-to-do one. According the Mama, Yarnell was up to his ears in debt, due to spending all his income hiring men to dig up what should have been fields planted with crops.
They all had gathered in Gabriel’s room for this conversation. Mama wore muslin the color of lavender. The dress must have cost at least a pound, what with its embroidered gray spencer. Mama had enjoyed telling her story again, and added some unnecessary embellishments such as a critique of the food Yarnell had given her. She had skipped quickly over her own culpability, or tried to. Brentworth would have none of that and quizzed her closely until the damning details came out.
Mama did not like Brentworth much now. She avoided addressing him, and when she did, she said Your Grace with a disrespectful, sarcastic inflection. Each time she did that, Amanda gave her a solid nudge.
“I stole nothing,” Yarnell announced, finally giving in to the urge to defend himself, despite having insisted he would answer to none of them. “Those items belong to me. They were found on my land, and the thieves that dug them up absconded with them, to sell them in London. The pit they dug is still there if you don’t believe me. Tell me how claiming back stolen property is stealing?”
“There are legal ways to claim stolen property,” Gabriel said. “They do not include breaking into houses or removing items from museums.”
“I have been in Devon all summer. I entered no house or museum.” He crossed his arms and raised his chin, daring them to prove otherwise.
“You used your imprisonment of Mrs. Waverly to coerce her daughter to do the deeds for you,” Gabriel said. Amanda could tell he grew angrier with each sentence Yarnell spoke.
“Mrs. Waverly did that, not me.”
“If you were not at the heart of it, why did you not hand her to the authorities? Why keep her behind a barred door at your home?”
“It was all her idea. She said she would get me back my stolen items if I let her go. It seemed a fair trade, but I didn’t want her just walking off instead of fulfilling her side of it, did I? As for the daughter here, whom you seem to think is some poor waif caught in a scheme not of her own making, I’m guessing she has been helping herself to goods and money all over London as long as she’s lived here. Actually, I think she and her mother planned the entire thing.”
Gabriel took a step toward Yarnell. Only Stratton’s firm grasp on his arm stopped him from going farther.
Amanda hated being accused, but other than denying it, what could she say? At least two people in this chamber knew just how capable she was if she chose to put her skills to use. Yarnell was bold, and far slyer than she had expected. He was building a story that would probably convince a jury or judge, too. One in which he was a small player in the drama, sitting in the wings.
Her mother had been muttering and tensing all through the interrogation. Now she snapped. “How innocent you try to sound, you scoundrel.” She stood and glared at him. “You have left out the last of it. Tell them how you suggested just two days ago that we continue, and have my daughter steal other things to which you could make no claim at all. The ease of it all got the better of you. A few more payments, you said, for your trouble. Then it would have been one more, then one more again I am sure.”
“Is this true?” Gabriel asked.
“Of course not.” Yarnell dared to appear indignant that anyone would give credence to such an accusation.
“Do you expect him to admit it? He wanted a strand of good pearls next. He thought it would be easy to take it apart and sell it bit by bit.”
“I know nothing about pearls,” Yarnell growled.
Gabriel looked ready to beat it out of him. Instead he strode to the door. “Gentlemen, a word.” The three of them filed out.
“Mama,” Amanda whispered. “The one letter not written by you. Did Yarnell write it himself?”
Her mother nodded. Amanda got up and walked out of the chamber.
The three dukes were speaking in low tones on the landing but went silent while she passed. She entered her own chamber and dumped everything out of her valise until she found the stack of letters. She plucked out the only one not written by Mama.
She returned to Gabriel’s chamber, but handed him that letter while she passed on the landing. “Yarnell wrote this one to me, about delivering the buckle.” She then left them to whatever they debated.
* * *
Stratton read the letter and handed it back. “It is good that she saved this. It is all that supports Yarnell was behind it. Otherwise someone might accept it was all her mother, or even mother and daughter together.”
“I doubt it will convince a judge, unfortunately. Not to the point of choosing the word of an admitted thief over a gentry gentleman,” Brentworth said.
Gabriel tucked the letter into his coat. “She did not give it to us thinking it would convince a judge. She hoped to convince us.” He had watched Amanda’s expression while Yarnell denied his role. She had seen how clever this had been arranged, and how her mother and herself might be considered the only culprits.
“Then we are agreed, gentlemen,” he said. “To swear down information about this matter would probably lead to Yarnell’s exoneration.”
“Those items were stolen from him,” Stratton said. “It does not excuse having them stolen back, or what he had his cousin do with Mrs. Waverly. But all of that, the kidnapping, the coercion to involve her daughter—all of it, relies only on Mrs. Waverly’s word.”
They all knew the value of that.
“I say that we retrieve the stolen items and see they are returned to their owners. If Yarnell was robbed, he will have to prove it through legal means,” Brentworth said. “Stratton and I will return to his house with him for that purpose today.”
“He may not hand them over,” Gabriel said. “He is nothing if not bold.”
“He will hand them over. Do not doubt it,” Stratton said.
“Take the buckle and brooch back to London, then,” Gabriel said. “Once I return to town, we will decide how to make the returns.”
“I assume you would rather not knock on Nutley’s door and hand that buckle over,” Stratton said. “Brentworth and I will put our heads to it. There should be a way to be discreet.”
“Many ways,” Brentworth said. “We will also take care of Mrs. Waverly, if you want. We can stop at Southampton and see her onto a ship. Preferably one bound to an unfriendly nation. It seems unfair to inflict her on an ally.”
“I would be relieved if you did that,” Gabriel said. “I thought to send my footman Vincent on the task, but I don’t think he is experienced enough to recognize her inevitable blandishments for what they are. Before you leave Yarnell, make it clear we will be watching him and events in Devon. He has had a taste of easy money. He may decide to find another way to find more, and he has the mind for it.”
“We will collect him and his cousin now, and come back for the mother,” Brentworth said. “As for Miss Waverly—we leave her to you, Langford. It was a clear case of duress and even our antiquated criminal laws recognize that as mitigating, as you know. Whether a court will believe her, should it ever come to that, is questionable, unfortunately. Whether you as a duke and peer can or should overlook the expectation of legal process is something only you can decide.”
“You are also dukes,” Gabriel said.
“I would never question your honor, Langford. You know that. As for Stratton here, he has killed two men. The debate your conscience faces is a small one compared to that.”
Brentworth opened the chamber door and walked in. Stratton hesitated before following. He grasped Gabriel’s shoulder in a gesture of friendship and looked him in the eyes. “You know this woman as well as you know us. Better, if I am right on how it is between you. Don’t let honor make you an ass.”