Chapter Fifteen
The meeting with the female staff had gone predictably if ineffectually. She had no real authority in the house and everyone knew that. Still, Beatrice had attempted to be firm in regards to maintaining propriety with Dr. Warner and not appearing to be a house in chaos. Her admonitions had been met with blushes and giggles hidden behind hands. They would do what they wanted and there was little she could do about it. And who was she, after all, to take someone else to task for their loose behavior when she was carrying on so herself?
Entering her chamber, she did not shriek in surprise. Even before her gaze settled on him, she knew that she was not alone. His presence filled the chamber. But as she observed him, it became immediately clear that he was more troubled than he had been before. He looked very much as if the weight of the world were pressing in on him. It was a feeling she recognized well. She closed the door softly and walked toward the man who awaited her.
“What is it, Graham?”
“Must it be something other than the desire for your company?” he asked, his lips quirking upward in a half-smirk. The expression was simply a mask, but the truth was revealed in his gaze. He was hurting.
“You would not risk coming here at this time of day if there was not something afoot. Did you learn something from Mr. Eaves?” she asked. There was something in his expression that had alerted her to the truth. He had discovered something and it was deeply disturbing. “Tell me.”
“He knew where I was. All along,” Graham admitted. “For the past five years, they knew where I was.”
“Who did?” she asked, horrified at the notion.
“Edmund and Mr. Eaves. They had spoken with the captain I sailed under for all those years. Five years ago, while we were in port at Antigua. He relayed the entire tale to them then and gave them my direction, told them which inn I was lodged at while we were there, where we were to sail to next and when we were expected to return… and they never sought me out.”
Beatrice sank down onto the edge of the bed. That kind of willful cruelty was alien to her. She could not fathom it. “All this time, when Edmund has been badgering Lady Agatha to have you declared dead, he knew that you were not?”
“Precisely,” he answered.
“How did you discover this? I have to assume that Mr. Eaves was complicit in all of it!” Her dislike of Mr. Eaves had been immediate, but Edmund had offered the sensible argument that information was often traded in shady places and who better to ferret it out than a slightly shady character. She’d had no cause to gainsay him, but it had not changed her opinion of Mr. Eaves.
Graham stepped forward, a letter in his outstretched hand.
August 14th, 1817
Mr. Blakemore,
I spoke with a man in the port of Antigua, Captain Jasper Smith, who reported fishing a young lad from the sea in the winter of 1804 off the coast of England. He stated that the boy was badly burned from the sun and wind, nearly dead of thirst, fevered and had been struck on the head. He could recall only his first name which he reported to be Graham. The captain described him and he does meet the description provided of the missing heir at the time of his disappearance.
It should also be mentioned that this captain, after stumbling across new sheets advertising the boy’s disappearance, around 1807, became interested in the reward offered. He sent word to Sir Godfrey Blakemore who was acting as Lord Blakemore’s agent at that time, to inform him about the boy. He was paid by Sir Godfrey to keep word of it to himself and spare the family the ordeal of an imposter as Sir Godfrey relayed his certainty that the boy was dead. I include this information, which you may already have, in case Sir Godfrey did not keep a record of it.
The man reputed to be Lord Graham Blakemore is working as a sailor now aboard this captain’s ship. They are to set sail for America in a week’s time, but will be returning to Antigua afterward. I’ll await further instruction from you if you wish for me to pursue this further.
Eaves
“How could anyone be so dishonest?” Beatrice asked. “Sir Godfrey knew… and so did Edmund. He listened to your account, when you shared these very details and challenged the truth of them! What could he have been thinking?”
“That he means to make Christopher a puppet and run this estate himself, bleeding it dry. Or perhaps, he’s more devious still. Perhaps, once I have been declared dead, Christopher will meet a similar fate and the title will go to Sir Godfrey and eventually Edmund will take it for himself,” Graham suggested. “Could Sir Godfrey be the mastermind behind all of this?”
Beatrice shook her head. “At one point, I would have said yes. Sir Godfrey has always been a supremely selfish man. Even now, he continues to rack up debt after debt and has all the bills sent to Edmund. But for all that Edmund dotes on him and takes care of his every need and whim, Sir Godfrey was not even bothered to attend Edmund’s wedding to Eloise.”
Graham sighed. It was one obstacle after another in determining who the true culprit was. “Edmund is headed for London even now to petition the House of Lords and, no doubt, to begin the necessary measures to have Lady Agatha committed. If he continues to spend money at the rate indicated by the false entries in the account books, the entire estate will be bled dry within the year.”
Graham began to pace the length of the room, his long strides eating up the small space. She could feel the anger emanating from him, rolling off him in waves. What Edmund had done to him, to Lady Agatha, to all of them, truly, was unpardonable. As the truth of it began to sink in, other ugly notions crept forward in her mind.
“To put a fine point on it, that means Edmund was likely responsible for the attempt on my life, as well, and for the shot you took coming home… but you dismissed that, thinking he was incapable. Then, of course, there was Christopher who had clearly been out that night and was armed! And I have to say I do not think you are wrong! Yes, Edmund is devious, and lies and deception are clearly within his repertoire. But you said yourself that he is unlikely to dirty his own hands and that is an assessment that meshes very well with all that I know of him,” Beatrice protested. “But if what we are dealing with is not simply one villain and one agenda, but multiple ones all working toward different aims but with common interests? Namely eliminating all of those who would stand in their way.”
He settled beside her, the bed dipping beneath his weight. With his elbows resting on his knees and his hands steepled, it was apparent to her that the strain was taking a toll. “I cannot say, Beatrice. I only know that there are many plots afoot here. I cannot accurately assess who is and is not a villain. I did not expect it to be easy to return to this life, assuming that all this is true and it is mine and I am entitled to it, but I did not anticipate this.”
“We must speak to Crenshaw… I do not want Lady Agatha to know any of this, at least not until she is well enough. But Crenshaw needs to be aware. If Edmund, Christopher or Eloise attempts to see her they should be sent away. Aside from the two of us, no one else should have access to her.” The very idea of it, given the woman’s current weakened state and vulnerability incited panic in Beatrice. “Lady Agatha is the only mother I have ever known.”
“How old were you when your mother died?” he asked.
“I cannot say for certain, but no more than two or three I think. I was young enough not to fully understand that it was permanent. I kept waiting for her to return.”
“And your father?”
She smiled sadly. “Old enough by then to know it meant forever. I no longer looked for my mother and understood that I would not see either of them again in this life. I was six… I came here—well, my father had been a school chum of Lord Blakemore’s at Eaton. They did not have to take me in, yet they did and were undeniably generous. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her… or to you.”
He looked at her then, his eyes locking with hers. “Nothing will happen to her, or to me, or to you. Whatever comes, I will take care of you both… and if they mean to kill me, they’ve had little enough luck with it already. I don’t expect that to change.”
“Do not jest about such things,” she said sharply. “It isn’t at all amusing.”
“It is not. Sarcasm is just a way of making a difficult situation seem less daunting… I do not take it lightly—not the attempt on my life, not the attempt on yours, and certainly not the slow and devious poisoning of Lady Agatha. Whoever is ultimately responsible for this, whether it be Edmund or Christopher, will pay dearly for it.”
“I’m less concerned about making them pay than I am about maintaining your safety. Lady Agatha does not need you to be a hero, Graham. She simply needs for you to be here!”
He looked at her steadily, his gaze potent and unsettling. “And what do you need from me, Beatrice?”
The obvious choice was to lie—to deny that she needed anything from him. But Betsy’s words came back to her, about the inevitability of their coming together. Whenever he was near, she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. When he was not, she looked for him, sought him out above all others. The yearning for him, not just the physical ache of desire, but the need to be in his presence, to hear his voice and to revel in that connection that existed between them overwhelmed her good sense.
Beatrice felt herself sinking, falling against him, desperate to feel the heat and strength of him. It wasn’t about passion, but about the need for comfort, for a moment to feel safe and secure. When his arms closed around her, pulling her even closer, holding her firmly to him, she found that sense of peace. Any thoughts or fears of the future would be dealt with when the time came, but the present and the dangers they faced in it, had to take precedence.
“Beatrice,” he groaned, whispering her name against the sensitive skin just below her ear. “I want nothing more than to stay here with you, to hold you this way for as long as you permit it. But we have an opportunity now that cannot be squandered.”
“What?” she asked. She had the very distinct feeling that she would not approve of his answer.
“I’ve instructed the servants that we will all be dining in our rooms tonight… and was told that Christopher has gone into the village. Show me how to get to the tower,” he said.
“Now?” she asked. “What if the servants bring our dinners up and we are not here?”
“Betsy will deliver yours. If she finds you absent she will not question it. And no one will dare question me,” he said. “We both know this. I am an unknown factor to them and they have yet to determine whether to treat me like an honored guest, a common criminal or their long lost employer!”
“What if he returns? It could be dangerous.” The more she reflected on what she and Betsy had seen the more she began to wonder if the man she’d seen in the tower with Eloise had been Christopher at all. Was it possible that he had a double? Could there be someone else within the halls of Castle Black who looked enough like him to pass for Christopher at a distance? It was the only explanation she had and yet it sounded too preposterous to even utter.
“While he’s out, it’s our best chance to look around and see what he’s been up to,” Graham insisted. “Can you remember the way?”
“Yes. Certainly… but are you sure this is wise? Given what we’ve learned and that we still have no certainty if Edmund was acting alone or in collusion with Christopher—I’m worried, Graham. I cannot help but feel we are on the verge of something truly horrific.”
He took her hands, pressing them to his chest and covering them with his own. “This will all be fine. I do not give my word often but, when I do, I mean it. I promise you, Beatrice, that all will be well. But we cannot be swayed by fear… not now when we finally have useful information! Show me the way. That’s all I ask.”
Beatrice tamped down her panic, ignoring the ill whispers that hovered at the periphery of her mind. Collecting the tinder box from the mantel, she went to light the candle that was placed beside it, but her trembling hands defeated her.
Graham stepped forward and took the tinder box from her, easily setting the match ablaze. With the candle lit, he lifted it and motioned for her to lead the way.
The panel opened easily enough, just as Betsy had shown her. Stepping into the dimly lit, narrow space, it felt as if there simply wasn’t enough air. It was panic, she reminded herself. Her own nerves were suffocating her, not the hidden corridor.
“It’s very narrow,” she warned, “And only becomes worse the higher you go. Also, the walls are very thin. We shouldn’t risk speaking lest we be overheard.”
He nodded and she continued on, traversing the tight space until she reached the stairs. Climbing those steep, treacherous steps carefully, she stifled a scream as something scurried past her foot.
“It’s only a mouse,” he whispered.
“Rat,” she corrected.
He shrugged as if it made no difference.
Beatrice shuddered but continued the climb. Once they reached the door that would open to the tower room, she carefully slid the small panel back that would allow them to peek into the room first. It was empty, as it had been before, but there were signs that someone had been there recently. The dishes had been cleared away, but an opened bottle of wine rested on the desk. The bed was rumpled and in far greater disarray than it had been the first time she’d peered into that room. Blushing as she recalled what might have taken place to result in those tangled linens, Beatrice quickly averted her gaze. A discarded cloak was draped over a chair and a small valise had been placed beside it.
“I think it’s clear,” she whispered. “I’ll watch at the door and alert you if anyone is coming.”
“I am, until someone can prove otherwise, Lord Blakemore. It is my right to go where I please in this castle,” he reminded her.
Beatrice cocked her head, the arrogance of his statement reminding her very much of the boy he had once been. “And need I remind you that we are attempting to be covert, not because you do not have the right to be here but because, by your own admission, we do not wish to tip our hand?”
He stared at her for a moment, clearly displeased to be taken down a peg or two, before finally ducking his head and offering a curt nod. “You are correct. You are absolutely right. And I’m being an ass.”
Beatrice didn’t smile, but her lips twitched with the urge to do so. “Those are your words, not mine… Lord Blakemore.”
Opening the secret door completely, Beatrice stepped out of the narrow passage and crossed to the chamber door. It creaked loudly as she tugged it open just enough to see into the stairwell beyond. She knew Graham had followed her because she could hear the shuffling of papers and other items behind her.
“I looked at those the last time I was in here,” she pointed out. “It’s all maps and plans of the castle, and legal writings, of course.”
He made a sound of derision. “Clearly they mean to see me removed from Castle Black and stripped of the title by fair means or foul.”
Beatrice didn’t turn, she didn’t dare let her gaze waver from the stairs, but she did ask the question that burned inside her. “If you were to be told that the title was not yours and that you had to leave here, where would you go? Back to the sea?” A part of her, she could admit at least to herself, wanted him to be found an imposter. If he was not Lord Blakemore, she could have him for herself. It was selfish and wicked to even think it.
“No,” he said. “That life is done for me. I never wanted it. I never loved the sea the way that some men do. For the longest time, it was simply the only life I knew… I’d find something on land, where I could feel the rocks and the soil beneath my feet every day. I could always try my hand at farming, I suppose.”
Another question rose unbidden to her lips and escaped before she even had the thought to call it back. “Would you take me with you?”
The rustling of papers stopped. The room became utterly still and silent. Afraid of what she would see in his eyes, Beatrice dared a glance anyway. He stared at her, his gaze thoughtful and intense.
“Would you go?” he asked softly. “If I were to be naught but a humble farmer, with dirt on my hands and not a sovereign to call my own… could you live that way?”
“I do not know,” she answered honestly. “I’ve been poor the entirety of my life, but I’ve never had to feel the deprivation others have because I was here, under the generous care of your parents. But I couldn’t remain here without you. That much I know. Edmund has made it clear what he intends for my future to be… I’d rather take my chances as a farmer’s wife than a gentleman’s whore.”
He walked closer, his steps quiet on the dusty floor. She didn’t flinch at the weight of his hands on her shoulders or when she felt the warmth of his breath at her ear. “Is that the only reason you’d go, Beatrice? To escape him?”
“If that were my only reason, I’d never have found myself here in this chamber with you,” she answered. “I know that you desire me. You’ve admitted as much. And I know that you have some affection for me, but there are far too many obstacles in our path to move forward…unless it was for something far greater.”
“Affection? If you wanted a love drunk fop, Beatrice, I’m hardly the best candidate. I’m not the man to offer pretty words and romance.”
She whirled on him then, her eyes glaring and her lips pressed into a thin, firm line. He infuriated her at times and she couldn’t even fathom why. “I want nothing but what you are, maddening as it is. So kindly stop taunting me with it! I’m far less bothered by your lack of courtly manners than you are!”
“Is that what I’m doing? I don’t think so… I want you. In ways I cannot even begin to describe, I crave you. But I cannot say if that is love, Beatrice. I’ve no experience with it. What I do know is that I can bear anything but your regret. I do not ever want to look in your eyes and see that you wished for someone better than I am.”
The heat of her anger faded under his admission. “You knew love once. You knew it here as a boy. Will you ever remember? Will you ever be able to utter those words?”
“I cannot say,” he answered softly, his tone softening the blow of the admission. “But for the moment, we should be focusing on searching this room… don’t bother standing watch. Help me look and we can be safely away all the quicker.”
Beatrice moved away from the door, following him deeper into the room. She checked the trunk at the foot of the bed, finding dusty clothes and nothing of interest. Graham was still at the desk going through a journal. Moving toward the chair that flanked the hearth, she picked up the cloak only to dislodge the hat that rested beneath it. As she bent to retrieve it, her breath caught.
“This belongs to the man who tried to kill me,” she said softly. “He was wearing these things when he…”
Graham stepped forward and took the cloak and hat from her. He began searching the garment for any pockets, but there were none. Examining the hat, he said, “This is French Infantry… an officer by the looks of it.”
“French Infantry?” Beatrice repeated, her confusion increasing with each passing moment. “The more we learn the less we understand. Why would someone in this house possess items belonging to a French uniform?”
“The late Lord Blakemore served as a diplomatic envoy to France before the war, didn’t he?”
“Your father,” she corrected. “Graham, can you not accept that it’s true? You are Lord Blakemore! Surely the letter that passed between Mr. Eaves and Edmund and the latter’s attempts to conceal it for his own gain are all the proof you need!”
“Beatrice, whether it is true or not isn’t the issue. Others will have to accept the truth of it before I can. If the House of Lords grants Edmund’s petition, my belief will not matter!” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, clearly frustrated by their situation. “Hope is a dangerous thing, Beatrice, for one such as me. I cannot allow myself to fall into it just yet.”
It cut her to the quick. Had she ever, at any point in her life, felt so utterly without hope? So afraid of yet more disappointment that hope itself represented nothing more than the promise of pain? “Has your life truly been so devoid of goodness that, even now, you cannot accept that what you’ve found here is real and permanent? Edmund will not succeed in having Lady Agatha committed. She has a new physician, one who is not at Edmund’s mercy and who will attest to her soundness and to the fact that any infirmity in her has been brought about because of another physician’s malpractices!”
When he didn’t immediately respond, she continued. “As for the title, it would take years for such a decision to be made and, in the interim, you would remain here, with the family who has grieved, mourned for you absence—prayed and wished daily for your safe return! You have reclaimed your identity and the love of your family. No one can take that from you, Graham.”
He stared at her for the longest time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and gruff, filled with emotion that she knew he would not allow to seep fully to the surface. “Has your life been so devoid of hardship that in the face of all adversity you can maintain such optimism?”
“It has not. But I choose to believe that things can be good. Living in anticipation of the bad does nothing but rob the present of any joy… if all I did was think about the eventual end of things between us, I would never have allowed you to kiss me, to take the liberties that you have. I certainly never would have responded to them in such a reckless and wanton way.”
“So it’s your eternal optimism that is responsible for your passion?” he queried.
“You make me sound very foolish when you put it that way… but the simple truth is, I have lived the entirety of my life never knowing what it felt like to desire the touch of a man’s hand. And now I do.”
“My touch,” he corrected. He moved closer to her, so close their bodies were nearly touching. His voice was pitched in a low growl as he continued, “Make no mistake, Beatrice. No man will ever touch you but me.”