Despite being under suspicion Noah did his best to serve his people. He knew that from the issue of St. Maur’s death and with him being the prime suspect was taken to London, his name would be broadcasted–and disparaged all over the city. But the Duke didn’t care if his name was being dragged into the dirt as he was more interested in doing right by his people.

Another batch of workers had been dispatched to Leverton’s estate while a band of Leverton’s laborers had arrived at his. Thankfully his man, Mr. Brown, had a handle on the workers as he was there with them day to day, and sent detailed reports back to him at the conclusion of each day.

The Newberry house was silent with the workers doing their job like ghosts. Noah was working on his reattachment to his mother but even thinking of doing so with his grandmother sent abhorrence through him. He did his duty, however, and made sure she had the doctor on call, who checked on her every morning. He had also acquired a specialty chef to cook the meals she needed–but that was the extent of his benevolence.

Three days had gone since he had sent the request to the bank for statements but none had been received yet. His patience was slowly turning to concern, and though he knew that such a massive request would take time, he felt pressed to send another one.

“Noah,” the Duchess’ gentle voice said from the doorway of the study, “May we talk?”

Looking over his shoulder, Noah spotted his mother and nodded indulgently, “Yes, Mother, we may.”

The Duchess entered and Noah absently admired his mother, who was dressed in a deep-maroon gown with a fitted empire waist. The lady gently glided into the room and sat on the chaise.

“Noah,” his mother sighed, with her dulled eyes now lowered, “I know you’re angry with me but believe me, I did not do anything to deliberately hurt you. I was only looking out for you. I apologize, my son.”

The Duke felt a soft morose over how he had snubbed his mother and, in his guilt, reached out to take her hands. They were cold but his larger, warm hands covered and heated hers. “I know, Mother, and my despicable behavior was not warranted. My pain wasn’t supposed to be projected on you.”

“Noah,” said his mother, her soulful eyes filled with sympathy, “I know from experience what heartbreak feels like. I cannot fault you for thinking the world has robbed you of your very life, but it will pass.”

The Duke privately doubted it but he didn’t show his disbelief. “Is there anything else, Mother?”

“Not that I can think of now,” she replied kindly, “I know you’ll make it out of this, Son. Love will come back to you someday.”

A soft sigh slithered out of Noah’s mouth, “We’ll see, Mother.”

“Your Grace,” Cole respectfully interrupted from the doorway, “I have received a parcel for you. It’s from the bank in London, Your Grace.”

Noah spotted his mother’s eyes shoot to the butler before she cleared her throat, “And why have you requested information from the bank, Son?”

The words were calm but Noah knew the order behind them, “I’m just adjusting my records Mother, nothing more.”

After ushering her out, Noah refrained from addressing the butler, who was looking a bit discomfited as the air in the room had changed because of his unsuspecting mistake. He took the parcel. “Thank you, Cole.”

Holding the parcel, Noah closed the door and finally sitting, pulled out four thick envelopes. Each one was notated with the individual’s name.

He looked at the names, one directed to him, the Duke of Newberry, and then his father, the previous Duke of Newberry; his grandmother the Dowager Duchess, and his mother the current Duchess of Newberry. Discarding the first two, Noah ripped open the package holding his grandmother’s information and took out the sheets inside.

He scanned the carefully-recorded lines and noted that she had spent a good amount on new clothing, French pastries, and a rug that she had imported from the Indies, and the twenty-five-pound withdrawal that was given to the petty murderer. Noah sat back shocked–there was nothing more, no heavy sum taken to give an elite assassin.

Noah’s hand tightened around the sheaf of papers, as he carefully ran over the lines, to make sure he hadn’t skipped over any information. When he came to the end, with no variations in what he had read previously, Noah felt at a loss.

With his jaw clenched, Noah took the envelope marked with his mother’s name and opened it. Her expenses mostly took the same pattern as the ones for the previous months–her seamstress in London, small indulgent novelties from France and America, with the largest expenditure, one of the new grand piano, to replace the old pianoforte in her music room.

Nothing; there was nothing there. Noah was more than confused. Had his grandmother not paid to have Emmeline killed at all? Was he wrong? Had he accused his own blood of something that had never happened? Had Emmeline’s death been a random act of violence? Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

No, Noah swore to himself, I heard them, even Grandmother had hinted at it when I spoke to her about it. There has to be something!

Was it possible that his grandmother had not used an account at all? Had the old woman held a secret stash of money that she could easily get to? If so, was it in her room? Noah despaired–there was no way he could get to search his grandmother’s room as she was on bed rest and wasn’t about to move from it anytime soon.

A brusque knock on his door sounded and Noah gave the permission to enter. “Your Grace, Mr. Brown is here with his report.”

Dropping the files into a drawer, Noah gave the permission for his agent to enter and stood. “Mr. Brown, good news, I hope?”

The man smiled and nodded, “Yes, Your Grace, our men happened upon a large deposit of coal and we estimate it can earn us over two thousand pounds or more.”

An eyebrow lifted; at 32 shillings a bag, how much coal had they had found to give such a large profit? “That is very good news indeed. Let’s speak further.”

Shaking the last tenant’s hand, George gave the man a civil goodbye. The Duke hurried back to his study where just before the tenant had arrived, his butler had received a package from London with the stamp of the bank on it. Inside, were the duplicates of the Newberry accounts and George felt his heartbeat triple when he thought of finding out with a certainty who had paid to kill his sister.

Darting up the stairs, George grabbed the thick package and ripped it open, to retrieve four thick envelopes inside. He instantly opened the one marked for Newberry’s grandmother, and after scanning the sheet, cursed under his breath–there was nothing there. Aside from the twenty-five quid that the mercenary had received, there was no withdrawal, or transfer of any large amount of money.

Had Newberry lied to him?

Taking the one marked for the Duchess, George examined that, too, and after dismissing the lady’s penchant for novelties, George saw that no money had come from her, either. So, if Newberry was right about the assassin, where did the payment come from?

A despicable thought ran through George’s mind–one he tried to dismiss but it wouldn’t go away. Newberry, did you pay for Emmeline’s killing and then tried to play me for a fool with such profuse acting?

Ripping Newberry’s envelope open, George ran over the lines, skipping over money for the membership at Whites, payment for a Hades’ costume, and payment for a phaeton. George eyes landed on the last note of withdrawal. He felt a rush of blood hit his head so quickly he was seeing double.

“One-thousand and five-hundred pounds withdrawn on July 21,” George said through gritted teeth, as his blood started to boil. The 23th was the day Emmeline had been kidnapped.

Clutching the paper with bloodless fingers, George literally saw the fragile alliance he had made with Newberry snap in half. One-thousand pounds was a more than a handsome fee for anyone to do the Devils’ work and kill an innocent lady. If this was Newberry’s doing, then he was even less than the mongrel George had taken him for. The man was so demented, that he had killed the lady, and then had the gall to look and act bereaved about it. Was there no end to his conniving machinations?

“That yaldson,” George swore, as his hand crushed the paper with a merciless fist. “I will make him pay for his lies!”

Haphazardly shoving the papers into a drawer, George’s angered spirit wasn’t going to let this rest. He grabbed his coat and left the room and the manor altogether. Not bothering to call for his butler to alert his coachman, he made his way through the twilight to the stables, all the while thinking that he had been right.

I knew the truth all along! Mother and Emmeline were blinded by Newberry’s act, but I’ve finally got him!

A stable hand who was pitching hay for the horses spotted the approaching Duke. and ran to his side while dusting his dirty hands off on his similarly soiled trousers, “E–evening, Your Grace, how can I help you?”

“Saddle my horse,” George commanded succinctly, “And make it snappy. I have an important matter to attend to.”

While the boy ran off, George had to stop his mind from devolving into devilish acts of revenge–deeds so nefarious and heinous that he felt possessed. He wasn’t going to go easy on Newberry. In fact, for his duplicity, George was going to make sure Newberry suffered.

“Here, Your Grace,” the boy huffed slowly as his rush to saddle the powerful stallion had exerted him.

“Good,” George said stiffly, and mounting the steed, he sped off in a blistering gallop, as his rage fueled his actions. “Brace yourself, Newberry, I am coming for you.”