Chapter Thirty-Nine
“You are mistaken, Lady Brampton,” Sophie calmly stated in response to the woman’s pronouncement. “Devlin’s father did not kill your husband.”
“I am mistaken, am I?” Lady Brampton snapped. “What would you know of it?”
Studying the woman’s features, Sophie could see the bitter grief still present, even after all of these years. She suddenly felt very sorry for her. To have been so consumed with unexpressed rage all this time was not a burden she would wish upon anyone.
“You loved him?” Sophie gently asked her.
Lady Brampton’s mouth twisted into a harsh snarl. “Everyone thought I married him to become a duchess. They all thought I was so concerned with the title that I cast James aside as soon as Charles took an interest.” She laughed bitterly. “At first, I admit, the thought of being a duchess was very enticing, but little did everyone know that in the end, Charles stole my heart.” She looked up at Sophie. “It is funny, really, for I would have given up the title in a second if it had meant spending one more day with Charles.”
Sophie did not know how to respond. The lady was still devastated over the man’s death.
“Everyone thought I was bitter because I had been deprived of one day having the title of duchess added to my name,” Lady Brampton continued. “They all joked behind my back about how it was fate’s cruel joke on me. That if I had married James, I would have been a duchess. But none of them knew how very much I loved Charles, how very much I still do, even to this day. None of them even suspected what I know to be true, that he was murdered.”
“Why do you believe him to have been murdered?” she asked. “Did he not die from falling off his horse?”
The woman scoffed. “You would have never have met a more accomplished rider than my husband. To suggest he fell off his horse whilst cantering through the even grounds of our estate is ridiculous.”
“But even the best of riders can fall,” Sophie gently reminded her.
“Not my Charles,” Lady Brampton affirmed. “He knew Huntington Court better than the back of his hand. But do you know why I do not believe that he died from an accident?”
Sophie said nothing, waiting for an answer.
“When he left for his ride that morning, he was wearing the ring his father had given him, the ring bearing the Huntington Crest, the ring each future Duke of Huntington had worn before him.”
She smiled briefly at the memory. “When I found his body—indeed, I was the first to do so—his ring was nowhere to be seen. Everyone said it must have come off when he fell, as none of the money from his money clip was missing to suggest he had been robbed. But I knew then, I knew in my heart, that Charles had been murdered. That he had been killed by his brother. Charles rarely removed his ring, because he could never get the thing off his finger without my helping him.”
“Why would you assume Devlin’s father had anything to do with it, if in fact Charles was murdered?” Sophie asked.
Lady Brampton clucked her tongue. “Is it not obvious? He was the only one that benefited from Charles’ death, the only one that would have an interest in taking the heir’s ducal ring. Charles’ death benefited no one else aside from him. If not him, who else? James was the only one with any motive.” She paused to scowl at Sophie. “Do you see now why I hate Devlin so much? He looks just like his father, just like James, who took my dearest Charles from me!”
Sophie remained silent for a long moment, thinking through the various possibilities. For if Charles was murdered, as Lady Brampton believed, then that would mean that whoever murdered him had been waiting a very long time to seek his revenge against the rest of his line of succession.
“Who is next in line to the title if Devlin died?” Sophie asked, the thought filling her with a dread she had never known.
“Some distant relative in France, I believe.” Lady Brampton soothed a hand over her coiffure. “I care little over the matter now, seeing as how your fiancé has already tarnished the name beyond repair.”
“You might very well care, my lady, because I am confident that it was not James that murdered your husband at all.”
The woman lifted her chin and looked down her formidable nose at Sophie. “What do you mean, girl?”
Sophie played her trump card, sure that the information had to jolt Lady Brampton out of her smug tirade against Devlin. “My fiancé does not, nor has ever, had your husband’s ring.”
“And how would you know if he does or does not have it?” the woman asked mockingly.
“Scotland Yard has it,” Sophie answered.
“What?” the woman said, nearly choking on the word. “What do you mean, Scotland Yard has it?”
“I believe your husband’s ring was the ring found underneath the body of a maid who was recently murdered,” Sophie told her.
Lady Brampton had not been expecting that response, if her reaction was anything to go by. The woman had suddenly turned deathly pale.
“The ring…found under…I do not understand. Murdered?” Lady Brampton put her hands up to her temples and massaged them. “You must be mistaken.”
Sophie shook her head. “It bears the Huntington crest upon it, and it is certainly not the ducal ring that Devlin inherited from his grandfather, which he’d made sure was buried with the old duke. Devlin believes it to be the ring that belonged to your husband, although he has never actually seen it before, so he cannot be one hundred percent certain. But the odds are very high that it is your late husband’s ring. You are likely the only person who can confirm that for certain.”
Lady Brampton quickly stood. “I have to see it at once!”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Sophie murmured.
…
As soon as Lady Brampton had looked at the ring that the Scotland Yard inspector held in his fingers, all the color leached out of her face, and the woman had had to grab onto Sophie for support.
She’d recognized the ring as that belonging to her late husband. A ring that had been missing for over twenty years yet had been discovered under Tina’s body.
Lost in thought as they started their return trip, Sophie barely heard the turn of the carriage wheels as it began lumbering forward on the cobbled street. She hoped Abby would not be too put out with having been left at Lady Brampton’s residence, but the woman had refused to travel with a servant inside the carriage.
They rode in silence for a time, Lady Brampton’s face shadowed by the dim light coming from the street lamps. “Are you all right?”
The woman turned away from the carriage window and away from whatever thoughts had been consuming her. “This does not exonerate Devlin, nor prove that his father did not murder Charles.”
Sophie very nearly threw her hands up in exasperation but managed to restrain the impulse. “Think, Madame,” she implored. “If Devlin was such a villain, would he really leave behind a ring that would point to him as the suspect for Tina’s murder and your husband’s?”
“It may have accidentally fallen off his finger.”
“But why would he wear it in the first place?” Sophie moaned, exasperated by the lady’s adamant refusal to see the logic in the situation. “Why would he risk wearing your husband’s ring at all if it could lead back to him? The simple fact is he would not. He is far too clever to do such a thing.”
“But that does not explain how it was found there. It makes no sense,” Lady Brampton said.
“It does if someone was trying to frame Devlin for murder, does it not? Someone who has killed three people already. Someone who more than likely killed your husband, too. Someone who is quite unhappy with the whole Huntington line of succession.”
“But Devlin’s father was the only one to benefit from Charles’s death,” Lady Brampton exclaimed. “No one else did.”
There had to be some explanation, but Sophie simply couldn’t fathom what it was. “Did your husband have any enemies at all? Anyone with a grudge against him?”
“No, of course not,” Lady Brampton replied. “He was a kind and gentle man; he looked after everyone. He even donated to… No, it could not be…” she whispered, fairly wilting in her seat.
Sophie leaned over and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “What is it? What have you remembered?”
Stricken, Lady Brampton covered her mouth with one gloved hand. “It could not be…” she said. “No, surely not.”
“Tell me,” Sophie implored.
Lady Brampton closed her eyes for a second and then reopened them, tears beginning to pool in their inner corners. “Charles tried very hard for so many years to keep it a secret,” she whispered. “To protect me from the gossip.”
Sophie gripped the lady’s hand with her own. “What was he keeping a secret?” All of these partial answers would drive her mad if she didn’t get the whole story soon.
“Not what, but rather whom.” Lady Brampton shook her head as if to clear it, some strength seeming to return to her. “Five years before Charles and I married, he had a liaison with an opera singer.” She cleared her throat and continued. “As a result of that liaison, a child was born. The woman did not wish to keep the babe, so she left him at an orphanage, with Charles none the wiser as to his existence.”
Sophie gasped. “That is terrible.” Another poor baby discarded instead of cherished.
Lady Brampton nodded weakly. “Yes. Charles did not find out until a few months before marrying me. The lady had left the babe at the orphanage in Hamden Village.”
“The local village near Huntington Court?”
“Yes,” Lady Brampton replied. “The woman had apparently thought it would be amusing for the future Duke’s bastard son to grow up practically under his nose. But I think her conscience got the better of her when she found out she was dying, for she tried to send Charles several letters, which he returned unopened. I daresay she grew desperate and must have written to the headmistress of the orphanage, telling her the truth of the matter before she passed away.
“The headmistress then wrote to my husband, coincidentally only a few months before our marriage, threatening to make it publicly known that he had a bastard son if he did not pay her a monthly stipend. Her timing was impeccable, as our wedding was being touted as the event of the season. We even had some foreign princes attend. The headmistress must have realized it would be the perfect time to extract money from my husband.”
“What did he do?” Sophie asked.
“He paid her, of course. He did not know what else to do. Although he insisted that his son be well looked after with a portion of the money.”
“Why would he give in to blackmail, though?”
“Charles loved me more than anything, or at least he used to say so.” A wistful look fell across her face as she remembered the past. “When he finally confessed what had been happening, we were expecting our first child. He said that my happiness was more important than anything to him and that he did not want to subject me to any gossip or scandal, particularly after all of the nasty gossip I had had to endure regarding my choice of him over James. That is why he had been paying the woman’s blackmail for years, why we continued to pay her, all in the belief that at least some of the money was being spent to look after his son.”
“Did you know the boy’s name?” Sophie asked her gently.
“Simon, he was apparently called,” Lady Brampton answered. “I even started to resent him after a while, when I continually gave birth to girls and could not produce the heir that I knew would have made Charles so very happy.”
“Do you know what happened to the boy?”
“No,” Lady Brampton said. “I was distraught after Charles’ death. I could barely exist, let alone pay attention to what was going on around me. But some months later, when I was starting to resemble my old self, I did hear that the headmistress of the orphanage had been robbed and brutally slain by some unknown assailant. At the time, I thought it was just what she deserved after bleeding my husband dry for all those years.”
Sophie gasped. “And what of Simon?”
“Apparently, he ran away shortly thereafter.”
“Did this boy ever know that his father was the Marquis of Brampton?” she inquired.
Lady Brampton tilted her head in thought. “Charles did not think so. I am not as confident in that assumption as he was, for children have a funny way of finding out information, particularly if it is important.”
Sophie sighed. “I think we may have found another motive for your husband’s death.”
Lady Brampton reared back. “Surely not! Charles could not have been murdered by his own son.”
“It would make sense,” Sophie said. “For whoever is trying to frame Devlin has held on to your husband’s ring for over twenty years, which would suggest someone with a very old grudge. Who would fit more than your husband’s bastard son, left in an orphanage, without any of the riches or benefits the name Huntington bestows?”
“No.” The woman clasped her hands underneath her chin, contemplating Sophie’s words. “Surely no son could murder his father?”
“It is the only thing that makes any sense,” Sophie said. She’d worked with plenty of orphaned and abandoned children who’d been through hell before coming to Grey Street, but most were remarkably resilient and had a boundless capacity for hope for something better. To abandon that hope and turn to the worst crime one could commit…? She shuddered.
“But that would mean that I have been blaming the wrong person all these years…” Lady Brampton dropped her hands to her lap, shame clear in her eyes.
Sophie grasped one of the woman’s hands with her own. “Yes, that is true,” she gently agreed. “But it would also mean that we may be able to finally seek justice for your husband. That possibly, we are on the verge of discovering the man who murdered your husband and finally stopping him.”
“You may be correct.” With a firm nod, Lady Brampton looked out the window. “Why are we are heading out of London?”
Sophie glanced out the window. Sure enough, the cramped buildings of the city had become few and far between.
She leaned over and opened the small window that allowed communication between the driver and passengers. “Samuel, where on earth are we going?”
Sophie jolted back as she saw that Samuel was not driving the carriage at all. In fact, she had no idea who the man sitting on the driver’s perch was.