Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Exhaustion plagued Barnard Forbes as he approached the cottage belonging to Reverend Ambrose Creassey. He had already spoken to the vicar a fortnight ago, when he had learned the whereabouts of the two sisters. However, upon arriving at the residence, he found that both women had died several years earlier, and therefore were no threat. That left Reverend Creassey as the last living witness, and thus the reason for Barnard’s return.

Stopping the horse beside the tree, he grasped the pummel to keep from falling. He would not last much longer if he did not get any sleep. Yet, he could not sleep until he gathered what information he could and removed the threat to the family to whom he had devoted his life.

There appeared to be no one else about that Barnard could tell, although he knew a servant girl or two would be nearby to serve the vicar’s carnal desires. The man was as crooked as a snake, and Barnard would not put anything past him, even the kidnapping of Annabel.

Dismounting, he tethered the horse to the limb of a tree. Barnard was certain Reverend Creassey was behind Annabel’s disappearance, and the man would confess whether he wanted to or not. Barnard had made a promise to Lady Lambert many years ago that he would always look after her and her children, a deed that should have belonged to her husband, but one the man failed to do.

Barnard gripped the handle of the gun as he pulled it from the breast pocket of his coat. He and Lady Lambert had a special relationship about which no one knew, one none would understand. However, Barnard understood it quite well, and that was what mattered. Whatever the woman asked of him, he would do, for that was the crux of what they shared. As far as he was concerned, the woman could do no wrong.

With long strides, he approached the cottage. Once he learned of Annabel’s location, he would make quick disposal of the vicar before leaving to find her. To see Lady Lambert in such pain angered him, and he pounded on the door to release some of that dark emotion. The vicar would pay for the heartache he had caused the woman for whom Barnard would give his life!

The door opened and a servant girl of no more than sixteen peeked through the opening. “Might I ‘elp ye?”

“I must speak to the vicar at once.”

“I’ll see if ‘e’s seeing anyone…” She went to close the door, but Barnard placed a palm against it.

“He has no choice.” Barnard pushed past the girl, and she hurried down the short hallway. Whispered voices came from the sitting room, and Barnard did not wait for the girl to return.

Beside Reverend Creassey sat another girl, this one younger than the first, and the girls’ red cheeks and the vicar’s smile told Bernard more than counseling was being offered.

“Ah, Forbes, have you returned to thank me?” the vicar asked with a wide grin. The man was much older than Barnard, but by how much, Barnard was unsure. His hair was completely silver and his waistline threatened the buttons on his waistcoat.

“We must speak,” Barnard said with a glower.

The vicar sighed. “Leave us.”

The girls nodded and hurried out of the room.

Reverend Creassey stood and walked over to a set of decanters. “Would you like a drink?”

“No. The sisters are dead, Ambrose.”

“That is a shame. They were such kind women willing to do the deeds they did and remain silent about them.”

“That is why I have returned,” Barnard said, his anger building. “Because they are dead and therefore remain silent, that leaves only you who knows the truth.”

Reverend Creassey turned toward him, his glass partly raised. “You believe I arranged this kidnapping of Miss Annabel?” he asked, his voice filled with incredulity. “I am a man who gives counsel to those in need of help. A person to whom one comes in times of trouble. I am no common criminal.”

“You are a man who twists the words of a revered book to serve his own desires,” Barnard hissed, disgusted to even be in the man’s presence. “The servant girls, the confessions you take with payment. Do not speak as if you are above reproach.”

The man chuckled and took a gulp of his drink. “You are right, of course, for I do all those things. However, I have the power to forgive. You do not. Therefore, I will not charge you a fee for your insults, but I do ask that you leave my house. Now.”

Without another thought, Barnard pulled the pistol from under his coat and placed the barrel against the man’s chest. “Where is Miss Annabel?”

The vicar looked down at the gun without fear. “A simple butler willing to kill for the lady of the house in which he works?” He chuckled. “Yet, you are no simple man now, are you? I know what lurks behind those eyes of yours.”

Barnard pressed the gun harder. “Whether I am a simple butler or not is none of your concern. Lady Lambert and Miss Annabel are. Now, I will give you one more chance. Tell me where she is being held and I shall make your death quick. Or we shall spend the day making you confess.” He cocked back the hammer of the gun to punctuate his words.

The old vicar’s eyes narrowed but a smile crossed his lips. “You judge me yet there is no hesitation in your threat.” His voice held no concern for his current predicament. “Such calm is learned through experience. Very well, I shall tell you what I know and what I believe.” He looked down at the pistol once more. “Will you remove that?”

Barnard pursed his lips as he stepped back, keeping the pistol trained on Reverend Creassey. “As you were saying?”

The vicar snorted and returned to the sofa. “What happened that day was never spoken of, at least not by me. I was paid handsomely and did not wish to lose any future business Lord Lambert might have for me. If I flapped my tongue at even one thing I learn, I would have no business. I am well-paid for the secrets I keep, and I intend to keep it that way.” He laughed. “We have only a few others who know the truth, so we must ask ourselves, who would benefit from this threat?”

“That is why I am here,” Barnard said, weary of the games. “It had to be you who took Annabel.”

Reverend Creassey sighed. “You are many things, Forbes, but wise is not one of them. You ask the wrong questions.”

“What do you mean?” Barnard growled. “Do not speak to me in riddles.”

“But is it not a riddle? You are attempting to find the person who has taken Miss Annabel, correct? Yet that is the wrong question to ask.”

“What would be the correct question?” Barnard asked, his patience all but gone.

“The true question is, who would want to see Lady Lambert suffer?” Reverend Creassey took a long drink from his glass as if he had made a point worthy of some sort of praise.

Barnard, however, could not make head nor tail of the man’s point.

“Well, Barnard?”

“I am uncertain,” Barnard replied. “You do not believe Lady Lambert herself…”

“No, you fool!” the vicar snapped in vexation. “It is not she, nor you, nor those who are dead. Therefore, it is either me, Lady Lambert, or…”

Barnard shook his head as realization dawned on him. “No, you…”

Reverend Creassey chuckled. “What could I possibly gain by having the girl kidnapped? Money? I have what I need on which to live. I have no desire for a larger home or finer clothes. I am but a humble man doing the Lord’s bidding. What you must ask is this. If I do not need the money, and Lady Lambert gains nothing from this fiasco, who is left to profit?”

All anger left Barnard as the answer appeared in his mind. “It was evident the entire time. We were fooled.”

The vicar laughed. “Yes, you were. Do not be ashamed, for I did not realize it until a moment ago myself.”

Barnard returned the pistol to his coat pocket. “Ambrose, I believe…”

The vicar raised a hand. “I do not care for apologies. However, money can satisfy any transgression. That is…unless Lady Lambert should never need me again?”

Reaching into his pocket, Barnard produced two ten-pound notes and slapped them into the man’s open hand. “That is all I have.”

“That I do not doubt,” Reverend Creassey replied. “Now, leave my home. Oh, and send the girls back to me. We have some more sins to wash away.”

With a queasy stomach, Barnard left the house. Once outside, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. His head pounded from lack of sleep and the urge to return to Lady Lambert.

In no time he was mounted and urging his horse into a gallop, he was soon riding toward Scarlett Hall. It was almost a day’s ride, and with night not far off the horizon, he hoped he would not arrive too late.