Suspicion
Through the haze of shock and fear, Julia watched Cal crouch beside Ellen and press his fingers to her throat. He bent so his cheek was close to her mouth. Julia knew he was listening for breath.
“Is she breathing?” This was her fault—she had pushed Ellen to stop letting that man hurt her and use her and pimp her, and he had no doubt reacted in pure rage.
Cal looked up. She’d never seen a man look so anguished—except Nigel, when Zoe lost her babies. “Julia, I told you to stay outside.”
“What use would I be out there?” But she wanted to be sick and she was fighting to stay on her feet.
“You shouldn’t see this. She’s been beaten to a pulp.” He surged to his feet. “She’s breathing but unconscious. I need to stop the blood flow on the wound on her arm. What she needs is to get to a hospital where she can be stitched up properly. Her leg and arm are broken.”
Now, without Cal’s body blocking her view, she could fully see Ellen. At least, she thought it must be Ellen. Bruises had turned the woman’s face into masses of black and blue. The nose—heavens, it was a mess, and there was blood all over her face. There was blood on the floor and on the side of the stove.
Her knees wobbled. Don’t faint and be useless. Isobel could look at medical illustrations while eating biscuits. She could cope with this. But Julia felt as if her head was full of nothing but air. Spots danced. She feared she would slither to the floor.
But then rage flooded her. Right now was the time to prove she was modern. And strong. She straightened her back; she regained control as Cal asked, “Can we get an ambulance of some kind?”
“There’s the local doctor. I can get him and we can get a car from the hospital, Cal.”
He looked up at her. His face softened. “Julia.” Next thing she knew, he’d led her away, toward the door.
“No,” she protested. “If you can face this with strength, I can. I’ll fetch Dougal. He’s come back to Brideswell and I know he can help her.”
“I don’t think you’re fit to drive—”
“I am!” she cried. “I can do this.”
She saw the doubt in his eyes and she wanted to scream. It was because she was a woman. Everyone thought she was so weak—
“Okay. Take the child with you,” Cal said, surprising her by showing he believed her capable. “If I could get my hands on who did this, I’d tear him apart.”
She nodded numbly, then stumbled to the door. She believed she knew who had done this. But she didn’t have his name. The man was a monster, but Cal couldn’t tear him apart. The law would make this man pay. She grasped Ben’s hand—he was in the hallway, white as a sheet. “Come and help me get the doctor, Ben—”
“I’m not leaving her!” Ben was going to pull away from her hand, but Cal was there, suddenly, at Ben’s side.
“We’ll get her to the hospital and the doctor will take care of her, Ben. Go with Lady Julia. She needs a strong man at her side.”
She was going to protest—then saw, by the way Ben straightened and held her hand firmly, that Cal’s words were to help the boy. He had known just the thing to say.
But as Cal turned to go back to Ellen, she heard him mutter, “God, don’t let her die. Not like Mam.” He stalked to the kitchen.
His mother had died...like this? Julia felt Ben’s hand squeeze hers. They had to go. She hurried him outside, helped him into the car, putting him in the front seat next to her.
Having Ben beside her in the car made her aware she must hold herself together. Tears welled, blurring her vision, and she wiped the tears away viciously with her leather-clad hand, then drew her goggles down over her eyes. Ben said not a word.
She feared for Ellen Lambert, and young Ben, and she feared she’d learned an awful truth about Cal’s past. She pushed down the accelerator, hurrying to the hospital to fetch Dougal.
* * *
Once Julia had driven away—and he’d watched to ensure she wasn’t weaving the car because she was about to faint—Cal went back in, ripped up some sheets and made the best tourniquets he could. Mam used to pray. He never did, but he was doing it now. Silently praying for Ellen.
Then Julia’s voice called, “Cal, I’m back and I’ve brought Dougal—Dr. Campbell.”
The sound of her voice...it did something to him. It went right to his soul. He couldn’t even explain how he reacted. He’d been with a lot of women, but he’d never been through as much as he had with Julia, and he felt so close to her.
A tall, handsome man with auburn hair strode in, with Julia behind him.
Cal realized it was Campbell, the man Julia had intended to marry.
The doctor got on his knees beside Ellen’s prostrate body. Nodded approval at the tourniquets Cal had made. Cal got to his feet and got out of the way so the doctor could work.
Dr. Campbell tended to Ellen with Julia at his side. And Cal saw the way Julia looked at the doctor. That look hit Cal right in the gut.
Campbell was a different kind of man to Hamilton. No snobbery, no drunkenness. Campbell got to business and concern for Ellen was obvious on his face. Campbell was different from him, too, Cal realized. The doctor’s past included medical school, hard work and saving lives. Not like Cal’s past of crimes and violence.
Campbell examined Ellen quickly, checking her heartbeat and for broken bones. He opened his Gladstone bag and gave Ellen an injection. “For the pain,” he said in a Scottish burr. “The tourniquets are doing the trick for now. This lass needs to get to the hospital.” He frowned. “Assaulted in her own cottage in front of her wee child. What ruffian carried out this misdeed?”
“I don’t know,” Julia said.
“Shouldn’t the police be called in?” Campbell asked.
“I’ll do that,” Cal said. “But I doubt Ellen will be helpful.”
“Surely she will now,” Julia cried.
Cal shook his head. “She’ll be more afraid. And afraid for Ben.” Tires crunched then, and doors slammed.
“That’s the car from the hospital,” Julia said. “We left Ben there, under the care of nurses. He wanted to come back, but I told him to wait there, to be ready when his mother came.”
Cal nodded, seeing how well she handled herself in a crisis. She was perfectly matched to the honorable Dr. Campbell.
The ambulance drove off with the doctor in the back. Julia touched his arm. “I should go to the hospital to watch Ben,” she said. “He’ll need a familiar face.”
“After, he can come and stay with me at Worthington.”
She looked startled. “It would be better for him to come with me to Brideswell. The countess may not be welcoming. And Ben knows me.”
“They’re on my estate. They’re my responsibility. That’s what you wanted me to learn, wasn’t it? I’m taking him to Worthington and the countess can keep her mouth shut.”
Julia’s eyes widened in surprise. “I will gather some of Ben’s things.”
She hurried away from him so fast, Cal knew something was wrong. He followed her. She stood in a tiny room by a small cot. She put her hands to her face.
She was crying. And she hadn’t wanted him to see.
But he had comforted her after Mrs. Toft died...
Yeah, and he’d kissed her.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Of course she wasn’t, but he didn’t know what to say.
With her back to him, she wiped her eyes. She faced him looking collected, except for red rims to her eyelids. “I am fine.”
She wasn’t, but he guessed she didn’t need him. He wanted to touch her, put his arm around her to take her to the car, but he didn’t. He drove her to the hospital. Along the way, he stayed quiet. His gut was churning. Maybe his actions toward Ben made Julia believe he’d accepted his place as earl.
But he hadn’t. He was angry about Ellen, but that had nothing to do with being an earl. He didn’t need the title, the money, the estate. David, his brother, didn’t need it, either. He’d sent a telegram, telling David he was now the earl. Temporarily. Because he had made a vow when Mam died. Julia didn’t know that, but he’d made a promise, and he was going to carry it out—
“You look so angry,” Julia said, breaking the silence as he drove on the rough road.
He could have told her exactly what was on his mind. But he just told her part of it. “I am. I guess you did a good job, Julia. You made me care about these people. I’m going to find that thug and make him pay. I’m going to make him suffer.”
“What? You cannot. He must be arrested.”
“Where I come from, he’d be found dead.”
He heard her sharp, shocked gasp. “That is what they do in New York? I thought those stories of gangs and wars were all exaggerated.”
“They’re not. That’s what the poorest neighborhoods are like. A constant war,” he said bitterly. “That’s the world that the Carstairs family condemned us to.”
“Cal—”
“That’s why I’m vengeful, Julia. Vengeance made the world go round where I grew up.”
He shouldn’t be doing this, shocking her when she was hurt. But the old anger was coiling in him. Then the look of horror on her face cut right down to his soul. She wanted to think he could be gentlemanly. But he never could. He’d never be the kind of man who came from her world.
He damn well didn’t want to be. At that moment, he actually felt proud of his past. Proud of having survived poverty and fought his way out of the New York slums.
Then he remembered what he’d done to get out and that feeling of pride was replaced with cold, hard anger.
Meeting Kerry O’Brien in London had reminded him that he’d walked away from his past but hadn’t escaped it. Most of New York had read about him in the newspapers. The headlines had screamed things like “American Artist Surprise Heir. The Earl of New York—found penniless in Paris.” That was how O’Brien had tracked him down. He’d arranged to meet Kerry O’Brien in London to keep him away from Worthington Park. O’Brien wanted money—
“Cal, was your mother attacked like this?”
He hit a hole in the road because her question had stunned him. How had she known?
“I overheard what you said as I was leaving to fetch Dr. Campbell,” she said softly.
He was going to say something hard and curt, something to end the conversation, but he opened his mouth and all that came out was a painful sound, like an abbreviated sob of grief.
All he could think of was the last night of his mam’s life. How he had found her. The last words she’d said. After, he’d almost killed himself, he’d been so full of drunken rage and guilt. Painting had saved him. Painting and his responsibility to his brother.
He wasn’t going to break down in front of Julia.
“Cal, I am so sorry. If that is what your life was like when you were young, I would like to summon the old earl’s ghost and give it a damn good slap.”
He’d never heard her swear. It made a laugh come up from deep in his chest. And he knew what he was going to do. Tell Julia Hazelton something that no one else knew. David didn’t even know what had really happened to their mam. He’d kept the truth from his brother.
“I was fourteen,” he said, a blunt beginning.
He’d had money then—nothing like he had now, but something. He’d earned it with the Five Points Juniors Gang. He’d been acting as lookout. Big for his age, he was being recruited to do more. Muscle was needed to threaten people who owed money, to act as protection. His money was supposed to rescue his mother—get her away from what she’d done when she was really desperate for money.
“Mam worked in a factory at a sewing machine in the day, washed dishes in a bar at night. She helped women deliver babies as well, helping those in our neighborhood. She didn’t do that for money, but the families would give us food.” He took a breath. “I was wild—angry. My father was dead and Mam had written to the Worthingtons, desperate for their help. They wrote a letter back that told her she wasn’t good enough to lick their boots. I was so full of fury... I would come home drunk. I’d get into fights—I’d swing my fists at anyone, and half the time I got beaten senseless.”
“Oh, Cal.” Her voice was a soft, beautiful murmur beside him.
“That helped me learn how to survive the War, at least. But the night Mam died...”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her what else Mam had been forced to do. “I guess a man broke into our room. He must have known Mam kept the money she had wrapped up in her underclothing drawer—” A lie. Mam had let the man into their tenement.
“She had sent David over to a neighbor’s house for the night,” he went on, “because she...worked so late at the bar. She was so tired, so thin, so worn to the bone, but Mam was still beautiful. Her eyes were pale blue, ice blue, and they looked like they could only have been made by magic.”
Julia’s fingers rested gently on his forearm as he drove. He knew it was pity for the damn wretch he’d been. He liked himself better as the angry man who’d arrived here determined to get revenge.
“I found her on the floor,” he went on. “She was as badly beaten as Ellen. I thought she was dead. I threw up, standing in the doorway.” He’d been scared and weak. “I knelt beside her, and she opened her eyes. Then her head rolled to the side and she coughed up blood. I ran for the doctor, clutching a fistful of money so the doc would know I could pay. But after I gave him money and he looked at her, he said nothing could be done. She was too weak to survive. The doctor left—probably to get a drink—and I stayed with her until she died.”
Mam had wanted him to be decent and honorable and gentlemanly like his father. He’d sacrificed all of her dreams when he joined the gang. He’d done it for her, and then he’d been too late to save her.
Julia’s hand was squeezing his. “I found the man who hurt her,” he said coolly.
“What—what did you do?”
“I tried to beat him just as bad but I failed. I was big, but basically still just a fourteen-year-old kid.”
“Dear heaven, that’s terrible.”
Her touch was gone. Startled, Cal looked down and realized she’d released his hand.
Yeah, he wasn’t surprised she didn’t want to touch him. He looked at her, saw the shock and horror on her face, and the same cold, hard anger that had lived inside him since he was a boy surged up.
“I’ve done bad things. I know you want to believe I’m a worthy noble descendent of the earl, but I keep telling you I’m not.”
“That was not bad. It was misguided. But understandable.”
She had no idea. But the hell of it was, even as he pushed her away, he wanted her. He itched to paint her. Ached to make love to her. He’d planned to seduce her, but now he knew the truth—he could never have Julia.
* * *
At the hospital, poor Ben was terrified, but Julia’s heart wobbled as Cal lifted the boy into his arms so Ben could see his mother. Ben fought to look stoic and strong. “I’ll look after you, Mum. I’m the man of the family.”
“You’ll need help with that,” Cal said. “I’ll help you both.”
Julia’s heart soared as he said that.
The local police constable arrived, a broad, burly man. He asked questions, but it became quickly apparent that the constable knew who Ellen was and what she did to earn money. His attitude was thoroughly unhelpful, until Cal loomed over him. “You will give this case all due attention,” Cal growled. “You will find the man who did this. You will arrest him. I don’t give a damn what this woman was forced to do to feed herself and her child. I’m the Earl of Worthington and the police had better give Ellen Lambert’s attack the attention it deserves.”
“The constabulary will give this its due diligence,” the policeman promised, chastised.
“See that is does,” Cal said.
Julia could have applauded him. Cal truly did care—which meant she had done what she needed to. She had to wipe a tear that tracked down her cheek. A tear of hope.
Cal came to her. “I’m going to take Ben to Worthington. I’ll have a warm bath drawn for him and a bedroom made up.”
“In the nursery—”
“The hell with the nursery,” he growled. “There’s a room beside mine.”
“Cal, children always sleep—”
“Ben is going to sleep where I say.”
“I won’t argue,” she said softly. “I agree with you.” She wanted to embrace him, but of course, she couldn’t. She had to restrain her relief over his caring, responsible behavior.
Cal walked her outside. It was almost evening. “I’ll take you home to Brideswell, if you like, Julia.”
“I think I’ll stay longer. With Ellen. I can have a car sent from Brideswell.”
But later, when she left, Julia decided to go to Worthington Park to ensure Ben was settling in all right. As the Daimler pulled in front of the house, Julia saw Cal standing outside, drawing on a cigarette.
She got out, told him why she’d come.
He tossed the cigarette away. “Ben’s already gone to sleep, Julia. I had to carry him up to bed. I figure he’ll be out for a while, so I’m going to look at the car in the Worthington garage.”
He hadn’t gone yet. She felt exhausted, but she wanted to see it, too. She had to face the truth—whatever it was. “Let me come with you. And don’t argue.”
Cal shrugged. “Okay.”
They reached the garage in silence. At Cal’s side, Julia walked in through one of the open double doors. She smelled grease and oil, following him to the very back of the building. A cloth was draped over a car and was gray with dust, except where the corner had been pulled back, exposing the headlight and the red painted fender.
Cal pulled the dustcover completely away.
“This was Anthony’s car,” she said softly. “He adored it. The only other person who drove it was the earl.”
“How old was the earl in 1916?” Cal asked.
Could it really have been Anthony’s father who took young women for drives? “He was about forty-two.”
“Good-looking? Could he have looked like a younger man?”
“I suppose. He rode religiously and kept himself trim. He was quite a handsome man.” She stared at Cal. “Do you really believe he is the one who would meet Sarah and take her driving? And the other girls?”
Cal opened the door and climbed in. “Those girls would be flattered, wouldn’t they, by the attentions of a lofty earl?”
Sarcasm made his voice hard. She watched him sit, holding the steering wheel for a moment. Then he bent to the passenger seat and the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking,” he said. She had no idea what he meant until he straightened, holding a ball of emerald green cloth. “It’s a scarf,” he said, and he straightened it out. It was wrinkled and a bit dirty. He looked closely at it. Then showed it to her. “See the dark hairs on it?”
Julia lifted the green silk. She coughed at the musty smell. By the light of the electric bulb, she could see a few long black hairs tangled in the fringe.
“Is it yours?” he asked. “Did you forget it in the car years ago?”
“It’s not mine. It’s a striking color, but it’s a cheaply produced silk. Not the best quality.” She frowned. “I doubt Sarah would have had a scarf like this, even so. It would be out of her means.”
“But maybe it was a gift. To lower her defenses,” he said.
“I don’t think—”
“I do. Don’t men like that think they can do anything they like to lower-class girls?”
“Not all of them,” she said.
“It looks like it was my cousin Anthony or the old earl who picked up the girls in this fancy automobile.”
She jerked her head up. “You have no real evidence to say such a thing.”
“You just can’t believe a gentleman you had dinner with could be a scoundrel.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I’m very aware of what men do. But I knew both men well. I was in love with Anthony and I was going to marry him. I know what kind of man he was. The earl was very much in love with his wife. She was so much softer and kinder then, before the tragedies happened.”
“She wasn’t kind to my family.”
“I think you just desperately want the earl to have done something scandalous. But we have to know it’s true. We need proof.”
“That’s what I want.” Meeting her eyes with a grim gaze, he got out and went to the back of the car.
There was still no explanation for what had happened to the girls. Even if Anthony had flirted with them, where had they gone?
She walked to the boot just as Cal opened it, raising the lid. A spade sat in there, crusted with dried mud, and the floor of the boot was covered in dirt.
A spade? The electric light glittered on something in the corner. Cal lifted up a tiepin, decorated with a sapphire.
“That belonged to Anthony,” she whispered.
* * *
After Julia left to go home to Brideswell, Cal returned to the house to find Kerry O’Brien waiting for him in his study. Wiggins told him the American gentleman had pushed his way in, and had not given his name—had only said to tell Cal that a friend from the Five Points Gang wanted to see him.
Damn O’Brien. “Where are the countess and my cousins?” Cal asked.
“They have retired for the night.”
The countess was avoiding him and eighty rooms made that easy to do. She hadn’t even come down for dinner in the big dining room for the past few nights. She ate in her room, claiming she had headaches. His cousins ate with him, but they also stayed away from him as much as possible. He’d tried to apologize to Thalia for his outburst over the painting, but she had blinked at him like a baby owl, then scurried away. As if she was afraid that just speaking to him would unleash his rage. He found he felt like an idiot for making a young girl afraid of him.
But tonight, he was glad they weren’t here to see O’Brien.
Wiggins cleared his throat. “My lord, if I may be so bold as to make the suggestion... I could return with a strong footman and propel this gentleman out of the house.”
Cal tried to imagine the ancient butler trying to get rid of O’Brien, who carried both a gun and a blade. For once he felt a kinship with frosty Wiggins. And grinned. “Not necessary, but I appreciate the thought, Wiggins.”
“Very good.” The butler withdrew.
He stalked to his study. O’Brien was in his chair, his feet up on the desk. “You really are a goddamned earl,” O’Brien said as Cal walked in and shut the door. Kerry waved his hand around at the books, paintings, furnishings. “You could fence this for a fortune.”
“Why in hell are you here, O’Brien? We were supposed to meet again in London.”
“I figured you might double-cross me.” O’Brien took out a cigarette from a gold case. As he did, he let Cal see the butt grip of his pistol stuck in the waistband of his suit trousers. “That old stick-up-the-ass butler looked surprised when I mentioned the Five Points Gang. Just like I figured—your snooty family doesn’t know about your past. They don’t know what you did. I gave you my price for being quiet. I want to be paid. Now. If you don’t got cash, I’ll take some of your fancy goods.”
“Maybe I don’t give a damn if the family does find out.”
Obviously that was something O’Brien had never figured. “What in hell do you mean?”
In one fluid motion, Cal ground out his cigarette on the heel of his hand and grabbed O’Brien by the lapels of his shiny pale pink suit jacket. He lifted his former associate off the leather seat. “You can do whatever the hell you want with your story. I’m going to sell this place and take off. And I don’t give a flying fuck,” he said coarsely, “what Lady Worthington or this family thinks about me.”
The truth was he didn’t want them to know. He definitely didn’t want Julia to know.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
O’Brien’s face went red—his nose was always red, from a lifetime of hitting the Irish bars. “You owe me, Cal. I saved your life. You remember.”
“You did. I’ve repaid that debt six times already. This time will make seven.”
“What do ye mean ‘this time’?”
Cal went to the desk drawers, pulled out a key and opened the top one. He pulled out all the ready cash he’d locked up in there—two thousand dollars in American bills. Tossed it on the desk blotter in front of Kerry. “That’s all you’re gonna get. Two grand.”
O’Brien smirked at him, but his blue eyes were still wary. Watching. Ready to shoot to save his own life. O’Brien stuffed the money in the pocket of his pink jacket. “I need more.”
“It’s not worth it to me to pay you to keep your mouth shut. That’s because I had a debt to you. Now get the hell out.”
O’Brien’s hand moved toward the gun.
One quick breath later, Cal had O’Brien’s arm pinned behind his back and his face shoved hard against the blotter. “Get out, O’Brien. I’ve got thirty thousand acres here. Easy enough for a body to end up in a shallow grave, never to be found.”
As he spoke, he felt his gut churn. For three women, he figured that had already happened. He could be wrong, but his gut instinct told him those women were dead. He had no intention of even getting into a fist fight with O’Brien, so to make sure O’Brien believed his bluff, he leaned over the man and muttered, “I could break your damn neck before you even move. You know that, Kerry.”
The War had taken all the brutal skills he’d learned growing up in the gang and perfected them. He eased off on the pressure and when Kerry didn’t try to spring up and fight, Cal let go and stepped back completely.
“Let me escort you to the door,” he said.
Kerry knew he was beaten, Cal figured. The gangster jerked up, straightened his suit and put his hat back on—it had fallen to the floor as Cal had shoved him down before.
He hauled O’Brien to the large double doors. Wiggins stood there, with a footman who was losing the battle to look like he was made of stone. Wiggins commanded the kid—a lad named Eustace—to open the door. Cal propelled Kerry out to the front step.
“Yeah, I’ll go back to London,” Kerry growled. “Right to the papers.”
“I advise you to go back to the States,” Cal said, low and soft. He had no idea what O’Brien was going to do, but he could smell the man’s fear. His fear and his anger. Which one was going to win out? “I’m a rich man. I could offer the papers a lot more money to not print that story.”
Kerry sneered, but he had a deflated look to him. “I need a drink,” he muttered.
“You’ve got a couple grand on you. Don’t spend it all at one bar,” Cal said. After O’Brien left, he poured himself a drink. When he’d started painting in Paris, he’d sworn he would never do anything violent again. But to save his arse, he’d done that today.
And—damn it—he was imagining the horrified look that would have been on Julia’s face if she’d witnessed it.
* * *
By the light of day the next morning, Julia still could not believe it was true. The horrible thing she’d been confronted with last night. That it might have been Anthony who had made Sarah Brand, Eileen Kilkenny and a maid disappear.
Anthony had been a good man. He’d loved Worthington Park with all his soul. If he had been warped, if he had been wrong in the head, surely she would have seen it.
Going down to breakfast was a nightmare. She could not eat. All she could manage was coffee. Black and strong.
“I’ve had a letter from the Earl of Summerhay,” Mother announced. “He has to be in the area—he is purchasing a horse. He wondered, Nigel, if he might be able to stay. I have been corresponding quite regularly with that dear boy.”
“The dear boy is almost thirty, Mother,” Isobel pointed out. “And you’ve only been corresponding with him since Julia said she would never consider marrying the Duke of Bradstock.”
Mother ignored that. “He is in need of a place to stay. He intends to stay at a public house, but I told him that is nonsense. He must stay with us. Are you in agreement, Nigel?”
“Mother, you promised not to push me to marry,” Julia protested, for this was the last thing she wanted to think about.
“I would never push. But I see no reason why he cannot visit and you could not spend time with him.” Mother looked happier than she had in years and Julia’s heart twisted.
“Mother, I can’t. Invite him if you wish, but don’t try to push, or put, us together.” She looked at the surprised faces—her mother’s lovely pale face, Isobel’s curious one, Nigel’s startled one.
She couldn’t tell them she feared Anthony had committed terrible crimes. “Please. I just can’t think of this right now.”
“What is wrong?” Nigel asked.
“Nothing. I—I was thinking of Anthony. I’m simply not ready to think of marrying anyone.”
She got up. “I must go out—I have things I must do.” Julia left the room, the house. It was drizzling, so she threw on a mackintosh from a closet. She got her car and drove as fast as she could to Worthington.
There, she stopped in the drive. Her bare hands clutched the leather-wrapped steering wheel. She hadn’t worn gloves. She usually did—Mother had said she could not drive if she didn’t, or she would end up with a farm laborer’s calluses. How unimportant such concerns were now.
The footman opened the door and Wiggins, walking past the foyer, saw her and hurried to her. “Good morning, Lady Julia.”
It wasn’t a good morning. It was a terrifying one. “Is the earl at home?”
“The earl has gone to Lilac Farm.”
Lilac Farm. Yesterday, Cal had looked down at the shovel in the boot of the car. He had told her about a criminal case in America—a twelve-year-old schoolgirl from the State of New Jersey had been “criminally assaulted” and killed. He had stood there, the light casting the most ominous shadows under his sharp cheekbones, and told her that those three women might be dead. They might be buried somewhere. Even somewhere on the Worthington estate.
“Why has he gone to Lilac Farm?” He couldn’t have gone to tell the family what he suspected, could he?
Cal hadn’t voiced his thoughts but she’d seen it in the dark anger in his eyes. He thought a man from Worthington Park had done it. It could have been the old earl, or John, or even one of the men who worked on the estate—if he were bold enough to take the car. But she knew Cal was thinking it was Anthony. He’d said: Likely a man got away with murder because of who he was.
“My lady, I fear it is his lordship’s intent to sell land to an American gentleman.”
Wiggins’s words broke through her thoughts. Julia felt as if the floor had suddenly tilted and she was going to slide off it. “What? What American?” The man from London, supplied her frantic mind.
“I did not eavesdrop, my lady. The gentleman bluntly asked Lord Worthington if the house was for sale. He also asked if I was for sale.”
Her stomach lurched. But she hid her panic. “I am so sorry, Wiggins.”
“The earl took this American with him. Should I be concerned for the future of the estate, my lady?”
Wiggins looked utterly composed, except for a twitch to his jaw, but Julia knew the poor man was terrified. Cal had been angry after they had found the shovel. He felt the Carstairs family had gotten away with murder.
She would have known, surely, if Anthony was so bad, so evil. And Cal had no proof. A shovel left in the boot of the car was not definitive evidence. Nor was the scarf.
Cal had been angry. But surely he wouldn’t sell the farm away from the Brands because he was angry—without proof—at the Carstairs?
And even if—if Anthony was guilty, poor people like the Brands had suffered enough. Cal’s rage must not hurt them, in any attempt to strike the Carstairs family. She had to stop Cal.
“This man was not the only American gentleman who came to the house in the past two days, my lady,” Wiggins said. “Late yesterday an unsavory-looking man arrived by motorcar. He wore a suit of a pale pink, shiny material—” Wiggins sniffed “—and he had the mannerisms, accent and air of an American gangster.”
That was the man in London. This then was a different man. What did that mean? “I must go. At once.” Leaving Wiggins staring in astonishment, she turned from her heel and ran out of the house, as if pursued by hounds.
Was she already too late to save the Brands’ farm?