Chapter Fifty-Seven

Evil Lurks

Halifax paced the floor of his small townhouse parlor room. He’d heard that Wolferton was back in London to make arrangements for the family’s last ball. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t manage an encounter. Visits to White’s Men’s Club proved futile. Nor could he find Wolferton at Boodles or at any of the other establishments. He tried a stroll in front of the residence, lurked in a corner, but to come upon Jaclyn or Wolferton had no success.

From what he gathered from friends who had received invitations, his name was not on the list. Determined not to let anything thwart him, he prepared to beg, borrow, or steal an invitation. After some requests, perseverance rewarded him. He now had the invitation addressed to the friend who had given it to him since he could not attend. Halifax kept it on his desk in a drawer until the appointed time.

He sent another letter to Jaclyn at the London address. This missive was warm and expressed concern for her safety with the usual innuendo, but this time, his concern was also for Wolferton’s safety. He ended with a closing statement:

Wolferton has been fortunate that his despicable behavior has not garnered him enemies. However, at White’s last night, I overheard that there is a certain group who wishes to punish him for all his misdeeds and have formed a plan to harm him. I do hope when he leaves his townhouse, he is armed. Exercise caution when you are with him. I hope to see you soon.

Your Obedient Servant,

Alistair Halifax

While he’d now gained access to the Wolferton ball, he wanted to assure that the duke would not be present for Halifax to offer his hand to Jaclyn. He wrote another letter, this time addressed to Wolferton. He dated it the day of the ball. The return address was from Mr. Clifford Anderson with a Hertford address.

Your Grace, I beg to inform you that an emergency requires your presence here forthwith. The matter is delicate, and I cannot give you further details other than to say only you can make the decision. Therefore, your presence here is imperative as I am not empowered to authorize such exorbitant funds. Time is of the essence otherwise I would convey this in person.

Your obedient servant,

Clifford Anderson

Halifax kept the letter on his desk for delivery the morning of the ball. He presumed that after Wolferton read the contents, he would arrange to go to Hertfordshire where Halifax had a special surprise in store for the duke. With luck on his part, Wolferton would no longer present a problem to his plans.

Confident of his strategy, Halifax went to a gaming hell where he lost some five hundred pounds. The house didn't take IOUs. They required cash before anyone left the establishment. In desperation, he borrowed the sum from a moneylender on the premises. He couldn’t mortgage his house to a lender since it now belonged to the bank. Double in debt now, he dared not walk home but instead arranged for a ride from an acquaintance.

His lack of funds became a great concern. Three weeks to the ball was a long time. He would stay out of sight and out of mind. But he needed funds to pay the mercenary highwaymen. He looked around at the meager possessions he still owned—that were unencumbered by liens—and remembered his mother’s brooch of diamonds and sapphires, which were in his safe in a special compartment known only to him. Halifax visited a notorious jeweler on the edge of town and got the funds to accomplish his goal.

Yes, he marked off each day on a calendar with a strikethrough. Soon, he was down to the week of the ball. He would find an assassin. Then he’d laugh at Wolferton six feet under, help Jaclyn mourn her guardian, and laugh all the way to the bank with her money. All of this after he convinced her to marry him while she was most vulnerable.

At the gaming hell where he had no choice but to resist the faro games he favored, he reconnected with the moneylender who would introduce him to two men to perform the robbery and murder of Wolferton. They met in a public tavern with Halifax wearing a great coat that hid his aristocratic clothes. His fine blond hair was tied back in a queue and covered with a three-cornered hat. He wore an eye-patch to disguise himself. At the table, a wench poured ale, but he waited for the barmaid to move to other customers.

His French accent was deliberate. “Messieurs, do not mistake me for a fool. I’ll give you thirty-five pounds now and the balance of one-hundred sixty-five when you’ve performed the deed. We’ll meet here on this date.” He handed each a slip of paper with the date after the ball, Thursday, the twenty-sixth. “Don’t follow me,” he warned. “I never keep large sums of money on me in these instances. I have a pistol and knife at the ready.”

He left them at the table, hurried to the exit door, and clung to the dark walls away from gaslights, looking behind him more times than he cared to think about. Halifax ducked into a doorway and listened for footsteps, and with extreme patience waited fifteen minutes to ensure no one followed. Then he ventured out, a hand on his pistol until he came to a more appropriate part of town.

Perspiration beaded his cheeks and his forehead. Pleased at his success, he relaxed and smiled. He hailed a hackney and gave instructions for the driver to go to White’s Men’s Club where he advised the driver he changed his mind and gave him the true address of his bachelor quarters, convinced no one was in pursuit.

He paid the hackney driver, then two-stepped up his front entrance, and ripped off his eye patch. A waiting servant opened the door. Proud of his ventures, Halifax left his coat and accessories at the table and went straight to his parlor where he partook of a rather large glass of cognac. As his nerves settled, he laughed riotously. It wouldn’t be long now. He prided himself on his cleverness to execute the plan for the murder of the hated Wolferton.

During Halifax’s inability to spend time with Jaclyn, his grudge against the duke grew to an obsession. What had started as retaliation for past grievances at the university grew more intense. On her dying bed, a few years ago, his mother had admitted that she had a dalliance with Wolferton’s father which resulted in Halifax’s birth. The shock blew him away. He was the bastard son of that vile man. His mother had…kept this secret all her life. So Wolferton was his half-brother—the penniless half-brother while full-blooded Wolferton had everything a man could want. Not for long if he could help it. He had waited a long time for his revenge.

Halifax plotted these last three weeks in many ways. Without an excess of funds, he would not have the ability to woo Jaclyn. He went to his safe to see if perhaps he missed some item of value he could sell and found an envelope that contained a portrait of his mother, a woman of rare beauty with dark raven hair and blue eyes. Of those who vied for her hand, it was the man he thought to be his real father who succeeded. He remembered as a lad, many men were stunned with her good looks and charming personality. But, at an early age of perhaps seven years, he became aware of his father’s dissipation of fortune. Many an argument would ensue as merchants were not paid, staff came and went and the estate fell into disabuse.

Halifax heard a particular argument between his mother and father where she was accused of infidelity. He had hidden under a long circular tablecloth not to be seen by his callous father.

“You must think me a simpleton, Allison. I should never have married you. You were anxious for me to seduce you and I fell under your spell. Is Alistair really mine or is someone else the father? Have you foisted a bastard on me?” When she tried to leave the room, he barred the way. “No, you’ll stay here until you admit the truth, or I swear I’ll kill you. Who is the father?”

Drink after drink made the man’s behavior erratic and uncontrolled until at the end, after a beating, she admitted what he wanted to hear.

“Who is the man who cuckolded me?” Halifax listened carefully, and after hearing his mother’s screams, she said, “Stop. No more. The Duke of Wolferton.”

To the frightened little boy under the table, frozen in movement, he dared not utter a sound, afraid the man might beat him, too.

“Get that bastard out of my sight for I’ll kill him. I’ll kill Wolferton, too. He’ll pay for this outrage. I never want to see you again.”

His father walked out of the room and they never saw him again. The next day Halifax was told of his father’s death the evening before in a street robbery by footpads who murdered him. That circumstance allowed him to become the new Viscount. Fortune smiled on him.

His mother recovered but became a recluse and did not venture back into society. He would raise the subject, and she denied the allegation. “Your father was weak and a mad man, but you are his son. I never knew any other man.”

Alistair never believed her, but he accepted her word rather than have everyone know he was a bastard. She died after Halifax was sent to Eton. Lady Halifax had stolen the jewels and negotiable pound notes from her husband, after his death, and pawned them for a hefty sum, in order to pay for her son’s tuition. It was there he met Wolferton, whom he admired—and hated. The upstart had everything he ever wanted, but Halifax knew he was the more charming, and cunning of the two. In fact, he was proud of the heritage from the reprobate older Duke of Wolferton. But at the moment, he was a viscount and not a bastard. England did not look kindly on bastards, unless of course, they were recognized by the father or came from royalty.

True, he hated his mother because she disrupted his life with her infidelity, and he suffered. At a young age, he learned to blame others for mishaps and realized that his charm and glibness were the traits he inherited. He took joy in manipulating those around him while his irresponsibility and impulsiveness always got him in trouble.

Now, he held the picture in his hand. The resemblance to Jaclyn astounded him. Was there something inside him that equated the two of them—his mother and Jaclyn—as two of a kind deserving utmost punishment?

He blamed his mother for his ill fortune. Even the admitted bastards of a duke were held in high regard, but she never told him until it was too late. She had denied it and refused to speak further about it, until her death. If she wasn’t dead already, he’d kill her now with glee.