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Red dropped Clara off at the front door. "Meet you inside once I get Daisy settled," he said, tipping his hat.
Clara carefully tucked the invitation back into her bag. She had spent the entire carriage ride reading it over and over. Somehow she needed to get inside. If only Wesley were here instead of locked away, she thought. He would have insisted upon going, no matter what the danger. She knew she could not ask anyone else to risk their life going undercover. In fact, she did not have anyone she could ask other than Red. The rest of her male acquaintances were mad or dead.
She put her hand on the doorknob, but Mr. Willard opened it before she could turn it.
"Ma'am," he said, stepping aside. "You have a visitor."
Clara looked at his dark, serious eyes. Something was disturbing him greatly. She removed her hat and gloves quickly, handing them over and stepped into the parlor.
Her corset suddenly felt as if someone had pulled the laces too tight.
Trevor Beltza.
The scoundrel was in her very parlor. He stood as she entered, as friendly as you please. Rage coursed through her veins at his audacity.
His pasty white skin was as sallow as ever. His stick-straight brown hair had been parted in the middle and pasted flat to his head. His eyes glittered beneath his singular brow. Though he wore the black arm band of the grieving, there was nothing about his demeanor which suggested he was feeling the slightest bit of sorrow.
"How dare you come here," she spat. The air was charged with the menace of her hostility, as if the house itself would propel him outdoors if he did not take flight.
Trevor held up his hands. "Really, Mrs. O'Hare! I have lost a mother because of that man whose company you keep and you sit there scolding me? Please, woman. I come to bury the hatchet between us."
"If I had a hatchet in my hand," said Clara, "I assure you that burying it would be the farthest thing on my mind."
"Now, now!" said Trevor, waggling his finger at her. "Temper!"
She spat out the words, biting them off sharply. "You falsely accuse Mr. Lowenherz of murder and you dare to tell me I am being over emotional?"
"The female constitution is so weak, I am scarcely surprised you are unable to wrangle your emotions under control."
"Mr. Beltza—" Clara began.
"Ahem. It is LORD Beltza now."
"MISTER Beltza," Clara continued, "I am going to ask you very politely to leave and if you do not remove yourself from these premises, I will call the police to throw you out."
"Really," laughed Trevor, "the very idea."
"I assure you I am in deadly earnest," replied Clara, pointing at the door.
Trevor pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at one nostril and then the other. "Such dramatics! And when I come with a proposition for you, Mrs. O'Hare, for securing your dear Mr. Lowenherz's freedom."
His words caused Clara to stop. As much as she would have liked to have thrown him out on his ear, she paused.
"Ah! I thought that would get your attention," said Trevor, leaning upon his silver tipped walking stick. "All I want is a simple exchange. Something you have that I want, in exchange for something you want that I have."
"I don't make deals with devils," she responded coldly.
Trevor rolled his eyes. "Such drama with you fiery redheads! Really. It is a wonder anything gets done with people like you wandering about. Just sit and listen to what I have to say before you act rashly." He motioned to the couch. "Please. Settle down for just a moment and hear me out, and then I will go without any bother at all."
Clara forced her fury down. She sat on the edge of the seat, coiled and prepared to strike if he should make any threatening move.
"Now, isn't this better? Say, couldn't your man servant bring us a cup of tea or something?" asked Trevor, craning his neck towards the door.
"Do not test my patience," stated Clara.
He shrugged. "It is your own fault you are making this as unpleasant as it possibly can be."
Clara looked up at the clock on the mantle. "You have two minutes to state your case."
Trevor sighed. "Very well. As you know, my mother was a powerful woman." He looked to Clara for acknowledgement of this statement. She gave him none, so he went on. "Unfortunately, you and Mr. Lowenherz killed her."
"We did not kill her," Clara clarified. "She leapt from the grist mill and killed herself."
"Be that as it may," he said, "it is your word against mine."
"I believe Lady Daphne Grey would beg to differ."
Trevor's eyes became wide and innocent. He reminded Clara of a dumb cow. "Strangely, she has disappeared," he replied, "I'm afraid until she reappears, she will most likely not have anything to say in the matter."
Clara's blood chilled. She hoped Marguerite had Lady Grey in custody, but with the reach the Quatre Portes held, she was concerned for Lady Grey's safety. Trevor's father, Alastair Beltza had killed Lady Grey's daughter, Julie, and Clara did not doubt for a moment Trevor would not resort to similarly drastic measures to ensure his own well-being.
Trevor leaned forward and smiled. He tapped his cane upon the floor to emphasize his words. "So, you see, it is you against me. Now, your Mr. Lowenherz is facing charges, but I hold no ill will towards either of you. I have been left in charge of my mother's affairs, which truly, I hold no interest in. I propose that I drop all charges facing your Wesley, in exchange for..." He let the sentence trail off.
"In exchange for what?" Clara asked.
"Well, you see, I have some rather large gambling debts which must be settled, and my mother believed that your husband stole a great deal of our money."
It all came back to the money that Peter Nero stole, Clara reflected. How many lives? How many deaths? All because of the greed of one man. "I have no idea what you are referring to."
"Oh, I believe you do."
"You must believe me when I say I don't know where the money Peter Nero stole is."
Trevor opened his hands, as if he was making the most reasonable offer. "Am I asking the world?"
"Are you?"
"Am I asking you to commit an immoral act?"
"Perhaps you are..."
"Please, Mrs. O'Hare. All I ask is that you find what was stolen from my family's estate and return it to me. I am asking you to right a wrong. You believe it is Peter Nero. I have reason to believe your husband took it from him. Do this and I shall generously ensure that your precious Wesley walks free."
This time, it was Clara's turn to give Trevor a sugary sweet smile. Though the corners of her mouth were drawn up, her teeth were clenched as she spoke. "Believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than extricate myself from whatever madness surrounds the loss of these missing funds. But I assure you, I have absolutely no idea where they are."
"Well, you're a resourceful woman. Find it."
"And if I am unable to find it?"
Trevor cast his face to the sky and heaved a sigh. "Then, I'm afraid that Mr. Lowenherz shall meet his rightful end at the hands of justice. And do not think for a moment that I do not have the will or the connections." All jocularity left his face and Clara was reminded of the man who held a gun upon them in the garden. "This is not a bluff, Mrs. O'Hare." He twisted his cane and Clara gasped as her heart seemed to painfully skip a beat. "You have my proposal. When you find the money, send it to my manor and this entire unfortunate business will come to happy conclusion. You have until hangman comes for your love." Trevor stood and picked a bit of lint off of his waistcoat. "I look forward to seeing you soon." He then walked out of the room.
Clara's heart returned to normal and she bent over, breathing heavily. She looked at the door where Trevor disappeared, wondering how he had been capable of making her heart stop and if he would be capable of holding it still for longer.
Clara rushed into the kitchen. Red was just hanging up his hat and Mrs. Nan was just pulling a kettle off the stove for tea.
"I am sorry, Red," said Clara. "But I am afraid we must go to the police station. It is urgent. I must see Marguerite right away."