The Devil's Necklace (26 page)

She had, she told herself. Ethan had given his word and he would not break it.

Still, she felt restless and afraid.

The Bird-in-Hand Inn was clean and welcoming, the dining room and taproom softly lit by candles, a pleasant country inn filled with patrons from the local village, mostly tenant farmers, a few local squires and their wives and sons. The inn was decorated with evergreen boughs and holly in the spirit of coming Christmastide, and the fragrance of pine filled the low-ceilinged room.

In a corner at the rear of the tavern, a tall, thin man stood up, gray-bearded, wearing small silver spectacles. Grace saw him and her heart began to pound.

“Over there,” she said to Ethan, who took her hand and urged her to lead the way.

As they moved across the room, Grace flicked a glance at her husband, whose face was set in rigid lines, his mouth thin and grim. She could feel the tension rippling through his body, increasing with every step closer to the table.

Please let him listen,
she silently prayed, then stopped as they reached the wooden table in the corner.

“Thank you for coming, my lord,” her father said formally, making a polite bow of his head.

“I told Grace I would hear what you had to say,” Ethan told him stiffly. “I’m willing to listen to your side of the story, nothing more.”

“That is all I ask. Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you the truth as best I know it. I pray you will recognize the honesty in my words.”

Ethan made no reply. A tavern maid arrived and a round of ale was ordered merely to keep from arousing any notice. The maid returned with full pewter mugs and as soon as she left, the viscount began his tale.

Very briefly he recounted the information that had been revealed to the French, including detailed plans for ship activities, specific rendezvous locations, as well as the names of men on the Continent who were working undercover for the British government.

“You’re talking about privateers and British spies,” Ethan said darkly. “You were one of the few who knew the names of those ships and their captains—ships like the
Sea Witch.
You knew the names of Englishmen who were working in France and where to find them.”

“As chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee, I was privy to all sorts of important information concerning the war. I didn’t reveal that information. I would have sacrificed my life before I betrayed my country.”

A muscle in Ethan’s jaw tightened. Grace couldn’t tell if he believed her father or not. “Go on.”

“After my escape from prison, a few close friends came to my aid. I used the money they loaned me for food and shelter, but also to try to discover who had access to the information kept in my office and the name of the man who sold that information to the French.”

“And?”

“And there is every chance the traitor’s name is Martin Tully, earl of Collingwood.” Her father went on to tell Ethan about the young man, Peter O’Daly, who occasionally cleaned his office at Whitehall and that he had been found and confronted and admitted reading the reports in the viscount’s desk.

“It was believed the lad was illiterate. Instead, he made notes and sold them to Lord Collingwood. According to what the lad said, he had no real idea why the earl wanted the in formation, only that he was paid well to collect whatever he could and keep his silence.”

“Where’s the boy now?”

The viscount sighed. “Yes, well, that is part of the problem. After the lad was questioned, he managed to escape. No one has seen him since.”

“Rather convenient for you.”

“Not at all. If Peter O’Daly were here, you could discover the truth for yourself.”

Ethan seemed to mull that over. “What else?”

“In the months before the information was stolen, Lord Collingwood was apparently quite heavily in debt.” Her father went on to say that in the months following the theft, those problems seemed to disappear. Lastly, the viscount pointed to the location of the earl of Collingwood’s primary residence—an estate in Folkestone, an area long known for smuggling activities.

“The place is honeycombed with caves the French have been using for years. It would be easy enough for the earl to arrange secret meetings.”

Ethan took a sip of his ale, giving himself time to consider her father’s tale. He set the mug back down on the table. “Anything else?”

“At present, that is all. As my money has mostly run out and I am unable to move about freely, I am hoping that
you, my lord, will be able to collect the missing pieces of the puzzle, enough so that I can prove I am innocent of the crime.”

Ethan took a last drink of his ale and set the mostly full mug back down. “I’ll look into the matter. That is the best I can do.” He shoved back his chair and stood up, then helped Grace up from her chair. “This much I can promise you—if, in my search, I discover that it was you, and not Collingwood or anyone else who was in league with the French, you will be the man who hangs.”

Grace’s stomach contracted. The viscount opened his mouth to reply but the door at the rear of the tavern slammed open just then and all three of them turned in that direction. At the same instant, the front door of the building burst open and a dozen red-coated soldiers streamed into the taproom.

Grace whirled toward the viscount. “Run, Father!”

But the soldiers streaming in through the rear were already upon him, his arms being pinned behind his back, several flintlock pistols pointed at his head.

A familiar silver-haired officer strode forward, buttons gleaming on his scarlet coat. “You, sir, are under arrest for treason against your country. The sentence you escaped before will be carried out in the morning, four days hence.”

“Noooo!” Grace cried. “He is innocent!”

Ethan gripped her arm and dragged her out of the way, but she jerked free and spun to face him.

“You! You did this, didn’t you? You lied to me! Lied to him! You broke your word and I shall never forgive you!” Whirling away from him, she hauled up her skirt and started running toward the door of the tavern.

“Grace, wait!” Ethan tore after her, his long strides easily catching up with hers as she raced across the porch
and down the stairs. He caught her as she reached the bottom.

“Get away from me! I hate you! You are a liar and a cheat and I will never forgive you for what you have done!” She started running again but made it only a few feet into the darkness before Ethan caught her arm and spun her around to face him. Forcing her several steps backward, he trapped her against a tree trunk.

“I didn’t tell them, dammit! I have no idea how Pendleton found out your father was going to be here, but I am not the one who told him!”

“You’re lying!” She swung a fist at him, but Ethan caught her wrist. She swung the other fist, but he caught that one, too. Pressing her more firmly against the tree, he pinned her wrists above her head and anchored her in place with his powerful body.

Grace struggled against him, her eyes burning with angry tears. “Let me go!”

“I’m not letting you go. I’ll never let you go, Grace. You’re my wife and I love you. I didn’t tell Pendleton about your father. I gave you my word and I didn’t break it. I wouldn’t lie to you. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

Little by little, she began to stop struggling. She raised her eyes to his face and read the turbulence there.

“Did you hear me, Grace? I didn’t tell Pendleton or anyone else about your father. I promised you both I would do what I could to find out the truth and I am going to do just that. First thing in the morning, I’ll go see McPhee. I’ll tell him what has happened, ask him to step up his investigation, hire more men, do whatever he has to in order to find out the truth. I’ll speak to Rafe and Cord, ask them to help. Collingwood is a peer. Perhaps they can find out some thing.”

Ethan slowly released his hold on her wrists and Grace sagged against him. Gently, he gathered her into his arms.

“We’ve got four days, love. We’ll make each one of them count.”

She could only nod. She was too close to tears, her throat aching with grief for her father. Behind her the tavern door swung open and the group of soldiers surrounding the viscount hauled him out of the taproom and down the front porch stairs. A coach stood waiting to carry him back to Newgate prison.

“Father…” she whispered, her heart breaking for him.

Ethan tightened his hold around her. “You can’t help him tonight, Grace.”

When she finally nodded, he let her go and settled a hand at her waist. “Tomorrow we’ll start digging. For now, love, it is time to go home.”

She felt his strength as he led her toward the Belford carriage. His jaw was set, his expression hard. She recognized the determined slant of his mouth, the coiled tension in his broad shoulders, but it was the protective gleam in his beautiful pale blue eyes that convinced her Ethan hadn’t lied to her.

He hadn’t betrayed her or her father. Whatever happened, she could count on him to help her.

Grace gathered her courage and let him lead her back to the carriage.

G
race awakened groggy and out of sorts. Last night, the hour of their return had been late and exhausted as she was, she’d had trouble falling asleep. Now a weak December sun shone through the windows, rousing her from her few brief hours of slumber. Grace rang for Phoebe, who scurried in to help her dress and coif her hair, then she made her way downstairs.

The servants were busily at work, preparing the house for the inevitable rush of holiday visitors. Though Grace was scarcely in the Christmas spirit, the rest of the city eagerly anticipated the traditional holiday feast that would occur tomorrow night, the signal to begin the twelve days of Christmas. Ethan and Grace had been invited to Cord’s house for supper. All of his family would be there including his sister, Sarah, her husband, Jonathan, and their little boy, Teddy.

There would be other guests, as well. Grace’s parents had been among those invited, but they had declined. Which must have pleased her stepfather and disappointed her mother sorely. A marquess, an earl and a viscount all at the very same table, to say nothing of their wives.

As for Grace, she wanted nothing so much as to also decline, but it wouldn’t be fair to Ethan. She would go, she told herself. She would try not to think of her father, suffering in his dank, stone-walled cell. He had not even been allowed to pay for a cell in the masters’ side of the prison. Tempers were too sore; the viscount had eluded them too long.

Grace took a deep, steadying breath and forced herself not to think of the few short days until he would be executed for treason—the worst sort of offense. His actual sentence was to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. But in modern times like these, he would merely be hanged. The thought brought a bitter rush of bile to her throat.

The morning slipped past and though it was still early, Grace found herself sitting in the carriage next to Ethan on her way to Bow Street. Ethan had sent word ahead asking McPhee to meet them in his office. When Grace had asked if she could accompany him, Ethan hadn’t argued, though clearly the thought had crossed his mind. Instead, he simply nodded.

“I know how important this is to you, Grace. Come, if you wish. Perhaps there is something you can add that will be of help.”

And so here they were, climbing the steps and entering the narrow brick building, being greeted by Jonas McPhee then shown into his small, cluttered office. He seated them in ladder-back wooden chairs in front of his desk then took a seat behind it.

“Tell me what has happened,” McPhee said.

“A great deal, Jonas.” The runner had been informed of the circumstances of baby Andrew’s rescue. Ethan spoke of it briefly, filling in the missing details.

“So it was your second mate who took the child and the crime was not connected in any way to the viscount.”

“No. It was a matter of money—and revenge.”

How ironic, Grace thought. Revenge was something Ethan knew a good deal about. Perhaps what had happened with Willard Cox had been part of the reason Ethan had agreed to the meeting with her father.

“There is more, I gather.”

Briefly, Ethan told him about his ill-fated rendezvous with the viscount last night at the Bird-in-Hand Inn. “I have no idea how Pendleton knew where to find him.”

“The authorities had been tracking him for months. Sooner or later, his capture was inevitable.”

“I suppose that is true. In any case, during our brief conversation, Viscount Forsythe continued to profess his innocence, as he has from the start. He repeated his belief that the earl of Collingwood is the traitor and listed a number of reasons for coming to this conclusion.” Ethan went over each item while McPhee took copious notes.

“We’ve just four days until the hanging,” Ethan said. “I need to be sure the authorities have the right man.”

“But you are no longer certain.”

“It is possible the viscount is innocent. My wife believes her father’s story. As I said, I need to discover the truth.”

McPhee rose from his desk. “After our last conversation, I did some checking on Lord Tully’s financial affairs. Lord Forsythe is correct in saying that the earl was in very dire straits for a time. It appears that is no longer the case, though so far I have been unable to trace the source of the money he obtained to pay off his debts.”

“Keep looking.”

“I have a man working on it now. With your permission, I will also let it be known that there is a reward for the whereabouts of the lad, Peter O’Daly.”

“Make the purse a fat one,” Ethan said.

Jonas toyed with a piece of foolscap on his desk. “I find it interesting that the viscount mentioned Lord Collingwood’s residence in Folkestone. As Lord Forsythe said, the area is noted for its smuggling activities and certainly would provide an easy place to rendezvous with the French. It is an avenue I hadn’t thought to explore and at this point we haven’t got much else. If I leave this morning aboard the mail coach, I can be there and back in two days. Perhaps in Folkestone I can discover something of use.”

“Send word as soon as you return.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Ethan helped Grace up from her chair and she cast the runner a grateful glance. “Thank you, Jonas.”

“I hope I will be able to help, my lady.”

They left the building and on the way back to their town house, Ethan ordered the coach to stop first at Cord and Victoria’s, then at the duke’s. Though both men agreed to see what they might be able to discover, time was short. The magistrates were wasting no time. The hanging was scheduled for the day after the morrow.

Christmas night arrived and still no word from Jonas McPhee. Tomorrow was the last day before the hanging. At sunrise the morning after that, her father would die and she would never really have the chance to know him. She had spent so little time with him. What little she knew of him came mostly from the letters he had written her over the years, and yet in her heart she felt certain he was telling the truth—that he was innocent of the crime for which he would hang.

Grace dressed and readied herself for the festive holiday supper as if she were the one facing the noose instead of her father.

Gowned in simple dark blue velvet, her hair braided into a somber coronet atop her head, she sat on the stool in front of the dresser trying to work up the courage to leave the room when Ethan walked through the door. He came up behind her, bent and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek.

“We don’t have to go, love. We can stay home if you would rather. I know how difficult this is for you.”

Grace sighed. “I’ll feel awful no matter where I am. Be sides, there is always the chance that Cord and Victoria may have discovered something useful.”

“Rafe will be there, as well, along with his mother. Perhaps he has some news.”

She nodded, but she knew that her friends would have sent word if anything at all had come up. Still, she pushed to her feet, determined to make the best of the evening for Ethan’s sake. It was Christmastime, after all. Perhaps God would work a miracle for her father. Managing a smile for Ethan, she took a deep breath and started for the door ahead of him but Ethan caught her arm.

“Wait. There is something I think you need to do.” Gently turning her back to him, he unclasped the sapphire necklace that matched her gown and instead opened the lid of her jewelry box and pulled the pearl-and-diamond neck lace from atop its satin nest.

“I think that perhaps tonight you should wear these.” He draped the pearls around her throat. “Perhaps they will bring you luck as they did before.”

She blinked back tears at the memory of the safe return of their son. “Yes, thank you. That is a very good notion.” And so she stood perfectly still as he fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck, kissed her there, then led her out of the room. By the time they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase, she felt a little better, though she
didn’t really think it was the pearls, more her husband’s thoughtfulness.

Whatever it was, by the time she reached Cord and Victoria’s town house, she knew she would be able to make it through the evening ahead.

Amazingly, the presence of friends and family seemed to help as she hadn’t expected. Sarah and Jonathan were friendly and obviously glad to see her. The duchess of Sheffield, Rafe’s mother, was a cheerful and interesting conversationalist. To Grace’s great surprise, her sister-in-law, Harriet Sharpe, was there, and the two friends hugged tightly.

“It is so good to see you!” Harriet said, her blond hair piled into soft curls, looking pretty in a plaid taffeta gown trimmed in red velvet.

“It is wonderful to see you, too, Harriet. I didn’t know you were coming.”

Harriet glanced over her shoulder. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it, but David insisted. He thought it would be good for me, and he was right. Come. You must meet him.”

Grace was introduced to the wealthy squire that Harriet seemed so taken with and immediately liked him, a big, stout bear of a man, handsome, with a nice smile and gentle blue eyes.

It would have been a marvelous night if it hadn’t been overshadowed by the thought of the viscount, alone in his dismal cell. Only Cord, Victoria and Rafe knew the awful sadness Grace worked to hide. Only her friends understood that Viscount Forsythe, the man scheduled to hang on the day after the morrow, was her father, but each was particularly solicitous that night and each said something hopeful.

“My housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, spoke to your house
keeper, Mrs. Winthorpe,” Victoria said. “Mrs. Winthorpe told Mrs. Gray you were looking for this boy, Peter O’Daly, and Mrs. Gray said she has a friend who might know where to find him.”

“Oh, Tory—that would be wonderful.”

“Tomorrow we’ll know more.”

Grace nodded, feeling the first ray of hope she had known since the viscount’s capture.

Rafe pulled her aside and told her that he had a banker friend who managed the branch of the London Bank where Collingwood kept his money.

“Denworth says the earl made several large deposits during a brief period just after your father’s trial. Unfortunately, he isn’t sure where the money came from, but he said it was a goodly sum and the transactions were all in cash.”

“How did you get him to tell you? Surely a banker is supposed to be discreet.”

Rafe’s lips twitched. “When one is a duke, my dear, there is no limit to the sort of favors he may command.”

Cord also approached her regarding the matter of Peter O’Daly. “If we find him, I will personally bring him in to face the magistrates. I’ll make certain he has a chance to tell his tale.”

“Thank you,” Grace said, a painful lump rising in her throat. “No matter what happens, you are all the most wonderful of friends.”

And so the Christmas supper wasn’t a complete disaster and though nothing that had been mentioned was, in it self, enough to save her father, it was enough to give Grace hope. Coupled with her husband’s help and support, she would be able to face the tough time ahead.

The final day passed with no word from Jonas McPhee. Night was upon them and still no message had arrived. The hanging was due to take place in the morning. Grace had retired upstairs to grieve and Ethan hadn’t the heart to disturb her.

Sitting at his desk, unable to concentrate on the shipping ledgers spread out in front of him, Ethan sighed. After all the months he had searched for the viscount, he never would have believed he would want to see the hanging postponed.

But he needed more time, wanted to review every fact, needed to be certain the man who would die on the morrow was the man who had, indeed, committed the crime.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not even with the help of a duke and an earl. There was no real evidence that Viscount Forsythe was innocent—even Ethan couldn’t be sure. And after the money and time the authorities had spent in search of him, half the city was looking forward to the spectacle of watching him die.

It was late when Ethan retired upstairs. He considered leaving his wife alone in her room, giving her time to grieve, but for weeks now they had shared the same bed and the more he considered the notion, the more he was certain that being alone was the last thing Grace needed.

Instead, he removed his clothes, drew on his burgundy silk dressing robe, and went into Grace’s bedchamber.

It was quiet in the room, dark, not even the warmth of a fire, though the chamber was chill. Silently, he slipped off the robe and climbed into the bed beside her, sliding between the covers and easing over to her side of the bed.

“I should rather be alone, Ethan.”

“Not tonight.” It was the voice he used aboard his ship. “Tonight I will sleep in your bed, if that is where you intend to sleep.”

For an instant, her body went tense. Then he heard her sigh of resignation. “If you insist.”

“I do.” Moving closer, he pulled her against him, though her body remained stiff and unyielding. Very softly, he kissed the side of her neck. “Go to sleep, love. Just remember that I am here if you need me.”

For a moment more, she held herself aloof, then a muffled sob escaped from her throat and she turned to him, slid her arms around his neck and started to cry against his shoulder. He didn’t try to quiet her. She needed this, needed him, and he was glad that he had come.

After a while, her crying began to ease and eventually she fell silent. Her body was relaxed now, pliant as he curled her against his side, and not long after, she fell asleep.

Ethan wished he could find sleep, as well, but sleep remained elusive. Grace’s father would die on the morrow. Ethan found himself wishing the day would not come.

“What in God’s name do you think you are doing?”

Standing at the foot of the staircase, Grace looked up at her husband. As always, her heart lurched at the sight of him. “I am going, Ethan. Don’t try to stop me.”

She watched him descend the last of the stairs, felt his strong presence wrapping around her, his hands settling gently on her shoulders. “Listen to me, Grace. Do you really believe your father would want you to watch him die? Do you think he would want you to remember him that way?”