Page 28 of The Inconvenient Compromise
It was a relatively short drive to The Boar’s Flagon. Entering the dark and musty-smelling tavern, Lucian realized that only a short time earlier, he would have happily spent his nights in such a place. Now, he only wanted to be at home, in bed with his wife.
Approaching the tavern keeper, Lucian simply pulled a sovereign from his pocket and placed it on the scarred, wooden counter. “A man, an upper servant, was in here earlier tonight wanting to hire Mr. Roger Turner.”
“Aye,” the tavern keeper said, pocketing the coin. “Remember him. Old. Too old to be out doing dirty work for others.”
“What does Mr. Turner do… precisely?”
The tavern keeper shrugged. “He makes problems go away.”
“Murder for hire then,” Lucian surmised.
“I never said that… but I ain’t denying it either.”
With a grim visage, Lucian dropped another coin on the bar. “Send word. Get him here, and you will be handsomely rewarded. I have a feeling the problem he wants to be eliminated is one that I want very much to keep alive.”
* * *
Lady Habersham eyedthe strange item on her dressing table. It had been delivered by a courier while she was out. She was not expecting any packages, so it was quite a surprise.
“Who did you say delivered this, Mary?” She asked of her maid.
“Twas brought by a street boy, my lady. Said he’d been given it four days ago and told that he should deliver it to you on Sunday night if the lady what gave it to him did not come to reclaim it.”
Lady Habersham’s eyes lit up. “What a curious thing it all is.” She loved a mystery.
Untying the string that held the wrapper around the bundle, she stared curiously at the contents. Inside was a packet of letters and a journal. Picking up the first letter, the contents of it were scandalous indeed. It was clearly between lovers. But there was one letter, written in an entirely different hand, and it was addressed to her.
My dearest Lady Habersham,
I have admired your work from afar. You move amongst the other members of the ton with ease, and while they may think you a wretched gossip, none of them realize that you are the scathing voice behind the social column in the London Lady’s Gazette.
But I realize. I know. And that is why I entrusted this bundle of letters to a young lad with the explicit instruction that if I failed to reclaim it from him by the week’s end, he would deliver it to you.
If I have failed to reclaim it, then Lady Bruxton has succeeded where others have failed. She has stopped me in the only way a creature of rage such as myself can ever be stopped. I am likely dead if you are reading this.
She has ruled society, but it is all built on lies and deceit. Her pretty face hides a character even blacker than my own. Expose her. Tell the world who she truly is, for I am now unable to do so.
E. Weddington
Placing that letter aside, she began perusing the others. The first one she picked it up was all the proof she needed that Miss Weddington had told the truth. The date of the letter would have been only six months prior. And the source of the letter was Lord Herringford to Lady Bruxton. Clearly, in answer to previous correspondence from her, the letter called into question everything the woman had said about being in love with Lucian Maxwell, the Earl of Rathmore. After all, a woman who was truly in love did not exchange vulgar letters with another.
Deciding to go more directly to the source, she picked up the journal instead. But it was not a journal of thoughts, hopes, and feelings. No. Lady Bruxton had recorded every infraction by every person she knew, including her own circle of friends. The tiniest slights were interpreted as being intentional. Not complimenting her hair, not being effusive enough in praise of her beauty or fashion sense, and not being quick enough to attack on her behalf someone she saw as an enemy. Not spreading vicious and patently untrue gossip about those she considered her enemies was cause for ex-communication from her little group of friends… per the journal, at any rate.
“This woman is positively mad,” Lady Habersham mused. But there was a hint of glee in her voice.
She’d detested Charlotte Farraday for years. But the woman had been too powerful in society to be challenged. It was well known that it was best to stay on her woodside, and that journal proved it.
Though it was nearly dawn, she pulled out her writing materials. If she hurried, she could dash off another edition of her anonymous column for the Lady’s London Gazette—s column that would expose Lady Bruxton fro the wretched creature she is. It would earn her a tidy sum, as well.
When she had finished, Lady Habersham reviewed what she had written. A slow smile spread across her face, one that was well-satisfied. “Excellent. Most excellent.”
TWENTY-TWO
Monday—near dawn…
Lucian sat at a table in the corner, his cloak pulled around him and his face in shadow. The investigator, Mr. Bosworth, had no need to hide his face as the butler did not know him. The moment the door opened and the aged servant entered, Mr. Bosworth gave a nod—confirmation that it was the man they were waiting for.The accomplice.
Lucian waited until the butler approached the tavern keeper. “Is Mr. Turner here?” The butler asks.
