Page 72 of One Perfect Dance
“Give me untilearly afternoon, and I’ll be able to tell you all,” Mr. Wakefield had said, before he and Mrs. Wakefield had left with the constables and their prisoners.
So now they were all gathered in a parlor at the Deerhavens, where Ginny and her household had taken refuge while her townhouse was being cleaned and repaired. Ash, too, aching from head to foot, though the doctor Ginny insisted on calling said he had done no further damage beyond a few more bruises.
William Kingsley had joined them to hear what Wakefield had to say, as had Lady Kingsley. The Deerhavens and Stancrofts, too, and also Rex and Rithya.
Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield had brought with them a young man Ash recognized—the scoundrel who had watched over a drugged Geoffrey Paddimore.
Geoffrey recognized him, too, and started forward with a snarl. Mr. Wakefield put up a hand. “All things in their place, Mr. Paddimore. Muggworthy, go and wait over there. I’ll let you know when I am ready for you.” The youth slunk to the chair indicated.
“Please sit, Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield,” Cordelia said, ever the perfect hostess. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
Once they were all settled with a cup of tea or coffee, Ash could wait no longer. “What brought you to Mrs. Paddimore’s house in the nick of time to catch our sniper?” he asked Wakefield.
Wakefield nodded towards the young man in the corner. “Young Muggworthy. He overheard the Deffew brothers plotting to use fire and smoke to drive you, Mrs. Paddimore and Mr. Paddimore out of the Paddimore townhouse, and shoot you when you emerged. We came as soon as he told us and arrived just in time.”
“It was the Deffews?” Regina asked.
“Yes, it was. Matthew Deffew shot at you and Mr. Ashby and is dead. David Deffew was posted to cover the rear door. He shot at Mr. Paddimore and missed. Mr. Paddimore shot back and did not miss. David Deffew is wounded and may or may not recover in time for his appointment with the hangman.”
Regina turned wide eyes on the boy she regarded as her son. “Geoffrey! You never said.”
Wakefield recovered control of the conversation. “Let me tell it in order. First, we found out that the Deffews have been lurching from one financial crisis to the next for nearly two decades. They both gambled, and they were as bad at cards and dice as they are at investments. They succeeded in living beyond their means, however, and a close look into their finances made it clear that several members of Society gave them regular gifts of money and favors.
“Blackmail?” Ash asked.
Wakefield nodded. “Mrs. Paddimore, you gave us the hidden piece of the puzzle when you told us about Major Deffew’s, and later David Deffew’s, attempts to blackmail your father and Mr. Gideon Paddimore. We searched Matthew Deffew’s house today and found a hidden safe full of other people’s private letters, diaries, and more.”
“So that is why they wanted to marry you, Mother,” Geoffrey marveled. “Because you are rich.”
“Thank you, Geoffrey,” Regina said, wryly.
Mrs. Wakefield took up the explanation. “From what I gather, the brothers thought the Paddimores owed them compensation. Mr. Gideon Paddimore responded to the repeated blackmail attempts and to the Deffews’ efforts to stir gossip about him and Mrs. Paddimore by blocking any attempt they made to find investors for their schemes. Then Major Deffew was killed attempting to kidnap Mrs. Paddimore. When she returned to Society a wealthy widow, they decided the easiest way to get that money would be to persuade her into a marriage.”
Wakefield explained, “Last Season, some of their schemes were working quite well, and David Deffew did not press his suit. Although he had persuaded himself you would accept him whenever he offered, he was not in a hurry to marry. But they had a bad winter. By the time you returned to London this year, they were desperately in debt. Then Mr. Ashby arrived back in England, and Mrs. Paddimore showed a preference for their despised stepbrother.
“That—and the failure of David Deffew’s attempts to compromise Mrs. Paddimore—led them to seek revenge instead,” Wakefield said. “Young Muggworthy, tell the company your story. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Muggworthy is one of a pack of young men who runs with Richard Deffew and his closest friend, a young gentleman known as Chalky, whose real name is Edmund Snowden, son of Viscount Snowden.”
Muggworthy stood up when he was addressed and shuffled forward. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Paddimore, Mr. Ashby, Padders. I cannot apologize enough.”
“My mother could have been killed,” Geoffrey hissed.
Muggworthy stared down at his boots. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You can make amends by telling the company what you were asked to do,” Wakefield commanded.
“Chalky and Defter said Padders had attacked Defter for no reason. They said we were going to pretend to be his friends and then Defter would have a chance to get his own back. But Padders wasn’t like they said. Most of us thought he was a pretty decent fellow. And when we found out Defter had said rude things about his mother… But Chalky told us that Mrs. Paddimore had promised to marry Defter’s uncle, and Defter was just a bit upset because she broke her promise. I didn’t know what to think.”
Ash could see what had happened. Uncertain of the facts or of his moral ground, in the way of bewildered young men everywhere, Muggworthy had gone along with the majority.
Muggworthy hadn’t lifted his head from its intent focus on his boots. “They said they had a plan to make Mrs. Paddimore keep her word. They wanted me to go and get her, but I wouldn’t. I agreed to sit with Padders, though, to make sure he didn’t choke or something. Then Mr. Ashby came, and Mrs. Paddimore said that Mr. Deffew was lying, and I was so confused.” He cast a quick glance around the room, clearly decided he did not have a sympathetic audience and lowered his gaze again.
“Mr. Ashby locked me in,” he complained.
Wakefield interrupted. “Just to save time, I will tell you that Muggworthy had the bright idea of crawling along the ledge below the windows until he found an open window,” he said.
“The first one he came to belonged to young Snowden, but it was occupied not by Viscount Snowden’s promising sprig, but by David Deffew. As it happens, Muggworthy arrived just as Deffew was being rescued. Carry on, Muggworthy.”
The young man gulped. “They were arguing. Mr. Deffew and Mr. David Deffew. I don’t like arguing, so I stayed on the ledge. I hoped they would go away, and I could get in. I couldn’t help but hear what they were saying.”
