Page 80 of The Last Chance
“We must speak to his lordship today.” Daventry removed a letter from his coat pocket and gave it to the lean fellow guarding the door. “We’re investigating a crime on behalf of the Home Secretary.”
It was a small lie that left the butler shaky on his feet. “I’ll speak to the housekeeper, Mrs Lowry. We’ve been instructed to turn all visitors away. Call again later, and you’ll receive a reply.”
“We’ll wait,” Aaron insisted. He imagined storming into the house and informing the servants they would answer to him when the earl was dead.
The butler nodded politely when he should have been firm.
“We’ve no valid reason to be here,” Daventry whispered as they lingered on the steps. “I can’t barge into his homedemanding answers, not when there’s no evidence to tie him to the case. I need to justify my actions.”
Sadly, Daventry was right.
“Then wait in the carriage and have Flynn’s coachman move around the corner. I’ll deal with Berridge alone.”
“You’ll do something rash.”
“I need to see Berridge, that’s all.” He needed to stare into the earl’s soulless eyes to find the truth. “I’ll know if he’s guilty. He’ll gloat if he thinks he’s hurt me.”
The butler appeared, returning the Home Secretary’s letter. “His lordship is upstairs, resting. It’s a difficult time. Contact his secretary.”
And with that, he closed the door.
“A difficult time?” Aaron mocked. “Berridge doesn’t know the meaning of hardship.” He glanced at Daventry. “Wait for me in the carriage. I’ll be a few minutes.”
“Don’t stoop to his level. Think with your head, not your heart.”
“Have faith. I can’t help Joanna from a gaol cell.”
Muttering his reluctance, Daventry left.
Aaron waited beneath the portico until the carriage was out of sight, then hammered the brass knocker loud enough to wake the dead.
The flustered butler yanked open the door. “If you don’t move, I will call a constable.”
“I’ll move.”
Aaron barged into the hall, almost colliding with the bespectacled housekeeper, a sturdy woman in her fifties whose weary face looked vaguely familiar.
“His lordship is asleep in bed,” she cried, raising her hands like she might perform a miracle, urging him back like Moses had the Red Sea. Her faith may have prevailed were she not fighting for the devil. “You need to leave, sir.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said when Mrs Lowry, a namewholly unfamiliar, made the mistake of glancing at the drawing room door.
Two scrawny footmen, their black armbands stark against the green livery, arrived to throw Aaron out.
“Lay a hand on me, and you’ll have assaulted the earl’s heir and nephew. You know who I am.” He had no intention of pleading to the King but enjoyed seeing the flare of panic in the footmen’s eyes when they realised they were threatening Aaron Chance. “Touch me, and I have a reason to retaliate.”
Aaron left the servants quivering. He stormed into the drawing room and found the grey-haired earl sitting in a chair, a plaid blanket draped over his lap, his gaze absent as he stared at the floor.
Aaron stood before him, cold fury filling his heart. The memory of the earl’s hatred, the vile comments made to a boy, fuelled his temper. “You evil bastard. Villainy is in your blood. You lacked the strength to kill my father but think hurting women and children makes you a man.”
Berridge looked up slowly, a sinister smile forming. “Have you come begging again, boy? Do you think expensive clothes and a clean face change anything? You’ll always be a filthy delinquent. You’ll always be your father’s lackey. His brave little whipping boy.”
The last remark cut deep, but Aaron remained stoic. “When you’re dead, I shall take what is mine. I’ll live in this house and dine at your table. While you rot in the ground, weeds will swamp your grave. Your memory will pale in my shadow.”
“You killed my son,” he said in a raspy voice.
That’s when Aaron knew the earl was guilty.
That Berridge was the orchestrator of his downfall.
