Page 102 of One Wicked Secret
Magnus returned, panting like he’d run the length of Hadrian’s Wall. “Here you are.” He gave Daniel the three books and settled in the seat beside him. “Though I fail to see the urgency.”
Too weary to explain, Daniel instructed Jarvis to take them to Denby House, then drew the intricate magnifying glass from his coat pocket. He turned to the ex-libris in one book, saw the fox and oak design, and tossed it aside.
Magnus watched intently. “Are you looking for something specific? If it’s a clue as to how someone might fake their death, look no further thanThe Monk.”
The odd comment stole Daniel’s attention. Magnus wasn’t referring to Carver because he was certainly dead. No man lost that much blood and lived to tell the tale. And he had visited the unmarked grave during his visits to Edenberry, wishing there had been another option.
Rothley spoke from the shadows, his voice low and edged with suspicion. “What do you know about the subject?”
“Nothing, but I met an old friend of yours in Geneva and thought he must have had a reason to disappear. Was it money troubles?” Magnus gave a humourless chuckle. “I have thought of vanishing myself a few times.”
“Which friend?” Daniel said, picking up the copy ofThe Italian. “Who are you referring to?”
“The fellow found dead in the woods at Cambridge. He visited Thorncroft several times when you were home for the holidays.”
Rothley turned as white as a sheet. “Justin Lovelace?”
“Yes, though he disappeared from his hotel when he realised I came from Chippenham and my sister was married to Dalton.”
A heavy silence filled the air.
Rothley sat motionless, his haunted eyes fixed on nothing.
“He told you his name?” Daniel sought to clarify.
“Only his Christian name, but I’m positive it was him.”
Daniel resisted the urge to elbow Magnus sharply in the ribs. For ten years, Rothley had refused to believe Justin was dead. Now, it would take another decade before he let the matter rest again.
Knowing nothing he could say would settle Rothley’s mind, Daniel opened the copy ofThe Italian. Sure enough, this book had the new ex-libris, and so he held it up to the carriage lamp and peered at the tome through the small magnifying glass.
“Cursed saints! There is a message in this book!”
The Last Will and Testament of Georgina Denby
14th March 1668
Daniel read it aloud. Something told him it was the key to this whole wretched affair. But it meant nothing without inspecting the will at Doctors’ Commons or obtaining a certified copy through the Prerogative Court.
Magnus peered over Daniel’s shoulder. “The writing is so small you can barely see it. Why would anyone hide a message there?”
“Because it was not meant to be found by just anyone, only someone who knew what to look for.” Daniel gave a brief account of the clues they’d followed so far. “Your visit to Port Noir was pointless.”
“Not pointless,” Rothley said in a voice like smoke and steel. “I have evidence to corroborate my theory.”
To Daniel’s relief, they’d arrived at Denby House. He would rather face pistols at dawn than fuel Rothley’s growing suspicions.
He knocked on the door and turned to Rothley. “Do you know a Clarence Denby? A clue hidden in a book led us to the name, and I need to understand the connection.”
Rothley gave it some thought. “Yes. I believe he was Denby’s great-uncle. Died abroad, if memory serves. The title then passed to Denby’s grandfather.”
So Elsa and Denby were second cousins. Was that why the lord was so determined to marry her? Out of a twisted sense of entitlement tied to bloodlines and inheritance?
The butler answered promptly, eyeing them with polite curiosity before disappearing to consult the master. Daniel clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to pace. He wasn’t afraid of Denby. On the contrary, he welcomed the chance to settle the score.
So why did he have a bad feeling in his gut, like the hushbefore a storm when the air turns heavy and the birds fall silent?
The butler returned and stood aside. “Please follow me.”
