Page 67 of The Odd Riddle of the Lost Duchess
Forgive me too, Mother.I just cannot rest until I know the truth.
Moreover, he didn’t know how she would have taken that he had gone to Leverton for help. She and his grandmother seemed to be the best of friends lately, and if his grandmother knew about his alliance with the enemy he would never hear the end of it. The lady might even have an apoplexy of it.
“Might solve most of my problems, wouldn’t it?” Noah snorted wryly. Standing up, he shed his outer garments, and after freeing a decanter of strong liquor from a locked cabinet, he poured himself a drink and sat nursing it, while reflecting on his truce with Leverton.
It is a reality that only a death would force us to make peace when life only brought us animosity.
The hollow emotion that followed the mere thought of Emmeline’s death dampened his spirits. The Duke couldn’t see himself marrying anyone in the near future, and if his grief didn’t wane, probably not for the rest of his life. He had meant it when he’d told Leverton that Emmeline was the only one for him.
Sitting with his eyes closed, Noah recalled a picture of the young lady he was still in love with. A small smile crossed his face when he remembered her golden glare when he annoyed her, and the amused tilt of her lips when he verbally jousted with her. He recalled her wide, wary eyes that night in the library and the golden orbs painted with shock when he had pretended to kiss her at Vauxhall.
Emmeline was the embodiment of an open personality–she was book smart, spirited, and honest to a fault. She had a passion for learning and when debated with, could argue her point to the level that no one could dispute her. His mind’s eye traced over her golden-brown tresses, fair skin and the dimple in her cheek when she gifted anyone with her smile. Fate had cruelly taken one of the best people in this world out of it, and Noah was hell bent on avenging her.
“We will let your spirit rest, my love,” Noah said to himself with the cold glass pressed to his warm forehead, “Even if it takes me a lifetime to do so.”
* * *
The Duke of Leverton was not at ease as he paced the floor of his London townhouse with a glass of alcohol in his hand.
At first, George had been set on finding Emmeline by scouring the nearest towns, but her death and the intelligence Newberry had given him had turned his attention in another direction–to London.
Though George had taken every word Newberry had said with some doubt, the searches he had ordered into the matter after Newberry had left revealed the very same information. George was slowly coming to the conclusion that Newberry was an honest man, in his words of his faithfulness to Emmeline, and in his actions to resolve her death, though it sometimes galled him. Moreover, that realization, that he and Newberry held the same level in power, intelligence, business acumen, and loyalty, was an even sourer thought.
Acting on that direction, George had given orders for his mother’s care and left his butler in charge of the house while he was in his London townhouse. Pacing to the window, George narrowed his eyes while tugging a section of the drapery aside, “Come on man, where are you?”
Last night, one of his men in the city had sent word that he had narrowed down the location of the mercenary Newberry had told him about. The whole day, George had been on tenterhooks with anxiety. It wasn’t enough that the man had been found. George wanted–no,needed–to stare the villain in his eyes and demand an answer from him.
The evening was darkening steadily and the streets below were emptying when a horse barreled down the street and pulled to a halt in front of his residence. George recognized the man as his, grabbed his coat and his pistol, before marching out and ordering a manservant to get his readied horse.
He left the house with a swift stride and approached the harried man, “You are late.”
“Apologies, Your Grace,” the man nodded, “But we’ve had a warm time trying to capture him. He took out two of our men and wounded another before we could apprehend him.”
“Where is he?” George snapped, as his mount was brought to him.
“We cornered him in Whitechapel, Your Grace.” The man replied soberly while remounting his horse, “Not more than fifteen minutes ride from here.”
The Duke was already spurring his horse towards the shantytown.Fitting that a scum like you would be found in a slum.
Thankfully, the streets were emptying and only a stray beggar, a couple of mangy dogs, and some vendors were still on it. George knew that before long, women of the night would be venturing out onto the roadway to lure men in with their worn wares. He spurred his mount into a gallop and not long after, sped into the disgusting, filthy streets of the slum.
“He’s been held in a warehouse, Your Grace.” The messenger said while turning down an alley.
The alley was even filthier than the main roads, with vile stenches, and dead rats littered about. George had to swiftly remove his cravat to press it to his nose as they rode. They came upon a low building, with a dilapidated roof and sagging awning, that George knew he had to duck to pass under.
They stopped just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, and after alighting from his horse, the agent banged on the door. The Duke felt anxious anger rile though him as the door was yanked in and a man bowed to him.
“Welcome, Yer Grace.” The man’s broad and thick cockney accent was a little jarring, but George nodded in an acknowledgment. “He’s inside, Yer Grace, says’ his name is Porter.”
Thinning his lips, George walked into the room, dodging wet puddles and discarded trash, to see the man tied down to a chair with his face bloody. Porter blinked a swollen eye to him, grinned with busted lips, and drawled, “Your Grace, pleased to meet you. What can I do fer you?”
“What connection do you have with the Fitzroy’s?” George asked coldly.
The man blinked, “Fitzroy’s? Ne’er heard o’ them.”
“Do not lie to me,” George hissed. “The Fitzroy’s of Newberry. Were you the one who took the contract to kill my sister, or not?”
The man’s smile was disconcerting, “I’ve killed a lot o’ sisters for a lot of people–me mind doesn’t seem to remember all o’ them. Refresh me memory, please?”
