Page 18 of Long Live the Baron
Finally, once the tempest of emotion had passed, Lily slowly rose to her feet to dry her face and ring the bell to summon Nancy. It was time to leave before Mama and Papa arose for the day.
CHAPTER5
“Secret operations are essential in war; upon them the army relies to make its every move.”
Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)
* * *
JULY 22, 1821
“The runner is here to see you.” Disdain dripped from the butler’s words, as if to point out that Bow Street runners were not the class of visitors that the late Barons of Filminster would have tolerated.
Brendan’s temples throbbed at Michaels’s dour announcement.
“Where is he?”
Michaels’s forehead wrinkled as he peered down his nose at Brendan. “In the entrance hall.” The unstatedof coursewas practically audible. Evidently, the butler thought it was beneath his station to show a visitor such as Briggs into the baronial library.
Brendan nodded in dismissal. Once the butler left the room, he rubbed furiously at his temples. He could not think of anything but being transported to the Tower since Richard had pointed out that the coroner might still press for an arrest once Grimes had acquired the approval of his cronies. It had been another sleepless night, staring at the ceiling with racing thoughts.
As he stood up to find out why Briggs was here, a thought struck him. Brendan collapsed back into his chair.
They had assumed he would be treated with the privileges of a peer because he was the baron’s heir. However, no one had seemed to realize that he might be dealt with as a commoner because the Committee for Priviliges had not yet confirmed him!
What if they take me to Newgate?
Brendan groaned as his headache doubled in intensity. Newgate had a reputation for being filthy, overcrowded, and ridden with parasites. Fingering his hair, he contemplated having to shave it off to rid it of lice. Dropping his face against the table, he groaned again as he knocked his head against the mahogany surface in frustration.
Why could he not have been carousing with friends instead of napping in Harriet’s boudoir? A simple life choice which might get him a turn at the gallows unless he could find a defense.
Halmesbury was wrong about waiting. We must immediately hire a runner to investigate the matter!
Brendan realized he should have been acting more swiftly to defend himself. Inking his quill, he jotted out a note to the duke. He sprinkled pounce to dry it, then blew before folding it up. Ringing for a footman, he sent it off. He hoped the duke was available to visit him. Yesterday, they had been too complacent. It was time to take matters into his own hands instead of waiting for this Grimes to do his job.
Finally, he stood at the library door and steeled his nerve. Finding his composure, he strode out to find the runner.
Briggs was standing by the shadowed staircase, his hat in hand. The runner looked tired in the flickering candlelight of the hall, and Brendan wondered what hours the man kept. Was he investigating other cases? That seemed likely. Crime had not stopped because of the Ridleys’ crisis.
“Briggs, how are you this morning?” Brendan’s attempt to be hearty sounded too loud in the empty hall.
“My lor—Mr. Ridley.” The runner was hard to read with the thick mustache that obscured his lower face, but the discomfort in his tone was unmistakable.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m ’fraid the coroner asked me to be present. He’s running late.”
“Late for what?” Alarm chased through him as he accepted the runner was here to deliver bad news.
“To arrest you. I am to wait for the coroner.”
Brendan heard this as if from a great distance. The runner’s reluctance was palpable, making it clear that the man did not believe they were taking the right action. But Brendan had somehow expected this very thing would happen the moment he had discovered the baron lying dead on the floor.
At just twenty-seven years of age, his entire life might be over. Reaching out a hand to lean on the banister as his knees weakened beneath him, Brendan’s hopes and dreams for the future rushed before his eyes like a play at Covent Garden.
He did not want it to be over. He wanted to find a good woman and wed. He wanted to have children and spend time with them like his mother had once done with him. He wanted his real life to begin, rather than to be an idle heir frolicking around Town. He wanted … to live.
As Brendan’s internal crisis peaked, Michaels rudely disrupted him. The butler tread with heavy steps and a mild look of distaste to open the front door. Brendan realized in a daze that there had been a knock.
