Page 114 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Merrick took two steps forward. “Then what did you say?”
Avendale removed the paper from within a jacket pocket. “I have the names of four men who have brought charges against her. I need to know the names of any others she may have swindled.”
Merrick crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? So they can tell the authorities everything and she can spend the rest of her life in prison?”
Avendale briefly wondered what made Merrick so distrustful of every blasted word that came out of his mouth. “So I can offer them restitution, pay them what is owed to them, so they can bring no charges against her.”
“Oh.” Merrick offered a mulish expression that Avendale thought he might think passed for contrition.
“How many?” Avendale asked.
“Think you was number nine.”
Not as bad as he’d thought. He arched a brow. “Names?”
“Don’t know that I know them all or even where you’d find them. She didn’t always share everything if she could find the information herself.”
“I know them,” the giant said in his deep voice. “And where to find them all.”
Eyes wide, Merrick swung around. “Why would she share everything with you and not with me?”
“Because I was the one driving her about.” He lifted a bony shoulder until it nearly touched his ear. “Had to know where I was going. I also know all the merchants she said we’d pay but never did.”
“You can’t remember all of it,” Merrick said. “It’s been years.”
Joseph touched his finger to his temple. “Remember everything. Everything. It’s a blasted curse.”
“Well, then, between the two of you, perhaps we can get an accounting of everyone and where I might find them,” Avendale said. Sitting, he withdrew a pencil from his pocket. “Shall we get started?”
Twenty-seven days. As she sat on the terribly uncomfortable cot in her cell, Rose wished the days would roll one into another until she could claim to have lost count of them, but despite the monotony, each one stuck in her mind like a sore thumb that throbbed and ached and would never be forgotten.
Daniel Beckwith had visited with her twice to assure her that his oldest brother would handle the trial “if it came to that.” She wasn’t quite certain why it wouldn’t and when she questioned him on it, his response was “You never know.”
Perhaps his cryptic words were his attempt to get even with her for deceiving him when they originally met. The first time he’d visited, he’d brought her Harry’s story and she had spent her time reliving their life through his eyes. Perhaps she hadn’t done so badly by her brother after all. The price she would now pay was worth it.
She heard the clatter of a key turning in the lock. Slowly she rose to her feet. The door opened to reveal a matronly woman dressed in blue.
“Gather up your things. It’s time to go,” she barked.
Into a cloth bag, Rose placed a towel, her brush, and a blanket. Beckwith had offered to bring her more to make her stay comfortable, but she had asked him not to. She knew anything he brought would have been at Avendale’s expense and the man had spent enough on her. She picked up Harry’s book. “Is it time for my trial?”
“You’re going elsewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I was just told to fetch you.”
Rose followed her out into the hallway. “Is Mr. Beckwith here?”
“I seen a gent, but I don’t know who he is.”
“What does he look—”
“No more questions.”
Rose pressed her lips tightly together. She’d learned fairly quickly that she had absolutely no power here. She ate when they brought her food, washed when they brought her a bowl of water. But she would not complain because her transgressions had led her to this. She’d known they would.
The woman opened the door. Rose followed her through into a larger room.
