A
ndrew did not want to return to London with his grandfather. That much was clear. Rushton watched as the boy all but cowered against the side of the railway car as they made their way back to the city. He looked at Fairfax.
“What was this talk about an institution?” he asked.
“Andrew has refused to speak since his father’s death,” Fairfax replied. “Several doctors have recommended I consult a Swiss physician who can help determine the cause of his affliction. I intend to leave Andrew with him until he is cured.”
“You’ve no idea how long that will take,” Rushton said. Unease laced through him as he glanced at Andrew again. If Fairfax abused the boy, then one would think Andrew might be relieved at the opportunity to get away from him. Then again, he’d have to consider an institution and a physician as the lesser of two evils.
“It does not matter how long it takes,” Fairfax replied. “As long as Andrew is well cared for and cured.”
“So your plan is to leave him in Switzerland while you return to London?” Rushton asked.
“Not London. I shall return to Manley Park for the remainder of the year.”
Rushton narrowed his eyes. His unease intensified, alongside the growing sense that Fairfax was leaving something out of his story, some vital piece that might prove illuminating.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Fairfax,” he said, keeping his tone friendly and curious, “why exactly did your daughter leave Manley Park in the first place?”
“Oh.” Fairfax waved a dismissive hand. “She too was distraught over the loss of her beloved husband. So distraught, in fact, that she was unable to properly care for Andrew. She thought it best if she went to London to recuperate from her bereavement.”
A frown pulled at Rushton’s mouth. If Fairfax indeed believed Clara had been responsible for her husband’s death, why had he not accused her of the crime? And why would he concoct a tale of her grief driving her away from her own son? Which story was the true one?
Although Rushton possessed bitter, firsthand knowledge that a mother was capable of abandoning her children, he could not reconcile such drastic action with what he knew of Clara. So grief-stricken over the death of her husband that she would abandon Andrew, even if the boy was no longer her legal ward?
No.
The woman who had abducted Andrew in an effort to reclaim him, the woman who had begged Rushton for aid…such a woman would never leave her child behind. And even if Rushton was uncertain about his conclusion, he could rely upon his son’s actions for confirmation.
Not even to defy Rushton would Sebastian have married a woman who had abandoned her child shortly after the death of the child’s father. In a moment, Sebastian would have seen through to such coldness.
Instead Sebastian had married her partly to help her get her son back, obviously believing that Clara and Andrew should be together.
Rushton had never considered himself a man ruled by emotion. His anger toward his son was not so blinding that it obscured Sebastian’s admirable qualities. Sebastian had always been the one most capable of understanding what people truly needed, often better than they understood themselves. It was but one of the reasons Sebastian had always been at his ease in the world.
“When do you intend to bring Andrew to Switzerland?” Rushton asked.
“I’d intended to leave last week, so all preparations have been made,” Fairfax replied. “Provided I can change my tickets, Andrew and I should be able to leave for Brighton on Monday at the latest. We’ll take a boat to Dieppe, then stay in Paris for a day or so before leaving for Interlaken.”
Rushton tucked that information away in the back of his mind as he turned his attention back to Andrew. The boy stared out the window, his face pale but without expression.
Rushton had the upsetting thought that Andrew might very well try to run away at some point during his journey with his grandfather. Though likely Fairfax had also considered the possibility and would ensure the boy was well guarded.
Protected.
Fairfax would ensure that Andrew was well protected.
Andrew turned his head and met Rushton’s gaze. The sudden contact brought to mind an unexpected image of his sons. All four of them. Dark-haired boys whose eyes glinted with varying hints of mischief, curiosity, seriousness, glee. Boys who had grown into men of sharp intelligence and strong constitutions, despite the obstacles that had been thrown into their paths.
Men capable of teaching Rushton a thing or two about how to conduct oneself in the world.
Andrew Winter might become the same type of man, given the opportunity to attend school, play sports, travel, work, marry. But such a future appeared in doubt, if his grandfather carried through with his plan.
Rushton tore his gaze from Andrew and looked out the opposite window. None of this was his concern, at any rate. Fairfax was the boy’s guardian. And Rushton’s sole concern was to prevent anything from further damaging his family’s reputation.
By helping Fairfax reclaim his grandson, Rushton had fortified the walls around the earldom. That was all that mattered.
At the Paddington station, they procured two cabs to take them back to their respective residences. Rushton nodded a farewell to Fairfax and turned to ensure his luggage was loaded into his cab.
There was a quick, sharp tug at his sleeve. He glanced down. Andrew stood at his side, his shoulders hunched furtively.
“She didn’t do it,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with disuse. “Didn’t.”
Before Rushton could question the boy, Andrew darted back to his grandfather. Fairfax was speaking to the cabdriver and appeared not to notice Andrew’s short absence.
Andrew climbed into the cab and looked at Rushton through the window. He shook his head.
Disquiet tumbled through Rushton’s chest. Was Andrew speaking of his abduction? Or Clara’s involvement in Richard Winter’s death? Although Rushton didn’t believe her capable of murdering her husband, he hadn’t discounted the potential of her accidental involvement. Fairfax would hold to his accusation that Clara was responsible for Richard’s death.
But how did Andrew know she was not?
The familiar smells of paint and grease permeated the museum. In the front exhibition room, Clara pivoted on her heel and paced to the window. Her mind ferreted through all the tangles of the newest plan they had concocted since arriving back in London yesterday.
She could no longer afford to carry the weight of hopelessness and anguish. For the past year, such emotions had pulsed alongside her blood, fueling her desperation, but ultimately they were useless. She would never see Andrew again if she allowed despair to rule her heart.
And now, she was no longer alone. Even when faced anew with the loss of her son, even though darkness still fought to pull her downward, she reached for the light shining like gold coins on the surface. She and Sebastian had reclaimed Andrew once, and they would do so again.
She glanced to where Sebastian sat by the hearth, his brow creased as he studied the latest missives from his brother’s solicitor.
“He didn’t sign the deed of conveyance.” Sebastian pushed to his feet and began to pace, latching a hand behind his neck. “That’s to our benefit, at the least.”
Darius unfolded himself from a chair and approached to examine the papers. “Though there appears to be no possibility of Fairfax’s willingness to settle.”
“No.” Sebastian shook his head. “We will not approach him again. I will write to Alexander explaining the situation and send the letter in Monday’s post.”
“I’ve the information about the institution here.” Granville riffled through a stack of papers. “As well as all the papers pertaining to Wakefield House.”
Relief eased some of the tension from Clara’s shoulders. Wakefield House remained in Sebastian’s hands, still useful as a point of negotiation should the situation arise, doubtful though that might be.
She met her husband’s warm gaze, her heart fluttering again at the reminder that not once had he wavered in his determination to remain by her side.
The sound of the doorbell rang faintly in her ear. She went to the foyer to answer it, as both Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Marshall had left for the day. Clara pulled open the door, her breath stopping in her throat as she stared at the Earl of Rushton.
“Mrs. Hall.” He gave her a stiff nod, his features set like stone. “Sebastian’s footman said he was here.”
“Yes.” Confused and wary, Clara stepped back to allow him entrance. After he’d divested himself of his greatcoat and hat, she gestured to the drawing room. “Everyone is inside.”
Rushton’s shoulders tightened, but he nodded. Praying he would not throw yet another obstacle into their path, Clara preceded him and closed the door after he’d entered.
Silence crashed over the room. Darius and Sebastian exchanged glances, their stances guarded. Apprehension flickered across Granville’s face.
“Sebastian.” Rushton nodded at his sons. “Darius.”
“My lord.” Sebastian extended his hand to a chair. “Would you care to sit?”
“No.” Rushton’s gaze flickered to Sebastian’s hand, the finger bent at a right angle. A shadow veiled his eyes for an instant. “I’ve come to ask about your intentions regarding Andrew.”
Sebastian eyed his father warily. “We have no intentions. As you’ve proven, we have no further recourse.”
“And yet I do not for an instant believe you will not attempt to find one,” Rushton replied, folding his hands behind his back. “You’ve already gone to enormous lengths to reclaim Andrew, and I know there is nothing on earth that would stop either of you from continuing your efforts.”
“Why do you want to know what they are, then?” Hostility threaded Sebastian’s voice. “So you can relay the information to Fairfax?”
“No.” Rushton cleared his throat, looking from Sebastian to Darius and back again. “So that I might assist you.”
Silence fell again. Clara’s heart pounded inside her head as she struggled against the hope desperate to break forth. She met Sebastian’s gaze and saw the same struggle in the depths of his eyes before he turned back to his father.
“Why would you assist us?” he asked. “All you’ve wanted is to avoid scandal.”
“And up until now, I have had good reason to do so.” Rushton turned to Clara. His brows pulled together with a faint sense of confusion. “Your son spoke to me.”
Clara gasped, her hand going to her throat. “Andrew
spoke
to you?”
“He said, verbatim,
she didn’t do it
,” Rushton explained. “I assumed he was speaking of your hand in Mr. Winter’s death.”
Hope surged through Clara’s blood, filling her heart. Andrew had believed her. No matter what Fairfax had said to him, no matter what lies he had slipped into Andrew’s ear, her son believed her over his grandfather.
“Did he say anything else?” she asked.
“No. He had little time to speak at all.” Rushton frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I was given to understand that Andrew had been rendered mute by the shock of his father’s death. Yet if that is the case, why would he choose to make such a statement after all this time? And to me, no less? A stranger?”
“Perhaps he thought Fairfax would make the accusation public?” Darius ventured. “And sought your help in denying it?”
“If Fairfax had intended to make the accusation public, he could have done so months ago.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “We must follow them to Switzerland. At least there, Fairfax won’t have the weight of British law behind him should he start tossing threats about.”
“Neither will we,” Clara added, a fact which might be to their benefit.
Sebastian looked at his father. “Do you know anything else?”
“Fairfax plans to leave by Monday for Brighton,” Rushton said. “He might already be gone. I’ve procured tickets for our own travel. Darius, you will remain in London in the event we need assistance here.” He gave Sebastian a firm nod. “Bastian, Mrs. Hall, I suggest we depart immediately.”
A
n amphitheater of green hills surrounded the town of Brighton, whose wide, paved streets enclosed the brisk sea air like the banks of a stream. Fashionable shops, theaters, and baths bordered the streets, and the royal gardens wrapped around the northern shoulders of the town like an ornamental cloak.
Sebastian procured two rooms at the York Hotel, an expansive hotel a short distance from the Chain Pier. After Rushton had gone to settle into his quarters, Sebastian pushed open the door to a clean, spacious room with a large bed, desk, and chest of drawers.
“There are refreshments in the coffee room,” he said, but Clara shook her head. She hadn’t been hungry for the past two days, her stomach tight with nerves.
She eased aside the curtain and looked out over the sweeping expanse of the ocean. Andrew could be out there already, carried away from her to a distant land where God alone knew what awaited him.
Sebastian’s warm hand settled on her nape, his fingers working the knotted muscles. “I’ve sent word to a hotel in Interlaken for the reservation of two rooms. It’s not far from the institution. We’ll contact the director once we’re there. I don’t want him to say anything to your father about our correspondence.”
The boat to Dieppe would leave early the following morning. It seemed an eternity.
A knock at the door announced Rushton’s arrival. At his suggestion, rather than sit in the hotel room and worry about all the things that could go wrong, they went out to take some air. The cold, salt-tinged wind reminded Clara of Wakefield House, a memory that fueled her resolve anew. They walked along New Steine, past various shops and markets whose displays overflowed with fresh-caught mackerel and red mullet.
As Sebastian paused to examine the fish, Rushton glanced at Clara.
“Did he tell you what I asked of him?” he said.
“Your requirement that he marry?”
“My requirement that he marry a woman who makes him a better man.”
Clara stopped and turned to face him. “No, my lord. He didn’t tell me that.”
“His brother Alexander did so, though I admit for a time we feared he would bring us all to ruination again,” Rushton said. “And since my own marriage failed in an unfortunately spectacular fashion, I’ve come to the conclusion that unions of political or social ends matter far less than the moral quality of the woman involved and her ability to improve upon a man’s own constitution. I told Sebastian as much when I insisted that he find a wife.”
“I hope…” Clara swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I hope you haven’t been too disappointed with his choice.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Hall,” Rushton replied. “I admit to grave misgivings when you told me of Fairfax’s accusations, but such doubts have been overshadowed by your son’s reactions to both Fairfax and Sebastian. Over the last year I have learned that children’s true feelings are not easily concealed. Moreover, they often possess a very keen perception about the character of others. A lesson I failed to comprehend when my own children were young.”
“Andrew took to Sebastian immediately,” Clara said. “And though I’m biased, I cannot think of a better endorsement of your son’s character.”
Now she had to hope that Andrew would one day trust her again as he trusted Sebastian. Although she had sensed the breach between herself and her son begin to close during their last day at Floreston Manor, there hadn’t been enough time to fully understand its formation in the first place.
All Clara had were speculations that Fairfax had poisoned her son against her. And all Andrew had were Clara’s assurances that she had not been responsible for Richard’s death, though the confirmation that he had
believed
her shone inside her like sunlight.
They continued walking as the sun began to sink, casting a reddish glow over the streets. Other people strolled along the streets as well, some peering into shopwindows and others going in and out of baths and restaurants. Clara tilted her hat to block the glare of the sun just as she caught sight of two figures walking along the opposite side of the street.
She stopped. Her breath snared in her lungs.
“Clara?” Sebastian turned to her with a frown, sliding his hand beneath her elbow. “Are you all right?”
Clara pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart slammed against her palm. Across the street, a small, chestnut-haired boy walked a pace behind an older man clad in a dark blue greatcoat, his features concealed beneath the shadow of a hat.
Sebastian followed her gaze, his spine stiffening. Before Clara could stop him, he lunged across the street like a tiger attacking its prey and came to a halt in front of Fairfax and Andrew.
They both stopped in their tracks. Fairfax looked from Sebastian to Clara, his eyes widening with shock and anger. Andrew started forward. Fairfax threw out an arm to block his path.
“Get out of my way,” he snapped at Sebastian. “Or I
will
have you arrested.”
“You will not. Andrew, come here.”
Andrew started toward Sebastian again. Fairfax grabbed Andrew’s arm, wrenching a yelp from the boy. Several pedestrians paused as they sensed a brewing conflict. Fairfax pivoted to stare at Rushton as he and Clara hurried across the street to them.
“Rushton?” Confusion flared in the baron’s eyes. “What…?”
“Andrew, explain what you said when you spoke to me at the Paddington station,” Rushton said, without a glance at Fairfax. “What did you mean by that?”
Andrew swung his gaze from Rushton to Clara. His mouth opened and closed. Tension squeezed Clara’s shoulders.
“Andrew.” She spoke his name in a hoarse whisper. She extended a hand and took a cautious step forward, her heart thudding. “You know I was not responsible for your father’s death.”
Andrew started to shake, all color draining from his face. He tried to yank his arm from Fairfax’s grip, but Fairfax took a step back and pulled Andrew with him.
“Andrew, you know nothing of the kind,” Fairfax said.
“I…I do,” Andrew gasped, throwing his grandfather a terrified but determined look. “It…it wasn’t M-Mama.”
Tears sprang to Clara’s eyes at the sound of her son’s voice, music that had been silenced for the past year. A cascade of relief burst through her fear. She took another step forward. Andrew suddenly wrenched his arm from his grandfather’s grip and flung himself at Sebastian, the impact powerful enough to send Sebastian stumbling back. A collective gasp rose from the crowd of people who had gathered nearby.
“It was
him
!” Andrew pointed a trembling finger at Fairfax the instant before Sebastian’s arm closed around his shoulders. “He k-killed my father. I saw him d-do it.”
Clara froze, swamped with horror. She stared at her father, saw the truth of the accusation in the guilt that flared across his features before a shutter descended. His eyes hardened to ice as his gaze broke from hers. He darted forward to grab Andrew.
Sebastian stepped back, his hand curling around Andrew’s arm. His grip faltered. He cursed. Fairfax hauled Andrew up and turned to flee. He staggered a few steps then, realizing the hindrance of the boy’s weight, he dropped Andrew and ran.
“Andrew!” Clara hurried to her son and fell to her knees beside him, relief billowing through her as she gathered him into her arms. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, his slender body shaking with fear and exertion as he sagged against her. Sebastian passed them in a blur of speed. His boots slammed against the cobblestones as he gave chase.
Fairfax’s dark-clad figure was halfway down the street when Sebastian caught up to him, both of them crashing to the ground with one lunge. A scuffle ensued as the two men fought, but Fairfax was no match for Sebastian’s height and strength. Within seconds, Sebastian had subdued the older man and dragged him to his feet.
Still clutching Andrew, Clara turned to search for Rushton. For a moment, she couldn’t find him in the growing crowd, but then he pushed past a group of people. Two police constables followed, their batons at the ready as they approached Sebastian and Fairfax.
Voices rose from the crowd in excited chatter. Clara tightened her arms around Andrew and led him to the safety of a doorstep. She pressed her cheek against his hair.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry it happened this way.”
One day soon she would ask him exactly what he saw happen between Fairfax and Richard, but that day could wait. Right now all she wanted was to hold her son again and get reacquainted with the boy he had become—this time, without the portent of fear hanging over them like a thundercloud.
They waited together, huddled close, as the crowd began to disperse and Sebastian returned to find them. He scraped a hand through his messy hair and crouched in front of them, balancing on the balls of his feet.
“You did the right thing, Andrew,” he said. “No harm will come to you for having told the truth. Had you feared that it would?”
Andrew nodded. Sebastian lifted the boy into his arms, then extended a hand to Clara and helped her up. He pulled her to his other side, holding them close. A tremble shuddered through Clara as she embraced both her husband and her son. She and Andrew would always be safe at Sebastian’s side.
Slowly, she turned to find Lord Rushton.
“Fairfax is in police custody.” His face reddened from exertion and lined with concern, the earl stopped beside them. “Rest assured, Mrs. Hall, I will do everything within my power to ensure that justice is served.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Clara didn’t doubt his promise. Rushton was determined that nothing would shake the foundations of the earldom again, but he was not so uncompromising that he would allow a murder to go unpunished.
Her heart clenched.
Murder.
Richard had been murdered by the very man to whom he had entrusted his son.
As if sensing her thoughts, Sebastian lowered his head to whisper into her ear. “He will never harm you or Andrew again.”
She tightened her hold on him. “I believe you.”
Several days after returning to London, Andrew explained in slow, halting speech what he had seen that fateful day when his father died. They sat in the parlor of Blake’s Museum of Automata—only Clara and Sebastian, as Andrew had said he wanted no one else present. He huddled in a chair before the fire, his hands cupped around a bowl of hot cocoa. Soon he would have to recount the events to the police superintendent, but everyone had agreed to give the boy a chance to recover.
“They were talking about business,” Andrew said. Firelight flickered across his youthful features as he stared into the flames. “Grandfather and Papa. Railway stock or…or something like t-that. Then they started arguing.”
He fell silent, a distance blurring his gaze as if he saw the scene anew.
“M-my grandfather accused my papa of keeping him out of a…a contract,” Andrew continued. “Their voices got louder and louder. I’d gone into the woods a ways to follow a rabbit, so I don’t think they knew I…I was there. Then I heard the sound of a slap and I went back to see what had happened. Grandfather had…had grabbed Papa and was shaking him. They were both yelling. Then he…he hit Papa hard enough that Papa f-fell off the horse. There was a…a horrible crack. Blood. Grandfather jumped down and ran to Papa, shouting at him to get up.
“He shook him again, then looked up and saw me. He l-looked awful…scared, like something was horribly wrong. I knew it too. The m-minute he shouted my name, I turned and ran. Just k-kept running until I didn’t hear him anymore. I found my pony again and went back to the house to find Mama, but you weren’t there.”
“I’d returned to the woods to look for you.” Clara brushed her hand across Andrew’s hair.
“I…I didn’t want to wait.”
“Richard was dead by the time I reached him,” Clara told Sebastian, an old horror pushing at her memory as she recalled finding Richard on the path. “I think my father had gone for help, but it was too late. And when he saw me with Richard, he obviously thought to deflect the blame.”
“Why did you not tell anyone, Andrew?” Sebastian asked gently.
Andrew’s lower lip trembled as he stared down into the bowl. “H-he said he’d hurt Mama if I did. Said if I spoke a word, M-Mama would be arrested and hanged. So…so I stayed quiet.”
“Oh, Andrew.” Clara struggled against the tears clogging her throat as she bent to embrace her son.
She understood now why Andrew had maintained a distance from her during their brief stay at Floreston Manor. He’d been afraid that if he let down his guard around her, he would say something to expose Fairfax, a confession that would then have repercussions for Clara.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“You did the right thing, Andrew,” Sebastian said. “Never doubt it.”
Andrew looked at Clara. “Will I stay with you now?”
“Yes.” She glanced at Sebastian. He returned her gaze, and a warm understanding passed between them. “You’ll stay with both of us forever.”