Chapter 35
“Lady Georgina Stanford waits in the parlor,” Mrs. Smith said.
Evelyn had just returned from Shoreditch when the housekeeper informed her of Georgina's surprise visit.
“Is anything amiss?” she asked Mrs. Smith.
“I don't believe so. Lady Georgina said you were expecting her.”
Expecting her? Evelyn couldn't recall sending a note. The last time she had seen Georgina was outside a Bond Street tea shop. Georgina had invited Evelyn to her country home and Evelyn had declined, unable to stomach the thought of sleeping under the same roof as Georgina's father, Viscount Hamilton.
Evelyn handed her cloak to Hodges. “Please bring tea,” she instructed Mrs. Smith, and then made her way to the parlor.
Georgina sat in a chair gazing out the window. She spun around when Evelyn entered.
“Thank goodness!” Georgina cried as she rushed to meet Evelyn and embraced her. Her thick chestnut hair was pulled back, revealing a pale face and hazel eyes. Evelyn always knew Georgina as quick to smile, but today her expression could only be described as one of anxiety and apprehension.
“Georgina, what has happened?” Evelyn asked.
“You will think me terribly weak after I tell you.”
“Nonsense.” Evelyn guided Georgina to a settee and she sat beside her. “Tell me everything.”
“I fear I must marry Lucas Crawford and quickly.”
“What are you talking about? I thought you decided against marrying Lucas?”
“There's been an unfortunate change of circumstances. I've discovered my family is in debt and sorely in need of money,” Georgina said.
“Money? But your father is Maxwell Stanford, Viscount Hamilton. Surely your family must have resources.”
“My father has been behaving strangely for quite some time. My mother and I have only recently discovered he has been zealously gambling. Our country estate in Somersetshire, the Berkeley Square mansion, and our other properties have all been encumbered. Mother didn't realize the full extent of the damage until her diamond necklace, an heirloom from her great-aunt, was missing. That's when my father confessed he sold it to pay off one of his debts. He even admitted to taking the jewels from her other pieces and having the stones replaced with paste.”
“I'm so sorry, Georgina. But what does this have to do with you marrying Lucas?”
“Lucas Crawford is the son of the Earl of Haverston. His family has a fortune. Mama believes the way out of our predicament is for me to marry Lucas before he learns of our financial troubles.”
“Oh, dear,” Evelyn said.
Unspoken pain was alive and glowing in Georgina's eyes. “I apologize for burdening you and stopping by without notice, but I desperately need a friend to talk to, and my suffragist acquaintances would be horrified. The idea of marrying for money, of bartering my body, is not a novel notion among the
ton,
but they would judge me for my weakness nonetheless.”
There was a soft knock on the door, and Mrs. Smith entered with a tea tray. Evelyn waited until the maid departed before embracing Georgina.
“Oh, darling. There is nothing wrong with saving your family. What your father has done is wrong, not the sacrifice you are prepared to make to save your family. Do you know what started Hamilton's bout of gambling?”
“He's had mistresses for years. I've known this since I was a child. My mother knew as well, although she has never mentioned it to me or led Father to believe that she has been aware of his lovers. I have since come to the conclusion that his unfaithfulness was acceptable to her so long as he kept it private. But his last lover had irked her like none of the others.”
Evelyn held her breath. “Who was she?”
Georgina looked down at her hands. “Her name was Bess Whitfield.”
Evelyn kept her features deceptively composed. “Bess Whitfield? The famous, murdered actress?”
“Yes. It was no secret that his mistress had numerous lovers. I think my father grew jealous and there was an incident when gossip came back to my mother. Mother's status in the
ton
means everything to her, and she refused to tolerate the slightest humiliation. My parents had a terrible row over Bess Whitfield one night. I couldn't help but overhear.”
“What did your father do?”
“After she was murdered, Father started acting strangely. He always enjoyed gambling and his clubs, but never before had he been reckless with his spending habits. After her death, he changed. His moods have been unpredictable, dark. He's been drinking too much. Some nights I was afraid to approach him.”
“Do you believe he would harm you or your mother?”
Evelyn knew she was asking an inappropriate question, but if there existed any chance Georgina or Viscountess Hamilton were in danger, she would reveal the truth to her friend. Any man desperate enough to pry up floorboards and search for Bess Whitfield's diary after her death could be capable of violence.
Evelyn often wondered what Viscount Hamilton would have done had he caught them fleeing Bess's home that fateful day.
Had he been armed? Would he have shot them? Georgina shook her head. “No, I don't fear physical harm from my father, only his temper. When he is roused, he rants and yells at any unfortunate soul that crosses his path.”
“What will you do about Lucas Crawford?”
“I've resigned myself to marriage. At least he's young and not unattractive. I've never found him repulsive or distasteful, but I thought to choose my own spouse.”
“How does he feel?”
“I do believe he's infatuated with me. He sends flowers daily and notes requesting strolls in Hyde Park.”
Georgina was beautiful and poised, and Evelyn could understand why Lucas was drawn to her. “Perhaps you should accept his invitation and get to know each other. Hyde Park is stunning this time of year.”
“I shall take your advice,” Georgina said.
Evelyn leaned close, her eyes piercing the distance between them. “But should you find you still do not wish to marry Lucas after a time, then please return to me. My mother left me a small inheritance and I will give you every last shilling. It will not be enough to cover all the debts, but I'm certain my father would offer his assistance. You could travel to France with your mother.”
A tear rolled down Georgina's cheek. “I could never take your money, but you are a true friend for offering.”
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A note arrived the following morning.
Evie,
Please come to my home around one o'clock. I have made a vital discovery. And do bring your maid as chaperone.
Just like Jack, he hadn't bothered to sign the note. Evelyn and Janet took a carriage to Jack's home on St. James Streetâa prestigious address for a wealthy bachelor's home. They passed the popular male establishments, Brooks's, Boodle's, and White's. Despite the early-afternoon hour, two well-dressed men stumbled out of Boodle's. One slapped the other heartily on the back, and they both rocked with the laughter of drunken revelers.
The driver lowered the step and they alighted. She had never seen Jack's home before, and she was full of curiosity about his living arrangements
.
Lifting her skirts, she made her way to his town house, her inquisitiveness growing with each step.
They reached the porch and Evelyn lifted the heavy brass knocker.
The door swung open, and a butler with a solemn expression looked down at them.
“Lady Evelyn Darlington to see Mr. Harding.”
The butler's expression changed, and he nodded in welcome. “He's been expecting you, my lady.” He opened the door wide and stepped aside. “I will inform Mr. Harding at once.”
Evelyn and Janet stepped inside and handed their cloaks to the butler. Evelyn's eyes were drawn to the beautiful Italian marble in the vestibule. They followed the butler to the formal drawing room where he asked them to wait, and Evelyn noted the fine rosewood furniture and Brussels carpet. Several paintings from sporting artists George Stubbs and John Wootton hung on the walls and displayed the majestic lines of thoroughbred horses. It was clear that Jack Harding was quite successful in his chosen profession, and he lived in elegant luxury.
Moments later the door opened and Jack strode into the room. He looked strikingly handsome with an exquisitely tailored dark blue jacket and trousers. His eyes, normally brilliantly intelligent, held a gleam of eagerness that she found compelling and exciting.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Jack said.
Evelyn stood. “Your note mentioned a discovery. What is it, Jack?”
“If you would but follow me, I will explain.” Jack looked at Janet. “Perhaps your maid would prefer some refreshment here while we speak?”
It was a statement more than a question. Janet blinked nervously and looked to Evelyn.
“Yes, Janet, do stay here. Legal nuances would bore you, and we will be back shortly.”
Evelyn followed Jack from the room. She assumed he would take her to his library, but they passed room after roomâa conservatory, the library, a billiard roomâuntil they stood in the doorway of the kitchen. It was after nuncheon, and no servants were present.
“Where are we going?”
He grinned. “Trust me. This is something you want to see.”
She followed him into the kitchen, and he stopped before a long worktable and a water pump.
He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “Before I begin, I want to apologize for not believing you and not trusting your instinct.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Randolph's innocence.”
Her head swirled with doubts. What was he up to?
Jack reached for a large sponge, roughly a foot square, and a butcher's knife and placed them on the table. Opening a cupboard, he retrieved a jar containing a thick, crimson liquid.
“What on earth is that?”
“Pig's blood from the butcher. I experimented early this morning and sent you the note afterward.”
“What experiment?”
“Watch and see.”
Jack removed his jacket, and his white cotton shirt molded to his broad shoulders. She had no idea what he was about to do, but her pulse quickened.
He opened the jar and poured the pig's blood over the sponge. She wrinkled her nose at the metallic scent as it was quickly absorbed by the once-dry sponge.
“Step back, Evie. I don't want to ruin your gown.”
Curious and bewildered, she obliged.
Jack picked up the long blade and repeatedly and viciously stabbed the sponge. Blood splattered everywhereâover the worktable, the water pump, the walls, his face and hands, and most of all, his shirt, turning the white fabric into a gory display.
She stood there, blank and amazed.
Jack threw down the knife and turned to her, eagerness flashing in his eyes. “What did I just prove?”
At once she knew what he was after. “The bloody shirt!” she cried out.
He jerked his head to the corner of the kitchen. “Randolph's shirt is lying on the second table. Would you be kind enough to retrieve it?”
She rushed to the corner, retrieved the shirt, and held it up for their view. Bess Whitfield's blood stained the white cotton of the entire right sleeve and underarm a deep maroon. There was no blood splatter. The opposite sleeve and most of the shirtfront remained white.
“Randolph claimed he arrived after Bess already lay dead. He held her in his arms. If he was the true killer, this shirt would be covered with blood splatter,” she said.
Jack pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his face and hands. “Yes, Evie. This shirt is a pivotal piece of evidence that can exonerate Randolph. Juries love courtroom dramatics.”
“Will it help the damning fact that Randolph fled the murder scene and later went into hiding?”
“I don't have to prove
who
killed Bess Whitfield; I only have to show that Randolph did
not.
This,” he said, pointing to Randolph's shirt, “will help.”
She wanted to throw herself into his arms, to thank him for his craftiness and brilliance. He must have sensed her intention for he held out a hand. “As much as I'd love to hold you, my dear, I don't advise it right now.”
She laughed. “I'm so relieved and excited I don't care!”
“I need to wash and change. Will you wait for me?”
“Yes.”
She would follow him to the ends of the earth. He had singlehandedly provided the greatest defense for Randolph, and most importantly, Jack believed her. Her instincts regarding Randolph's guilt had been correct.