It took Wickham less than five minutes to confirm there were no obstacles leading to the stairs. After informing his master of this, he led the Duke out of the ballroom, along a corridor to the main entrance hall and the grand staircase.
Even though he had already checked to make sure their way was clear, Wickham looked around to double check there was no one about. He nodded and the two men began a slow climb up the main stairs. Rather than ask the Duke what speed to go, Wickham knew to take his time. That way their speed of climbing the stairs would be because of the pace he set and not the corpulent Duke needing to slow down and rest.
They arrived on the second floor and again Wickham looked around and saw no one. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket with the directions to reach the master suite, which he told the master was provided by the maid he had seduced.
It took longer than it should have because Wickham walked very slowly to accommodate the huffing and puffing of the Duke as he attempted to bring his breathing rate back to normal levels.
“This is the door, Your Grace,” Wickham whispered. “The maid suggested her Ladyship recline on the bed in the Earl’s bedchamber. Are you sure you do not require my presence with you?”
“As I already told you, no, I do not. Wait here,” the Duke averred with asperity.
Hertfordshire turned the door handle and then pushed it open. He advanced inside of the room. The chamber was darkened and there was a form he could make out on the bed. It seemed his enemy’s wife was resting just like he had planned. This would be easier than he expected.
He pushed the door closed which plunged the room into almost total darkness. He was frustrated Wickham had not provided a candle for him. The damned man should have known she liked the room dark when resting.
The problem was he did not know where the door was and it would have been too humiliating to call out to Wickham to open the door. He felt along the wall and eventually found the window and pulled the curtains aside as hard as he was able.
“What are you doing in my bedchamber,” a voice called out. From the times he had spoken to Jersey, he recognised the voice as his. But how could he be here?
Slowly he turned back towards the voice of his enemy. There standing, all with pistols trained on him was Jersey, his son, some other men, and Wickham!
Ignoring the fact he had been caught in Lord Jersey’s bedchamber, he looked at Wickham indignantly. “What is themeaning of this betrayal, Wickham?” he demanded. “You will be dead before this day is out!”
“Did you really think I would allow you to harm Her Grace like you planned to after she bore you an heir? And as you are about to die, how would you be able to order anyone to do anything?” Wickham laughed derisively.
“Of what do you speak?” Hertfordshire asked nervously not feeling nearly as confident as he had before. Then he convinced himself none of them would harm a duke.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled his pistol out intending to end Wickham himself. The last thing Lord Archibald Winston Chamberlain did in the mortal world before he was sent to hell was to cock his small pistol.
As soon as he saw the Duke cock his weapon, Lord Jersey, who was a crack shot, fired his pistol striking the dissolute duke between his eyes, killing him instantly.
The corpulent body fell face forward onto the floor.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
A few days after the Duke told Wickham what he desired:
The Earl of Jersey was in his study with his son and heir, Wesley, Viscount Westmore when the butler knocked on the door and entered when bade to do so.
“There is a Mr. Wickham who works for His Grace the Duke of Hertfordshire here to see you, my Lord,” the butler intoned.
“I want nothing to do with anyone associated with that man,” the Earl spat out with distaste.
“That is what the man said you would say, my Lord, he urged me to give this note to you.” The butler extended his salver.
His curiosity aroused; Lord Jersey nodded to his son who retrieved the missive. The Viscount handed it to his father.
The Earl unfolded the note. It was not long.
My master plans to do great harm to your wife and through her to you and to your name.
“Send him in Smithington,” Lord Jersey barked.
“What did it say, Father?” Lord Westmore enquired. His father handed him the note.
Before the Viscount could say anything, the butler showed the man into the study.
“My Lords,” Wickham bowed to the two men.
