“Tell me what the name Kenneth Jackson means to you please, my lady?”
“He played a hand in killing my brother,” she said.
Jamie knew there was more to that statement, so he stood in silence, watching her and waiting.
This, what they were talking about, was not easy for him, because until now, he’d never discussed what had happened in Blackwood Hall with anyone but Toby and Anthony. There had been others whom they’d helped, who suffered also, but they’d never spoken about what they endured. It was just accepted that they had. Now, however, that was changing, because ifhe needed Lady Alice to tell him what she knew, he had to acknowledge the suffering of her brother.
“So you believe your brother died as a direct result of what took place in Blackwood Hall?”
“Kenneth Jackson did not hold a gun to my brother’s head, but the torture he endured broke his mind,” Lady Alice said. “He never recovered and suffered terribly.”
Which likely meant she, in her own way, had suffered also, Jamie thought.
A knock on the door was followed by a tea tray, which a butler carried into the room, to place on the small table before the sofa. It was loaded with two plates full of food. Jamie saw three wedges of cake, and another plate filled with scones. His eyes went to Lady Alice. Clearly, she did not nibble her food like many.
“Are we expecting visitors, Phipps?” She raised an eyebrow at her butler.
“No indeed, my lady, but as you have a visitor, I thought to add another plate.” He smiled at her.
“Thank you, Phipps. Scones are a particular weakness of mine,” Jamie added, smiling.
“That will be all, thank you,” Lady Alice said to the butler, moving around him to the table.
Jamie waited for her to pour, and then take the seat on one end of the sofa. He then took the other, and the cup she handed him.
“I have never spoken about how my brother suffered, Lord Stafford. I have two staff members who know some of what happened, and whom I would trust with my life, but no one else. This was his private battle and not one that he would wish to share.”
“As I am aware of what took place at Blackwood Hall, I can assure you that anything you say to me today will go no further.But I will add that Lords Hamilton and Corbyn are my friends and endured much there too, and I would trust them with my life.”
Her long, slender fingers tightened briefly around the handle of her cup as she took a sip of her tea.
Jamie loathed teacups. They were always too small for his hands, and he far preferred a mug. Alas, that was not what was served in the correct parlors and drawing rooms of society.
He always felt awkward attempting to hold a cup and not spill the contents down his front.
“Is there a problem, Lord Stafford? You are frowning at the tea. Do you take it stronger?”
“No, this is fine, thank you,” Jamie said.
She took a sip of her own.
“Just so we are clear, Lady Alice. Are you looking for Kenneth Jackson to seek revenge on your brother’s behalf?” Like Jamie, he believed this woman was someone who liked to get straight to the point. No prevarication needed, even on such a delicate topic.
That he was even discussing this was a shock. Jamie never talked of that time, and yet here he was doing just that with Lady Alice.
“I am,” she said, her voice strong. “I wish I knew who else was involved, but as my brother only mentioned Jackson, I do not.”
“Let me assure you that the other men involved have received punishment for their wrongdoings, through different means. However, as yet, not Jackson.”
“I am pleased to hear that, but it is time for Jackson to suffer for his crimes.”
He wanted to tell her to stop this revenge now. The gentleman in him needed to protect her and make her understand the animal she hunted. The man who would rip the innocence from boys who had been put into his care. A manso ruthless he would laugh when they begged him to stop. Age hadn’t dulled his wickedness from what Jamie learned when he’d gone to the charter school.
The two boys he’d spoken to had recounted their punishment in halting voices, each word dragging up memories Jamie had long tried to bury. What they described was the same torment he and his friends had endured. Cruelty disguised as discipline. Jamie had spent a long time with them afterward, doing what little he could to offer comfort, though he knew words offered nothing when the pain ran deep. He’d told them that Kenneth Jackson would pay for what he’d done, that justice would come. More than that, he’d urged them not to let that monster define who they became.
“Do not give him that power,” he’d said quietly, watching their too-young faces shadowed by fear and shame. “You survived him. That is victory enough for now.”
But as he looked into their eyes—empty, hollowed, and far too old for their years—Jamie knew healing would not come easily. It would take time, perhaps a lifetime, before they could look at themselves and not see the marks left by Jackson’s cruelty. And God help him, he understood that truth better than anyone.
