Ash made his way on foot to the Three Bells, because it was unlikely a jarvey would take him there. The humble inn had never been a handsome building, and now, with the stonework blackened with soot and the window frames rotting, it looked decidedly down-at-heel. He found it hard to believe Farnborough spent much time there. Except to hide out. From whom? His creditors?
He entered the taproom and spoke to the man serving ale. He looked Ash over, then gestured toward the wooden stairs. “Room at the end of the corridor. Don’t want no trouble, mind.”
Ash mounted the rickety stairs. As he walked along the corridor, grunts and moans emerged from behind some of the doors. Arriving at the one he sought, he knocked. No one answered, and no sound emanated from within. He tried the door latch. It turned in his hand. He drew his pistol and stepped inside. He waited while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Thin curtains drawn over the window blocked much of the light, and there was the raw, metallic smell of blood.
Ash stepped farther into the room. Farnborough lay spread-eagled on the bed, his throat cut from ear to ear. “Blood will have blood,” Ash murmured, quoting Shakespeare’sMacbeth.
He looked around. The room had been ransacked, any valuables long gone, including Farnborough’s pocket watch, fobs, wallet, as well as his shoes. Downstairs, Ash spoke to the tavern keeper. “I don’t intend to pursue this, and I doubt Bow Street will bother too much. Have you any idea who might have killed him?”
The bearded man shrugged. “Dead men tell no tales. I prefer to leave it at that, except to say he owed a lot of money to the wrong people.”
Ash already had a pretty good idea of who those people were. “Did you see any of them in here?”
“Haven’t got eyes in the back of me head.” He turned back to pouring tankards of ale, making it plain Ash would learn no more from him.
Ash returned to Bow Street and advised them of Farnborough’s death. He requested the arrest of Stuart Ross and Grantly Wilberforce, but the charges were flimsy and wouldn’t stick. In any event, the men would seek expensive legal assistance.
He went out onto the road and hailed a hackney, directing the jarvey to his club. In White’s writing room, he took a piece of bond, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and began one of several letters. His first was to Diana to advise her of her husband’s death, then a brief one to his grandfather with similar news. The next was to Sir Ralph Tothill, advising him of what had occurred in the past week with Julia’s mother found alive and Farnborough’s death. He added his hope to find him in London soon. He remained curious about Tothill’s connection with Farnborough.
His final letter was to his Great-Aunt Clara, giving her the news, thanking her. Her assistance, he wrote, had been of vital importance, and the matter was now at an end. He added that Thea and he hoped to see her at their wedding. The letters signed and sealed, he handed them over for the post as a weight lifted from his shoulders. His life with Thea lay ahead, filled with promise.
He stood deep in thought while waiting for his hat and cane to be brought.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice said behind him. Ash turned.
He grinned at his friend and cohort. “Cartwright! Good to see you back in town. Is Letty with you?”
“Yes. We arrived a few hours ago. Care for a drink?”
“I’ll order a bottle of whisky. I have much to tell you.”
It was late in the afternoon when Ash called to give Thea the news. He sat with her and her grandmother in the sitting room, Lady Tothill and Catherine apparently shopping in Bond Street.
“So that is the end of it,” Lady Trentham said with a satisfied smile. “Now we have the matter of your wedding, which will be held here, of course. I shall draw up a guest list. Please ask your grandfather for his. I trust he will attend?”
“He is not keen on travel, as you know, but he will if his doctor allows it. After the honeymoon, Thea and I will spend the London Season at Highworth Court and the rest of the year at Meadows.”
Thea tucked her hand into his. She was obviously relieved to see him back safe and sound, their troubles behind them. But Ash reminded himself life with Thea would prove bumpy at times. He would need to be at his diplomatic best to continue on in his work. And Thea had a secret, too, which he looked forward to uncovering. He smiled. When he had the time and the means to do it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Grandmama smiled asThea joined her and her mother, where they sat on a sofa overlooking the dance floor.
“I declare I’m thoroughly exhausted,” Grandmama said. “Two weddings in little more than a month. First Catherine’s, and now Thea’s, and both have gone off splendidly.”
Her mother nodded in approval. “The Tothill girls were the most beautiful brides of the Season.” She frowned. “Such a pity Thea’s brother, Robert, couldn’t attend the wedding, but they live in Cornwall, and Violet is close to giving birth.”
“Our wedding has been simply perfect, Mama.” Thea leaned forward and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you for all your hard work.”
“Nicely done, Alice,” Grandmama added.
“Holding it here in your home was quite perfect.” Her mother gazed around at the crowded ballroom. “I see Tothill talking to Ashton. Quite an intense discussion, it would appear.”
Grandmama craned her neck. “Politics, no doubt.”
Mama nodded sagely. “Thea, the musicians are mounting the dais. They will soon play the wedding waltz.”
Thea straightened the diamond and pearl headdress borrowed from her grandmother and stood, arranging the skirts of her white satin and silver net gown. She loved the dress. And she delighted in the expression in Ash’s eyes when she joined him at the altar. His best man, Brandon Cartwright, stood beside him, and his wife, Letty, smiled from a front pew. Baron Reade and Jo had sent their best wishes and a gift from the country. She was already fond of Ash’s friends and looked forward to seeing more of them.
