Chapter Twenty-One
It took therest of the afternoon and long into the evening to take everyone’s statements. Teign’s warders were initially defiant, certain that, as one of them put it, “Ain’t nobody can touch the master. And ’e’ll send us to ’ell if’n we tell what we know.”
“You fool,” said one of the lawyers. “You see before you the Dukes of Dellborough and Kempbury. The Marquesses of Thornstead and Deerhaven. The Earls of Somerville, Sutton, and Trilby. Their Graces had an audience with the King yesterday afternoon to tell him about Teign’s crimes. Even a marquess must answer to the King and the House of Lords. Teign’s appointment with the devil is inevitable.”
“In any case,” Ernest pointed out, “we are witnesses to your own crimes, and we have enough evidence to convict you. You shall soon be dancing on the end of a rope. The question is whether what you tell us is worth a bucket of sand to weight your legs so you die quickly.”
After that, the other warder broke and confessed, and his mate must have decided he was doomed either way, for he soon joined in.
At one point, Allan was called out to see Clara, who had visited with some unexpected company. The cook from Teign’s townhouse and all her co-conspirators had turned up at Clara’s house, escaping from Teign before he could figure out that they were involved in drugging the warders.
“We put laudanum in the stew as well as the beer, my lord,” the cook explained. “And we made everything more salty than usual so they would be thirsty and drink more beer.”
“It worked brilliantly,” Allan told her. “Well done.”
The Duchess of Dellborough agreed to offer the servants refuge, and Allan assured them that their positions would be restored to them after this was all over, if Allan had the power to make it so.
He might not. Allan had already considered—and discussed with his brothers—that Teign’s crimes were so dreadful the title and all the estates might be forfeited. So be it. Teign had to be stopped, whatever the cost.
It was one of the reasons he wanted to wait to marry Melody. Although perhaps he should marry her before his future became clear, for she wanted to be a marchioness even less than he wanted to be marquess.
“Clara,” he said to his sister-in-law as the duchess took the servants to hand over to her housekeeper, “Can you suggest where I might find flowers suitable to give to Melody when I propose?”
“Of course,” said Clara. “Where do you plan to propose? I suppose you want privacy?”
Allan considered. “Actually,” he said, after a moment, “I should like to make my formal proposal on bended knee in front of my family and hers.”
Clara grinned at him. “Then,” she said, “let us have a Twelfth Night party late tomorrow afternoon. I shall tell Harmony and all the wives.”
“Warn them to say nothing to Melody,” Allan cautioned.
“Of course. She will accept you, Allan. She loves you.”
Allan hoped Clara was right. Melodydidlove him—she said so, and she was not a liar, despite her profession. But did she love him enough to take him scandal, marquisate, and all?
Tomorrow would tell the tale.
*
Teign made abreak for it that night. His sons and their wives were all asleep and knew nothing about it until the morning, when Dellborough sent for Allan. Without preamble, the duke said, “After receiving our initial report on what you found in Teign’s cellars, the king sent a detachment of his household guard to arrest Teign and convey him to the Tower of London. He was gone, and so was Farnham. The king has sent troops to each of Teign’s estates, and more to the main ports.”
“Troops!” Somerville snorted. He and the other peers who had joined in the assault on the cellars were together in Dellborough’s study, dictating the final report. All four had been serving officers during the long war that ended nearly a decade ago. All four expressed their opinion of the royal component of the search in scathing terms.
“Parade-ground officers, all gilt and no substance,” said Trilby.
“The troopers were as bad,” Somerville claimed. “Shiny boots and feathers for brains.”
“Who goes hunting for a miscreant in full dress uniform with a standard and a bloody drummer boy?” Trilby asked the room at large. He caught Melody’s eye, flushed, and bowed. “Sorry, Mrs. Blackmore. Forgot. Ladies present.”
“Twelve of them,” Stanhope groaned. “Twelve troops of lummoxes in fancy uniforms on flashy horses, and every single one with a standard and drummer boy. The king wants us to keep the scandal quiet and sends out twelve drummer boys!”
“Useful for Farnham and Teign. They’d have been able to hear them a mile off,” said one of the others, and the four of them sighed in unison.
“His Majesty wishes us to know he is taking matters seriously,” Dellborough pointed out. “The real work will be done by the runners and thief takers. With luck, our fugitives will be watching the troops and will not notice who is coming up behind them.”
“As for keeping the scandal out of the public eye,” said Kempbury, “that horse has well and truly bolted. And I do not see the point, anyway. If a marquess has been breaking the law, surely the masses need to know that the royal family and the aristocracy will stand up for them and bring the villain to justice? This idea that the mob will descend on us if we do not hide the wrongs the wealthy commit, and pretend they do not exist…” He shook his head. “Ridiculous.”
Allan thought that Dellborough underestimated Teign’s devious nature. Who knew what the man might try, now he was cornered? The report writers had sent for all the Sheppards, to ask them a whole barrage of questions. The brothers spent the day trying to pretend they were not starting at shadows and flinching at loud noises.
