‘I am sorry... about your father.’
Lord Stanley gave a slight nod, his expression tightening briefly.
‘I suppose it explains a great deal,’ he said at last. ‘And perhaps... it is better to know the truth.’
He attempted a faint smile, but Charlotte could see the grief beneath it—the quiet hurt of a son discovering his father had not been the man he believed.
‘Well,’ she said, her brows knitting in frustration, ‘it appears fear of the gallows is powerful, but fear of Falcon is stronger still.’
‘Yes. But at least we obtained a confession. It is a start.’
As they continued subtly pitching the gentlemen against one another, Oswald and Fraser folded like a house of cards.
Under Lord Stanley’s steady questioning—and the promise of protection for his family—Oswald finally confirmed Boulton’s confession. Frustratingly, however, he claimed to know very little about the society’s leadership, insisting the identities of the Grand Fellows were concealed from lesser members.
Mr Fraser proved rather more useful.
Under Stanley’s relentless interrogation, he finally admitted what Charlotte and Lord Stanley had long suspected: that financial ruin had driven him into business with the Odd Fellows.
What followed chilled Charlotte considerably.
Fraser confessed that his vessels had been used to smuggle French goods into England—opium, silks, wine—and, more disturbingly still, to transport girls out of the country.
Though he insisted he had not personally arranged the kidnappings, merely provided ships at the request of Hamilton or Payne, Charlotte found little comfort in the distinction.
Yet when Stanley questioned him regarding Falcon, Fraser likewise professed ignorance. He did, however, reveal the various names under which their companies operated—information that would at last allow Lord Stanley to begin dismantling the shipping network itself.
Lord Bainbridge was brought into the study next, his cane clutched tightly in one hand. He appeared suddenly older—frailer somehow.
‘I had no idea,’ he said at once. ‘Hamilton, Boulton, and Oswald—criminals? What is the world coming to?’
He shook his head disapprovingly, as though reprimanding foolish schoolboys rather than hardened criminals.
Lord Stanley stood with his arms folded, leaning lightly against the desk.
‘I understand your son used to attend the late Baron’s house parties.’
‘Yes... yes, I believe he did. Frederick generally attended in my stead, but after he passed—and as we were already in the county this year—I thought, why not come myself? Lady Bainbridge does so enjoy house parties.’
‘And I believe you and your son were estranged?’
Lord Bainbridge flushed a dark, offended red before sighing heavily.
‘He became something of a recluse after childhood. What is life if not lived amongst society? I preferred London. He preferred the estate. Refused to obey me or marry. So I cut him off. To discipline him, you understand.’
Charlotte exchanged a meaningful glance with Lord Stanley.
‘And I never approved of his friends,’ Bainbridge continued. ‘I raised him with discipline. He knew better than to mingle with riffraff, but he would not listen.’
‘Perhaps he rebelled,’ Charlotte said quietly. ‘Sometimes the strictest expectations produce the sharpest defiance.’
For a brief moment, he looked uncertain. Then the stubbornness returned.
It required very little imagination to picture the beginnings of such a corrupt enterprise amongst privileged young men.
‘Did your son leave behind journals or correspondence?’ Charlotte asked.
Bainbridge’s face tightened.
