Mrs. Croome, who surely understood from all of Mr. Croome’s dealings, sat silent, sipping her tea.
Ruth gripped the couch’s high back. “Mrs. Johnson, I don’t know how to help. Lord Wycliff is here. Appeal to him yourself.”
Mrs. Johnson balled the handkerchief into her palm. “I might have something that I can give you, my lord. I have a book.”
He had a feeling this was the missing ledger, but he’d let this woman expose her duplicity. “I’m sure the Croomes have plenty of novels. Probably one or two editions of the Good Book for meditation. I have poems.”
“But this belonged to your cousin, my lord, Adam Wilky, her late husband.”
So, Milly from the bawdy house had the second set of ledgers, the ones that told of Mr. Johnson’s dirty dealings. Was that how Milly done come up—extortion? “Where did you get these books you believe to be Adam Wilky’s?”
“From Ruth’s trunk.” The woman laced her fingers together and bowed her head. “I took it from the brothel.”
Ruth’s face was unreadable for a second, but then her frown pinched tight. Something was about to burst.
“You were here when my trunk came. You said nothing.”
“I didn’t want to expose myself if you didn’t remember, but when you were dumped at the brothel, I cared for you. I thought there would be jewels in your trunk. I’d never seen such an elegant negress. I found the ledger hidden in the lining. I read it. Your husband identified things that Mr. Johnson didn’t want known.”
Wycliff’s insides churned. He started to loosen his cravat. “You used the information to force Mr. Johnson to marry you. Why give up a document that proved his guilt?”
“It helped him come up to snuff, but I’m good to Mr. Johnson. He’s happy. I’ll give you the pages that indict Soulden Wilkinson. He’s horrible.”
Ruth shook her fists. “I don’t care for this nonsense about how you schemed for a criminal husband. Why are you here now?”
“That Wilkinson name or most of the name on that torn piece of registry. Those people keep Mr. Johnson up at night. He thinks Soulden Wilkinson will kill him. Your cousin, Lord Wycliff, is now the head of the family. He can help. He can get my husband’s shipments moving. Mr. Johnson’s talking bankruptcy.”
“So, Milly done come down? Or was about to.” Wycliff covered his mouth and took a step back when Ruth glared at him.
“No jokes, Wycliff.” Her voice was stern, powerful, more than feisty.
She pointed a finger at him before turning back to Mrs. Johnson. “Why didn’t you say something before? You know the jokes I’ve suffered. You laughed with the circle of knitters, women who didn’t believe I had a husband. Couldn’t you tell I needed a friend, a true friend?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to admit my past as one of Madame’s girls, either.”
“Or that you are a thief?” Ruth’s tone was icy calm, too calm. “I think you need to leave.”
Mrs. Johnson came to her. “I know I’ve done wrong. But you know what it’s like to be desperate. And you are a mother. My baby needs to know his father as he is, not a shell of a man who’s lost everything.”
She put Ruth’s palm on her stomach. “Feel my baby’s kick. Help this child.”
Rubbing her temples, Ruth turned to him. “I don’t know how to ask you this.”
“Don’t.” Wycliff kept his words low. It was all he could muster. “This is not your fight. Keep your big heart safe and nowhere near this disagreement.”
Mrs. Johnson stepped to him. “Please, for my baby. I can’t go back to where I came from, and I love Mr. Johnson. I have to save him. Please ease the credit on him, Lord Wycliff. Let his shipments sail.”
Johnson was as guilty as Uncle Soulden, but maybe he’d try to live right for this child to come.
Wycliff groaned but decided to offer an olive branch. “Tell Johnson to use Captain Steward. He found the money to keep his ship moving. I’m financing him.”
“The captain was killed today on the docks. Someone started gossip that he cheated the payroll. His men rose up against him. He’s dead.”
Wycliff held back the choice words he wished to utter, the language he’d use on the docks. This was injustice, so wrongful, the murder of Steward. Nothing on his tongue was appropriate for these women.
“The captain was a good man. He had the money for his crew. I eased credit to him. He should not have been killed.”
“He was murdered.” Ruth’s words cut through his gut. She was right.
