“Of course, but you must prove to Mr. Marks that these markings are legitimate. They could be forgeries or copies like I had, but Uncle Soulden and Mr. Johnson may not have included you in their dealings. You may just be the lapdog.”
Nicholas tossed the books to the desk. He stood and flipped to a page. “See the markings. The authorizations for the transfers from account to account. There’s my father’s mark,SAW, Soulden Arthur Wilkinson. This is Loftus Johnson’s,LJ. And this one,ANW.”
“That was to indict my father, Algernon Nathaniel Wilkinson.”
“No, you dolt. Those were my transfers, Aylmer Nicholas Wilkinson. I became so good at them, they let me take over. Built up quite a nest, until a little birdie moved the funds.”
Marks stood and examined the books. “Wilkinson, you authorized these transfers?ANWis your mark, you did this embezzlement?”
“I did the bulk of these, and my father and Johnson lived off the fat, but with his scheming, Wycliff has put them in jail. There’s some poetry in that.”
Marks rubbed his chin. “It’s a crime to embezzle. Isn’t it, Lord Mayor?”
The door opened, and there stood Lord Thorpe, the magistrate. The older man, with silver streaks in his hair, came into the room. “It is a crime. And these books are the proof. Do you know what you’ve done, Wilkinson?”
Nicholas backed up to the door. “I was bragging. It’s not true. You set me up. You’ll pay.”
He grasped the door and opened it.
He stopped and stepped back.
Ruth was there with Nicholas’s son in her arms.
Wilkinson cursed and pointed. “You? You have my son.”
“Yes. Miss Smith, this boy’s mother, is my guest in my husband’s parlor.”
Wycliff jerked Nicholas backward. “Yes, my wife is such a good hostess. Smart girl, too. She figured out the initials. She knows guilt when she sees it.”
Ruth stared at Nicholas, tweaked her lenses. “I needed to see you pay for your embezzlement. It’s a pity you can’t pay for all that you’ve done.”
She stood, resplendent and courageous, facing her attacker.
Sweat broke upon Nicholas’s brow.
Wycliff twisted Nickie’s arm a little more. For what he’d done to Ruth, his cousin needed to fear what Wycliff would do to him.
Mr. Marks pulled a ribbon-wrapped document from his pocket. “So, are you taking back your confession, Mr. Wilkinson, and staying here with your cousin, or are you going to sign this confession and take your risk in court?”
Wycliff handed him the paper. “In my travels, I learned a great deal about torture and the ways other civilizations dealt with infidels.”
Nickie took the paper. “Yes, just as I told Marks. I did it.” He bent at the desk and signed the confession.
Marks took it and the ledgers and handed them to the Lord Mayor.
The Lord Mayor headed to the door. “Go with Marks, Wilkinson. It will look better for you. Or I’ll send the runners for you. Marks, let me know.”
Ruth followed behind the man, and Wycliff took pride in how well she withstood.
“Cousin, have mercy on my son. You don’t need the runners. I’ll go with Marks.”
Marks pulled out a knife much bigger than Ruth had. “My grooms outside have guns. I can deliver him to the magistrate.”
He led Nicholas from the room.
It was over.
Wycliff needed to get to Ruth.
