I was swimming again, trying to wake up from this new nightmare. “I don’t know the man I married. Why would he have so much debt, and why would this man he tracked pay for it?”
“Extortion. Sounds like this diary was enough to convince this man Sullivan to pay off the debts.”
My friend was guessing, but she was good at puzzling things. Colin an extortioner? That made no sense, but Markham . . . that sounded right. “His evil uncle would do it and trick Colin into helping.”
“If we locate this A. Sullivan, we could ask him. He would admit to how much your husband was involved.”
That didn’t sound like a good plan. I didn’t want to hear of Colin’s duplicity. He was my son’s father. Therehadto be some good in him. I rubbed at my temples, my renewed headache. “I know what the man who came here and threatened my husband looks like. I think he was called Sullivan. If we find him, I know he’ll admit that Markham was the mastermind.”
Jemina caught my hand. “If we can’t, the fact that Markham incurred so much debt might be enough to sway the Court of Chancery. He locked you away because you knew he gambled, and he didn’t want you to tell and remove him as guardian.”
It made sense, except that Repington was the guardian, not Markham. “My baby’s father can’t be a criminal.”
“Perhaps. But this book has to be what Markham wants.”
Flipping to the last pages, I scanned the final figures and dates. The last entry was dated a month before his suicide, a few days before I gave him my letter. “Sullivan is the key to everything.”
Footsteps.
Jemina tugged my wrist. “Someone’s coming. Help me put the mirror back, Patience.”
I tossed my awful letter into my pocket, then we forced the squealing door closed.
When we lifted the mirror back into place, we couldn’t get it straight. It tottered on the nails.
Jemina collected the IOUs, stuck them into the diary. “We must—”
The door swung open.
The duke and one of his soldiers stood there.
I wasn’t sure if he was going to toss me and Jemina out.
But I didn’t care.
I’d been through too much to be scared.
I looked in those seeking eyes of Repington’s and wasn’t afraid. Too much was at stake.
CHAPTER 19
BE ALITTLEWEAK
Busick waved his soldier out of the room. “I can handle this disturbance. Get some sleep, man.”
He tried to appear calm, and even waited for the fellow to leave before he reprimanded his remaining troops, his female troops.
The door behind him closed.
He leaned on his crutch and folded his arms against his brocade robe. His sleeve had pap-milk stains from his noncompliant troop upstairs.
“Mrs. St. Maur, I thought I asked you to alert me when Mrs. LaCroy awakened.”
“I . . . I . . .”
LaCroy swept in front of the other widow.
Exactly what he would expect the superior officer to do. “I’m responsible. I wanted to come down and write.”
