The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

Lucius studied the coachwoman, and the corners of his mouth twitched. Sybil had brought Alcock because she worked for the Wycliffs, and so Lucius would know not to worry, would know help was at hand. Indeed, somewhere in the ghostly gloom, Mr Wycliff and his friends were lying in wait. She only wished she knew where.

“My son thinks highly of you, Miss Atwood,” Julia Dunwoody said, narrowing her gaze as she focused on Alcock’s face. “I trust you won’t disappoint.”

“I have what you asked for if that is your meaning.”

And once Mrs Dunwoody gave Sir Melrose the journal, he would discover that a witness could place him at the Garrett. That would give Lucius an opportunity to set a trap, to exact his revenge.

All they had to do now was survive the next few minutes.

Sybil was about to insist they settle their business quickly, when the sound of a mumbled conversation and the clip of booted footsteps echoed along the path.

“Ah, right on cue.” Julia paused to cough. “Here come the real villains in this game. The night would not be complete without a dose of revenge.”

Villains?

Revenge?

Was this woman not behind the evil machinations?

But no, two men burst through the enveloping fog.

Sir Melrose Crampton came to a crashing halt. Shock, then fear held him rigid. Sybil was more taken aback by the arrival of Mr Warner.

“What the devil is going on?” Sir Melrose’s frantic gaze darted to Lucius, to Sybil, and then back to Julia Dunwoody.

Mr Warner’s face turned ashen. He looked like he might cast up his accounts. He clutched Sir Melrose’s arm with an intimacy that belied their positions. “Good God. You said we were coming to collect the j-journal.” The weasel waved a finger at Lucius. “Why the hell is he here?”

“Warner, you conceited arse.” Lucius’ face was granite hard. “Know that as soon as I’m free of my restraints, I’ll throttle the last breath from your deceitful body.”

“Why are you so shocked, Sir Melrose?” Julia’s slow smile built. “You wanted Atticus Atwood’s journal in exchange for the vowels and the title deed. I’m here on your orders. To reclaim the documents you used to blackmail me.”

Sir Melrose’s hollow cheeks quivered. “I assumed you had the journals in your possession.”

“Yes, I am about to make the exchange.” Julia spoke as if her son were a mere commodity. A pawn to barter. “Am I to blame for your early arrival?”

“But … but.” Sir Melrose couldn’t find the words to contradict the panic etched on his face. He sucked in a deep breath and seemed to regain his composure. “Yes, well, the Royal Society will be grateful to you, Mrs Dunwoody. Though I’m confused.” The man’s beady eyes settled on the satchel gripped by Alcock’s meaty paws. “I thought Mr Daventry possessed Atwood’s work.”

“Miss Atwood had access to her father’s journals. I merely used my son as leverage to force her hand.”

Cold-hearted hag!

Lucius muttered an obscenity.

“How you obtain the journals is your affair,” Sir Melrose replied. “You serve national interests, madam. It’s only right the work of an eminent scientist is held by such a prestigious academy as the Royal Society.”

“Ballocks!” Lucius shouted.

“Ballocks, indeed.” Julia covered her mouth but suppressed another cough. “What my son means, Sir Melrose, is that everyone here knows you’re a liar. You mention the Royal Society’s need to obtain the journals, yet you specifically asked for one journal. The one containing details of a riot in Smithfield Market. One look at Miss Atwood’s satchel confirms the lady has brought but one book.”

“Not just one book,” Sybil corrected.

She was beginning to understand the woman’s reason for bringing everyone together. Now, Sybil didn’t have to wait for Julia to give Sir Melrose the notebook with the fake evidence. She could have her own revenge.

“Yes, I have the journal containing witness statements from those at the market,” Sybil continued. “And I have a notebook with letters confirming Sir Melrose is a member of a select club known as Gorget’s Garrett. I understand it’s a molly-house.”

Warner inhaled sharply. “Damnation. We should leave.” He tugged Sir Melrose’s sleeve again. “We don’t need to listen to this nonsense.”

“That’s right,” Lucius countered. “Listen to your lover. The man whose naked picture we found in your library. The man whose likeness is drawn on the reverse of an invitation card for the Garrett. I’ve seen the proof that confirms Mr Cribb was also a member. You remember Mr Cribb. The man who was murdered in the market.”