The Mystery of Mr Daventry (Scandalous Sons 4)

Sybil found Lucius in a boathouse, free of his bindings, wearing the crude, colourful garb of a navvy, his wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He sat before a brazier, staring into the flames. Sybil thanked the two men who had pulled him from the river.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” She touched his shoulder and drew her hand through his wet hair. When he met her gaze, she said, “For one awful second, I thought I’d lost you.”

“Forgive me.” His chin trembled from the cold. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“No, you were not.” Upon hearing her raised voice, the boatmen made themselves scarce. “What if you haven’t been as careful as you claim? We’ve made love many times. What if I am with child? I don’t want to raise your son on my own.”

Her father once said that to live for the future was to live for a fantasy. Yet one could not underestimate the power of optimism.

The blue flecks in his eyes sparked to life.

“The reckless man in me hopes I have been careless.” He pulled her between his legs, wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek to her abdomen.

She hoped he’d been careless, too. A perfect fantasy appeared in her mind, them living together at Bronygarth with a rabble of reckless children.

“I’m sorry, sorry that’s how your mother met her end. Sorry that you had to witness the distressing event.” Sybil suppressed her anger by running her hands through his hair as he hugged her. Julia Dunwoody was a selfish woman who caused suffering with her thoughtless actions. “Angus said she’d sewn weights into the hem of her cloak, that she had but a few weeks left to live.”

A brief silence ensued.

“It’s strange,” he said, meeting her gaze. “For twenty years, I’ve struggled with the thought she was dead, buried at Bideford Park. And yet now I feel oddly at peace.”

“Perhaps because she’s not the helpless mother you imagined. She could have contacted you, could have eased your fears. It seems she had her own demons to battle.”

“Yes.” The word escaped him on a sad sigh.

“Mr Wycliff will be here in a moment. He suggests we take Warner to see Peel tonight, that we explain everything.”

“I’ll not tell Peel about the Order.”

“There’s no need. We will tell him exactly what we told Damian Wycliff. Though I shall have to confess to forging some evidence.”

A weak smile touched his lips. “I did wonder about the witness placing Sir Melrose at the Garrett.”

“Once Julia had the journal and notebook, I assumed she would visit Sir Melrose and claim back her vowels. As soon as Sir Melrose read the letters, I knew he would hunt for the witness.”

“You thought we could set a trap?”

“That was the idea. But it’s all over now.”

After a brief pause, he said, “Do you believe them? Warner and Sir Melrose? Do you believe they’re innocent of Atticus’ murder?”

Sybil cupped his cheek. Heavens, she wanted to kiss him, wanted to rub the warmth back into every inch of his body. “I’m inclined to believe my father’s heart gave out. That he died in his sleep. He looked so peaceful when I found him.”

After a moment’s contemplation he said, “Yes. I have to believe you’re right.”

Bower burst into the boathouse, water dripping from his hair and clothes. The boatmen hurried to his aid. Mr Wycliff appeared, too, and while they all warmed themselves by the brazier, the conversation turned to justice, to punishing Warner.

Taking Mr Trent’s and Mr Wycliff’s vehicles, they left Lambeth in search of Peel. They called at his home in Stanhope Street. With his wife and children staying at Lulworth, they found the Home Secretary working late in his office.

Peel was extremely interested to hear her father’s views on the cause of the riot at Smithfield Market. He listened intently to all the evidence, to the sworn testimonies from four illegitimate sons of powerful aristocrats. Listened as Lucius spoke about the corruption at Bow Street. Peel ordered a search of the river near Bishop’s Walk, had Mr Warner taken into custody. Promised to keep them informed.

Outside the office, Lucius thanked Mr Wycliff, Mr Trent and Mr Cavanagh for coming to Sybil’s aid. Before leaving, Angus gave Lucius his direction should he ever find himself north of the border. Finally, Sybil and Lucius were alone in a hackney heading to Brook Street.

Lucius stared out of the window, though there was nothing to see but passing shadows in the gloom. There was no need for her to return to Bronygarth now. That thought roused a pain so intense she fought to breathe.

“You’re quiet,” she said, waiting for a sign of encouragement, a sign to say he wanted her to dart across the carriage and fall into his arms.

He turned to look at her. “I’m so tired. Tired of living in the past. Tired of chasing devious devils.”