Eager to get his wife out of the water, Devlin yanked Biggs to the surface. This time, the man retched and heaved.
Juliet grabbed Biggs by the arm. “You were looking for something when you examined the letter I gave you. What was it? Tell me, and I shall beg my husband to set you free.”
Devlin was about to argue, there were two possible outcomes his conscience would allow, but he bit his tongue when Biggs nodded.
“The baron … he’s lookin’ for old … for old letters.”
“Old letters?” Juliet glanced at Devlin and frowned. She turned back to Biggs. “How old?”
“F-fifty years.” Biggs coughed and spewed a mouthful of dirty water.
Fifty years?
“What else can you tell me?” Juliet persisted. “You examined the wax seal, and the name scrawled on the front. To whom are these letters addressed?”
“I don’t—”
Devlin gripped a clump of Biggs’ hair, ready to force him under.
“Wait! The baron will kill me if he knows I’ve told you anything.”
It was the time to give Mr Biggs a choice. Devlin could not allow the rogue to go free, to inform the baron of all they had learnt tonight. There was only one proposal he could make—one that left Biggs with no choice but to surrender.
“Let me speak plainly.” Devlin hauled Biggs to his feet. Water cascaded from his sodden coat, a coat that whiffed of algae and rotten vegetation. “I cannot let you leave here.”
A sound akin to a whimper vibrated in the man’s throat.
“Not unless you agree to do my bidding,” Devlin continued. “You can either languish in Blackwater’s cellar until we have solved this mystery, or you can work for me. The baron need not know of your treachery and double dealings. I shall pay you for information.”
Biggs remained silent for a brief time.
Perhaps he needed a little prompting in the right direction. “Know that should you betray me, or attempt to hurt my wife again, I will hunt you down, to the far reaches of the earth if necessary. When I find you, I’ll kill you.”
Biggs’ shoulders slumped. “Looks like I’ve got no choice.”
“Excellent.” Devlin released his hold on the fellow and slapped him hard on the back. “Now tell my wife what she wants to know. You owe her that for the despicable way you’ve behaved.”
“You must know to whom the letters are addressed,” Juliet reiterated.
“I only that know that they’re old,” Biggs said with some reluctance, “that they were addressed to the mistress of the house.”
“To the mistress?” Fifty years ago, Devlin’s grandmother was the mistress of Blackwater, but she would have been a young woman only recently married. “To Charlotte Drake?”
So what prompted the baron to show an interest in correspondence sent to a woman before Bromfield was born? And why was it considered pertinent now after all this time?
Then another thought struck him.
“Did the baron hire you to break into this house three years ago? To ransack my brother’s room?” Devlin loomed over the scoundrel. “Did he pay you to kill my brother?”
Biggs raised his hands in surrender. “No, no. I swear, I had nothing to do with any of that, and have only worked for Mr Middle these last twelve months.”
“Mr Middle?” Devlin asked.
“My … my father’s man of business,” Juliet replied on the rogue’s behalf.
A man of business that dealt with more than the overseeing of the accounts, Devlin thought. Mr Middle’s involvement did suggest it might be a financial matter. Did Devlin’s grandfather owe the baron’s family a debt and the letters pleading for his grandmother’s assistance were a means of proof?
God damn. There were so many conflicting thoughts racing about in Devlin’s head.