Page 17

T he last leg of their long journey, from the port in Bristol back to London, was a week of constant rain. Unusual weather plagued their journey from beginning to end. The ice surrounding Ziinzi Island didn’t melt until July, and it was September before they set foot on English soil again. The news sheets were calling the phenomenon the year without a summer.

Standing on the stoop at his father’s house on Wimpole Street, their luggage on the sidewalk beside them, Crispin lifted the brass lever and knocked on the door. If denied entry, he was prepared to set up camp with his family in the back garden if he had to.

“I saw you from the window,” Butterworth gushed out as he opened the door. “I could hardly believe my eyes.”

“I’m more pleased than you can know to see you.” Crispin clapped his old valet and partner in crime on the back. “I thought for certain my father would have sacked you.”

“He did for about a week.” Butterworth led them to the front parlor. “I’ll have someone bring tea and nibbles. You must be famished.”

“Lady Morgan and our little bundle of trouble will need a room after tea. It’s been a long day. Is my father home?”

“He’s in his office. It’s a miracle. You won’t believe it when you see him.”

“What miracle?” As he entered the small office, his father remained seated at first but jumped to his feet when he realized who he was.

“You’ve returned.” His father stared as if he could not believe his eyes. “I prayed you would come back to me, and here you are.”

“I’ve brought my wife and son. They’re in the parlor. If you will not welcome them, I will leave again.” Still wondering what sort of miracle Butterworth referred to, Crispin noticed his father no longer presented the gray pallor of a sick man. He looked healthier than he had in years.

“A son?” His father looked positively gleeful.

“And the wife you once refused to meet.”

“I will greet them properly. You look different, son. Something about you has changed.”

“I certainly hope so. It’s been a long journey. My wife and child are tired and hungry. Will we find hospitality here?” He shouldn’t have come but he wasn’t hiding anymore. If nothing else, they’d retrieve the belongings they’d stored here.

“That and more,” his father said as he approached. “It is so very good to see you, boy.” And then his father reached out and hugged him for the first time in Crispin’s memory. “I see you recoil in shock. After you left, I knocked on death’s door. Bedridden with fainting spells and ill health. A new doctor, summoned against my wishes I might add, introduced me to the miracle of digitalis.”

“A miracle chemical.” Crispin could not doubt the drug’s effectiveness. It was as if his father was a younger man.

“I was given a second chance and decided to make good use of the opportunity. I’ve spent the last year looking for you and your sister so that I might make amends. When it is my time to die, I will not pass with my children’s hatred. Where did you go?” His father’s voice betrayed the desperateness of his search.

“Upper Canada.”

“Is your sister alive? You don’t have to tell me where she is. I just want to know before I die.”

“She was when I left. And, no, I don’t know where she is. Where is Dunwoody?”

“Six feet under. I thought that’s why you came home.”

“He’s dead? Are you certain?” It was too good to be true. Mary-Alice could come home, and Dunwoody would bedevil them no more. It was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

“They say it was something with his lungs. It happened so suddenly. I was with him that day. He’d called me to his house to discuss some mutual business. He took ill and had someone from the kitchen bring up his tonic. Within minutes he was clawing at his throat gasping for breath. He died in agony. I do not wish to do the same.”

It was of no consequence, Crispin realized. There were more important things to know. “And his son? Mary-Alice’s child? What has he done with him?”

“He made me the boy’s guardian in his will. That’s what he called me over to tell me.”

“Where is the child?” Crispin raised his voice, and his father took a step back. It was the best possible scenario he could have hoped for. His father now had a legal right to the child.

“There’s no need to yell. His nurse is supposed to deliver him here by the end of the month. He’s too young for Harrow school and I don’t know what else to do with him. But we have to move quickly.”

“Move quickly to do what? The child can live with us. We will gladly take him in.”

“You must understand.” His father reached out and grabbed Crispin’s arm with thin, bony fingers. “We didn’t know. None of us knew he was still alive.”

“What are you talking about? Who is still alive?”

“Simon Turpin, Dunwoody’s nephew. Dunwoody wasn’t hiding the child from us; he was hiding it from his nephew. He called his nephew a madman. His death was so sudden I worry he was poisoned.”

Anger flooded him, fueled by memories and years of never feeling good enough to please this man. This weak man. The heart of the lion roared in him. Crispin wanted to strike out, but took a step back and growled instead, “That doesn’t make him a saint He still tried to kill your daughter. It was wrong of you to associate with that man in any way. It was craven of you not to speak out at my wedding when he hurled his accusation. You’ve been a poor excuse for a father so far. Why should I trust you now?”

“I’m old and have nothing left to lose. The miracle will not last forever. My daughter is gone. You despise me so much you left the country. Is this my legacy? It cannot be. This is not how I wanted it all to end.”

His father’s pathetic, self-pitying words didn’t appease Crispin’s anger. Why hadn’t he gone to look for Mary-Alice—alive or dead—when he’d learned Dunwoody had absconded with the baby? Was he that unaware? What did his legacy matter if he couldn’t care for his family in the present? “Why didn’t you stand up to Dunwoody? You should have refused his offer for Mary-Alice’s hand. You should have given her sanctuary when she begged you for it. How could you have been so cruel?”

“It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” he repeated. “He could afford to give her the best of everything. Houses, jewels, everything. She was strong-willed, and I thought a strict husband would keep her in line. She had to learn obedience.”

“Like a dog?” Crispin stepped back from his father and shook his head. “You tried to kill her spirit. You sold her to a man who tried to grind her under his heel. When that didn’t work, he tried to take her life. And you called him your friend.”

“He assured me all was well. She tended to the hysterical, so I took her claims of hardship with a grain of salt. A man’s home is his castle. Their differences were for them to work out. I thought I had done my duty.”

“You old fool,” Crispin said, balling his hands into fists and taking a step back to keep from taking a swing at the old man.

“I never believed she was dead. Lord Dunwoody told me you’d stolen her away. When he showed up in mourning at your wedding and claimed you’d taken her body, I didn’t know what to think, so I kept my mouth shut rather than speak wrongly. He and I met later, and he explained it all away as a misunderstanding.”

“And now? What do you believe now?” He wasn’t letting his father off the hook easily this time. He had years of bad behavior to atone for.

“I thought I owed him my loyalty. Right after you were born, I’d made some poor investments. Ships sank, percentages crashed, bets did not pay out. All the usual things that lead to one’s ruin. Dunwoody saved us. Loaned me an enormous amount of money on very favorable terms. For years, I paid him back as I rebuilt our family coffers so you would have something worth inheriting. I sold property, houses, and all my mother’s jewelry just to keep up with a payment schedule. When there was 1,000 pounds left of debt, he offered to excuse the debt if I would allow him to marry your sister. I felt I owed him.”

“Mary-Alice was sacrificed to pay off a debt?” Mary-Alice was sacrificed so he’d have something to inherit with the title? How clever of his father to somehow make this all his fault. “I’d rather be a penniless earl than the legacy you’re leaving me.”

“If I could see her one more time, I would beg that girl’s forgiveness. I’m not proud of myself. Is that what you wanted to hear? Hindsight has a very keen eye. I was hard on you because I never wanted you to turn out like me. I lost the family fortune and spent so many years worried Dunwoody would reveal to everyone he’d had to bail me out.”

“You ruined everything to hide your own weakness,” Crispin delivered his judgement. “You didn’t want me to turn out like you? That’s your excuse for cruelty?” Crispin needed a drink but didn’t trust himself to pour a brandy without his hands shaking with pent-up anger. He mourned the tender upbringing and caring parent he never had. He raged at the injustice done to his sister in the name of saving face and hiding secrets. His father’s weakness ruined lives.

“I cannot die with my children’s hatred. Find your sister. She will raise her child with no interference from me. You two, you and your sister, are the only two good things to come from my life after marrying your mother. I still have a bit of time left to make things better.”

“I want so badly to believe you.” He was a fool to hold any hope at all. He’d discuss it with Birdy as soon as they were alone. Together they’d forge their own path forward.

“Her husband is dead. She’s a free woman. Please, son, for however long I have left, I aspire to be a better grandfather than I was a father.”

That, Crispin thought, remained to be seen. He’d know it to be true when he saw it. “My wife and child are waiting to meet you,” was all he responded.

When they finally returned to the parlor for formal introductions, Butterworth was down on all fours, playing with Leander. Birdy sat nearby. She was dressed in Town fashion with her braids wound around her head and pinned into place. She was still so beautiful after all they’d been through. He smiled his reassurance to her before speaking.

“Father, may I present my wife, Nenokaasi, and our son, Leander. Birdy,” he continued addressing her, “this is my father, the Earl of Angleswood.”

Birdy hesitated for only a moment before extending her hand in greeting.

“My dear woman,” his father said as he brought her hand to his lips. “It is such a pleasure to meet you at last. I apologize for my earlier rudeness of not congratulating you upon your marriage to my son. And now, I see, further felicitations are in order for the birth of your son. Does he have words?”

“A few,” she replied skeptically.

“Woof, woof,” Leander barked like a dog.

“We are hounds on a hunt, milord,” Butterworth explained from the floor.

Crossing the room to stand over the boy, his father leaned down. “Woof, woof. I’m the grandfather dog,” he said, extending his hand. Crispin watched in horror as Leander scooted forward and licked his father’s hand.

The sound of his father’s laughter was so unfamiliar it took Crispin a moment or two to realize where the sound was coming from.

“I’m so sorry,” Birdy spoke and scooped Leander up from the floor. “He’s still learning proper etiquette.”

“It was the perfect response for a hound, dear. I hear you’ve had a long journey. You must be famished. I’ll see if the kitchen might throw something together for us all. I haven’t many visitors. They’ll be delighted to have someone to feed other than myself.”

How the kitchen staff managed to throw together four courses on such short notice was a testament to their skill. His tastes had changed over the past year, however, and Crispin found himself missing some of the usual fare from the tribe’s cooking pots.

His father was more than civil during the meal and listened intently to their tales of traveling through the wilderness. Crispin waited until the last dish was removed before he turned serious again.

“We have to find Mary-Alice and her baby. If Simon Turpin has returned from the dead, he won’t be happy until that child is under his control. Or worse.”

“Where do we start?” his father asked.

“I don’t know, but I know someone who might.” Crispin looked to Birdy, who nodded her understanding. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had to know, he was sure of it. “I’ll check it out now. Father, if you truly wish to be helpful, you will shelter my wife and child and keep them safe here until I return later tonight.”

“Of course,” his father replied. “Please stay here under my roof. I’ve grown so tired of my own sour company. There should be children and laughter in this house.”

We’ll see.” He kissed Birdy goodbye and tousled Leander’s hair before quitting the room.

The road outside the Lyon’s Den was thick with carriages. When the hack stopped, Crispin jumped out and ran in the rain to the front door. The last time he was here seemed like a lifetime ago. Mrs. Dove-Lyon was busy, and a footman bid him to wait in the card room for her to be available.

“Lord Morgan, can it be?” He heard a voice call out from the back of the room. Looking around wildly, Crispin automatically reached for the knife that was no longer at his side. As he looked around for anything that might be used as a weapon, he realized who’d called his name.

“Davies! Arch Davies, as I live and breathe.” The sight of his old friend gladdened his heart, and he greeted him with a hug. “It is good to see you.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” his friend said, shaking his head. “Your hair, your beard, you look so, so…wild. When I got your letter, I couldn’t believe it. Where did you end up?

“Canada. My wife wanted to visit relatives.” He told the lie quickly, hoping it sounded convincing. “You’re the same dullard you always were,” he said with a laugh. “I have many stories to tell. I don’t suppose Callum Mumford is lurking around here somewhere.”

“I was going to ask if you’d seen him. I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

“That’s odd. Have you asked his father where he might be?” Crispin was about to say more when one of the black widow’s wolves appeared at his elbow. “We’ll have a drink later,” he explained to his friend before being led away.

“Lord Morgan,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon greeted him from behind the desk in her office. Her veil was still in place, and he struggled to read her features beneath it. “You’ve been a difficult man to find. I should think you would’ve been here the day of the funeral.”

“My apologies,” he said, approaching to greet her properly with a kiss to her hand before retreating to a chair on the far side of her desk. “I was in Canada and have only just now returned. I was notified of Dunwoody’s death just this afternoon. Where is my sister?”

“That is an excellent question, but one for which I have no simple answer. When you couldn’t be reached, I sent someone to Chipping Norton to fetch her. That was three weeks ago, and I haven’t heard a word from him since.”

“Who did you send?”

“Someone I thought you trusted.”

There were only two people he’d trust with this task and one of them was drinking downstairs. “You sent Callum Mumford? He’s been enamored of her since we were boys at Harrow.” His friend’s disappearance now explained, Crispin added an additional worry to his long list of concerns.

“So he explained.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat behind her desk and opened a drawer to produce a bottle of port.

“No. No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Callum and Mary-Alice? Did Callum make a deal with you to marry my sister?”

“He only wanted an opportunity to plead his case to her. It would be her decision. No one else’s. I thought a familiar face delivering happy news would be welcomed. When he did not return, I sent someone else to fetch them. They returned yesterday with the message that her cottage had been burned to the ground. There was no sign of Mr. Mumford or your sister.”

“I know who did it. Fire is his specialty.” Crispin swallowed hard and clenched the arm of the chair waiting for more information.

“You cannot mean Dunwoody’s nephew. The man is long dead.” While her face was still hidden, she shifted in her seat in what was the first sign of loss of composure he’d witnessed from her.

“Then he’s come back from the dead to claim his uncle’s title and fortune.” He watched as she considered this news, squaring her shoulders as she came up with a new plan.

“My wolves do not fail me, but I had them focused on Lord Dunwoody, not his supposedly dead nephew.”

“Have them find Simon Turpin. I have an idea of where Callum might have taken my sister. I’m going there.”

“You don’t think they would have tried for Gretna Green and a marriage over the anvil, do you?” she asked, her voice sounding unsure for the first time.

“No. Callum has no sisters. He would never deny his mother a big wedding day.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon did not like being the one without all the answers, but he’d no doubt she’d rise to the occasion. Until then, he knew where to look first.

“We both have work to do.” The widow stood and gestured to the door.