Page 20 of The Incident at Ingleton (Beau Monde Secrets #3)

W alter traveled hard and fast for two days, eager to report on both his meeting with Lord Reading and the letter he’d just received from Ernest Robinson. If he’d left even a few hours earlier, he’d have missed that letter, but the butler at Bracknell Hall handed it to him just before he stepped into the waiting carriage. He’d read it during the drive to the posting inn, and it gave him something new to think about apart from his regret over his abandoned courtship.

Ernest reported that, according to both Mr. Hunt, Neville Butler’s handwriting was a match for the fraudulent ledger entries. They’d taken both the ledger and the note in Butler’s writing to the local magistrate, Sir Hugo Chaloner, who agreed that the writing in the ledger looked suspiciously similar to the note in Butler’s hand. Sir Hugo signed a warrant for Butler’s arrest.

Walter read that letter over and over again, anticipation buzzing in his bones. This was exactly what they needed. All he had to do now was find Butler, and then he could be taken back to Somerset for questioning. Walter did not particularly care what happened to Butler once he was handed over to the magistrate. The case would be in the hands of the law then.

Lord Reading had offered to loan Walter a traveling chariot to take him back to Lancashire, but Walter had refused as politely as he could. A post chaise was perfectly adequate for his needs, and he did not wish to inconvenience the Reading family by borrowing their coachman for so long.

What he did not say was that he would’ve felt embarrassed, if not outright ashamed, to barrel down the road in a carriage marked with someone else’s coat-of-arms, forcing lesser mortals to make way for him. That simply wasn’t who Walter Haworth was .

Probably just as well, then, that he would not marry Lady Hester. As a son-in-law, Walter would have been a disappointment to the Bracknell family. Lord Reading had assured Walter that he would not stand in the way of his suit if he did try to woo Lady Hester, but they both knew that Walter would not have been anyone’s first choice of suitor.

But Walter did his best not to brood over his disappointed heart. He had other, more important things to worry about. If he could do nothing else to help Lady Hester, he hoped to at least find out more about the scoundrel blackmailing her older brother. After his meeting with Lord Reading, he had a few clues to guide him.

Walter had hoped to reach the safety and comfort of Selwyn Castle that night. He would have had a good chance of doing so, if not for the blasted thunderstorm! Instead, the rain forced him off the road and into a rather dingy little inn. The dining room was overcrowded, the food was overcooked, and the innkeeper overcharged for both the meal and Walter’s room.

Just as Walter contemplated abandoning the noise, smells, and grease of the taproom for the dubious comfort of his bedchamber, a gentleman dripping with rain stomped into the room, calling for a tankard of ale.

Surely, that couldn’t be—? Walter twisted around in his chair for a better look. But it was. Neville Butler and a gray-haired stranger some years his senior had taken a booth not far from Walter’s table. Butler must not have seen Walter, though, because he chatted with his companion, ignoring the other diners.

For one absurd moment, Walter toyed with the possibility of somehow disguising himself. If he took off his spectacles, and covered his distinctive yellow hair with a hat, would he escape notice? He doubted it. He was entirely too memorable and recognizable. Sometimes that was to his advantage, but tonight it felt like a distinct liability.

While he internally debated the best course of action, the question was taken out of his hands. Neville Butler happened to glance across the room. The moment he spied Walter, his eyes widened, and he slammed down his tankard of ale. Ale slopped out onto the table and onto his hand, but the usually tidy Mr. Butler ignored the mess as he stared at his archenemy.

At least, Walter thought of them as archenemies. Perhaps Butler thought of him as no more than a nuisance. But now might be the time to change that. Walter waved his hand to summon the serving girl.

“Yes, sir?” She had a smear of what looked like flour across one cheek, and several strands of curly hair had escaped from the bun at the back of her head. “Was there something you needed?”

He beckoned her to lean closer to him so he could whisper in her ear. “You had better tell the innkeeper that there’s a wanted criminal in the room. We’ll need a couple of strong men to detain him. He must not get away.” Then, more loudly, he added, “And another pint of your best brew, if you please.”

For a moment, she looked confused. But she must have been a quick study. She smiled, winked at him, and hurried over to the bar to pass the message on to the innkeeper.

Walter sat back down and forced himself to look away from Butler. He had no idea what his expression looked like at the moment, and he worried he’d give himself away if he caught Butler’s eye again.

The wait for the innkeeper felt interminable, though it could only have been a matter of minutes. When the innkeeper reached Walter’s table to ask what was wrong, Walter risked a quick glance at Butler.

That must have been enough warning for the former curate. He rose up from his seat, muttered something to his companion, and turned towards the door.

Time to skip the explanations. “He’s getting away!” Walter yelled. He grabbed the innkeeper by the shoulder and turned him towards Butler, so he could see for himself the quick strides Butler took towards the exit.

Fortunately, the innkeeper did not demand any further explanations before springing into action. “Stop thief!” he bellowed.

Butler did not even pause to glance over his shoulder. He bolted for the door. But more than half the occupants of the pub bolted after him, raising the hue and cry. Butler might have been fast on his feet, but he didn’t have a chance against the mob, especially when the innkeeper’s wife barred the door, preventing his escape.

Walter, trailing at the back of the pack, could not see the moment when the mob grabbed Butler, but he heard the crowd’s triumphant cry. He released his breath, adjusted his glasses, and went to explain the situation more fully to the innkeeper.

Most of the other members of the crowd returned to their seats in the taproom, eagerly discussing the arrest. As the crowd in the inn’s entryway gradually thinned, Walter made his way to where two stout men restrained Butler.

“There you are, sir,” the innkeeper addressed Walter. “D’you care to tell us what wrong this gentleman has done you?”

“He stole from orphans,” Walter said bluntly.

The innkeeper’s wife gasped and covered her face with her hands. The men restraining Butler scowled even more fiercely.

“That is to say,” Walter clarified, “he embezzled money from an orphanage. He falsified ledgers by inflating the cost of provisions, then pocketed the change.”

“That’s a lie!” snapped Neville Butler. He lifted his chin and stared at Walter. “Can you prove this allegation?” His skeptical tone implied that the answer was “no.”

The innkeeper frowned as he looked back and forth between Walter and Butler. “I dunno anything about embezzlement, sir. That’s not the kind of theft we get around here. When you called ‘stop thief,’ I took it to mean that he’d stolen from you .”

“Oh, but stealing from the poor orphans is worse, Martin,” his wife said. “What kind of man takes food from the mouths of babes?”

“The orphanage in question was endowed by my grandfather, and I’m on the board that manages it,” Walter explained. “So, the crime is, in a way, personal to me. But I can assure you that a magistrate has issued a warrant for Mr. Butler’s arrest. At the very least, Mr. Butler must be brought back to Somerset for questioning. In capturing him, you’ve done nothing but your civic duty.”

Butler’s insouciance faded at the sound of the word “warrant.” He gazed at each of the men detaining him, and his shoulders slumped.

“I am innocent,” he insisted, “but if I am wanted for questioning, of course I must return to Somerset. I suppose you mean to bring me back, Mr. Haworth?” The sneering curl of his lip implied there was something ridiculous about that.

Walter hesitated for a moment. He hadn’t thought this part through very well, had he? If he escorted Butler back to Somerset, he wouldn’t be able to share the results of his meeting with Lord Reading with either Frank or Lady Hester. Besides, he was a solicitor, not a barrister. His legal training didn’t include instructions on how to capture and convey a criminal.

“I’m not sure what the best procedure is,” he admitted. “Perhaps he should be held at the nearest jail until we can consult a local magistrate?”

“The magistrate is Squire Anderson,” the innkeeper’s wife informed him. “But the rain’ll keep him from leaving Greyfriar’s Hall tonight.” She peered up at her husband. “We’d best lock him an empty room for the night, Martin. No one’ll want to take him to jail during this downpour.”

Butler looked relieved by that suggestion, probably assuming that a room at an inn would be more comfortable and less humiliating than a jail cell. But as the innkeeper and his cronies led Butler away, the curate glanced over his shoulder, scowling so fiercely that Walter flinched. If looks could kill, Butler would be wanted for murder, too.

By morning, the rain had stopped. Much as Walter wanted to get on his way immediately, he thought it most wise to speak with Butler before he was moved to the nearest jail cell. Thefts of property worth more than a shilling were punished by hanging. Walter hoped Butler would be willing to talk in more detail in exchange for being charged with a lesser crime.

The two men met in Butler’s room, with the local constable on hand as a guard. A spark of vindictive joy lit up Walter’s face when he saw that for once, Butler did not look like a Bond Street Beau. Butler’s cravat hung crookedly, his topcoat had been torn, and his usually flawless hair lay in disarray.

“Come to gloat over me, Mr. Haworth?” Dark anger burned in Butler’s eyes. “That seems downright unchristian of you.”

Walter ignored Butler’s acrimony. “I wanted to ask you a few questions before you were removed to the care of a magistrate,” he explained.

“I don’t have a word to say to you.” Butler jutted his chin out belligerently. “You can’t prove that I stole anything. Anyone could have tampered with those ledgers!”

“Oh, I’m not going to ask about the embezzlement charges,” Walter told him. A puzzled line formed between Butler’s brows. Walter stalled any questions by clearing his throat, purely so he could enjoy that look of confusion a little longer. “I want to ask you about the blackmailer who has evidence about C. Who is L.? Where can he be found?”

Butler’s mouth fell open. Clearly, he had not anticipated this question. He probably had no idea that Walter had ever snooped through his mail.

He gulped. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Mr. Haworth. Nor is it my business, for that matter. Neither of us have anything to do with the Br—with the family in question, do we?”

Walter tightened his lips, irritated that Butler had come so close to identifying the Bracknell family by name. He had deliberately chosen to use only letters, since the two of them weren’t alone in the room.

“As a friend of the family in question, I am concerned with anything that affects them. I know that the family deeply desires C. to return home.” Especially since Lord Reading’s health continues to decline. Crowthorne might become the sixth Marquis of Reading within the next few years, and his family hopes he’d return to England before then.

“Even if I knew who L. was, it might be dangerous to identify him,” Butler pointed out. “A man willing to blackmail a member of the aristocracy wouldn’t scruple to crush me. Am I expected to risk my life for a man I’ve never met?”

Walter sighed. He hadn’t wanted to use any unfair influence, but what choice had he? He rose to his feet and pushed his chair back in place. Then he paused, as if struck by a sudden thought.

“Before I go,” Walter said, “I ought to mention that the magistrate who signed the warrant is Sir Hugo Chaloner, who happens to have been a good friend of my grandfather’s. I might be able to put in a good word for you, should you need it.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if Butler’s fate did not matter to him in the slightest.

Butler muttered something under his breath that might have been bastard . “I’m sure that if you wrack your brains, you might think of some members of the ton whose surnames start with L. There are many, after all. Lawrence, Lucas, Lowell...” He raised his eyebrows as he emphasized the final name.

“Is that so? I shall have to look into those names.” Especially the name Lowell. “I will be certain to write to Sir Hugo about the embezzlement case.” Walter deliberately refrained from describing the contents of that letter, letting Butler assume whatever he wanted to.

“ Sir Hugo. ” Butler scowled as he shook his head. “He won’t remember me, but he was my mother’s godfather.”

Walter froze in place, though his heart beat more quickly. “Oh? I didn’t realize you were from Somerset.”

“I’m not, but my mother was a Maberly,” Butler snapped. “She was born at Maberly Manor, long before your grandfather bought it.” He scowled fiercely at Walter. “By rights, it ought to belong to us yet.”

“Is that so? Well, in any case, I will make sure to remind Sir Hugo of the connection. Perhaps he still holds a soft spot for your family.” Walter nodded to the constable as he left the room.

So much about the case made more sense in light of that information! The building that now housed the Haworth Home had belonged to the Maberly family decades ago, but it had been sold to cover the late Mr. Maberly’s debts. That might explain why Butler had chosen to commit a crime with so little benefit to himself. If the crime was personal, more might have been at stake than shillings and pence.

Later, Walter would have letters to write to Ernest Robinson, Lord Rufford, and Sir Hugo. For now, though, he had a personal mission of his own. It was time to return to Ingleton and tell Lady Hester about his meeting with her father.