Page 31 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

31

I felt as if all the air had gone from my body. Everything around me grayed, my chest aching from the loss of hope.

“Lady Augusta, are you quite well?”

Evan’s voice brought me back to the room. I drew a gasping breath, the blessed air easing the pain. Two pairs of alarmed medical eyes were scrutinizing me.

“I am quite well,” I managed.

Dr. Lawrence crossed the room and poured a glass from a decanter. “Here, take some brandy.”

I took the offered glass and sipped, the liquor burning its way down my throat and lighting a small flame of warmth in my innards.

“I am sorry for the shock,” the doctor said.

I looked at Evan. He was the one who should be swigging brandy. Yet he seemed abnormally composed.

I took another sip, trying to focus through the crushing disappointment. “We were hoping to speak to your father on a matter of great importance,” I said.

And now all hope was gone. The man was dead.

“I know,” Dr. Lawrence said. He turned to Evan. “Sir, am I, in fact, addressing Lord Evan Belford?”

Evan considered him for a tense second, then sighed. “I have not gone by that name for many years.”

“My lord.” The doctor bowed. “My father described you to me. I did not think I was mistaken.”

Evan inclined his head, the marquess’s son appearing in just that simple gesture.

Dr. Lawrence motioned us to the sofa. “Please, sit. There are things I must tell you.”

As we took our seats, he asked, “May I offer you refreshment?”

“No, thank you,” I said. The brandy had been quite sufficient.

Evan politely waved away the offer. “What is it that you must tell us?”

Dr. Lawrence took the seat opposite us in the armchair but sat forward as if the information he held bowed him over. “My father died of a short illness. On his deathbed, he told me about the duel twenty years ago.” He looked at Evan. “He made me promise that I would relate the truth to you if you were ever to come looking for it.” A fleeting expression of anguish crossed his face. “I must say, I do not wish to do so. There is a great deal of pain within this story, and it brings shame upon my family’s name. Even so, I made a vow and I will honor it.”

Pain not only for his family, I thought.

“Twenty years ago,” he began, “my father had a flourishing practice, a wife, two daughters, and two sons. One of the daughters, Sally—”

I sat up slightly—Sally Lawrence, the name in the wager book. I glanced at Evan. He nodded his own recognition.

Dr. Lawrence saw our exchange. “You know my sister’s name?”

“We have come across it,” Evan said. “But please, go on.”

“My sister Sally was beautiful in countenance and in spirit. She was also headstrong and a little too romantic for her own good. She thought her destiny lay beyond marrying a man chosen for her and ran away to London, thinking to become a lauded actress like Sarah Siddons. Her destiny, however, was to come into the path of a man by the name of Sanderson.” He looked at Evan. “As was yours.”

“Destiny?” Evan said. “I would not call it destiny.”

Indeed, not after what we had found in the Rack and Ruin Club.

Dr. Lawrence gave a small shrug. “Whatever you call it, their meeting was the greatest misfortune of our lives. We searched for her—my father, brother, and I—but London is a big place when someone does not wish to be found, and there are so many young women without family or protection. By the time we did find her, she was with child and adamant that she would stay with Sanderson. She loved him, she said, and he loved her, although he was conspicuous in his absence. My father, in a fit of rage, disowned her right there in the front room of the hovel where Sanderson was keeping her, an act that haunted him to the end of his days.

“It was at this time that I went to Edinburgh to study medicine. I should have stayed, but I was young and keen to start my own life. The events that unfolded from there on were related by Father upon his deathbed and sworn by me to keep secret from everyone except you, my lord, or your associates.”

He paused and rubbed his forehead as if considering how to continue. Finally, he looked up, his gentle brown eyes pained.

“Forgive me for what is about to come, Lady Augusta. It is shocking.”

“I have heard and seen a great deal, Dr. Lawrence.”

With a resigned nod, he continued. “My father—a conscientious professional—attended lectures at Bart’s. On one such occasion he decided to attend a dissection. It was to be of a pregnant woman…”

I drew in an audible breath. “No,” I whispered, hoping to ward off the horror of where this story was heading. “Surely not.”

The young doctor nodded slowly. “I am afraid so. The corpses upon the table were my sister and her unborn child. My father’s daughter and his grandchild, split open.” He stopped, overcome for a second.

“Mon Dieu,” Evan murmured.

The doctor wet his lips. “As you can imagine, the sight was too much for my father. He collapsed and was brought home. For two days he literally could not speak, and when his voice finally returned, he refused to speak of what he had seen. Not to my mother, my siblings, or even me when I returned home. He alone carried the burden of that horrifying sight and its consequences for sixteen years, until he confessed all to me on his deathbed. I believe it unbalanced him, for he was never the same again after that terrible day.”

“Surely he could have informed the magistrate,” I said.

The doctor nodded. “He did try. First he confronted Sanderson—knowing he must be somehow involved in the deaths—but Sanderson merely shrugged off my father’s accusations. He said that no one would be interested in a dead whore and her bastard. My father soon found out Sanderson was correct. He received no help from the magistrates. No help from anyone. And so he decided to exact justice himself.”

“Justice?” I echoed. “Do you mean murder?”

“I do,” the doctor said soberly. “It became an obsession. A way to redeem himself for abandoning his daughter. He turned his back upon his patients and his practice, even his family to some degree, to follow Sanderson and discover the moment he could strike.” He looked across at Evan. “He found that moment at your duel, my lord.”

“How did he manage it?” Evan asked quietly.

“He offered to take the place of the doctor who had been engaged. Since attending a duel was illegal, the other doctor was happy to pass on the task to him. My father disguised himself—for Sanderson knew what he looked like—and waited. His chance came when you wounded Sanderson across the chest. My father used a stiletto knife to nick the man’s heart through the same superficial wound you had inflicted.”

Evan nodded. “Clever.”

Not the adjective I would have used: diabolical was more accurate.

The young doctor paused. “I wish I could say that my father had no intention of falsely incriminating you, my lord, but when he realized you were charged with murder, he did not step forward. In fact, he took it as a sign that his vengeance had been blessed by God.”

“A convenient belief,” I said. “Your father sentenced Lord Evan to half his life in a penal colony.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” the doctor said. “If it is any consolation, I believe my father lived in his own purgatory of guilt. It was his dying wish for me to tell you, or anyone who came on your behalf, the truth and to ask for your forgiveness.”

For once, I could not read Evan’s expression. He looked up at the ceiling, perhaps collecting his thoughts or maybe even praying. Finally, he drew a deep breath and exhaled as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “I hold no grudge against your father, Dr. Lawrence. It is clear to me that he acted out of great pain and love for his daughter. As for forgiveness, only God can forgive the sin of murder. I thank you for honoring your father’s dying wish and relieving me of the belief that I had killed Sanderson. I consider this terrible affair to be at an end.”

At an end? Surely not—we had a plan. I tried to catch Evan’s eye, but he would not look at me.

“But that is not the end of it, is it?” I said, as much to him as to the doctor. “Surely you will right this wrong, Dr. Lawrence. If you report your father’s confession to the courts, Lord Evan could be exonerated. He will be able to take his place once again in society.” I looked at Evan for support. “Is that not so, Lord Evan?”

The doctor straightened in his chair. “Lady Augusta, I have a wife, two young children, and a practice. My brother and remaining sister are well settled. To go to the courts and name my father as a murderer would ruin my family’s name. Ruin all of their lives.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, but I cannot. I will not. I have discharged my duty.”

“No, you must! Your family owes Lord Evan his life back.”

“I do not ask Dr. Lawrence to ruin his and his family’s life, Augusta,” Evan said. “Sanderson harmed too many women and children when he was alive. He will not do so dead. It ends here.”

“No!” I stood, my confusion rapidly climbing into fury. “You owe him, Doctor. I thought you were an honorable man, but I see no honor here!”

The man hunched in his chair. “Forgive me, I cannot place the past over my family’s future.”

“But—”

“Augusta, no,” Evan said, his voice implacable. He stood and made a small bow. “We will take our leave of you, Dr. Lawrence. This terrible secret that has bound your life to mine is now resolved. From here on, you do not know me, nor I you. Live your life in the knowledge that your father’s sin will not be visited upon you or your family. You have my word upon it.”

I stared at him. He had given his word. His unbreakable word. All hope of exoneration was gone.