Argent (Hundred Days Series Book 3) (27 page)

             
‘Alexandra Rose Paton, being of the age of majority at this signing …’

              He skimmed the lines, once and then again to be certain. Alix retained her shares unless wed, in which case they became property of her husband. At her death, without any children, they devolved to a Mister Thomas Meacham, 'able solicitor,' her father's attorney.

              In two sentences Bennet's mad theory had grown far more plausible. For months, Silas and likely Paulina, and perhaps even Chas, had no doubt been digging into Alexandra's affairs. They had probably learned of the hidden shares, though he doubted they had quite put the pieces together to discover where and what name they were owned under. When they did, they would still need Alexandra; at least until Paton & Son belonged fully to Van der Verre. Then she would be nothing more than an inconvenience.

              Bennet had been right; the time for waiting was over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

London -- September 22nd, 1814

              Spencer stepped back to allow Constable Bowen more room for another assault on the Paton’s door. The delay was frustrating but not surprising. It was just past four in the morning; most of the household staff would sleep for another hour or two.

              “Open up! Crown business,” Bowen shouted again, bending his ham of an arm and jarring the door until flecks of blue paint chipped away. Spencer mused idly that the man resembled a bear wrestler he had once seen in a Russian circus; tall as he was broad, bald as a stone, and with a thick brow ridge bent to a perpetual angry line over slit eyes. Not a man any sleep-addled butler wished to find at his door before sunrise. “Last warnin',” Bowen barked, “or me and the lads'll step in uninvited!”

              On cue, the lock grated in its tumbler and the door inched open. A bed cap and one weathered, suspicious eye was all the space revealed. “What business?” croaked a leathery voice.

              Bowen hooked a sausage thumb in the band of his mile-long blue wool trousers, presenting his crisp, neatly-creased prize. “A warrant, served on Mr. Charles Paton and his lawful wife Paulina, and any domiciled within.” Bowen's wide chest puffed at 'domiciled', and Spencer got the sense the man had been practicing for just this moment.

He exchanged a knowing glance with his friend Ethan Grayfield, who had helped secure their legal papers on short notice. He’d sent a note to Ethan that first week, when his letters and visits had gone unheeded, and though he’d received no reply, there wasn’t a doubt in Spencer’s mind that Ethan had been digging. The man was an unmatched spy master, had himself dabbled in espionage for a time. Ethan could do little to sway the Courts or change a law, but when Spencer needed information, Ethan could procure it in spades.
              “Wait here.” The sharp instruction was followed by the butler attempting to close the door. Bowen checked it with an elbow, throwing it wide and tumbling the butler onto his backside.

Once through the door, Bowen stepped aside and Spencer followed behind. He raised his hat to a host of owlish eyes, ending with Chas Paton on the third stair, bracing Paulina behind him.

              “Reed. How did I know you were the cause of this?”

              “Mister Paton, we are of course acquainted. And this is Magistrate Arindale, Constable Bowen, and his trusty leftenant, Noble. And my friend Lord Ethan Grayfield, as witness.”

              Ethan crossed his arms and did not remove his hat.

              “Witness to what?” ground out Paulina.

              Bowen raised his prize again. “To escort you and your husband to Bow Street, unmolested, and to take custody of a Mrs. Rowan, sister of Mister Paton.”

              Paulina scoffed. “There is no one here by the name of 'Rowan'.

              Spencer leaned forward, raising in his boots to see the warrant over Bowen's shoulder. “Paton. It also says Alexandra
Paton
.”

              Chas’s jaw clenched, blanching his pale cheek. “You are an unfathomable ass. You have been denied at every turn. We have tolerated you, your boorishness, your effect on my sister –” His voice hitched and he swallowed. “And still you force your will on us.”

Spencer almost applauded. That speech must have taken more courage than anything he’d said all year.

Arindale broke in. “I understand your concerns, Mister Paton, given the court's earlier findings. However, Lord Reed brought forward new evidence late last evening. We have reasonable suspicion that your sister is being held against her will.”
              Chas lunged. “My sister!”

              Bowen menaced forward at a sign of unrest and Chas lowered his voice. “My sister cannot dress herself. We keep a nurse to feed her.”

              “Do you administer laudanum to your sister, Mister Paton?” This from Ethan, still lurking just inside the door.
              “What? No!” Chas shook pleading hands at them. “She wouldn't tolerate its effects. She is barely lucid as it is.”

              “Interesting.” Spencer leveled his gaze on Paulina, who glared back. “Herbs and potions, Mrs. Paton? I believe that is how Alexandra described it.”

Silence stretched awkward through the room, and finally she dropped her eyes.

              Arindale waved a hand as though shooing stray dogs. “Constable, take them in,” he mumbled through his silver brush mustache, “and we'll go up and fetch Miss … Mrs… whatever her name is.” He turned back to Chas. “My men will take you up to dress. Be hasty about it.”

              “Dress!” Chas's voice rose an octave, settling just below hysterical. “Why in the hell must we go anywhere! Taking Alix is insult enough. Where are we to go?”

              Spencer wondered who Chas was more worried about: Alexandra or Silas. He'd had enough of the attacks on his character and of Chas's anguish, genuine or manufactured. “Mister Paton, what happens to Alexandra's shares while she is incapacitated?”

              “What!” Hands flailed. “Why …?” Chas scrubbed his wild blond hair. “My father-in-law manages them.”

              “And if, say, Alexandra were to have more shares somewhere, those would also fall to his care, would they not?”

              A nod.

              “But if she dies, unmarried,” Spencer stared at Paulina now, who looked a bit ill, “do you know what happens then?”

              Chas tried to speak, cleared his throat. “No. The legalities do not, um, fall within my purview.”

              “Mrs. Paton! You know, perhaps?”

              A murmur.

              He cocked an ear. “I cannot quite make you out. Mister Paton, turn and ask your wife if she has an answer.”

              Chas's jaw twitched. His pale face flushed from neck to hairline, and he turned on the ball of one foot. He didn't look up to meet her eyes. “Paulina. What happens to the shares?”

              “How would I know?” Her trembling mouth formed words too weak to pass her lips.

              “You manage more of Paton's documents than anyone else.” Chas's arm snaked out. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her down two stairs to stand below him, clutching the banister to keep from tumbling behind. “You manage it,” he added deadly soft, limbs shaking inside his night shirt, “so do not say you
don't know!
” He screamed the last into her face, spittle flying with each word.

              Bowen lunged forward and got hold of Paulina, and Spencer followed behind, hooking Chas's arm, driving him back until they were nearly lying on the staircase.

              “What happens, Paulina! You damn well answer me.”

              “Don’t make trouble, Charles!” she pleaded, “Don’t make trouble!” The last word cut through the room’s commotion as a shriek.

              “Paton!” Spencer shook a sinewy arm to keep Chas from trying to strangle his wife.

              “Tell me, Reed,” Chas panted. “I know you already know.”

              “Van der Verre loses the stocks. They go to Mister Meacham, unless Alix is kept alive.”

              Chas pressed his free hand to his eyes and began to sob. “You bitch!” he cried. “You horrid, incestuous bitch.”

              “Charles!” Paulina’s eyes flew to every man in turn, an actress gaining the attention of her audience. “As if you didn’t have a hand in it all!”

              Spencer shot a glance over his shoulder and nearly at Paulina flapping in Bowen's grip as though she had any hope of getting away.

“How can you lay blame against me, Charles?” she demanded. “This man has destroyed our peace, abused our family! And suddenly you take his word over that of your own wife?”

              Chas sat up mechanically, not meeting anyone's eyes. “They'll hang you,” he murmured, sounding dead himself. “We're in England, Paulina. They're going to goddamn hang you.”

              Paulina flailed in earnest, feral noises tearing from her throat.

Arindale snapped his fingers. “Take her out, Bowen. Noble, hitch her in the wagon.”

              “I am not decent, you great ass!”

              “Your maid will bring you clothes.” Arindale swirled a thick finger. “Out.”

              Paulina raised her chin, shrugging in Bowen’s grip, pinning them each with haughtiness as she passed.

              Spencer watched the spectacle, cold inside.

              As Bowen dragged her out the door, Ethan raised his hat for the first time. “Madam.”

              Chas slumped back into the treads and hung an arm across his eyes. “Am I to be taken with her?”

              Spencer turned to Arindale, who only raised his brows. With a last glance to Chas, Spencer nodded, no idea the extent of Chas’s complicity. “I think you should go with these men now, and you should answer their questions as truthfully as you can. If your wife has done something criminal here, now is the time to set it right.” Spencer lowered his voice, “And to distance yourself from it.”

              “Yes.” Chas's nod was slow, in a trance. “Yes. All right. What will happen to Alix?”

              “I will take her.” Spencer was unequivocal, brooking no argument. “She'll stay with John and Laurel. A physician has been summoned.”

              He wasn't convinced Chas understood what was being said. “Go with Lieutenant Noble,” he said finally. Hooking Chas beneath the arm, Spencer hauled the man to his feet.

              “Reed? Oh, Mister Paton!” Laurel appeared in the doorway, spinning in a circle as Chas passed out and Bowen came back in, obliged to shuffle sideways past her growing belly.

              Spencer stepped forward and put a hand to her shoulder. “Laurel, what the devil are you doing? John will geld me if he finds you've come here.”

              She yanked her bonnet ties with deft fingers. “I’m here for Alexandra. You cannot allow a strange man to come in and prod her without a soul she knows at hand.”

              “She knows me,” he muttered, stung by her words.

              She set her hat on a narrow table inside the door, and rested a tiny hand on his lapel. “No, Spencer. If she has been abused as you say, she will need you after. But this,” she put a hand to his face, and her eyes glanced upstairs. “You will need comforting as much as she does.”

              He took Laurel's hand, relieved by its warm pressure. She rubbed her back and sighed, mouth set in a grim line. “Well, let's go up.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

              There was no doubt that Paulina had been sedating Alexandra, perhaps even poisoning her. The only question more pressing than what she had used, was where she had
not
hidden her weapons.

Behind a crock of salt in the kitchen; inside a hatbox in her wardrobe; occupying the place of an ink bottle in her writing case; all eight bottles recovered thus far had been found scattered throughout the house, a bottle of death standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a bottle of wine, innocuous.

              Doctor Ashby swept a hand over the last tuft of white hair atop his egg head, squinted through his spectacles at a final brown glass bottle, and set it on the window ledge with the others. Then he turned kind, sad eyes to Alexandra, heaped on her bed, sleeping or too sedated to be aware of what was happening around her.

              “In their defense, Lordship, it is understandable how several of my peers could have missed such a poisoning.” He waved a hand at the small pharmacy gathered up during Bowen's search of the house. “As you can see there are a
number
of tinctures and elixirs here.” He knocked a few bottles with a fingertip. “Dogbane. Laudanum. Bits of what appear to be mushrooms. Given in combination, slowly and over time, it would be hard to pinpoint any one of them as the culprit.” He tapped at a scrap of vellum that had neat lines written in pencil down its face. It had been discovered in Paulina's dressing room inside, of all things, a bible. “Mrs. Paton was very skilled in her dosing and administration. Hidden from the staff; even her husband, if he's to be believed. With a family history of madness…” He shrugged. “The missus fooled us all rather well.”

              Spencer didn't care. None of that mattered now. He pointed to Alexandra. “What do we do for her?”

              “I'll examine her. She ought to be given tea and broth only.” Those instructions he directed at Laurel. “Stop the laudanum at once. That alone will be a hard path; God knows what these other concoctions might do to her now they’ve been terminated.”

              Spencer shuddered. Laudanum hunger was not foreign to him. Plenty of wounded relied on it long after they'd fully healed. They became addicted as they convalesced and later found themselves drummed out and shunned by their families.

              Laurel's hand pressed his back. “What should we watch for?”

              “Agitation, paranoia. She cannot be accounted for what she says and does. There will be severe body pains, probably vomiting. You must not give anything until this has passed.”

              Spencer swallowed, watching the slow rise and fall of Alexandra's chest. “Will she...”

              “No,” Ashby reassured. “I cannot speak to anything else, but flushing the laudanum from her cannot cause death. And for that reason you must not comply with anything she asks. She will beg, plead. She may try to escape the house.” His sad expression deepened. “It will not be easy to watch.”

              Inhaling, he looked to Laurel and steeled himself. “When?”

              “As far as I can tell, her last dose was between one and two o'clock this morning. I expect her symptoms would begin after noon.”

              “We have to move her quickly. She cannot remain in this house.” Alexandra might not recall what she had suffered here, but Spencer couldn't bear to think of her staying a moment longer than necessary.

              “I would advise against it, but I know better than to run contrary to your lordship.” Ashby smoothed his ample waistcoat. “Let's look her over, and you can be on your way. Though I'd advise you to bring along one of those stout lads I passed on my way in. If she wakes en route, you may well regret being in such close quarters. And Lady Hastings should not be alone with her at any point for the next day, at least.”

              Spencer nodded and was silent. Ashby stared, and Laurel stared, seeming to expect something from him. Finally, Laurel cleared her throat. “Spencer.”

              He stared back, waiting.

              Laurel cocked her head toward the door.

              Crossing to the far wall, he took the little ribbon-back chair where Alexandra usually sat, brought it up close to the bed, and planted himself in it, ignoring a silent exchange between Laurel and Ashby. They might fetch Bowen to drag him away, but short of that, he was not leaving.

              Ashby sat his patient up, and Laurel went to work on Alexandra's buttons. The wrinkled calico was filthy; it hung on her torso, mute testament to weeks spent without proper food.

              At the first glimpse of a shoulder that looked far thinner than when he’s last seen it, Spencer lost some of his nerve and turned his eyes away.

              When she’d been stripped, they laid her down and Laurel drew a quilt up over Alexandra. Ashby raised her arms in turn, studied her nails and hmm'd, stopping now and then to scribble on a page in his little brown leather journal.

              He flipped back one side of the quilt, down to her hip. “Mmph.”

              Spencer sat up at Ashby's sound of disgust, craning to see around the doctor's arm. He pushed Laurel's hand from his shoulder and rose half out of his chair.

              Sores. Some were old and red, white flakes of sloughed skin. Others, newer ones, were scabbed by a yellow crust. He clenched his fists, willing slow breaths in and out through his nose. Paulina was fortunate that Arindale had taken her away before Doctor Ashby's arrival.

              “Lift her up. Let's get a look posterior.”

              Outpacing Laurel, Spencer slid his hands under Alix's hip and tried to ignore her flesh against his hand. He pushed her backside while Ashby raised a shoulder, and they turned her half onto her belly.

              Laurel had been right; he should have listened, kept his eyes away. Angrier blisters covered Alix from shoulders to the small of her back. Cuts, small nicks carved by knife or razor, underscored some of them.

“
What
are those?” Laurel breathed, while he ran a finger around an oval pattern.

“Oh!” Laurel buried her face in her hands, turning half away from the bed.

              “What, what is it?”

              “A candle,” she groaned. “A candle would...”

              Spencer hid his own face and fought to keep the image from his mind. He had wondered at times if he were capable of killing a man off of the battlefield. The answer weighed on his heart now.

              Ashby went on scribbling, punctuating each entry with thoughtful noises, then closed his book. “I've seen all that I require. I'll go prepare my report and deliver it to the magistrate this afternoon. Lady Hastings should have some help dressing Miss Paton, and then you may take her off.”

              Spencer stood, more than eager to be away.

              Laurel raised an arm. “Out! You've interfered enough. See Dr. Ashby to the door; one of these skittish servants can help me get her ready.” She planted herself between him and the bed, shooing him out with sweeping hands. Nearly wide as she was tall, Spencer realized he couldn't have circumvented her had he wished to.

              He followed Ashby out into the hall and closed the door. “Your report?”

              Ashby looked wary, and then his shoulders relaxed. “Whether Miss Paton suffers some mental disturbance remains to be seen. Clearly, I cannot assess that now. That she was given substances to keep her compliant? Undoubtedly. Those suffering mental disturbances do themselves harm, but Miss Paton is hardly able to inflict the injuries I observed. And one wonders,” Ashby's voice lowered to a somber rumble, “that there are no injuries to the
observable
areas, such as the face and limbs.” Ashby sighed and smoothed his thin tuft of hair. “Whatever Miss Paton's condition, I have no doubt that something sinister transpired in this house.”

              Spencer followed Ashby downstairs, shaking his hand and closing the door at his exit. He pressed his back to the cool plaster, closed his eyes, and tried to gather himself. Tried not to see Alexandra's wounds again and again in his mind.

              Chas had warned Paulina that she would be hanged. Spencer clenched a fist, stretched out his fingers. Lucky for her, just now, that was probably true.