Page 56 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 24

A grub street writer - a journalistic hack

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose

Keziah swallowed as Lady Margaret’s piercing green eyes settled on her. In her hand, she held The Bath Herald and Register.

“Have you seen this?” she demanded, waving the paper in Keziah’s face. “Our family’s name, dragged through the dirt, gossip and scandal at our door, and it’s all your fault!”

Keziah blanched, knowing there was enough truth to the words to make guilt a weight in her chest. She’d brought Ash nothing but trouble when he deserved so much more, but she’d done it for the best.

“I know,” she said, blinking back tears and wishing she could go back and change things. “But I … I never meant to, I was trying to help him, to save him,” she said, wishing that the woman could at least understand what they’d gone through.

“Save him from what?” the dowager duchess demanded with obvious scorn. “As far as I can see, you are the only thing he needs saving from. No one would have convicted him of your wretched father’s murder, the very idea’s preposterous,” she added with a snort. “But you are involved in this.” The words were hard and certain and Keziah feared what she might do to protect her family. “I fear you’ll drag him down into the mire, and the rest of us with him.”

“I had to warn him though,” Keziah objected, holding out her hands and begging the woman to understand. “If I’d have done nothing, my father would have murdered him.”

“What?”

Keziah paused as the older woman stared at her in alarm.

“Lord Todd meant to kill him?” Lady Margaret whispered, her face growing white as the idea sank in.

Keziah nodded, and went to sit down beside her, taking her hand. “It’s the only reason I got involved,” she said, praying that the woman believe her. “My father was a wicked and hateful man, your grace. He planned to marry your daughter and then kill Ash to get control of the family fortune.” Lady Margaret blinked, staring at her anew. “He’s done it before,” she added, hearing her voice tremble a little. “He killed my mother, you see, but … but I couldn’t let him hurt Ash.”

“And you stopped him?” she asked, her voice low.

Keziah shook her head. “I warned Ash,” she said, staring at the floor. “And I took him to Smallcombe woods to teach him to shoot. My father intended to kill him and make it look like a hunting accident when he was invited to stay at Chartley. I told Ash that he must strike first, only …”

“Only?” Lady Margaret pressed, her expression intense as she clutched at Keziah’s hand.

“Only my father must have been watching me, or had his valet, Martin, watching me, as somehow he knew I was betraying him. He … he attacked Molly to find out what we were doing and then … then me,” she said, remembering again the terror she’d felt as her father’s fist raised towards her, and took a breath to steady her nerves. “So I ran here, and … and w-when Ash discovered what he’d done, he … he went and h-he shot him.”

Keziah looked up to see how this information had been taken. Lady Margaret was perfectly still, the only sign of her distress the fact that her skin was marble white.

“I didn’t believe him. He told me he’d gone that night, but I was sure he must be making it up as … well, he’s always been such a … a …”

“Disappointment?” Keziah said, the accusation in her voice as clear as the anger on her husband’s behalf. But the dowager shook her head, giving a crooked smile.

“A peacemaker,” she amended. “The sweet-natured kind of man who tends to get walked over by those stronger and braver, you see, and … and I never really believed he had it in him to do something so … decisive,” she murmured before looking back at Keziah. “He must truly love you.”

Guilt weighed heavier still in Keziah’s chest, the burden of it making it hard to breathe. “Yes,” she admitted. “I think he does, and believe me, I know I do not deserve it. Not any of it.”

Lady Margaret frowned, then, staring at her with an expression Keziah could not read.

“I suppose that remains to be seen,” she replied, that rather formidable tone returning to her voice and making Keziah quail a little.

They jumped in shock as a faint knock sounded on the bedroom door. Molly, who had been watching proceedings in terrified silence, now stirred herself to open it as they stood. A footman waited at the door, bearing a silver tray which he offered to Lady Margaret.

“Apologies for the interruption, your grace,” he said as Lady Margaret took the sealed note from the tray. “Only, Lord Ashwicke was insistent that this be given into your hand at precisely four PM.”

The dowager frowned and closed the door in the footman’s face as she tore at the seal bearing the Chartley crest. With a sense of dread creeping up upon her like a heavy black storm on the horizon, Keziah watched as the dowager looked up again, her eyes glittering with fury.

“The bloody fool,” she cursed. “Your heroic and bottle-headed husband has just given himself up to inspector Formby, for the murder of your father and Martin Snyder.”

“W-what?” Keziah stammered as fear clutched at her heart, a cold, sickening feeling that was a pain in her chest. “B-but why … why would he …?”

“To protect you, of course!” the dowager snapped, crumpling the letter into a ball. “He knows you were out the night that blasted valet died as well as our tenacious Mr Formby does, and he knew the wretched fellow was going to prove it.”