Chapter 26

Uncle Archie and Aunt Vee had greeted Beau with such open arms it almost made up for the fact that his world was pulling apart at the seams. Aunt Vee was aghast at the rather nasty bruise that had formed on his cheek from the incident on the train. Even though it was late when he’d arrived, they’d tried to stuff him with food he had no interest in eating, and even the brandy he’d indulged in had done little to induce him to sleep.

He was up before dawn, writing messages to his sister Jess and his lawyer. He’d considered giving rather specific instructions about firing the board, who seemed a little too eager to support Neil’s witch hunt for him, but decided he would allow himself a few days let his emotions settle before he did anything too rash.

Between the dealings with his family and the business, there was Madeline. Christ, he missed her right now. His body missed her lush curves, full lips, and silky skin. He missed her steadiness. Her quiet. His gut twisted with regret as he remembered the way the moonlight shone down on her, illuminating her skin as eyes lit up with excitement, then just as quickly, darkened with fear. He would give anything to take that back now.

Eager for the morning’s headlines, he dressed and came down to the parlour with the handful of messages to be sent to the telegraph office. He paced the floors, waiting for the early edition of the Halifax Chronicle to arrive. When it did, he didn’t bother to wait for Davis, their butler, to iron the pages.

Case of Lumber King Murder Takes Turn, the headline proclaimed in huge letters, followed by Son expected to be absolved of crime after true killer confesses in smaller font. Alongside the column was an image of Frank, looking out at Beau, his eyes as Beau remembered them—grim and a little angry. Perhaps he was angry at losing the love of his life.

Maybe that anger was something else. A way to manage grief.

He scanned the article, written by Benjamin Miller—the same reporter Dominic had contacted to get details, such as they were, and they were grim.

Good news, and bad news. Dominic had warned him, but it was still hard, and somewhat surreal, to read such a sensational story when all the players were people so intimately connected to him. People he loved. People he’d liked, and thought he knew. His attention was so firmly captured by the article he didn’t notice his aunt entering the room until she spoke.

“You look like you haven’t slept a wink,” she said, tsking him in that maternal way she had with him. “Not that I could blame you. Still, I’m glad to see you safe and sound.”

There was something in his aunt’s voice—a note of concern that stretched her normally relaxed demeanour just a tad too thin. He wondered if she’d known anything about his parentage. Aunt Vee, and even Uncle Archie, were, compared to many of their social standing, rather relaxed in their outlook on propriety compared to most—more devil-may-care than Godfearing—but they were hardly reformists.

“Except for the fact I had no valet, I think I managed remarkably well,” he said, attempting a joke that, upon seeing the rather pale complexion in Aunt Vee’s normally rosy cheeks, fell rather flat. “If you are worried about my face, it is a little sore, but it will heal in a few days. If it weren’t for Miss Murray, I’d have been far worse off.”

At the mention of Madeline Murray, Aunt Vee bristled.

“You should have my physician look at that,” she said, gesturing to his face.

Beau shook his head. “I expect to be on a train for Saint John by late afternoon. The sooner I can meet with Mr. Ashe about the case, the better.”

Her mouth fell into a scowl, then she squared her shoulders and took a seat in her favourite chair. Her back was absolutely rigid.

“While I am pleased that Mr. Ashe was able to help sort through this awful business with your father, my confidence in him and his relationship with the Everwell women has been somewhat shaken.”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, setting down the paper.

“You are back safe and sound, and for that I am grateful,” she said. “But I am afraid I was far too hasty in my agreement to repudiate these rumours about The Everwell Society.”

“Why?”

“Because they are true!”

Aunt Vee’s answer came out in such a harsh whisper it made Beau blink. She was not a woman given to hysterics. Something had happened.

“Aunt Vee,” he said, giving her his full attention, “surely you cannot believe the accusations of gossips. If people believed what was said about me, I would be in a jail cell now, or worse.”

She rose and went to a small secretary desk, where she pulled out a slim envelope and handed it to Beau.

“This came yesterday morning by special post,” she said. “I’d planned on taking it to the police, but the news about your brother-in-law arrived at nearly the same moment.”

Beau scanned the letter, sent by none other than Nelson Taylor, which detailed a stunning accusation against Madeline Murray in relation to the death of Malcolm Ferguson. It was the same story she’d already shared with him, though told from a completely different point of view. But here it was, a tale told about a fine young man, killed in cold blood by a conniving woman who’d wanted his money, and finding he had none, murdered him.

It was an astonishing tale. And completely untrue.

Taylor added that he would withhold any information he had about Beau’s association with Madeline Murray if Mrs. Turnbull would convince Beau to sell the property, as intended, to George’s College.

Beau swore under his breath, then folded up the letter.

“This letter is preposterous,” he said. “And with my case close to resolved, his threats mean nothing to us.”

“It is a threat to my reputation and yours. I should never have allowed myself or you to come under the influence of that damned Everwell Society! Sorrowful Spinsters they maybe, but they are also scandalous. And apparently, murderous.”

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his aunt this angry.

“Aunt Vee,” he started, trying to keep his tone conciliatory but she held up her hand.

“There have been rumours about what goes on within those walls for years,” she said. “Those women carry on, spitting in the face of good society and all the rules the rest of us are supposed to abide by. And here I am, my trusting nature being taken advantage of, to further their own ends and silence rumours that may in fact be absolutely true.”

“Aunt Vee, are you angry with them because they don’t follow the rules you are bound to?” Beau asked.

She reddened slightly, then rose. “I am angry at being made a fool of.”

“You are not a fool,” he said, “and if you want to be angry at anyone, be angry at me. I’m the one who drew this bastard out of the woodwork. And I can tell you that if anyone is trying to play on your fears, it’s the man who wrote this letter.”

“How can you know that?”

Beau told Aunt Vee everything. About meeting Taylor in Windsor, when he insulted Madeline. The pressure he’d exerted on the Chandlers. Then, lowering his voice, not entirely trusting that the Turnbull’s trusted servants weren’t on the other side of the door, he told Madeline’s story.

“Ferguson paid for his deeds with his life, but Miss Murray did not murder him,” he said. “The man who wrote this letter was intimately involved with both Miss Murray and her former fiancé and arrived on the scene of the argument as Madeline left. He is also of a highly questionable character. He tried to blackmail me once he discovered my identity, but I would not be swayed by him. Clearly, he found a different target for his schemes. And unlike you or me, The Everwell Society are far more vulnerable to threats like this. This may be a threat to your reputation, but a minor one. This story, false as it is, could threaten their very existence.”

Aunt Vee was silent for a few moments, turning over everything Beau had said.

“Are you certain, Beau?” she said at last. “Are you certain about all of this?”

“Madeline Murray is a woman of incomparable character,” he said, his heart filling with a yearning for her that ached in places he didn’t know could be touched by such things. “Your trust in Everwell, and in her, was well founded. If she hadn’t been on the train yesterday, I might have been bundled in a sack by a couple of ruffians, one of whom was armed. They deserve your support, Aunt. This cretin is preying on your fears for his own ends, and those women, and everyone they help, will pay the price if you do not trust me.”

She pursed her lips together, rocking slightly, her mind clearly working through some tangle. It was odd to see Aunt Veronica so much at sixes and sevens.

“I will set Dominic on to this case as well if need be,” Beau continued, “and get the truth out in the open. Creatures like Nelson Taylor clearly thrive on people’s fears, but scuttle away fast enough when light is shone on the matter. Do not trouble yourself, Aunt Vee. I will handle it.”

“I have to trouble myself.” She stood and walked to the window, her hands clenched in front of her. “I wrote to them, informing them I knew the truth about their infamous society. And I promised to speak to Mr. Miller at the Chronicle and confirm the stories.”

“You did what?”

He’d spoken so loudly, his response so loud, he surprised both of them.

“It was rash, but I was angry—and terrified, I’m not too proud to say,” she said, standing now. “I told him I had a story to break about Everwell. I expect him early afternoon.”

Beau rose and crossed the room to meet his aunt. Aunt Veronica was a strong woman, yes, and an independent one. Even now, he could see her mind working, trying figure out how to undo the harms she’d inflicted in a moment of anger and fear.

“Aunt Vee, we have to fix this,” Beau said. “Everwell helped us when no one else would.”

“Of course we have to fix it,” she said. “I don’t run away from my problems.”

She lifted her chin, a fire in her pale grey eyes he couldn’t recall seeing in quite a long time. Instantly, he thought about his mother. Had she run away from her problems with Hollis? Or from a life she knew she couldn’t bear? And what about Beau? He’d spent a lifetime running from one problem or another, trying to busy himself with the next thrill.

But Aunt Vee never did. Brushing Beau’s hands away, she crossed the floor of the morning parlour in a rustle of silk and pulled the bell for the housekeeper, who, in that magical way of attentive servants, appeared a moment later.

“Mrs. Hayes,” she said, “I have a note to send to Everwell. I need it sent immediately. Bring the carriage and wait for their reply.”

“Excuse me ma’am,” the housekeeper said. “But I do not think that will be necessary.”

“Why ever not?”

Movement outside the front window caught Beau’s eye.

“Because ma’am,” she continued, “they are already here.”

There were a million places Maddy would rather be at the moment, and none of them were the Turnbull mansion. She was too furious at the world right now—at Malcolm for humiliating her in public; at Nelson, being free in the world and not allowing her past to rest. She was absolutely vexed with the Turnbulls and the entire upper strata of Halifax society who made arbitrary rules about how the world worked, and then broke them at no cost to themselves.

Of course, there was Beau. She didn’t even know what to feel about him anymore, and the fact she was having even that argument with herself was bothersome.

Then again, she thought as she climbed out of the carriage wearing her best green day dress, what if Beau was gone? Maybe he was already on his way back to New Brunswick. Given how intent he’d been since receiving the news, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

The sudden grip of panic at the thought he was already gone made her feel even worse.

The Everwell contingent had come out in force. Lady Em lead the charge, along with Phillipa, Rimple, and Maddy. Gemma and Elouise stayed behind with Tilda to mind the children.

She wished Elouise was here—she had a natural charm that seemed to ease a thousand uncomfortable conversations. In some ways, she wasn’t unlike Beau—she knew how to use a smile or a witty remark to soothe or distract and direct conversation in a way that served her needs. Instead, it was up to Phillipa and Lady Em to confront Veronica Turnbull about her choice to renege on their agreement and expose Everwell to further damage. Rimple, ever faithful to her friends, came to support Maddy.

Maddy had been on far more dangerous jobs than this. She’d ferried young girls out of the hold of a ship that was going to take them to New England and then on to parts unknown to be used as pleasure things for wealthy men. That hold had been guarded by at least four well-armed men. She’d also confronted more than her fair share of drunken husbands looking for their wives at Everwell.

But this was different. This was an enemy she couldn’t fight with a jab in the gut or disarm with a knife. This was the power of words, and the words of people in power. She’d never managed to find a way to defend herself against those.

Phillipa had not even managed to ring the door chime before the massive oak door opened on thick brass hinges. On the other side was an older woman of average height, with a greying blonde hair pulled back into a neat knot. She wore a dark brown dress with a chatelaine that marked her as the Turnbull’s housekeeper.

“Good morning,” she said, nodding his head with a certain degree of respect that Maddy had not expected. She held open the door even wider, her hand extended. “Please come in.”

Phillipa looked to Lady Em before casting an eye to Maddy. While they hadn’t expected to be tossed immediately to the street, even Phillipa could not hide her shock at this greeting.

They had barely set foot on the beautifully polished parquet floor when a familiar set of footsteps set Maddy’s heart into a flutter.

“Madeline,” Beau said, appearing from behind a door to her right. Though it was late morning, she could tell by the small lines at the corners of his eyes he’d had a restless night. But he’d washed and freshly shaved, dressed in morning attire befitting the grandeur of the house.

It took all of Maddy’s resolve to keep her hands clenched at her sides, instead of throwing her arms around Beau and burying her face in his neck so she could breathe in his warm, soothing scent. His stare washed over her, and, unless she was deceiving herself, she sensed his need to be close to her, too.

But how could she be with a man like him? He belonged in a place like this—grand and beautiful, just like he was. Power such as this only represented a threat to Madeline. In her youth, her parents had used her dowry as a prize and put her in the centre of a heartless game. Now, her entire future—and the future of Everwell—was in jeopardy because of Veronica Turnbull’s unwillingness to see past her own impressions of what was true. Maddy didn’t have the power to just wipe this all away.

But there was something in Beau’s eyes—that fierce determination, like she’d seen yesterday on the train when Nelson cornered her, that made her want to hope she was no longer fighting these battles alone.

She opened her mouth to acknowledge him when Lady Em raised her voice to speak.

“Mr. da Silva, I see you are in one piece.” she said, not bothering to hide her indigence. While Lady Em had a fraught relationship with her aristocratic past, she used the power of the privilege she was born to with great effect when it suited her. She frowned, then pulled out her pince-nez and held it to her nose, inspecting him with the same discriminating gaze one might use to ascertain the value of a painting. “Or maybe not.”

“Miss Everwell, Mrs. Hartley,” he said, turning to Lady Em and Phillipa. “Thanks to Miss Murray, I am very much so.” His gaze lingered on Maddy, and her skin prickled with desire. “I know why you are here, and I can assure you this is a grave misunderstanding. Please, come in.”

He waited until Lady Em nodded, then escorted the women into a brightly lit morning room. Unlike the foyer to the great house, which was cavernous and meant to impress, the parlour was cozier, with a little less of the affected Tudor style the exterior of the house and the entry exuded. Veronica Turnbull’s sharp stare bored into her as she entered the room, and Maddy couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had somehow sensed what had happened between Maddy and Beau.

Which had been an utter mistake.

To her surprise, however, Mrs. Turnbull stood and turned directly to Lady Em.

“Miss Everwell,” she said, “I cannot allow a moment more to pass before I extend my sincere apologies.”

“I should say so,” Miss Everwell replied, still incandescently angry. “You sent my entire household into an uproar. Come Mrs. Turnbull, I know you’re smarter than that.”

Maddy slid a glance to Beau, who stood beside his aunt.

“Well,” she replied, “I should have been. But you can appreciate that my entire family has been turned upside down by this dreadful news. My nephew-in-law, who I believed as amiable as the day is long, shot a man in cold blood, and attempted to frame my nephew—” She took a pause, the events of the last few weeks clearly wearing on her. Beau jumped in instead.

“My aunt was in a vulnerable state when she received a note from a reprehensible villain,” he said. “He told her a very convincing story—one that has been told and retold so many times and fooled so many others.”

“Well,” Phillipa said in that no-nonsense way of hers, bringing everyone back to the issue at hand, “it seems we are in agreement at least about the rumours at hand, and I hope, Mrs. Turnbull, about how we deal with them.”

“Of course,” she said, sitting herself down just as a rather large service of coffee and pastries was brought in by one of the Turnbull’s staff with, Maddy had to admit, an impeccable sense of timing. “Let’s start over, shall we? If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is being taken advantage of in such a way. Aside from the fact I do not like to be made a fool, I am equally enraged by the fact I have put others in harm’s way. For that, I am truly sorry.”

Lady Em seemed to accept Mrs. Turnbull’s apology, which felt for all the world genuine. Regret had softened her spine for but a moment, before her shoulders squared again as resolution took its place.

“Mr. Miller is expected here within the hour,” she said. “Perhaps we can use the opportunity to speak together about the good work of Everwell.”

“What if he asks about Miss Murray?” Phillipa said. “You know as well as I that such stories are hard to refute, especially when so expertly told.”

Beau set down his cup of coffee, his voice taking on an air of authority that seemed to come naturally to him, but, it occurred to Maddy, he had never used with her. He looked straight at her when he spoke.

“Leave that to me.”