Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

T ilda's father's pistol felt weightier than usual in her reticule as she stepped out of the hack in front of Sir Henry's, but perhaps that was due to the addition of the photograph, which she'd brought to taunt their prey if it became necessary. The house seemed ominous, and it didn't even have black in the windows or the yew wreath on the door any longer.

She felt a rush of sadness at how Sir Henry had met his end. He may have stolen her grandmother's money, concealed multiple murders, and attempted blackmail, but he hadn't deserved to be stabbed to death. Actually, her sadness wasn't so much for him as it was for Millicent and for her grandmother. It wasn't just his death that brought them grief, the knowledge of what he'd done would only compound that when they learned the truth.

Tilda dreaded that.

Unlocking the front door, she closed it behind her. Since Vaughn had been attacked—by Ardleigh, apparently—she'd been careful to bolt the door when she was here. Today, however, she would not, for that would foil their plan.

Anxious sweat dappled her neck and chest. She tried not to think of what Ardleigh was capable of. It wouldn't come to that today.

Glancing down, she lightly touched the coral brooch, which she'd worn again, pinning it to the bodice of her gray-green walking dress.

"You're wearing it again."

The low, almost seductive voice startled her. Tilda's heart hammered wildly. The viscount was already here.

He stood on the other side of the entrance hall, as if he'd walked in from the staircase hall where he'd likely been lurking. He wore a dark blue and gray suit and a black hat. Gray gloves covered his hands. His expression was serene, pleasant even.

Tilda had considered how she would play this scene with him. Was it better to behave as if she didn't know what he was talking about so he would perhaps reveal everything as he explained things to her? Or should she provoke him with what she knew to bait him into saying what he needed to incriminate himself?

Either would work, so she planned to see which way he led her. But first, she needed to get into the parlor where she would be closer to Ravenhurst and Teague, both for safety and so the inspector could hear Ardleigh's confession.

"Forgive me, Lord Ardleigh," she said, moving toward the parlor. "I am surprised to see you here."

"Where are you going?" he snapped, darting forward and grabbing her arm.

Tilda resisted the primal urge to cry out and dash away. She didn't want to spook him, nor did she want Ravenhurst or Teague to come running before she'd done what she needed to.

She gently pulled her arm from his grip. "I am merely moving into the parlor where it's more comfortable." She gave him a cool look that was quite at odds with the thundering of her heart before slowly continuing into the parlor.

"I am here because you all but invited me last night," Ardleigh said from behind her.

When Tilda reached the center of the room, she turned to face him. "I don't recall doing that." She cocked her head. "You've been here at least once since the funeral, haven't you?"

He blinked, but that was the only indication that she'd perhaps surprised him. "When would that have been?"

"When you were looking for this." She raised her hand to the brooch. "Sir Henry found this brooch when he helped you with that young woman—your neighbor's daughter, I believe."

The viscount lunged at her with a snarl. Tilda jumped back.

Instead of pursuing her, he took a deep breath. "All you need do is give me the brooch and forget whatever you think you know. Sir Henry was a fool to tell you anything."

"Sir Henry didn't reveal a thing to me." Tilda reached into her reticule. Her fingers brushed against the pistol, which gave her courage, and she pulled the photograph out. "I understand you have a better version of this photograph, one in which you are clearly visible."

Ardleigh did the same thing with his lower lip he'd done last night at Northumberland House.

Tilda pointed to the individuals in the photograph. "This is Sir Henry, and Martin Crawford, and Erasmus Blount, and lastly, you. It was taken in 1839, the day after Sir Henry found this brooch. He was blackmailing you with this, wasn't he?"

Exhaling, Ardleigh removed his hat and tossed it onto a chair. "I'd really hoped to keep this as pleasant as possible, but you keep provoking me." He fixed on her hair, and an unnatural light flickered in his gaze. "Pity you aren't a brunette."

Tilda's blood went cold. "Why, would you try to seduce me?" Reaching her arm out, she set the photograph on a small table.

"Seduction isn't always possible, though I do prefer it." He took a step toward her, and Tilda gripped her reticule. If he moved too close, she would remove the pistol and point it at him. And she'd alert Ravenhurst and Teague. They may not be able to see what was happening. She just hoped they—especially Teague—could hear.

Touching the brooch once more, Tilda said, "The young woman who owned this brooch had dark hair."

"You know a great deal. I suppose you also know her name was Susannah Baxter. What happened to her was an accident."

"Was it also an accident with the other woman in 1835?"

Ardleigh's eyes narrowed. "Sir Henry had to have told you about that. He was the only one who knew."

"I think it's best if you don't assume who knows what. A great many people know a great deal. We are aware of all your crimes."

"Does that include your grandfather?" His voice was taunting, but his eyes were flat.

Tilda began to shake. Though she'd never known him, she still felt love for the man she'd heard so much about from her father and grandmother. "No," she whispered.

Ardleigh took another step toward her, but Tilda was frozen, her gaze fixed on this monster. "I hated doing that, but he left me no choice. All he had to do was find a young footman guilty of strangling one of my maids, but he refused. So bloody righteous. And after Henry promised that his cousin would help me." Ardleigh tsked.

"What did you do?" Tilda's voice climbed.

"Put a burr under Wren's horse's saddle when we went for a ride one morning. Horse threw him. I'd hoped that would take care of it, but it did not. I had to hit him with a rock to finish the task."

How could he refer to her grandfather's murder as a ‘task'? Tilda doubled over, her arms going around her waist. She felt as though she may toss up her breakfast. Ardleigh rushed toward her, catching her lest she fall. He held her gently, his voice soothing as he murmured, "There, there, sweet Matilda. I will comfort you."

With a loud cry, Tilda pushed at him. He grabbed her arm and threw her to the floor. Panic flooded her. "Raven!" she cried as Ardleigh loomed over her.

The sound of furniture scraping across the room filled the air. A body launched into the viscount, knocking him sideways, away from Tilda. Ravenhurst snaked his arms around Ardleigh as they both hit a table on their way to the floor.

Tilda scrambled to her feet and, hands shaking, pulled the pistol from her reticule. "Stop! I have a gun and will shoot you, Ardleigh."

"The bullet may hit Ravenhurst instead!" he taunted.

That was possible, as they were wrestling about. But then Ravenhurst slammed his fist into Ardleigh's gut, and the older man groaned. Rising above the viscount, Ravenhurst grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him up to the nearest chair, pushing him down onto the seat.

"You bloody bastard," Ravenhurst spat. "You're finished. As soon as the police arrive, you'll be arrested for your battery of crimes—the women in the 1830s, paying Fitch to kill Crawford and Sir Henry, killing Fitch yourself, starting the fire at Farringer's after hitting Dunwell over the head. And killing Alexander Wren." Ravenhurst didn't take his eyes from Ardleigh but said, "I'm so sorry, Tilda."

It was the first time he'd used her given name, and she was exceedingly glad. In that moment, she needed his care. It was a shocking realization as she prided herself on not needing that from anyone, not since she'd lost her father.

"You think you can prove all that?" Ardleigh sneered.

"Yes, we have evidence and a mountain of testimony from the likes of Selwin, Blount, and Gregson from Farringer's, not to mention what you admitted to Miss Wren today, all of which I heard."

"I didn't actually mean to start the fire," Ardleigh said without a hint of remorse. "I did hit Dunwell, and he grabbed at a lantern on his desk, knocking it over. It caught fire, and I decided that was a happy accident."

"You're not sane," Tilda said. "There is nothing happy about that."

The viscount's gaze was empty, his expression nearly blank. In that moment, Tilda was convinced he had a deficiency of some kind.

"Your list of crimes is extensive," Ravenhurst said, standing directly in front of Ardleigh. Tilda kept her pistol pointed at the viscount. "Unfortunately, they can only hang you once."

Suddenly, Ardleigh kicked out, connecting with Ravenhurst's shin. It was enough for Ravenhurst to falter, and Ardleigh leapt from the chair, shoving the earl to the side.

"Stop!" Tilda said, cocking the pistol.

But the viscount dashed toward the entrance hall. Thankfully, he was halted by the appearance of Teague and three constables.

Teague pointed his drawn pistol at Ardleigh. "Stop, or I will shoot you. Though, I would much prefer you undergo a trial so you can hang."

Ravenhurst had righted himself and moved to Tilda's side. "Ardleigh has confessed to a great number of things, including hitting Dunwell, starting the fire at Farringer's, and—shockingly—killing Miss Wren's grandfather, Alexander Wren."

"You've been busy," Teague said with cold disdain, his eyes glacial as they fixed on Ardleigh. "But now, you are finished. Take him into custody."

The constables moved toward the viscount who took several steps backward. He spun around, facing Tilda and Ravenhurst, who'd recovered himself. Now, Ardleigh's eyes were wild as he looked frantically about, seeking escape.

"There is nowhere to go," Ravenhurst growled.

Ardleigh's gaze fixed on the brooch Tilda wore. "She didn't want to die," he whispered. "Susannah loved me. She was such a sweet, little bird. But what was I to do with her? I was already wed, and her demands were unrealistic. You see, I had no choice." He'd killed her on purpose.

"And what about the maid before her?" Tilda asked quietly. "Or the countless other women you have likely killed?"

"Not countless," he said, lifting his gaze to hers. "Only six. Though, I've had my eye on a new maid who came to us recently. Dora. She's a pretty thing with such a light in her brown eyes."

Dora? Tilda had to stop herself from shooting him right there. He had to be talking about Sir Henry's maid, Dora Chapman. "You're a vile monster," Tilda said.

He gave her a haughty stare. "I am your better, my dear." In an astonishing, single movement, he picked up a small table that stood nearby and swung it out toward Tilda. She bent low and twisted to avoid the strike, but the table legs caught her thigh as she heard the report of Teague's gun. At least, she assumed it was Teague's.

Ravenhurst caught her, hauling her up against him as the constables descended around the viscount who now lay sprawled on his stomach. A wet spot formed on his back as Tilda worked to catch her breath.

"Damn. I really didn't want to shoot him," Teague said. "Is he dead?"

One of the constables who was bent down next to Ardleigh shook his head. "Not yet. His breathing is rough."

"I hope you can hear me," Ravenhurst said. "You will rot in hell, and that is precisely where you belong."

Tilda felt a rush of emotion as she watched the viscount and heard him struggle to breathe. The hate she felt for the man was overcome by sadness over all the death he'd caused. There was a small bit of solace in that. With Ardleigh dying, there would be no trial. The truly horrible things he'd done could be largely kept quiet. Mostly, she just didn't want her grandmother to know that he'd killed her husband. It seemed unnecessary to reopen the wound of that loss and make it worse.

Teague moved into the parlor. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to be here earlier. I was called away." He frowned deeply. "But it looks as though you had things in hand."

"For the most part," Ravenhurst replied. His arm was still around Tilda, and she was quite content to settle against his side. "I do wish you could have heard the things he said."

"I heard plenty just then," Teague said. "Susannah is the neighbor he killed in 1839?"

Tilda nodded. "Susannah Baxter. You'll want to contact her family as soon as possible." She looked at Ravenhurst and smiled then stepped slightly away from him as she needed her hands to remove the brooch.

"Don't," Ardleigh rasped.

"You still here?" Teague grunted.

Tilda handed the inspector the brooch. "I'm sure her family will be glad to have this back."

"Yes, and they'll be able to confirm its provenance." Teague slipped the brooch into his pocket and removed the ring. Crouching down near the viscount, he said, "This your ring, Ardleigh?"

Shockingly, Ardleigh tried to reach for it. "That rat demanded it for killing Crawford, said a job like that required special payment."

"Were you angry when he stabbed me instead?" Ravenhurst asked.

"Furious. But he took out the right man a week later." Ardleigh coughed. "Fitch wasn't the cleverest, but he was keen to work." He closed his eyes for a moment and wheezed.

"Why kill him then?" Teague asked.

"Wanted more money. Mentioned blackmail, which Henry had already tried. When I found out it was him that night at the club, I didn't hesitate to tell Fitch to get rid of him, which he did without blinking. Greedy bastards." Ardleigh's voice had weakened, and he coughed again.

Tilda wanted as many answers as they could get before the man expired. "If Sir Henry was blackmailing you, why kill Crawford?"

"Thought it was—" Ardleigh took a stuttering breath. "Crawford. His father told me a few years ago he'd shared what happened with his son. Couldn't live with the guilt. Crawford the Coward, I called him." Ardleigh attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

"What about Padgett?" Ravenhurst demanded. "Did you pay him to limit his investigations and then bury them?"

"Didn't cost much. I just…needed…it all…to go…away." The viscount's body convulsed briefly, and he went completely still, his gray eyes fixed on nothing. In death, he looked the same as he had in life—emotionless and empty.

Teague rose. "Seems as though your theories proved accurate. Every case will need to be reopened and corrected."

Ravenhurst sent Teague a dark look. "And Padgett must be excluded from that enterprise, since it sounds as though Ardleigh bribed him. His corruption cannot be ignored."

"Speaking of corruption, don't forget John Prince in the City of London," Tilda noted as she tucked her father's pistol back into her reticule. "We heard Ardleigh confess to killing Fitch, which means someone planted that false evidence."

Ravenhurst nodded at Tilda. "Since Ardleigh confessed to trying to corrupt a magistrate to hide his crimes and to bribing Padgett, I think it's possible, if not likely, that he paid someone at the City of London Police to frame Prince."

Tilda glared at the corpse on Sir Henry's floor. "Or Ardleigh planted the murder weapon in Prince's lodging himself."

"I'll ensure that is all investigated," Teague said. "At least, I will do my best. I have no sway with the City of London Police, unfortunately."

"You're a good man," Ravenhurst said.

Teague slipped his pistol back into its holster and addressed the constables. "Let's carry him out." He looked to Ravenhurst and Tilda. "Take a bit to collect yourselves, then if you wouldn't mind coming to Scotland Yard to give your testimony, I'd appreciate it."

Ravenhurst nodded. "Of course."

"Inspector," Tilda said. "Could I ask that you try to keep the fact that Ardleigh murdered my grandfather out of the newspapers? My grandmother doesn't need to know the truth. It would do a great deal of harm and absolutely no good."

"I understand." Teague looked at her with sympathy. "I will do my best." He directed the constables to carry Ardleigh's body outside to the wagon. He glanced toward the floor. "At least there's no mess to tidy."

Tilda laughed, surprising herself. She pressed her hand to her mouth.

"Thank you, Inspector," Ravenhurst said, moving to show Teague out.

Putting her hands on her hips, Tilda exhaled, her mind running over the events of the morning. Ravenhurst returned. "I'm sorry that didn't go quite as planned."

"I was surprised to find Ardleigh was already here," she responded, feeling surprisingly shaky now everything had concluded, and the danger was past. But perhaps that was why she was feeling unsettled now—she hadn't allowed herself to before.

"I heard him come in probably an hour before you arrived. It was incredibly difficult to stay quiet, particularly when you came in the door, and I heard him address you." Ravenhurst's features tensed. "I was ready to spring to action, and I nearly did when he grabbed you."

"I'm glad you were in place and ready, just as I am glad you did not intervene immediately. In the end, it all worked out, I suppose. I can't say I'm sorry he's dead, especially after hearing what he did to my grandfather." Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall.

"Neither can I." Ravenhurst came toward her, stopping just shy of touching her. "I am so sorry about your grandfather."

"It's strange because I never met him, but I feel as though I know him from everything my father and grandmother told me." Tilda had to blink again lest the tears return. She lowered her hands to her sides. "My father admired him greatly. Their relationship sounded very similar to the one I had with him—my father, I mean. To know they were both killed is distressing."

"Ardleigh isn't going to hurt anyone again, and for that we must be grateful." Ravenhurst picked up the table that Ardleigh had tried to use as a weapon and set it right. "Did he hurt you with that?"

"Not really. It was a glancing blow. Are you all right from tussling with him?"

"Fine. Punching him was rather gratifying, I must say." He smiled, and Tilda nodded, thinking it must have been.

Tilda picked up the photograph. It had fallen from the table when the viscount had swept it up. "I doubt Millicent will want this, and I certainly don't."

"Burn it, as Blount did," Ravenhurst suggested. "I certainly don't want to touch it ever again. I wonder if we ought to accompany Teague to Brighton to tell Blount what happened."

"I think we should," Tilda said, sliding the photograph back into her reticule with the intention of giving it to Teague as evidence. "I imagine Ardleigh's death will be a relief, as will the return of Susannah's brooch to her family. I can't think Teague will seek to charge Blount with anything."

"I agree," Ravenhurst said. "After Leach drops us off at Scotland Yard, I'll have him return to my house to convey to Gregson that Ardleigh is dead. He will be greatly relieved. Are you ready to go now?"

"I am." Tilda glanced about the parlor, thinking of all the time she'd spent here recently. "I'll be quite happy if I don't have to return to this house."

"If you do, I will eagerly accompany you. Indeed, I insist upon it." Ravenhurst offered her his arm and escorted her out.