“So you are,” Grey agreed, trying not to think about his father or Madelaine, or anything but the job ahead of him. “What if Stratmore’s servants question us?”
“They won’t. Stratmore will know what’s at stake if anyone should find out about his imprisonment. Even if he’s not found guilty and hung, his daughter’s future would be jeopardized, if word got out. He won’t want that. I’ve no worry he won’t cooperate.”
“I disagree,” Gravenhurst said. “You assume he’s innocent, though you just told us to proceed as if he’s not only a thief but a conspirator in a plot to overthrow the king. If he’s guilty, he may very well run. His life will probably mean more to him in that case than his daughter making a good match.”
Edward steepled his hands in front of his face, his brow furrowing. Grey was finding it hard focusing on anything but his worry for Madelaine. He struggled to push thoughts of her from his mind.
“You’re right.” Edward moved to stand. “Lure Stratmore away from his house, secure him, and then send the servants away so you can search the house for the king’s paper or any clues. Do not leave any space unturned. If it’s there, if it still exists, you need to find it and destroy it. And if you find anything else of importance, bring it to me.”
“And if we find nothing?”
“Then treat him as if he’s guilty, until the king decides otherwise.”
Within the hour, Grey and Gravenhurst were on the road to Lancashire. They didn’t speak for a while, until they stopped to water the horses then Gravenhurst said, “Do you expect me to believe you’ve forgotten the lady and you can be impartial?”
Grey gritted his teeth together, releasing them after he felt under control. “I do. I know my duty, and duty will always be first to me.”
“Bah,” Gravenhurst mumbled as he dismounted. “Then you’re a daft fool who mistakenly believes himself indestructible. That woman’s your deadly weakness, no matter how strong you think you are. Stay away from her.”
Eighteen
Even in the tower the social classes were evident,ifyou had enough money to purchase comfortable quarters, but there were some crimes, such as the ones Madelaine’s father stood accused of, that prohibited the prisoner being allowed to pay for acceptable quarters. For the worst criminals the tower was an abominably dreary place crawling with bugs and rats and filled with the constant nerve-grating moans of those who’d been condemned to wait there until trial or death, whichever fate or the king served them.
Grey had walked through the noisy halls three days prior, his body recoiling at the sights and sounds within the dingy walls. Yet he managed to do his duty and force one foot after the other to take Stratmore to the dungeon where he was to be kept in secret, while he and Gravenhurst tried to get him to confess his guilt and await Edward’s arrival.
In order to lessen the chance of the guards or anyone who might see Gravenhurst or Grey coming or going from the dungeon, they both agreed to stay there until Edward arrived and Stratmore’s fate was decided. After one night in the shadowy darkness of the dungeon, Grey understood why the tower dungeon was referred to as the pit of Hell. Dampness permeated the walls, the floors, the air, and worst of all, the bug-infested cot Grey had to sleep on. And though the pitiful pleas for release were barely distinguishable down here, the muffled moans did carry through the air, down the winding stone steps, and seep under the locked, dark wooden door. The constant hint of noise was like an annoying whisper in Grey’s ear. He’d taken to humming to himself to block out the sounds of misery.
But it was neither the dampness nor the noise that kept him up at night. His worry for Madelaine did that. If Stratmore was guilty, what would become of her? So far the man had maintained his innocence, but his shifty eyes hid something. By the third day of being locked in the tower, trying unsuccessfully to get Stratmore to admit his guilt, Grey was relieved when Edward arrived, but his relief was short lived.
“What do you mean, Stratmore murdered Pearson?” Grey asked, facing Edward in the small confines of the entranceway to the room they had Stratmore locked in.
Gravenhurst, who’d been preoccupied shoving the bread and cheese Edward had brought them into his mouth, audibly swallowed his food before speaking. “Let me get this straight.” He stood from where he’d been sitting at a filthy table. “You’re telling us Stratmore murdered Pearson—a brother in arms?” Gravenhurst’s voice had dropped to a low whisper.
“I’m telling you that I found Pearson dead.” Anger vibrated Edward’s fierce whisper. “Stabbed repeatedly in the gut. Beside his body the word ‘honor’ had been drawn in the dirt with an X through it. The conclusion is obvious.”
“How does that prove Stratmore’s guilt?” Grey demanded.
“Honoris the word engraved on the inside of Stratmore’s ring that the king gave him,” Edward said patiently.
Grey shook his head. “I don’t believe for a second the man would be so stupid as to kill a fellow spy, and then engrave his name in the dirt as a calling card to lead us straight to him. Besides, what would be his motive for killing Pearson?”
“Money.” Gravenhurst’s voice was toneless. “It’s well known his coffers are extremely low, and he and the king have fought much of late. Maybe Stratmore’s turned traitor, and he’s being paid by the Frenchies to gather information. Mayhap Pearson found out, or maybe Stratmore’s been paid to kill us one by one so Napoleon, the rutting bastard, will win the war.”
“You’ve been a spy too long,” Grey said, not liking how Edward appeared to be considering Gravenhurst’s ludicrous suggestions. It was one thing to proceed with caution, but it was quite another to proceed on a mad conjecture. “The man is not so stupid as to trace the word ‘honor’ in the dirt for everyone to see.”
“But he didn’t write it,” Edward said. “Pearson did.”
“His dead corpse told you so, did it?” Grey demanded.
Edward flushed at this, but met Grey’s gaze with sharp green eyes. “I checked Pearson’s fingertips. They were caked with dirt. The word had been written in blood. His blood. I know because I forced myself to bend his stiff arm and hand and write another word in the dirt to see if the width of his fingertip and the markings on his skin would match what was in the dirt. It did. Perfectly. There’s no doubt in my mind Pearson wrote the wordhonorand then crossed it out.”
Grey focused on breathing through his clenched teeth and fought the desire to punch his brother in the nose. “If Pearson wanted everyone to know who murdered him why the hell wouldn’t he have just written Stratmore’s name?”
“I can’t say,Grey. I’ve not got access to the dead man’s thoughts, so all I can do is speculate.”
Grey jerked his gaze away from the insect climbing the wall that he’d been focusing on to try to calm himself and met his brother’s gaze. “I don’t see what this has to do with the king’s paper. If Stratmore is selling secrets to the French or killing spies for money, what would he need the damned paper for?”
“Nothing.” Edward pulled out a chair to sprawl in it. “I don’t have the answers yet, but I plan to get them.”
