“I was there,” Henry said, dipping his head as if he couldn’t meet George’s eyes for a moment, “in the medic tent, receiving treatment for my own injuries. From my position, I could see right out of the tent when Godfrey was dragged to where they found him. It was not Fitzwilliam who dragged him there.”
“How can you be certain?” George asked. If this were true, if Fitzwilliam had lied about saving a man – any man, not just one with ties to the crown – he was perhaps the lowest of the low.
“Because I knew the man who did,” Henry said, and when he looked at George, there was such sadness in his eyes. “Samuel was a good man, a poor man, a hero. He rescued several dozen men on the battlefield that day, including myself, before he himself was laid low.”
“Why did you not shine light on this before?” George demanded, his hand tightened into a fist that he had to try so hard not to slam down on the desk.
“I am just one man,” Henry pointed out, shrugging. “No name, no title, no fortune or rank to make anyone listen—”
“Then why come forward now?” George asked, his frustration growing. Though he believed his friend, he also knew he wasright. A man with no title or reputation could never hope to stand alone against a viscount, even one of an honorary title.
Henry glanced at Walter who nodded, and he looked back at George as he explained, “After I ran into Walter, and we discussed him, after I heard he had been rumoured to be courting Lady Cecelia Flannery – I recognized her name from some of your stories as we were growing up.” He glanced between George and Walter. “I started to gather information from other men who had been in the tent that day—”
He looked to Mr Browning then, and the solicitor was quick to action, opening his pocketbook to pull out several pieces of paper.
“Handwritten statements, transcribed by me and signed by the witnesses themselves, all corroborating Mr Beaumont's story, Your Grace,” Mr Browning said, rising to his seat and holding out the papers as if looking for permission to approach.
Unsure what to say, George gestured him forward and took the papers somewhat roughly from him. He was in no mood for pleasantries right now and instead, silently flipped through the papers.
When he had looked, each one reading much the same way, he did not voice his opinion.
Instead, he looked to Walter, giving nothing away as he asked, “What of the rest of the allegations?” He looked to Henry then and added, “Do you have evidence of his criminal activities? Of his blackmailing and his extortion?”
Henry simply nodded while Walter said, “We have heard several men, once respectable men who have been brought low, and every person connected to each that we have managed to talk to – servants, maids, butlers, and such – can all confirm the stories these men tell. These are not the ravings of men driven mad by drink and gambling, but men who were so frightened to talk to us about it that they almost didn't.”
“We had to do a lot of back and forth, getting snippets from servants’ stories to draw the full truth out of them, but the moment I mentioned your name,” Walter added, looking pointedly at George, “they began to loosen up and several of them even agreed to testify if anything comes to it.”
George slammed the witness papers down on the table suddenly, cursing loudly. “I knew the man was untrustworthy, that something was amiss, but all of this—” he ran his fingers through his hair, slumping back in his seat, “—I can hardly believe it.”
He heard Henry gulp loud enough that it made him cringe. “But you do believe us, don't you?”
George didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked to Mr Browning. “Do you believe all of this evidence would stand up in a courtroom?”
Mr Browning pushed his spectacles up his nose, pursed his lips, and gave a firm nod. “I do, Your Grace, no doubt in my mind whatsoever.”
George sighed once more and turned back to Henry. He allowed his gaze to soften as he assured his friend, “Of course, I believe you.”
The relief that spread over his friend's face was enough to draw him from his seat.
He skirted around his desk and opened his arms.
Henry rose to his feet as if pulled by a puppeteer's string, and George embraced him once more. “Thank you for being brave enough to tell me all of this, brother.”
As he released him, Henry almost whispered, “What will you do?”
George forced a smile and clapped his friend's shoulder. “For now, I shall have a drink with my oldest and dearest friends.” Hegestured to Walter, who stood and joined them, then turned to Mr Browning and added, “Come, join us.”
Mr Browning rose to his feet, shaking his head. “I would, Your Grace, but unfortunately, I have other business to attend to.”
“Of course,” George said, stepping away from his friends. “Allow me to see you out.”
After instructing his friends to meet him in the drawing room for that drink, he showed the solicitor to the front door before he said, “Mr Browning, are you quite certain we have enough evidence?”
The man nodded again. “Quite certain.”
“You must be one hundred per cent certain, sir, for there are many who could be harmed if not,” George said, his gut churning as he imagined what might become of Cecelia. What if she and her family were just Fitzwilliam's latest targets? What if he married her and used her family's fortune to cause yet more damage? What if he brought violence and pain to their door?
George would never be able to live with himself should anything happen to any one of the Flannerys.
