“He laughed in my face and told me he’d do as he damn well pleased.”
He again fell silent. I waited for his story to continue, but then I saw that his eyes were filled with tears. Shade came closer and sighed softly. Lord Varre gradually regained his composure. “Late that same evening,” he said, “I learned that my sons and their wives and their four young children were numbered among those who perished in a fire at an inn, a place where they had stopped along the way during their journey north. The youngest was a boy of four.”
His face grew set. “After the funerals, I went to London, telling Adrian I needed to settle my sons’ affairs. I did, but I had another purpose as welclass="underline" to discover whether anyone matching Adrian’s description had been seen in either of my sons’ homes. He had indeed visited, posing as a young émigré cousin. A maid he had trifled with recalled that he had asked one of my sons for recommendations for places to stay along the road north.
“I knew Adrian had been responsible for their deaths,” Lord Varre said. “He would doubtless arrange for mine as well, and ‘prove’ that he was next to inherit the title. I knew that I had little time to act.
“I remembered the stories I had heard of his previous ‘deaths,’ but I prayed to God that without Shade, he might be denied his restoration to life. I returned home determined to neither eat nor drink anything Wentworth had not prepared himself, and to keep a sturdy footman by me at all times. I had developed a plan, and I asked for Wentworth’s help, something I had no right to do, but he readily agreed to give it.
“The evening after my return, Wentworth brought a bottle of the best brandy in our cellars to the table, and I feigned readiness to refuse it, but of course Adrian insisted we drink to ease our sorrows, although he showed no more concern for their loss than a cat feels for the loss of a canary. As usual, he drank to excess, calling for additional bottles when the first was emptied. I convinced him to remove to the library, where we could be more at ease. He agreed and took the most comfortable chair for himself. I had expected this.
“He continued to drink, saying his arm was troubling him, and this might help him sleep. Fortunately, he did not worry that my own glass was nearly untouched-this meant I would not be taking brandy he wanted for himself. He remained unconvinced that he had lost his former immunity, and like many a drunkard before him, believed he held the reins of a horse that had instead fully harnessed him. He dozed off in his chair.
“When I was sure he was deeply asleep, I rose from my own chair and quietly dismissed the footman who had been standing just outside the door, ready to intervene should I fall under attack from Adrian. Wentworth arrived just then, carrying a new bottle. We entered the library together. I moved toward the desk, where I had earlier placed a dagger. I had just opened the drawer when I heard a rather sickening thud. I looked up to see Wentworth wiping off the bottle he had used to strike a very nasty blow to Adrian’s head.
“‘You’ll forgive the liberty, my lord,’ Wentworth said, ‘but I believe I owe something to all the generations of Wentworths who have suffered this man’s presence.’
“I asked if Adrian still lived, and Wentworth announced almost regretfully that he did. ‘I have prepared a place in the cellars, my lord. Upon reflection, it seemed better not to carry out our work on this Aubusson.’
“I gradually realized that Wentworth, so devoted to me and my sons and grandchildren, was furious with Adrian, and had only just restrained himself from murdering Adrian outright. He was also thinking more clearly than I was-he was right that we should not leave stains upon the carpet. I took the dagger and its sheath from the desk and hurried to help Wentworth carry Adrian to the cellar.
“This was not difficult. He was not a large man, and I had not yet fallen ill.”
He paused.
“I will not make you suffer every detail of Adrian’s murder. Despite my hatred of him, I found it distasteful. Still, I will tell you that it was a long night’s work. I left nothing to chance, and in the end, nothing was left but an iron chest filled with ashes and ground bones. This chest I surrounded with iron bands and heavy locks.
“We took it to a seaport. There I entrusted it to a dear friend of mine who was on his way to his family plantation in Jamaica. He solemnly swore to me that he would not attempt to open it, and would drop it into the deepest part of the Caribbean. I watched him set sail on the Morgan Bray.” He fell silent, then said, “I may have sealed his fate.”
He pointed to a newspaper. I picked it up and saw the article that had caused his dismay. The Morgan Bray had been caught in a storm off Jamaica and gone down with all hands aboard.
“The chest was at the bottom of the sea, just as I had asked, but Adrian took my friend and all the crew with him.”
“Such storms are common in that part of the world, I am told,” I said.
“I suppose you are right,” he said, but sounded thoroughly unconvinced.
“If this news has made you fall ill, my lord-”
“No, no. Whether these matters and the loss of all my beloved children took its toll on me, or whether Adrian had already planned that I would sicken, I do not know, but by the time I returned home from seeing the Morgan Bray set sail, I had already fallen ill, and became as you see me now, a dying man. I am now the last of my name. I have arranged for the care of my servants and the disposal of my wealth.
“But until today, I worried that I might have damned myself for naught. I feared that Shade would leave your side and seek Adrian, that Adrian would reappear in some cottage or hunting box not far from here, and come forward with his false documents to claim the title. I had inquired of you from the army, and was first told you were dead, and then that you were alive but injured, and finally that you were no longer with the army and were traveling to Brussels. I hardly knew what to believe until Wentworth told me of your arrival.”
He looked at Shade again and smiled. “I can see his loyalty is to you now, Captain. I cannot tell you how greatly I am relieved.”
He died two days later, a day after a visit from his solicitor, and not long after a visit from the local vicar, who appeared quite shaken when he left. With Wentworth, I was at Lord Varre’s bedside when he died, and we received the last of his confidences. I will not betray his trust. I will only add this note to this part of my narrative-I do not believe for a moment that he was damned.
Of Lord Varre’s wealth, the largest part went to his servants and to aid the poor of his parish, most especially to those returning soldiers who had served in the recent wars. I was surprised to learn that I was a beneficiary of his will, but this made it easier for me to take away those objects that he had entrusted to me, most of them possessions of Adrian deVille. Added to these were family papers, his own collection of books, and a small collection of miniatures of his family members.
This last bequest, the solicitor said, reading from the will, “is given to you to remind you of the importance of having accepted a gift.” The solicitor seemed hopeful that I would interpret this for him, but I am afraid I disappointed him.
31
Amanda finished the last of the parchment pages and set them carefully on the desk. All her first thoughts were of Tyler, and what he had been through. She thought of him spending so many years keeping secrets, going to one deathbed after another.