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“It seems like everything has changed since my mother died. Those I called friends are now enemies. And those I called enemies…”
“Are now friends,” he finished. “That is true. I will do all I can to figure out who is responsible for the damage and bring them to justice.”
If she told him what she knew, she’d be taking yet another step away from her past, away from the person she used to be, and well she knew it. But that former Rachel seemed to be long gone anyway. If he was her friend, she was also his. “I think whoever it was might have had something to do with the fire, my lord.”
“Because… ?”
“I believe I know what they were after.”
“What?”
She felt his hands tighten on hers and wanted to remove her gloves so she could touch him, really touch him as she had when he brought the ointment. But she dared not be so forward.
Withdrawing instead, she lifted the ledgers she’d placed on the seat beside her and set them in his lap. “These.”
“What are you saying?”
His manner reminded her of the earl as she used to view him. Haughty. Austere. But she knew it was the depth of his passion for this subject that put such an edge to his voice and she was no longer put off by that passion. “You have questioned my mother’s finances.”
“Yes.”
“These ledgers prove the bookshop was not making enough of a profit to support us and hadn’t for some time.”
“So there had to be money coming in from somewhere else.”
“There was a payment each month that is currently unaccounted for.” She didn’t want to believe her mother had any culpability in Katherine’s murder, even if that culpability extended only so far as helping to cover it up, but she had to acknowledge the possibility. Considering the way Jillian had felt about Lord Druridge, she probably believed her actions were justified.
“Your mother might’ve been on the payroll of those who fired Blackmoor Hall,” he said. “But you don’t know who was paying her?”
“Although I have my suspicions, I can’t say with any certainty.”
“Whom do you suspect, dear Rachel?”
This was getting more difficult by the moment. Was she going to tell Lord Druridge about Mr. Cutberth and the union? If she brought up the clerk’s name, the rest would come out as soon as the earl took a closer look at his bookkeeper. And what if Cutberth had nothing to do with the fire and really was worried about how Lord Druridge’s efforts might interfere with meeting the miners’ demands? She didn’t want to erode what little power they’d gained. Their lives were hard enough.
But the earl was being blamed for something he didn’t do and while the possibility of catching the real culprit existed, she had to tell all she knew.
“Mr. Cutberth has shown considerable interest in your affairs, my lord.”
He straightened. “My clerk?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he was acting alone?”
“There could be others,” she conceded. “Mrs. Tate just told me that her son believes Cutberth and your cousin are involved in something together.”
“What makes him believe that?”
“He claims the two have been acting secretive.”
“That could mean nothing. That could be mine business.”
“I’m just relaying what she told me. But even if Wythe wasn’t involved, wasn’t somehow in it all along with Cutberth, I still doubt Cutberth would have acted alone. He’s very quick-witted. He wouldn’t be the type to set the fire himself.”
“From what I know of Mr. Cutberth, I would have to agree with you there.”
“I could be entirely wrong about him, my lord. I want you to understand that.”
“Then why do you suspect him?”
“He has said some things that have made me wonder.” She lowered her voice. “And this much I can be certain of: He is no friend of yours.”
The earl massaged his left hand. “He pretends to be.”
“Of course.” He’d pretended to be her friend too when he was trying to enlist her help. “You provide his paycheck.”
“I would never have taken Cutberth for a Judas.”
“He can be convincing.”
There was a slight pause. “I didn’t realize you knew him.”
“Creswell isn’t that large, my lord. I know most people, especially those associated with the mine, seeing as my father and older brother both worked there for a number of years.”
“I guess it makes sense, in one way. Cutberth would’ve known your father, would’ve been aware of his problems—that he was disgruntled and eager for revenge.”
She smoothed her skirt. “He would have, yes.”
“And if Jack were caught, a promise to care for his family might convince him to take the fall. If he escaped, he would have every reason to carry the secret to his grave.”
“I have… considered that,” she said. “As well as this: If he refused, Mr. Cutberth would know other men who might be willing to take his place.”
His breath misted in the cold air, looking like smoke in the moonlight. “Did you ever see him at your house?”
“He was a familiar figure,” she admitted. “But he didn’t come only to see my father.” She cleared her throat. Did she now also admit her own involvement? How could she not? “He was usually there to see me.”
“Mr. Cutberth is married. He wasn’t—”
“No.” Now that she’d come this far, it was all she could do not to squirm in discomfort, because there was no going back. “We… we were working together.”
“How? When? He didn’t help run the bookshop.”
“No.” Gathering her courage, she blurted out what she’d been holding back. She couldn’t point a finger at Mr. Cutberth without accepting responsibility for her own role as adversary to the earl’s best interests. “We were trying to organize the miners into a union, my lord.”
The silence that met this admission made Rachel feel as if the temperature had dropped twenty degrees.
“I see,” he said at length.
She wondered if she’d upset him. “My brother died in a cave-in,” she said softly. “My father died of miner’s lung. Surely you can understand why I might act in such a fashion.”
When he didn’t respond, she wished she hadn’t felt obligated to be quite so honest. But she couldn’t work for and against both sides and continue to look herself in the mirror.
