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“That is very brave of you,” he said. “And? Did you find anything?”
“No. Which makes this news about Rachel far worse than it might have been, does it not?” He sighed. “If the earl isn’t careful, that woman will prove his ruin.”
A frown tugged at Tyndale’s lips—but he made an attempt to rally. “I think Katherine’s already got that well in hand, don’t you? You explained to me earlier that without at least one of those paintings, Lord Druridge can’t prove his innocence. That has nothing to do with Rachel.”
“It does when you consider that marrying Lady Penelope would have provided him with a certain amount of protection.” Wythe handed the reins of his horse to the groom who approached. The stable at Cosgrove House was not nearly as large or well staffed as the one at Blackmoor Hall. He was tired of the inconvenience, tired of being cast into outer darkness like a child who’d lost favor. But he didn’t think his situation would remain what it was for much longer. “As soon as I change, I will go over to see if I can talk some sense into him.”
“Poor Rachel. I hate to see her hurt, but… I now understand why this is so important.” Tyndale fidgeted with his waistcoat again. “It is admirable of you to do what you can, Mr. Stanhope—all the more so because of the situation.”
Wythe paused, purposely playing dumb. “What situation, Mr. Tyndale?”
He shifted uncomfortably. He knew, had to know, it was indelicate of him to mention it, but he finally came out with the explanation Wythe had requested. “Well, the obvious, sir. If the earl dies before he can sire an heir, you will inherit everything.”
“If I wanted my cousin dead, I would’ve let him burn,” Wythe said with the dramatic flourish he’d come to enjoy and strode to the house. Maybe he hadn’t done many things right in his life, but he was glad he had troubled himself that day. Had Truman died in the fire, Wythe would have taken the blame. No one else had as much to gain from his death.
But everything was going to work out in the end.
He started to whistle when he thought of what the Abbotts would be able to do. Let his cousin marry Rachel. Let the bitch think she was going to get everything she’d ever wanted. Her happiness wouldn’t last. Soon, she would watch her beloved die on the scaffold at Newgate and the title and Stanhope fortune would pass to him. Then he’d dump her and her brat of a brother out on their arses without so much as a halfpenny—unless he decided to make her his paramour for turning her nose up at him before.
Maybe that would teach her to respect her betters.
Truman found Cutberth at the office. Although Tyndale and everyone else had gone home for the day, a lamp burned on the clerk’s desk and he was bent over his bookwork, looking for all the world like the most diligent of employees.
“My lord,” he said quietly when Truman walked in.
“I see you received my message.”
He didn’t seem surprised that Truman had requested a meeting. Truman hadn’t expected him to be. Word had spread about his betrothal to Rachel. Cutberth had to have guessed she would tell him about their encounter at the shop.
“I am just finishing up,” he said. “All the excitement yesterday when we were searching for the Bruegel paintings set me back, and I wanted”—he cleared his throat—“I wanted to bring the books current before turning them over to my replacement.”
“Then you know why I am here.”
“I do.”
Truman stopped at the edge of the desk and picked up a vase, obviously made by a child. “It’s unfortunate, really. You have a nice family. I hate the thought that they might suffer because of your actions.”
“I knew I was taking a risk.” He shoved his shoulders back. “But I believed in what I was doing. I still believe in it and will continue to organize the men as long as they will pay me enough so that I can keep a roof over my family’s heads.”
Truman put down the vase. “I appreciate your newfound honesty, so I will be honest with you. That might prove difficult. They may not see any point in hiring you once I announce my new profit-sharing plan. But I understand you must do what you must do.”
He seemed shaken, as if he had been pushing against an immovable object that had suddenly given way. “Profit-sharing plan?”
“Wythe will provide the details in the next few days. Since you are no longer an employee of Stanhope & Co., I won’t go into it with you, but I do want you to understand that I am not letting you go because of the union, even though you had no business marshaling forces to oppose me while on my payroll and pretending to have my best interests at heart.”
Looking chastened, Cutberth cleared his throat. “I didn’t plan to continue after—”
Truman lifted a hand to indicate he had no interest in his excuses. “I am not letting you go because I suspect you were involved in the fire that caused my wife’s death, either.”
At this he jumped to his feet. “My lord, no. You can lay the union at my feet, but I had nothing to do with the fire, and I don’t know who did, as I have always said.”
“Forgive me for pointing out that your credibility isn’t quite what it used to be.” He forced a pained smile. “Regardless, I wouldn’t have taken your job on suspicion alone. I would have waited until I had proof.”
“You will never have proof, because I didn’t do it. I swear!”
“Then why did you lie about your relationship with Mrs. McTavish in order to explain away the payments she received?”
He didn’t attempt to deny it. “To protect the union, of course. That money came from a fund I created to help the widows and orphans of miners who die on the job. That is why I got so upset when Rachel admitted she told you about my efforts. I feared it would cost me my livelihood and destroy everything I’d accomplished so far. It has already scared away many of those who were interested in contributing to that fund and creating other, similar schemes for those who work at Stanhope & Co.”
Truman leaned forward, bringing his nose very close to Cutberth’s. “So you struck her?”
Cutberth seemed to realize that this was the part that angered him most. “I-I shouldn’t have,” he said. “I cannot explain what came over me. I was… out of sorts, enraged. I felt as if she had ruined so many good things by reaching for a man who was—who is—too far above her.”
