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The paper was of poor quality, yellowing and dirty. The seal was just a brittle lump of candle wax that splintered under Julia’s fingers. She pressed it open and read.
Carl George,
They’ll becoming for me soon, so this is the end. I haven’t slept all night, racking my brains—as though the months in here have not given me time enough for that.
And it seems to me that per haps I was wrong about you. If I was not, you’ll read this and laugh at the poor gullible fool that I am. All I know for certain is that I did not kill Kit, that I am not a spy. And I think I know you—we’ve been friends long enough, damn it—to finally accept you think you are doing what is right, the honourable thing, you stub born principled prig. God, I’ve been angry with you George, but I am going to die in an hour, I can’t
go to my death angry at my oldest friend.
Because you genuinely believe I’m guilty, don’t you, George? And, if I am guilty, your sense of honour tells you that justice must take its course. I’m an adulterer, I admit that, but nothing else, I swear to you on my children’s souls.
So listen, George, and do this for me and for Catherine and the children. Look after them—I’ve written the address where they will go at the foot of this—show it to Catherine, she’ll take your help then. And find who killed Kit, who the spy is—because Kit must have been close, the clever devil. Too close to live.
That drunk of a par son will be here soon to pray over me, so good bye, George. I hope I am right about you, finally.
Will.
Julia stared at the desperate scrawl in the faded brown ink. They could not show this to Lord Narborough, it would kill him, and she must prevent the other woman reading it and realizing she had snatched away help from the surviving Wardales.
‘What does it say?’ her mother in law asked, her voice fearful. She did not hold out her hand for it.
‘That he is innocent,’ Julia said, swallowing hard against the tears that were blocking her throat. This was Nell’s father’s last testament. The stench of the prison, the fear soaked into the stones of the cell, seemed to ooze out of the paper, but so did the spirit of the man who had written those words. She believed him.
‘May I give this to Hal?’ she asked when she had her voice under control again.
‘Yes, if you think it will help.’ Lady Narborough drank the last of her cold tea and got to her feet. ‘I will go up to George again, you talk to Hal and Marcus, my dear; I will send them down. I do not care what you do, just do not let George see that letter.’
Julia waited at the bottom of the stairs for the men. ‘How is he?’
‘Worse than I have ever seen him,’ Marcus said, running both hands over his face then raking them through his hair in weary resignation. ‘The doctor thinks he will pull through, but he will be an invalid for a long time. Perhaps for ever.’
‘What is that?’ Hal nodded at the grubby paper in Julia’s hand.
‘Come into the drawing room and have some tea, and I will tell you.’
When they had both read the document, she thought they were as shaken as she was. More, no doubt, for they had lived with this story almost all their lives.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ Hal said at last, without apology.
‘Quite.’ Marcus stared at the letter. ‘Do you believe him?’
‘Yes,’ Julia and Hal said together.
‘Why should he lie, then of all times?’ Hal asked. ‘The man would have had to have been twisted beyond belief to have written that minutes before he died if it were not true. My God, if father sees it—’
‘He must not,’ Marcus said. ‘You realize what this means, don’t you? There is a murderer and a spy to find.’
‘You have a potential ally,’ Julia ventured. ‘Stephen Hebden.’
‘What! That bastard? He is no-one’s ally, he’s a dangerous vengeful maniac.’
‘He wants vengeance on the man who killed his father,’ Julia said patiently. ‘He thought it was Nell’s father, so he attacked his family. He felt betrayed by his own father’s legitimate family, so he attacked them. He thought your father betrayed his by his inaction, so he hates all of you. If he hears the rumours, he might suspect your father of the murder or of being a spy.
‘Yes, the man is dangerous,’ she agreed, leaning forward to urge her words on them. ‘But he also acts outside the law with amazing ease, and he is unscrupulous and obsessive. He can do things you never could—never would. If you can convince him with this letter that both Wardale and your father are innocent, then you will have him on your side. And never forget you have a present-day at tempted murder to solve.’
She saw Hal look at his brother. ‘I did suggest—’
‘No.’ Marcus slammed his fist down on the table by his side, making the fragile piece rock. ‘You know what he did to Nell, what he threatened. I will not go near him unless it is to put a bullet in him—she is your sister now, you swear to me you will never go to him for help.’
