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Chapter Nineteen
There were wrongs which needed to be redressed. The gentlemen of the ton never saw consequences for their actions. Nemesis acted, demanded, ordered the world, so that everything went accordingly.
The Murderer walked along the Thames, where a cold wind blew across the river. It smelled of dirt and muck. Nemesis wondered if any bodies had floated up. Nemesis peered down at the water, so dark it was almost black.
Anyone could be crushed beneath the solid tread of the ton’s well-heeled boots, and they would never think twice about it, so long as they had everything just as they wanted it.
No more.
I won’t let it happen to others, like it happened to me.
Over and over again. They were all the same, and in the end, they all must die.
The Murderer pulled the knife from the pocket, turning it so that the blade glinted in the light. That blade had been wetted by blood.
That night, it would drink more. The Viscount of Drysdale was the Murderer’s next appointment. He had plans to attend the theater that evening. The Murderer planned to waylay him whilst he walked back from there to his stately townhome.
“Tha’s a nice blade ya got there,” a man said, smiling at the Murderer. He was missing most of his front teeth.
The Murderer slipped it back into the pocket. “It does the trick,” Nemesis assured him with a smile.
* * *
Charles remained at home, for the next few days. In the wake of Lord Diggar’s murder, he knew that everyone was whispering. Most of his clients had cancelled their appointments. The tide of rumor was often a courtroom of its own. He stood in his parlor, in front of his window, looking out over the street. There was a parade of passersby, all of them going about their lives.
How truly fitting this is. Just like my father. Unjustly accused, and likely going to be executed, as well.
He knew better than to presume that his innocence would be found out.
It’s a good thing that Mother isn’t around to see this. She would have been beside herself.
His mother had passed on, five years prior. She’d seen him graduate from University, and begin his life as a Barrister. She’d become ill, passing away not long after. His father’s death had almost broken her. He knew that she had held on just long enough to see him safely to adulthood.
The same went for Arabella. At the very least, her father had denied him the permission to court her. Now, she wouldn’t have to worry about him. No scandal would touch her—as false as it was.
Yet, he knew, too—she had likely heard about it, and was worried. He recalled the last time that he’d seen her, at the Viscount of Drysdale’s engagement party. It was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.
She had waited, until the very end, when everyone else was busy saying their goodbyes. He had been getting ready to leave himself, and was waiting for a footman to bring him his coat.
“I miss you, Charles,” she’d whispered to him. Their eyes had met. Hers were soft. The candlelight had made her chestnut hair glow like copper. The soft gray silk dress that she wore. Her lips which dreamed of often recalling their one stolen kiss at her birthday party.
“And I you, My Lady,” he replied, the familiar ache in his chest. She could never be his, no matter how much they both wished it. It was a hurt which would not go away.
“If only—” she’d begun.
“Don’t,” he had said, stopping her. His heart couldn’t bear the thought. He wasn’t a Duke. He was just a simple London barrister. He could offer her a comfortable home, but—he couldn’t offer her a title, or a vast array of wealth, as she was accustomed. She would be lowering herself, by marrying him.
She had smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake. He had done so, looking into her eyes, which were glistening with tears. She’d turned away from him, then walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Sir?” Mrs. Osbourne called out from the door, bringing him back to the present day. He turned around to face her. She held out a letter. “It’s from Mr. Hinkley, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said, accepting it. He looked up at her. She remained in the doorway. “Something the matter?”
“There’s been news,” she replied. “Lord Drysdale’s been found murdered, sir.”
Charles stared at her in shock. He couldn’t believe it. He looked down at the letter, quickly breaking the seal and unfolding it.
Charles,
