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“Have our men keep watching as well,” Samuel replied, as he had every other morning.
Levington dropped his gaze back to his list.
“The authorities traced payment for Mademoiselle Petit’s London residence, as well as a weekly allowance, to your family accounts, which you are specifically known to manage, not Richard.” Samuel winced, nodding. “The journal was removed from the London residence in which Lord Safonhouss resided, almost certainly during a dinner held there earlier this Season. Both you and your brother Richard were in attendance.”
Which, once Samuel bothered to think on it, had been odd. Richard usually avoided such things. He preferred gambling hells and brothels to proper social engagements. Especially when their mother attended, as she had. Samuel had only gone to escort her. He would have preferred, and very much now wished he’d insisted on, an evening at home, reading. He pushed his glasses up on his nose.
“Four days ago, your brother reported to the papers that you are the traitor who stole Lord Safonhouss’ journal and gave it to your French mistress, Mademoiselle Yvette Petit, who has been dispersing pages to a French newspaper for publication, to the great embarrassment of both Lord Safonhouss and the Crown. He also reported that you attempted to court the newly wedded Duchess of Aspen to garner influence to assist you in avoiding execution for your crimes.”
“And since then, he will not see me,” Samuel muttered. He’d been unable to confront Richard, who sent various servants, and even once one of his lightskirts, to prevaricate while he fled whenever Samuel drew near. Which might be a good thing. Each time Levington reread that final detail of Richard’s handywork, murderous intent sang through Samuel’s veins.
Levington set down the page.
“And that is where we stand.”
Samuel let out a long breath and sank back in his chair.
“So it’s still Richard’s word to mine.”
“Yes, and he struck first. The general opinion is of your guilt.”
“But I’ve never even met Yvette. My reputation… surely that vouches for my innocence?”
“But also your guilt. You’re well known to be the responsible brother, in charge of the accounts.”
“But that was the account I set aside for Richard’s use.”
“On which we only have your word.”
“Surely the bank—”
“Can vouch that a Mr. Carmichael’s man of business sent paperwork arranging for the payments to Mademoiselle Petit and her landlord.”
Samuel ground his teeth together.
“There must be something we can do.”
“You can bring forth comrades of your brother’s to testify that Mademoiselle Petit was his lover, not your own. This may influence the court.”
“I’m trying to find someone.” Samuel had been to all of Richard’s favourite haunts, both to seek his brother and procure such a testimony. The trouble was, the band of reprobates his brother called friends seemed to have some sort of code that forbade them testifying against one another, and those who didn’t were of such a desperate sort that a bob or two would buy their word of honour, rendering their testimony all but useless.
Samuel scrubbed long fingers back and forth across the tension in his forehead and reiterated, “There must be something we can do.”
“I can testify as to which Carmichael brother asked for paperwork to be drawn up, to issue the payments for Mademoiselle Petit. As I am your representative, my testimony will be viewed as irregular and prejudiced, but my reputation is impeccable, as was yours, until earlier this week. We can hope that is enough.”
“But you do not believe it will be.”
“Lord Safonhouss may be interested in the truth, but the Crown merely seeks someone to blame, and to punish.” Levington hesitated, expression grave. “I’ve been unable, thus far, to convince them to remove the prospect of execution.”
“They don’t see that, as a personal journal, sharing the pages, even with the French, is not treason?”
Why did Richard have to take the matter that far? Samuel recalled his brother writhing on the ground when last they spoke. He should have let Richard win. He’d no idea his brother would ruin their family name simply to punish him.
“I’m afraid your brother’s story to the papers has stirred the ton into a frenzy to see you labelled a traitor. Your best course would be to tell the judge everything you know, from the beginning.”
Samuel shook his head. “That would surely consign Richard to the gallows.” For all his brother had done, as much as Samuel daily dreamed of ringing Richard’s neck, he didn’t wish to be the one to send his brother to the grave. “You know I cannot do that.”
Levington sighed. “Well then, I know you have your affairs in order, but if you’ve anything of a personal note you’ve left unfinished, you may want to address it before your trial.”
