Page 68 of Courting Claudia
“What about the paper?”
“Mason can handle things while I’m gone.”
She eyed her plate and the figs and bread lying there. She wasn’t accustomed to eating in front of men either. Her father had once told her that a woman who ate as much as she did was disgusting. Women should eat tiny portions. So she’d resigned herself to rising earlier than he and eating breakfast before he came downstairs. The other meals she’d taken in her room or at Poppy’s. And she never ate refreshments at soirees or parties.
But Derrick wasn’t looking at her plate. Instead he focused out the window. He seemed distracted.
“Speaking of the paper”—he turned to face her again—“you can reveal your identity now. It’s your choice. The mystery has served you well. But you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide now.”
“I don’t know if that would be a good idea.”
He eyed her for a few minutes more. “Unless you want me to strip that shift off you and make love to you right now, I suggest you pack your things for a weekend in the country.”
It was a tempting thought, but with the light flooding the room, it was out of the question.
“Be off with you then, so I may dress properly, and we can be on our way.”
He leaned over her plate and gave her a sultry kiss. “Very well, I shall have the carriage ready.”
Derrick stared at Mason. “Are you positive?”
“Yes, sir. I saw it with my own eyes. I walked right past his house on the way to work. They were carrying out a body. I can only assume it was him. There was blood all over the sheet.”
First Baubie’s suspicion that Claudia’s father had murdered someone, and now Richard turned up dead. Or supposedly dead. What didn’t fit was why Lord Kennington would kill Richard. The answer probably lay in those letters Baubie had brought him.
They sat in his coat pocket even now, waiting to be read. He would have taken time to read them this morning, but he’d wanted to ensure the paper was properly cared for before he took Claudia to the country.
“Do you have any idea who did it?” Mason asked, then without waiting for an answer, he added, “or do you suppose he offed himself?”
“I have a suspicion. And I don’t believe he did it himself. Richard was far too vain to kill himself. Not to mention too stupid.”
“Are you going to tell your new bride? She knew him, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she knew him. I don’t know if I’ll tell her. She has a right to know, but I want to confirm it was Richard before I tell her. Send Blakey down to see if he can’t get some information for us.”
Blakey had been a wood carver for Derrick since he’d opened the paper. He was the largest man at the paper, possibly in all of London, and he often worked for extra money helping Derrick investigate when the necessity arose. His size alone usually made even the most secretive person spill his secrets. But on occasion he used money to buy the information.
“Mason, I’m going to take Claudia into the country for the weekend. Have a honeymoon of sorts. Can you take care of things here?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you. Send me a post whenever Blakey gets back. With or without news, I want to be informed. I’ll be within riding distance if there are any problems.”
“Yes, sir.” Mason turned to leave, then paused. “Oh and Mr. Middleton, despite the current situation, enjoy your honeymoon and your new bride.”
Derrick waited until Mason had disappeared before pulling out the stack of letters and tossing them onto his desk. He picked up one and fingered the envelope, then stood and walked to the window. Whatever lay in these letters had been the real story behind Chester Edwards’s suicide. The story he’d printed all those years ago had implicated a man on charges that he may or may not have been guilty of, and then that man had taken his own life.
Reading those letters, Derrick realized, might release him of all the guilt he’d felt for the last ten years. Or they might confirm he was partly at fault.
He looked back at the desk and eyed the tempting letters. Now another man was dead, and Claudia’s father might be at fault.
Walking back to his desk, he picked up the first letter and unfolded it. Burned paper flaked off the edges, and the smell of smoke lingered on the parchment.
One letter after another, the story became more and more clear. Ten years ago the Conservatives had been in the majority, and Kennington had been the chancellor of finance, the man in charge of all the queen’s finances, including the patent office. Claudia’s father had blackmailed the patent officer, Edwards, into skimming funds. Somehow Kennington had discovered the truth of a rather sensitive situation with Edwards’s daughter. He’d threatened to go public, threatened to ruin her reputation and with it any real chance of her to secure a reputable marriage. Then when he’d tired of the man, or more likely when Edwards threatened to go public with the truth, Kennington had beat him to it by having Richard sell the false story to Derrick.
A story where Kennington had blamed the embezzled funds completely on Edwards. Apparently Edwards hadn’t been strong enough to fight Kennington. He’d died, taking the full blame for a scheme much larger than himself, all to protect his daughter’s virtue.
How had Derrick been so blind to the connection? Surely there had been clues. He should have realized all this once he discovered Richard’s connection with Claudia’s father. He’d known there had to have been someone pulling Richard’s strings like a puppet. Kennington.