Chapter Twenty One
Arabella sighed contentedly as she pressed herself closer to Tristan’s side. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and her arm thrown across his wide chest. Tristan’s left arm was wrapped possessively around her, and he was slowly stroking her back. Occasionally, he would pause to twine her long, silken hair about his fingers, marveling at its softness.
“I can cut it if you think it is too long,” Arabella said softly while she ran the fingers of her left hand over Tristan’s chest. There was only a thin sprinkling of short dark hair on his upper chest, while the rest was bare. Tristan’s body fascinated her, it was all hard planes and taught smooth skin over rippling muscle. Tristan’s body reminded her of a sculpture of a Roman god she’d once seen in a museum in Bath. As a healer, she had seen her share of half-clad men, but Tristan was a god compared to other men.
“Don’t you dare. I adore your hair. It is longer than I thought it would be when I first saw you and feels like silk. I love to run my fingers through it.” Tristan replied, turning to place a kiss on Arabella’s head.
Arabella turned to press a kiss against Tristan’s chest. They had hurried upstairs like children racing for a treat, and while she lit one of the lamps, Tristan had locked their chamber door, then shoved a chair under the handle for good measure. They had undressed each other, pausing for long, lingering kisses between each item of clothing that was lost. When Arabella was down to her shift, Tristan had picked her up and carried her to the bed, dropping her into the middle of it with a wicked grin.
Arabella smiled as she remembered what Tristan had done to her with his mouth and hands. He had brought her to pleasure, and while she was still basking in the glow of pleasure, he had taken her innocence. It had stung at first, but after she’d shifted her hips, the pain had turned to uncomfortable fullness and then pleasure.
“Are you still in pain?” Tristan murmured.
Tristan had tried to be gentle when he’d taken Arabella’s virginity, but he had never done it before, so he hoped he hadn’t made a hash of it. Marcus’ father had given him a very frank and fatherly talk the morning of his wedding. Mr. Berkley had cautioned him to use patience and be gentle when he made love to Arabella for the first time. Mr. Berkley had also told him that he and Arabella would have years ahead of them and if he didn’t want Arabella to fear the marriage bed, it was best to go slowly with their lovemaking. It was not a race but an adventure to be done together.
Tristan hadn’t minded the days of simply touching, caressing, and kissing, as it had given him a chance to learn what pleased her and had eased her fears of what was to come.
“No, a little tender perhaps, but not actually sore,” Bella would have been embarrassed by such a question a month ago, but now, after days of touching, exploring, and caressing, she had not only become used to Tristan’s body but more comfortable with her own. Thanks to Tristan’s kisses and touches, she was no longer embarrassed by her imagined imperfections. He told her every day that he thought her beautiful and perfect.
“May I ask you a question?” Arabella looked up at Tristan in the dim lamp light, “Well, actually two,”
“Of course, what is it?” Tristan replied.
“First, how did you learn to do what you did with your mouth? It was wonderful and so very naughty,” Arabella asked.
“A book I found in India. It is considered rather risqué by some people; it is a manual for lovers. It explains ways to please each other using hands and or your mouth. It also details various positions to make love in, other than the way we did tonight.” Tristan said.
“A book, will you show it to me?” Arabella asked, as a healer and a scholar, the idea of such a book fascinated her.
“Yes, a very old book. Marcus’ father also spoke to me on our wedding day. He knew I had little experience with women, and he didn’t want me to make a hash of our wedding night.” Tristan replied.
“Oh dear, that must have been terribly embarrassing,” Arabella gasped.
Tristan let out a soft snort of amusement. “Only a little, but it was worth it. Marcus is from a very large family, so Mr. Berkley obviously knows what he is doing.”
Arabella giggled softly as she thought of the burly blond reverend.
“Now you said questions, what else would you ask me?” Tristan had actually been grateful for the reverend’s advice, as he had not wanted to hurt Arabella when he made love to her for the first time.
“It is about your scars. You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to; it’s just I saw the ones on your back the day you and Marcus were repairing the ice house. As a healer, I was appalled by them, and as a woman interested in you, my heart ached knowing how much pain you had to have been in. How much you must have suffered. And the ones on your thighs, what happened to you? As your wife, will you tell me? I don’t want to cause you pain; it’s just I care about you.”
Tristan sighed; he’d known it was only a matter of time before Arabella asked him.
“The oldest are from the boarding school I was sent to. I did not learn till years later that the school was where lords sent their natural-born sons or sons that were considered too wild and needed to be tamed. The teachers did not spare the rod, and we were caned for even mild infractions as they thought it would break us.” Tristan replied.
“That is horrible,” Arabella shuddered at the thought of a young Tristan being caned to the point of bleeding and scarring.
“The teachers tried to break our spirits, to beat the evil out of us, to beat any rebellion out of us. The beatings made some of the boys cruel, and some it made into fearful, timid creatures. But it made me determined to fight for what was right, to try and help the weaker boys. I made friends with many of the weaker boys, and we found ways to stand up to the bullies, to protect ourselves,” Tristan replied.
“Your kindness is one of the things I love about you,” Arabella said softly, stroking Tristan’s chest.
“My father saw it as a weakness,” Tristan replied.
“Thank you, my love,” Tristan replied. “The other scars are from India. I was always good with languages in school; I easily learned French, German, and Italian. While in India, I became suspicious that the locals who translated for us were not translating accurately or lying to us, so I learned Punjabi and Hindi.”
“Goodness, I didn’t know you could speak so many languages. I knew you were clever, but not that clever. I only know French.” Arabella replied.
“Thank you, but you are better with sums than I. Perhaps once everything is settled, we should go to Paris for our honeymoon. I was there while on duty, but only for three days and I didn’t see any sights.” Tristan replied. He took a deep breath as he considered how to go on. “Now, where was I, oh yes, my superiors decided that because of my dark hair and swarthy complexion I could pass as a half-cast.”
“What is a half-cast?” Arabella queried.
“It is a person who has one parent who is European and one who is Indian,” Tristan replied. “There are many such people in India. One of my commanding officers had a wife who was half cast; her mother was an Indian woman and her father a member of the British East Indian Company.”
“Oh, I see,” Arabella replied, “Please go on.”
“I was asked to infiltrate a group of locals whom the East Indian Company believed to be fermenting anti-English sentiment and causing trouble with the East India Company. I wore native clothing and was living in a small village as a day laborer. Things were going well; I had been accepted into a group of locals who were causing dissent, when something went wrong. I was dragged out of the hut I was living in and forcibly questioned, I shall say, by some of those causing trouble.” Tristian could not bring himself to say the word torture.
Arabella understood what Tristan had not said; she slipped her arm about him and hugged him close.
“I am sorry I asked,” Arabella whispered.
“It is all right, you needed to know and I promised to be honest with you. Marcus lead the men that rescued me, for my suffering I was awarded a commendation, a bonus and transferred to Greece. Tonight has been a night for discoveries.” Tristan replied, he pressed another kiss to Arabella’s forehead. “I love you Bella,”
“I love you too,” Arabella replied sleepily. “And Tristan remember you are not alone you have me and Marcus, and we both love you.”
Tristan smiled and squeezed Arabella again moved by her words.
Tristan leaned forward to grab Arabella’s discarded shift. Tristan dragged it up and helped her into it. She complained sleepily the whole time; she kissed Tristan on the cheek, then rolled onto her side and drifted off to sleep.
Tristan lay on his back staring up at the ceiling as he reflected on the day’s events. Making love to Arabella had been one of the most intense and erotic experiences of his life. He clearly remembered all the teasing he had received from fellow soldiers in the army for not going to the brothels with them. But he had never wanted to risk his health for a few minutes of passing pleasure. Tristan could hear the sound of a carriage rattling past the house. Beside him, Arabella murmured sleepily and rolled onto her back.
Tristan was starting to drift off to sleep when he heard the creak of a floorboard. and then the doorknob on their door turned. Tristan tensed as he heard someone try to open the door and then give up. Tristan was glad he had locked and blocked the door. In the morning, he would ask Buttons to see that a dead bolt was placed on the inside of his and Marcus’ bed chamber doors. But for now, he and Arabella were safe, and he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come
* * * *
Tristan gave Arabella a long, slow kiss goodbye, remembering what they had done last night and early that morning. Tristan felt his heart rate increase as Arabella stood on tiptoes to grab his lapels and pull him down to her.
“Enough, enough, you two,” Marcus said loudly from behind him.
With a sigh of regret, Tristan broke the kiss and stepped back.
“I don’t know how long I will be,” Tristan said as Marcus moved past him towards the front door, which was opened by Buttons.
“I understand, I will work on drawings of some of my plants in the atrium. I wish to be prepared for whatever Victor and Clara ask us to draw.” Arabella said.
“I look forward to seeing your drawings later,” Tristan leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I love you, Bella,” He whispered, then strode out the door, nodding to Buttons as he passed.
Tristan nodded to Jeremy, who was waiting by the open coach door as he climbed inside. Jeremy shut the door and folded up the steps before climbing up onto the driver’s bench. A moment later, the carriage lurched forward. Tristian eased back into the padded seat as the carriage picked up speed.
“You have a disgustingly sappy smile on your face. And I don’t want to know what put it there. But I am happy for you, Tris; you suffered enough for five men.” Marcus looked over at Tristan, who nodded.
“Thank you, I just hope you find a woman that makes you as happy as Arabella makes me,” Tristan replied.
“I would like that too; being a bachelor isn’t as exciting as the young bucks make it out to be. I don’t want to drink till dawn and then spend all morning casting up my accounts and suffering a headache all day. I also don’t want to sleep with countless wenches for I have no wish to catch the pox.” Marcus sighed as he stretched out hi long legs as best he could in the confines of the coach.
“I understand completely, I am extremely happy that Uncle Howard arranged for me to marry Arabella. He did me a great favor,” Tristan grinned over at Marcus. “You know Clara Waterhouse is rather lovely and witty.”
“That is what Arabella said. I was all set to pursue Mrs. Riley but something is holding her back.” Marcus sighed. “Someday a man will come along that will be able to reach her, it just won’t be me.”
“Tristan nodded, “Well we are in London and it is full of beautiful women. Tonight we shall go to the opera and then the pleasure gardens. Perhaps a woman will catch your eye, you have a house now and a good paying position, and you aren’t exactly ugly.”
“You have a way with compliments, but you are right. So what is our plan of attack?” Marcus asked.
“Pick up Jules and go to the solicitor and get answers. Hopefully, he knows which bank my father and my brothers used. Then home to deal with the piles of men’s clothing in the third-floor closets.” Tristan looked over at Marcus. “I asked Roberts to begin going through all the clothing, putting some aside for us to use and the rest to sell. I received two more bills yesterday, run up by Allister for a little over six hundred pounds total. I don’t want to use my limited funds towards paying off my brother’s bills. I want to hire three more footmen and buy Arabella some new gowns. It is galling that my wife has to wear used gowns. She claims that she does not mind, but what lass wants to wear nothing but used gowns?”
“I agree completely, well hopefully with Jules’ help, we will solve who is trying to destroy your family, and you will be able to get out of this nightmare,” Marcus stated.
“Speaking of nightmares, did you hear anyone walking around last night after you went to bed?” Tristan asked.
“I did, I thought perhaps it was one of the boys sneaking down to the kitchen for a late-night snack. I was about to go out into the hall and check who it was when someone tried to get into my room. Luckily, I had locked the door,” Marcus frowned, “Do you think it was Miriam?”
“Perhaps, someone tried to get into our chamber also. I checked the library this morning but nothing looked disturbed. But I locked the door to the library as I did not want to take any chances. When we return home, I plan to send a letter to my estate manager, Mr. Thornton, in Rawlings and have him hire two footmen and a cook as well as a maid. I plan to send him some of the back pay I received; it should be enough to hire new servants. Then, in a few weeks, send mother and Miriam there.”
“I like your plan,” Marcus replied as the carriage rolled to a stop.
Tristan looked out the carriage window to see Jules waiting for them on the busy side walk. Tristan reached for the door handle as he tried to prepare himself for what was about to come. He had the feeling it was going to be a difficult day.
* * * *
Marcus opened the heavy wooden door of the solicitor’s office, holding it open for Tristan and Jules to enter before him, and Tristan nodded his thanks as he nervously dragged his hand through his hair as they stepped into a large, well-furnished office where two rows of men sat writing in books. At the head of the rows was a larger desk at which sat a thin, balding clerk with wire-rimmed spectacles. The man looked up at Tristan and the others.
“May I help you, gentlemen?” The man asked.
“Yes, I am Lord Tristan Sizemore, Earl of Banbury, and I would like to speak to whoever was handling my family’s accounts,” Tristan replied.
“Sizemore, Sizemore, ah, yes, I believe Mr. Ball was handling those accounts. Do you have an appointment?” The thin man asked.
“No, we don’t, but it is very important that we speak to him,” Tristan replied, wishing once again he had a hat so he could tap it impatiently against his thigh.
“Just a moment, please, I’ll see if he is free.” The thin clerk rose from his desk and walked past the rows of clerks to knock on a door at the back of the large room. The man stepped inside, and a few minutes later, a man about Tristan’s age with thinning dark hair stepped out followed by the clerk.
The man strode through the room and up to Tristian, a hard look on his face. “I don’t know who you are, but you are not Sir Tristan Sizemore. Now, if you don’t leave at once I shall call for a constable.”
Tristan was about to reply when Jules placed a restraining hand on his arm, staying him.
“There is no need, I am with Scotland Yard, and I can assure you that this man is Sir Tristian Sizemore.” Jules’ reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his warrant card to hand it to the balding man.
“Are you Mr. Ball then?” Jules asked.
The solicitor’s outraged indication instantly changed to confusion as he examined Jules’ warrant card and then handed it back to him.
“But he can’t be Sir Sizemore,” Mr. Ball protested.
Tristan had now gone from annoyed to confused. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out his discharge papers as well as the card he had been given from the clerk at the War Office that had his name and identified him as a member of the War Department.
“I have proof that I am: my discharge papers from the army, my last pay voucher, and my identification card from the War Department. As you can see, they all bear official stamps from the War Department.” Tristian held them out to Mr. Bell. “If that isn’t enough to prove who I am, I also have letters from my solicitor, Mr. Solomon on Race Street.”
“Oh dear, this isn’t good. You can’t be him, yet you are.” Mr. Ball stammered.
“Is there a problem?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, no, perhaps we should go to my office, and we can discuss this in private. There is no need to make a fuss.” Mr. Ball said quietly.
“No need for a fuss? There is every need for a fuss; you just informed us that an imposter was here pretending to be Lord Sizemore. Impersonating a peer is a crime, a very serious one.” Jules gave Mr. Ball a hard look. “In addition, I believe whoever was impersonating Lord Sizemore might be responsible for one or more murders. I will require you to tell me everything about the imposter, when he was last here, what did he want and what did he look like.”
“Yes, yes, please come to my office and we can discuss this in private, gentlemen.” Mr. Ball said looking nervously about.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Ball?” An older gentleman with a large nose demanded from behind them.
“It appears that I, um mistook another gentleman for Lord Sizemore here and divulged private information to him, sir,” Mr. Ball replied.
“Dear lord, gentlemen, if you would please come to my office.” The older man turned to motion towards a door in the side of the room.
“And you are Sir?” Tristan asked.
“I am Mr. Canon; I am senior partner of Ball and Cannon.” The man replied.
“I am Mr. Jules Burns, investigator with Scotland Yard, the gentleman beside me is Lord Tristan Sizemore, Earl of Banbury, and this is his associate, Mr. Marcus Berkley,” Jules stated, indicating first Tristan and then Marcus.
Mr. Canon turned to the thin clerk, “Hughes, bring the file for the Sizemores to my office.” Mr. Canon ordered.
“That is a problem, sir,” The thin clerk replied, looking nervously about the large room.
“And why is that?” Mr. Canon demanded, skewering the clerk with an icy look.
“The Sizemore file was one of the ones that was stolen when Mr. Ball senior was attacked,” Mr. Hughes replied.
Mr. Canon paled. “Gentlemen, if you would please come to my office, we can go over everything, you as well, Mr. Ball.” Mr. Canon pivoted on his heel and strode across the room and into his office, followed by Tristan, Jules, and Marcus. Inside the large book-shelf lined office, Mr. Canon motioned to the two wooden chairs before his large oak desk.
“Gentlemen, please sit.” Mr. Canon said as he settled his large frame into the padded chair behind the desk. “Mr. Hughes, please bring another chair in. Now let us begin again, gentlemen.”
Tristan settled into one of the chairs, while Jules settled into the one beside him, the thin clerk stepped back into the office with a chair for Marcus.
“Very well, I am lord Tristan Sizemore; I was in Malta in his majesty’s service until about two months ago. I learned about my father’s death from two letters, one from my mother and one from my sister. When my brothers passed, I again only learned from their passing from letters from my uncle, Sir Howard Sizemore, and from my solicitor, Mr. Solomon on Race Street. I never received any notification from your office, which I find rather odd. I was also never notified if there was a reading of my father’s will, or what was even in the will.” Tristan stated. “I would also like to know if you know what bank my father or brothers used. I returned home to a mountain of debts left by my father and brothers, and no information on any business they did, what bank they used, no information of any kind was left. I am only here now because my butler happened to remember that you were my father’s solicitor. I would like some answers, sir.”
“I would also like answers. I believe the man who was here impersonating Lord Tristan might have had a hand in the murder of Lord Sizemore senior, as well as Sir Allister and Sir Richard. I will need a description of what this man looked like and when he was here, and what was discussed.” Jules stated.
Mr. Canon paled visibly. “Gentlemen, if you would please come to my office, and we can discuss this in private, you as well, Mr. Ball.” Mr. Canon didn’t wait for an answer; he pivoted and strode across the room and into his office. Inside the office, he motioned to two high-backed wooden chairs before the desk,
“Please sit, Hughes, bring another chair,” He ordered in a tone that brooked no argument.
The thin clerk nodded and stepped out of the office to quickly return with a wooden chair, which he set before Marcus.
Mr. Canon settled into a thickly padded chair behind the large oak desk, which was piled high with papers.
“I have questions and concerns,” Tristan started, “I was in Malta in his majesty’s service until about two months ago. The only notice I ever received of the deaths of my father and siblings was two letters from m y mother and sister, a letter from my late uncle, and one from my solicitor, Mr. Solomon. I never received any notification from your office, and I would like to know why. I would also like answers, such as was my father’s will read, and what was in it? I would also like to know what bank my father or brother’s used if you have that information.”
Mr. Canon looked down at his desk for a moment, then up at Tristan and Jules. “We indeed have a problem my lord. As Mr. Hughes stated, the file for your family was stolen.”
“When did this happen and was the break in reported?” Jules inquired pulling a notebook and pencil out of his jacket pocket.
“I am afraid it wasn’t reported as we didn’t want to alarm our clients. We have been in business for over forty years, and if it were widely known that a client’s private information was stolen, it would cast our firm in a bad light.” Mr. Canon replied.
“I do not care, sir, that your form would be cast into a bad light. I am investigating crimes against the Sizemore family; now, please tell me when this break in happened and what was taken. Refusal is not an option.” Jules stated firmly.
Tristan was glad of Jules presence as he had the power of the law behind him, while all Tristan had was a title.
Mr. Canon turned to look at Mr. Ball, who swallowed nervously. “My father was handling your family’s account. If I remember correctly, it was two days before the death of Lord Richard Sizemore when the break-in happened. My father was reading a letter from your brother, Sir Richard. Sir Richard was betrothed and had written to ask that his betrothed be included in his will. My father told me to go home and that he would be home soon. When he didn’t come home by nine, my mother grew alarmed and sent me to fetch him home.” Mr. Ball pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his face with it. “When I got here, I discovered the door was open and the lock forced. I stepped inside to find my father unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a head wound. Your family’s file was missing, as were the files from two other families’, one being that of the young lady he was betrothed to.”
“And your father, sir, how is he?” Jules asked.
“He is alive but no longer his old self; he has memory lapses and confuses easily. The physician treating him hopes he will make a complete recovery in a few months,” Mr. Ball stated.
“I am sorry, sir, but was your father able to tell you anything that might help me catch the fiend or fiends that attacked him?” Jules asked.
Mr. Ball shook his head, “All he has been able to tell me is that he was finishing up the changes to your brother’s will when he heard the sound of breaking glass. He left his office to investigate and was hit from behind. That is all he remembers.”
“And this happened two days before Richard died?” Tristan asked.
“I believe so, sir.” Mr. Ball replied.
“If I might speak, sir, even though the Sizemore file is missing, there should be notes on the meeting,” Mr. Hughes ventured. “Mr. Ball senior would have Mr. Summer sit in on all his client meetings and take notes in shorthand on what was said. I can ask Mr. Summer to go through his notebooks and transcribe anything related to the Sizemore. It will take him several days, but he can do it.”
“That would be very helpful,” Jules said.
“If you will excuse me, then I shall go ask Mr. Summer to go through his books.” Mr. Hughes nodded and hurried from the room.
Tristan looked over at Marcus, who raised an eyebrow and then mouthed description. Tristan nodded; he was thinking the same thing.
“Mr. Ball, you said that you had spoken to a man claiming to be me. What did he look like, and when did you last see him?” Tristan asked, earning a nod of agreement from Tristan and Jules.
“I believe it was a week after my father was attacked. A tall, thin dark-haired man came in with a lady. He claimed he was Sir Tristian Sizemore and the woman with him was his sister Lady Penelope Kenyon. He said he had just returned from France and that he was here to claim his inheritance. I informed him, as I did you that the file had been stolen, but he asked me to write several letters saying he was Lord Sizemore, that he needed them for the bank.” Mr. Ball replied, “I, of course, did what he asked.”
“The woman with him, what did she look like?” Tristan asked.
“She was tall for a woman, in her mid-twenties I believe, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes, and not unattractive.” Mr. Ball replied.
“And the man with her, you said he was also tall with dark hair?” Marcus asked, earning a nod of response from Mr. Ball.
“Yes, he also had a rather large nose.” Mr. Ball replied.
“Bloody hell it was Miriam and Dr. Fletcher,” Marcus swore.
“It certainly sounds like Dr. Fletcher and Miriam. The question is, why were they here pretending to be me and Penelope?” Tristan asked, looking over at Marcus.
“Now, Mr. Canon, can you tell me why I was never notified by anyone in your firm of the deaths of my family or the reading of my father’s or brother’s wills? While I was not in the country, I should still have been notified, shouldn’t I?” Tristan asked.
“As to why you were never notified I cannot answer that my lord, but I do know there was a reading of your father’s will as I remember meeting both your brothers.” Mr. Canon replied. “As senior solicitor I would like to offer my sincere apologies for what happened, and I will do all in my power to help you find answers and to make this right.”
Tristan nodded, he was not completely satisfied with the answers he had been given, but it was a start..
“Do you know by any chance which bank my father used?” Tristan asked.
Mr. Canon shook his head, “No I am afraid I do not, but I will have my clerks go through our files; it might be in the billing information. When we find something, I will have a messenger deliver the information to your home.”
“Thank you, I am living in the family townhouse, Hasting’s House on Green Street,” Tristan replied.
“This is my card. I would like a copy of everything you find,” Jules pulled a calling card from his pocket and leaned forward to hand it to Mr. Canon, who took it with a nod.
“Do you really believe that the other Sizemore gentlemen were murdered?” Mr. Ball asked.
“Yes, I do.” Jules turned to look at Tristan.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for your time. Please let me know as soon as you find anything out,” Tristian nodded to Jules, and they rose, as did Marcus.
Mr. Canon rose as well and reached across his desk to extend his hand to Tristan, “If you need anything my lord please contact me, and again I am sorry this happened.”
“Thank you Mr. Canon,” Tristan turned and strode from the office followed by Marcus and Jules. As they walked through the main office Tristan felt every eye on him, but he ignored it and strode out the front door of the solicitors office.
Jeremy looked down from the box and Tristan motioned for him to stay, “Home please.”
Tristan used his foot to knock down the stairs then jerked open the door and scrambled inside. A moment later, Marcus climbed in and dropped into the seat beside him, while Jules settled into the backward facing seat.
As the carriage began to move Marcus let out a low curse, “Well that was practically pointless,”
“I disagree we at least learned that someone, perhaps this elusive Dr. Fletcher has been impersonating you,” Jules stated. “And that a woman, who sounds like you mother’s companion, is impersonating your sister.”
“Any luck on finding Mr. Keene?” Tristan asked.
“No, London is a large city and I don’t even know if Keene is his real name, or what name he is going by. It would help if I had a drawing of him.” Jules replied.
“Tristan is an excellent artist, perhaps he could draw Mr. Keene for you,” Marcus suggested.
Tristan made a face, “I’m not a portrait artist, I draw landscapes and flowers,” Tristan protested.
“Could you at least try, it would be helpful, if I had an image to share with the men,” Jules prompted.
Tristan paused to consider than nodded, “May I have your note pad and a pencil?”
“Of course,” Jules pulled his notepad out of his pocket and leaned forward to hand it and a pencil to Tristan.
Tristan closed his eyes and tried to recall what Mr. Keene looked like. It had been several weeks since he’d last seen him, but his rat-like features came to him. Tristian opened his eyes and began to draw; imagining Mr. Keene was a rare flower and not a person. Marcus looked over at what he was drawing and nodded.
“His lips are thinner,” Marcus commented.
“Right, right,” Tristan nodded and made his lips thinner. After a moment, he showed it to Marcus who, nodded.
“That is the weasel all right,” Marcus commented.
The drawing was far from perfect but it was a fair likeness, Tristan leaned forward and handed the drawing to Jules who examined it for a moment then nodded his thanks.
“It is good, very good. I will have copies made and see that a copy is handed out to all the men who are on patrol. Mr. Keene is a man of interest in a multiple murder case; with this, we should be able to find him.” Jules stated.
“Do you really think my father and brothers were murdered?” Tristan asked as the carriage made a hard right turn.
“I do, I would like your permission to exhume your father’s and brother’s bodies. I pulled their death certificates from the records office, and Dr. Fletcher signed off on all three of their deaths. I don’t believe that your brothers died in the ways that you told me. My men confirmed what Mr. Ball said; your brother Richard was betrothed. A man who asked his solicitor to add the name of his betrothed to his will is not a man that would cheat on her.” Jules paused to look out the window. “I sent a note to the young lady your brother Richard was betrothed to asking if I might speak to her about your brother, perhaps you would like to join me if she agrees to a visit.”
“Yes, I would like that. I never really knew my brothers, they were far older than I was and my father sent me away to boarding school. When I was allowed home they rarely even spoke to me. But I would like to know them. At the moment I am left believing that my brothers were both drunkards and wastrels if that is not the truth then I would like to know it.” Tristan replied. He owed it to himself and his family name to learn the truth.
“I will send a messenger to your house with the paperwork to exhume the bodies. And Tristan we will solve this, you have my word. You are my oldest friend and I owe you my life, I won’t let whoever did this to your family get away with it.” Jules stated.
“Thank you Jules, I appreciate it. How about you come to dinner tomorrow night, I know Penelope would like it.” Tristan replied and saw Jules smile. Despite everything Tristan smiled thinking it was good to have friends.