𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

Chapter 9

LORD JACK BERESFORD ARRIVED AT Wycombe not more than an hour later, his brown hair unkempt, his brows pinched together in frustration, yet his presence as dawning as a Lord's ever was. 

"Those rascals, I tell you," He let out once he was in Oscar's presence in the drawing room, practically ripping his hands off of the gloves he had worn outside, as his valet followed behind holding not but a silver tray for the possessions. "They are all as tight as bricks, refusing to betray an ounce of information on that scoundrel." 

"So you got nothing?" Oscar sighed, his hand reaching to touch his forehead and cascading down his chin in frustration that mirrored that of his friend. 

"It's as thought that bastard has them all under his finger. They don't speak anything that may be of benefit to us, unless they receive the money for it." Lord Jack Beresford plopped himself on a nearby sofa, restlessly reaching for a cigar atop the nearest side table. His valet scurried forwards to light it for him. 

Oscar whipped his head towards him. "So you pay it." 

"I would've," Jack muttered, a puff of smoke punctuating his words as he exhaled, "If the constable hadn't been there." 

Oscar's already curling fingers tightened into a fist and he brought it to his nose and exhaled viciously. For once, he felt this gnawing anger at the burden of reputations. If Jack hadn't been so conscious about being seen bribing men, they would've had something to bring them even slightly closer to the whereabouts of Lady Embry. Oscar found himself asking what he himself would've done in Jack's situation. Would he have slammed pound notes on the table and demanded explanations regardless of a constable or anyone delicate nearby? The answer, he found, was right there in him, pulsing. I would've chosen another time to confront them again. And just like that, his fists loosened. 

Jack lowered the cigar, exhaling long as he leaned in, elbows on knees. "We do it next time, alright? You will come with me and I will choke them with sixty, or however many pounds they require, until they give us the information on the doings of Thomas Cranmer." 

Oscar sighed and nodded in determination. "Are you sure the men are close acquaintances of that scoundrel?" 

"Yes," Jack tugged at his cravat to loosen it, "The whole lot of them. Worked in a mill in Portsmouth with him." 

"Portsmouth?" 

"Turns out the ruffian's been all over the place. Schemed in London, worked in Portsmouth— wait," Lord Beresford halted as a wave of recognition flashed across his eyes, "The leech is in Portsmouth, isn't he?" 

"You said he worked there, that could've been years ago." 

"No, no," Jack leaned forward, disregarding his cigar entirely as it was tossed on the valet's silver tray. "Those men talked as if it was recently, mere months ago." 

"Did Lady Embry ever speak about Cranmer's time in Portsmouth?" Oscar asked, leaning in as well as both men's eyes bared into each other, grasping and thrashing at possibilities in a joint effort. 

"She said he went there out of spite," A familiar female voice chimed in, and Oscar and Jack's attentions were diverted to the entrance of the drawing room whence stood Lady Acacia Beresford. The vibrant colour gown she wore did little to disguise the fatigue so evident on her face. It wasn't the kind of fatigue that showed as a result of exhaustion merely, it was a mix of that and the mere fact that she had misplaced someone that was dear to her, and not of her own accord. 

Perhaps that hurt the most, Oscar thought, when you lost someone without having done anything to misplace them in the first place. 

"It was when he was cast out of his father's will. So he retired to Portsmouth, bound to earn his own pay," Lady Beresford continued, making her way to her husband's side as he took one of her hands in his and brought it to his mouth in a kiss. "I should believe that is enough to make one go crazy, but it still doesn't quite settle in me."