“My…what?” She hadn’t told Daisy about Christian. Had she?
Oh. She had.
“Your marquess,” Daisy said, exaggerating the word, as if to remind her that this was part of the game.
“Oh, Daisy.” Judith shook her head. “I don’t want to talk of him.”
“No? Because Crash said he’d accompanied you home the other night.”
“Since when are you speaking with Crash?”
Daisy flushed. “Since never. Just enough to be polite. You know Crash. One cannot put him off.”
“Really? What did he do?”
“One cannot put me off, either.” Daisy said with a faint smile. “Tell me. Come, come, come. I could use a little vicarious romance.”
“Daisy.”
“Or a little vicarious business, if that’s all it is.”
“He’s—” But the lie died on her tongue.
She couldn’t keep lying to Daisy—or at least, she couldn’t keep telling her the truth in the guise of a lie.
But maybe… Maybe not everything needed to hurt. She looked over at her friend.
“I have a confession.”
Daisy smiled. “Oh, I love confessions!”
“No. A real confession.” Judith swung her basket heavily. “He… He really is a marquess.” The words came out all in a rush. “His name is Christian Trent. He’s the fifth Marquess of Ashford. He was my elder brother’s best friend, and he wanted to marry me before we came here.”
“There,” Daisy said. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”
“Don’t. Don’t you comfort me.” She looked over at Daisy. “You don’t understand. I’m not making any of this up. My father was the Earl of Linney. He committed suicide after he’d been convicted of treason.”
Daisy blinked at her.
“I didn’t tell you. When we first met, it wasn’t the time. It was too new to speak about. And then we started our game, and it’s all felt like a lie ever since. You trusted me the other night with your secrets, and I haven’t trusted you with mine. I’m sorry. So sorry. I should have explained—”
“Well, of course I know all that,” Daisy said. “I’m not stupid. And people do gossip.”
Judith came to a halt. “Oh. Well. I suppose that makes…sense.”
Daisy looked upward. “While we’re making confessions, I had intimate relations with Crash. Almost a year ago. I’m embarrassed. I never…that is…I never thought I was the sort to…”
Judith cleared her throat. “I, ah. I actually had guessed that. Based on the degree of awkwardness that descended between the two of you.”
Daisy shrugged. “You see? Nothing to disclose.”
Maybe nothing. Judith flushed. “Well, ah. If we’re talking about intimate relations, Christian really is a marquess. He did want to marry me. And the other day… But no. I’m not going to complain to you about that. It would be utterly ridiculous.”
Daisy shook her head. “You know, Judith, you have the strangest ideas about who is allowed to complain to whom. You watch my mother; I watch your brothers and sisters. I complain to you about losing my childhood home. Who else should you complain to about your problems?”
Judith spread her arms. “Anyone else?”
Daisy sniffed. “Don’t be a goose. You’re allowed to talk with your friends. That’s what we’re here for.”
It was like tossing a loaf of odd, cobwebby bread into the oven and having evil elves turn it into something magical.
Judith smiled. “I love you, you know.”
Daisy sniffed. “I know. But I am keeping score. If you marry him, you must have me over for tea. With gilt porcelain. And little tea cakes.”
Judith laughed. “I can do better. We’ll have curry chicken sandwiches with cucumber from a hot house in December.”
“Yes. And when you meet the queen, I really don’t care what the truth is.” Daisy leaned in. “Whatever it is, promise me you’ll tell me she breaks wind.”
Not everything hurt. Judith laughed and bumped her shoulder against her friend’s.
“She does,” Judith promised. “She does. It’s foul. There’s a reason they use so many candles at Buckingham Palace, and it’s not just for the light.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
It took the Worth siblings two full days to put Benedict’s plan in action. Benedict scouted the lay of the land, as he called it, choosing every position carefully from the cover of the bushes.
It took twelve hours to prepare the ginger-ginger biscuits. Ginger-ginger biscuits were another one of Judith’s creations. Regular ginger biscuits were made with powdered ginger. These were made with powdered ginger, essence of ginger, and candied ginger, for extra ginger flavor. They were bitingly spicy and were typically rolled in sugar. This batch had been produced in an atypical fashion.
This time, Benedict oversaw the preparation. The biscuits were baked, cooled, and then a single one was broken in thirds. Judith choked on her bit.
“These,” Benedict said with a coughing nod, “are what we need. I truly believed that everything is better with salt until now, but…”
“These don’t have too much salt,” Theresa pointed out. “But maybe there is too little biscuit? I could not have made them any worse, and my skills at baking are unsurpassedly dismal.”
Benedict had added to this a lovely, delightfully tasty lemonade.
“I want to try it,” Theresa said as Judith decanted it into a soda-bottle she’d obtained for the purpose.
“No, you don’t,” Judith said. “You really don’t.”
They packed these delicious-seeming goods into a basket and took a walk—a four-mile walk—to a park. This one was just large enough for a cricket pitch. As it happened, three boys were playing.
“Will you be all right?” Judith whispered.
Benedict rolled his eyes. “Of course. I’m an old hat at this. And this time, I’m in charge.” He took the basket and sauntered off. As he approached the pitch, the boys saw him.
“Hey! It’s Worthless!” shouted one. Their cricket game was forgotten and children converged on her brother. Judith winced under cover of the nearby bushes.
“Worthless, what are you doing here?”
“Just passing through,” her brother said.
“Passing through! It says it’s passing through.” The boy who had taken the lead had dark hair tucked under a cap.
“I’m meeting a friend,” Benedict said, “I’ve brought something for him—oh, come on, let go.” This last was directed to the boy who grabbed him by the elbow. “I’m not hurting you.”
“You bother everything simply by existing,” the leader said.
Another boy lifted up the lid of the basket. “Well,” he said in a different tone of voice. “It never learns. We have us biscuits and a bit of—why, is this lemonade, Worthless?”
Benedict played his role perfectly. He balled his fists. “You can’t have it, you weasel-heads!”
“Weasel-heads? Listen to it try to insult us like a man.”
“I can have it,” the boy said, “because I want it. I want it, and you don’t wish for me to have it.”
Benedict punched him in the stomach, and Judith almost cheered. The boy crumpled, falling to the ground. Benedict kicked at him, but it was too late. The other two boys grabbed hold of him. A backhand across the face; a wrench of the elbow, and then, another fist to the stomach when the dark-haired boy gained his feet again.
Benedict spat in his face. “You’ll wish you were a weasel.”
“Oh, go on.” The other boy smiled. “We’ll take your basket for your troubles, and if we see you again, you’ll have twice as bad coming. Get off with you.”
Benedict staggered back as they pushed him away.
“Go on.” The boy made a shooing motion. “Get off.”
Benedict turned and ran. Not too far—he ducked behind a building, and then crept back to where he could join Theresa and Judith behind their bush.
“Are you all ri
ght?” Judith whispered, brushing at his face. “You’re bleeding.”
Benedict swiped Judith’s concerns away. “If I miss this because you were weeping over a little blood—oh, God. He put the whole thing in his mouth at once.”
The boy had.
Theresa peered through her fingers. “Everything’s better with salt.”
She had helped Benedict add the salt gleefully. All of it, a full cup, in place of the sugar. The boys spat and coughed.
“Almost everything,” Benedict said. “And now they’re going for the lemonade. They’re passing it around.”
“What exactly did you add to it?” Theresa said. “They’re still drinking it. Does it not taste poorly?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Benedict said. “But if those are the biscuits of death, that is the lemonade of incontinence. Give it some time.”
They sat back on their heels and waited.
“Anyone want a ginger-ginger biscuit of deliciousness?” Judith opened the basket of treats she’d brought along and passed them out.
As they watched, she tried not to wince at the color gathering below Benedict’s eye. They’d hit him again. But at least this time he was smiling. He grinned when the boys rushed off, yelping, leaving their cricket gear unattended.
He stood, walked back to the pitch, and left a note. She’d watched him write it last night, and so she knew what it said.
Dear Dean, Ralston, and Viridian—
I know what I’m worth.
Do you?
You Know Who
Benedict dry-washed his hands as he returned. “There we are,” he said. “Revenge isn’t sweet. It’s salty. It’s like they always say: Revenge is the only response to injustice. Come. Let’s go home.”
Judith stared at her little brother. Like they say? Which they said that? She had heard those words before.
From Christian, who had been quoting… Anthony. And there should be nothing odd about Benedict quoting Anthony, but he had been four years old when Anthony was transported. Benedict didn’t remember his brother; what he knew about him, he knew because Judith had told him stories.
It could have been anything. Those words could have come from anywhere. For all she knew, it could have been an old Eton saying.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, but suspicion, great and terrible and painfully hopeful all at once, filled her. It couldn’t be. It absolutely could not be.
She’d thought everything had been going well. Too well.
If she was right, everything had just become better. Better and impossibly worse.
She had a sudden memory of Mr. Ennis sitting behind his desk, resting his forehead against his hand, and saying, “Agh.”
“Agh,” Judith said.
“Agh?” Benedict looked at her, frowning.
Judith took hold of his wrist before he could dart away. “Wait,” she said. “We’re not going home. Not yet.”
“Where are we going?” Benedict asked as Judith dragged him down the street.
“Are we there yet?” asked Theresa behind them.
“We’re going on a walk.” Judith bit out the words.
In truth, it was something closer to a forced march. She gripped her brother’s hand, and she wasn’t letting go. She would have yanked him by the ear, except that would have made him suspicious.
More suspicious.
More suspicious, perhaps, than Theresa. She followed behind them, carrying the basket of things they’d planned for their victory picnic afterward.
“Why are we going on a walk?” she asked. “Where are we going? Why now? Is Benedict in trouble?” The last was said with an almost hopeful gleam in her eyes.
If Judith’s suspicions were true, Benedict was in so much trouble. “We’re going on a walk,” Judith said, “because our legs need stretching. So do our minds.”
It couldn’t be true. It would hurt too much if it were. And yet… Finally, everything fit, all of it, from the confusing answers that Mr. Ennis had given her to the way he’d fobbed her off with such apologetic helplessness. It all finally made sense, if having her world turned upside down for the second time in her life could be said to make sense. If she was right, she was going to collapse in a heap and cry.
Or commit murder.
Murder seemed a good option at the moment.
Possibly she could combine the two, and at her inevitable trial, she’d be able to use her tears as evidence of her mental unsoundness. She would have to ask Mr. Ennis, once she was done murdering everyone.
“I love you, Benedict,” Judith made herself say as a reminder as they marched down the pavement. No, she was not actually going to kill him.
“Wait.” Benedict suddenly stopped as Judith turned a corner. “Why are we going to see our solicitor?”
And there was her confirmation. She didn’t let go of his wrist. “I don’t know, Benedict,” she said. “You’ve never been here with me. How did you know this was our solicitor’s office?”
He gulped. “Ah. Um. I’ve seen the direction. On correspondence and such that he sent to you?”
“Smart boy.” She gave him a grin, not relinquishing his hand. “Good try. Except you’re a terrible liar.”
“I could help him with that,” Theresa said earnestly. “You see, you have to—”
At the forbidding look on Judith’s face, she shut her mouth. “Or…perhaps not.” She shook her head. “Benedict, you are going to have to make so much punishment bread.”
Judith turned around. “Theresa, if you can’t hold your tongue, I will…”
Theresa clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Good.” Judith swept into the office.
The front room clerk, a distracted-looking fellow in spectacles, stood at her arrival. “Lady Judith.” He frowned at her brother. “And young Mr. Worth. How good to see you both.”
Judith raised an eyebrow at her little brother. “Never been here before?”
Benedict sighed.
“It turns out,” Judith said, “I have a rather urgent question for Mr. Ennis. Has he a moment?”
The man actually looked to Benedict for permission first.
Her brother shrugged. “The jig is up,” he said mournfully.
“The jig?” She was trying not to be incensed. “You—you—”
The solicitor came into the room. “Why, Lady Judith. Young Master Benedict. And this must be Lady Theresa.”
“Maybe,” Theresa responded. “I’m considering the matter. I don’t have to decide for years, though.”
Mr. Ennis made a confused face at that and shook his head. “How may I be of service?”
“Benedict.” She pulled him forward. “It’s Benedict, isn’t it?”
Mr. Ennis gave a hopeful smile. “Your brother? Why, yes. Your brother is Benedict. Absolutely.”
He was a worse liar than even Benedict.
“That’s not what I meant. You said the guardian had turned over decision-making to someone else. That someone else is Benedict.”
Mr. Ennis’s face became very still. “In a hypothetical sense? Yes. I suppose it could be. He wouldn’t be the guardian himself; he’d merely be acting in an advisory capacity. But Lady Judith, your brother is twelve. Who would ever do such a ridiculous thing?”
If Benedict hadn’t looked so dreadfully unhappy, she might have believed Mr. Ennis. Except he hadn’t actually denied that Benedict had been put in that position. He’d just said it was ridiculous. And it was.
“It is utterly ridiculous,” Judith said. “Let’s not discuss this for now. We have another issue that must be discussed. Anthony has been missing for eight years. It is time to move on. We should have him declared dead, once and for all, so that Benedict can take his rightful title. If Anthony is dead, Benedict is the Earl of Linney.”
“Ah.” The solicitor frowned again. “Um.”
“Might I suggest…” Judith leaned in. “Agh.”
“You appear to be legally astute.” He sighed. “Yes. ‘Agh’ is my off
icial legal response.”
She had thought so. God, she was furious. “Lady Theresa has a guardian,” Judith said, “but it is not me. The appointment of said guardian did not go through Chancery, and yet you accepted it unequivocally. And you won’t file whatever necessary forms you need to declare Anthony dead.”
She felt sick, elated, confused, and angry, all at once. Oh, God, she was so angry.
“That algae-sucking son-of-a-rooster.” Her fists clenched. “I hate him. I will never, ever forgive him.”
“What?” Theresa asked behind her. “Who? Who’s in trouble?”
She would never do to Theresa what he had done to her. Never. She’d never keep her little sister in the dark, lying to her for whatever reasons she’d imagined.
“Anthony,” Judith said. “Anthony is alive.”
Theresa rolled her eyes. “Of course he is. I always said so, didn’t I?”
“No,” Judith said. “He is actually alive. He is in literal communication with our duck-nibbled solicitor. He left me to worry about you two all these years with no aid, without a word in communication, and then—”
“For what it’s worth,” Mr. Ennis put in, “I don’t believe he was able to communicate until a few years ago.”
“And he put Benedict in charge?”
“Yes, well.” The solicitor pinched his spectacles. “That was not my idea. But it is rather difficult to argue with a man who leaves no forwarding address, and who takes five or six months to respond to any inquiry, which must be placed in the London papers in code. Trust me, Lady Judith, I wholeheartedly share your outrage over the situation. I’ve sent the earl a most harshly worded message.” Mr. Ennis sighed. “He may receive it in another five months. Or not.”
“If it takes that long,” Judith said, “why did nothing regarding Lady Theresa’s trust come to my address? Surely Anthony…” She trailed off and looked at Benedict. “Surely…”
Benedict shrank in on himself. “I received the notice my first month at Eton,” he whispered. “You said you had a plan. I’d go to school. I’d make friends. I would introduce my sisters about, and with a little money, they would make decent matches.”
“Yes?”