The Vanishing at Loxby Manor by Abigail Wilson (grave mercy .TXT) 📕

I gasped. “Napoleon? But the Bourbons—”

“Have been overturning most of the changes made by the French Revolution. As I came to find out but a few months ago, theGormogons’ support is extending those changes, even here in Britain, not reversing them.”

“But that’s treason.”

“Exactly.”

“But Avery—”

“Was drawn in like the rest of us. Each one of us was presented a society that was formed to better all our lives, a sortof gentlemen’s club. We thought we were helping each other, not some grand foolish cause, one that included the utter betrayalof our country and everything we hold dear.”

“I’d like to see the papers.” I held out my hand.

He eyed my open palm for a moment. “I plan to take this to Whitehall straightaway.” He met my gaze, but his hand inched towardhis pocket. “I don’t think anything will be gained by you seeing this.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you? Whether you like it or not, I’m a part of this. Don’t you dare hide anything from me now. Hand itover.”

Indecision deepened every line on his gaunt face. “There’s something else here besides the ledger I spoke of. It’s another loyalty pledge.”

“Oh?” I lifted my eyebrows. “From who?”

“The fifth member of our little group.”

I extended my hand farther. “No more secrets, Hugh. They all stop here.”

The paper felt cold, the air thin as Hugh slid the last remaining notes into my waiting fingers. It took a mere second beforemy focus narrowed on the name at the top.

Arthur Halliwell.

My stomach turned. How can this be?

Hugh pawed at the ground with the toe of his boot. “Your brother was one of the charter members, Charity. Your parents werewise to flee the country and take you all to Ceylon. It gave Arthur the escape I can only dream of.”

My thoughts rambled every direction. “So my parents knew . . . about all of this?”

“No.” He held up his hand. “They only knew Arthur got himself in deep with French traitors. You see, they came across a secretletter from a contact of ours in France. Arthur fessed up and the decision was made to flee. Avery told me about everythingwhen I made the decision to leave myself. As far as I know, your parents never knew about the Gormogons. Of course it wasseveral years before I learned the truth in its entirety as well. The society has always been quite good at protecting itself.Your parents wouldn’t have believed we were all involved at any rate.”

“I always wondered why we left for Ceylon so quickly, why my parents wouldn’t even discuss staying. It makes perfect sensenow that Arthur chose to study and practice in America.”

I examined my brother’s loyalty pledge one last time. “It says my grandfather was once a member of the society too.” My brooch—the one my grandmother had passed along to me—had originally belonged to him. Whether she knew what it represented or not, I could never guess.

I took a deep breath and absently flipped to the next page in my hands. Hugh was right about the rest of it. The remainingpages were a ledger of donations, but as I read each line and moved to the next, a new, terrible inkling of fear sent thehairs on my arms jerking to attention. I’d seen the handwriting before. Not all of it, just the large first letter of eachline. It was an elegant hand, made more so by the loops and curls.

The same curls that had been in the letter Seline had supposedly written to her mother the night she eloped with Miles Lacy—thenight she had really been murdered.

“Who wrote all this?”

“The ledger?”

I nodded.

“The benefactor handles all the money, all the threats. He’s the backbone of this society. I would assume it was written byhis hand.”

Was this the clue I’d been searching for all along? “And you don’t know who this benefactor is?”

“His identity remains privileged information. Some of the earlier members know—Avery, Kendal. I’m fairly certain about them.Kendal’s usually the one to speak on his behalf.”

The moment of Seline’s death came flooding into my mind as the words on the paper blurred before me. Hugh was certainly theintended target. He wanted out, had vital information about the organization, and meant to expose them. But how could thisbenefactor make such a horrendous mistake? The two riders would have had cloaks on, but Seline did not look all that muchlike Hugh.

All at once, an image flashed into my mind. The ground seemed to shift beneath my feet. I covered my mouth with my trembling hand, at first unable to give voice to the one thought that made everything fall into place. What if the murderer confused Seline for Hugh because his eyesight was impaired?

I reached out to steady myself on the uneven stone wall, the truth materializing in my mind.

Mr. Cavanagh had been a member of the society at one time. He’d asked me to enclose a letter to my brother, for goodness’sake. He had access to Mrs. Cavanagh’s dressing room where he could have stashed the cloak . . . And those footsteps I’d heardthe first night . . .

Tap, whoosh. Tap, whoosh.

They tiptoed back into my mind, and my eyes flashed wide open. Mr. Cavanagh utilized a cane to move about his room. I’d seenit the day I found him in his chair. If I was right, one way or another, he had been pulling the strings of everyone all along. I pressed my hand to my forehead. Moreover, he had inadvertently killedhis own daughter.

I shook my head in disbelief. Mr. Cavanagh was barely ambulatory, yes, but on a horse, there was no reason he couldn’t bedeadly. He must have forged the note to cover his tracks. It was right around Seline’s disappearance when he had taken a badturn—due to guilt?

He would have carried on the charade with me to further distance himself from the brutal act. But he could not have managedto bury Seline’s body alone. He was far too weak for that. I let out a long breath. Mrs. Cavanagh must have figured it outtoo. She’d changed over the last few