In Compromise with the Earl by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Eight

While nursing a cup of tea, Aphrodite felt hollow; Oswald had been gone for a day-and-a-half and as the time slipped past, the faith she had that he would come home began to dwindle and she doubted that he would come home at all.

Where is he?

The Dowager had gone to the town a few hours ago and she was waiting for both Bristol’s to come home, but she hoped more for Oswald. What was he hiding?

Luckily, her window was facing the front drive and she saw the Dowager’s carriage trundle through the gate until it came to a stop. She watched as the Dowager stepped out, and she hoped Oswald would follow her—but he did not.

A footman came to the carriage and lifted a large box from the back seat and Aphrodite felt a section of her soul shatter when Oswald was not there.

She looked down at the ring that Oswald had slipped on to her finger in what seemed like a lifetime ago but was only three months. She turned the band, feeling the smooth slide of the ring as it circled her finger. A ring, it was an emblem of eternity, but as time slipped by she wondered if they were destined to be together that long.

“Pardon me, My Lady,” a maid knocked on the door. “The Dowager would like to see you in her drawing room.”

With a heavy sigh, Aphrodite stood and left the chamber for the Dowager’s drawing room and arrived to see her sitting at a table with the box.

“Lady Henrietta?” she asked.

“Someone sent us a box,” the Dowager said. “I don’t know what is in it, and since both our names are on it, I think it’s best for us to open it together. Shall we?”

They opened the box and upended it on the table—and a mishmash of things that made no sense, until papers began fluttering out as well. Aphrodite took one up and read a date that was a year ago and it read: ‘The Cytheria’.

“What—”

Then she read, “This night, Lord Tennesley subjected himself to the rose path and coupling with Lady Ismene for the two hours he paid for—” her stomach twisted. “And Madam gave him another girl who specialized in fellatio and games of submission—”

Oswald!

Dropping the paper as if it had burned her, Aphrodite took up a silken strip of cloth that looked perfect for slipping over the eyes and an instrument that looked like a horse crop.

An antique carved phallus sprawled on silk cloths made Aphrodite go white; there were glass beads, dice, silk ties, thin ropes, drawings of sexual acts and reports of scandalous coupling, two women, three women, a bacchanal—all that included Oswald.

She picked up papers, reading descriptions of salacious acts and scandalous games that made her sick to her stomach. There were reports about Oswald staying at the Cytheria from dusk to dawn the next day.

Her hand dropped on the box and when it tipped over, the sight of the white tubes with red strings dangling at one end made her ill. She knew what they were—she had walked into his room and saw an opened box of French Letters on the table.

Then, she picked up a sheet of funds, and the money she read made her ill; fifty pounds per visit; a virtual fortune. What had her running out the chamber was the name of the lady he had spent so much on, Lady Ismene, his favorite, a woman who was a delicate as a nymph with the features of his first wife.

Aphrodite left the room and hurried her chamber and ran into the bathing chamber moments before she lost the contents of her stomach. Her stomach churned, twisted and revolted until she felt empty. Hunched over the basin, she shivered and shook while her head felt hot and fogged over.

She pressed her head to the cool porcelain and sucked in a few shuddery breaths. It cut her down to the bottom of her heart, not that this was what Oswald had done, but that he had not thought to tell her.

Why? Did he think she would scorn him for it? He knew she had lived with her father, a man who had desensitized her to men using women for pleasure. Why would she have turned her nose up at him?

“It’s all right, dear,” Henrietta said was she pulled Aphrodite’s hair from her face. “I know it’s horrible, but I am sure Oswald will explain it when we see him.”

“Did you know?” Aphrodite asked hollowly, her gaze landing emptily on a spot on the wall. “Did you know that was what he was doing all this time?”

“No,” the Dowager said, her voice heated and laced with disappointment. “And I would never condone it if I had.”

She stared at the wall for a long, silent, and disheartening space of time. “Is that where he is now?”

“I cannot say,” Henrietta said, her tone dulled. “But I do not think he is.”

Sitting up, she reached for a pitcher of water and poured out a glass to rinse her mouth. After refreshing herself, she stood. “Thank you, but I…I have to leave for a while.”

“Where will you go?” the Dowager asked.

“I’ll know when I get there,” she replied.

* * *

Aphrodite spotted the spiral of St. Bride’s Church in Fleet Street from three streets away. She arrived at the church hearing the plaintive sounds of the organ as she descended from the vehicle.

Entering the church, she spotted a fair number of parishioners in the pews, heads bowed in reverence as the choir intoned the hymn. She slipped into a seat at the back and gazed up at the murals on the ceiling and the stained glass on the primary window.

Leo was kneeling before the pulpit, his stark white robes a contrast against the somber background of the wood behind him. She needed to talk to him but she could only do so when the service was over.

It dawned on her, very bleakly, that she was doing the very same thing Oswald’s previous wife had done. It felt very sickening that she was mirroring Claire’s behavior and wondered, unless things changed, if her end was going to be the same as Claire’s.

The hymn ended and Leo stood, then mounted the pulpit and started a sermon on Mark, Chapter Eleven, ‘The Greatest Commandment’.

“We all know the verse: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second this. Love your neighbor as yourself. No other commandment is greater than these—'”

Silently, she listened as Leo delivered a heartfelt sermon about a subject that she had heard a dozen times but had never felt so deeply in her soul before. She sat still through it all and when the benediction was said and the parishioners filed out of the building, she made her way to Leo.

He turned her, gave her a long look and could see how her shoulders slumped. “Oh, now, what did he do?”

“I—” she shook her head and when she spoke, her voice was a painful whisper. “Can we talk in your study?”

“Yes,” he led her to his study and she sank into a seat across from his desk. Instead of seating himself, he perched on the edge of the desk and gave her a compassionate look. “What is it, dear?”

“Oswald—” she swallowed over a lump in her throat, “Oswald has been going to a brothel for the months he has been in mourning for his late wife and the things—the things he’s done, I…I cannot—” she broke off with a stifled cry.

Leo came to her side and hugged her to him, murmuring faint words that she could not hear over the pain in her heart. When she did manage to control the sobs, she gazed up and saw that Leo did not look shocked or surprised at all—even with that condemning revelation.

“Are…are you not appalled?” she asked.

He slowly shook his head, “I told you my cousin was making many mistakes, did I not? Hearing this only tells me how far he has fallen from grace.”

“I—” she shook her head. “Why did he not tell me? I would have understood. Why? I just can’t understand why?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Leo sighed as he moved back to the desk.

“Is this, did Claire tell you anything like this when you counseled her?” Aphrodite asked, her eyes searching his. “Surely, she had some inkling?”

“I have no idea, she never said anything to me. The bulk of her complaints about my cousin was that he was never there for her and that she felt neglected,” Leo said. “But then, Oswald told me that she played mental games on him, telling him that he never loved her, that he never prized her or spent time with her. When he did try, it was not enough.”

“She manipulated him,” Aphrodite said.

“In retrospect, it might be unfair to call her manipulative, because of a truth. Oswald was always busy but that did not give permission for his wife’s deviousness, her ability to slyly twist him into never-ending circles of guilt and anger.”

Shaking her head, Aphrodite said, “It matters not now, what does matter is that he lied to me, by omission, about his past. What more is he hiding, or will he lie to me about?”

“I—” a knock on the door stopped them and with a beleaguered shake of his head, Leo excused himself and slipped out the door. He spoke to the person on the other side before sticking his head in and apologizing. “It seems a parishioner has a problem she needs to talk to me about. I won’t be too long.”

After he closed the door, she looked around the room; it was fairly small but the wide window made it seem bigger than it was. There were bookshelves crammed with heavy tomes and ceremonial communion goblets.

Standing she went to examine them and touched the gilt gold and jewels, a stark garnet stone that sat in the middle of the cup. Turning around she examined the room but then her eyes landed on an object that stood on a prominent stand on a bureau behind Leo’s desk.

The dagger—the same dagger that she remembered had been in the files on Oswald’s desk. The same serpentine dips and rises, the same wicked curve to the edge of the blade. Her blood ran cold.

Is it…is it…could it be Leo all this time?

Turning away to face the bookshelf she tried to maintain her composure though panic was threatening for her to turn tail and run. Her hand trembled as she tried to touch the cup but she could not hold still.

Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to calm herself but decided it did not make sense. Leo already knew that she was distressed, her actions would not be much different.

The door opened and Leo came in, with an apology. “I’m sorry about that.”

She turned from the shelves. “It’s fine, I understand.”

He came closer and took both of her hands. “I know it’s hard, dear, but you shouldn’t have to live with my cousin’s mistakes. If you are not happy, you are allowed to separate from him.”

“I think,” she paused and shook her head, “I think I’ll ask him about it and let him explain himself.”

“And if he doesn’t endear himself back into your heart?” Leo was looking at her intently—too intently. “No one will fault you for preserving yourself. It seems my cousin is too caught up in his ways to not see what he is losing, for a second time.”

Pulling away from him she started to grow uneasy. Aphrodite swallowed, “I should…I should get back to the Hall. He might be there already. Thank you for your help, Leo.”

As she hurried out, she shot a look over her shoulder to Leo and clumsily bumped into the table with the dagger. “I’m sorry…sorry,” she said while stepping away and rushing through the door.

With one last glance she saw that Leo had a narrow-eyed, calculating look on his face and it sent shivers down her spine at how cold his gaze had become.

I need to find the Constables now and tell them who killed Claire.

* * *

“Say again, Countess Tennesley,” a Bow Street Constable named Davis said, his eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

Another officer name Toole stood by them, as alert and invested in what Aphrodite had told him about Leo Bristol, the presiding Priest at St. Bride’s Church.

“I swear to you, he has the same dagger,” Aphrodite stressed. “If what you have written is true, about the dagger being one of a pair, and you have that dagger in your possession, I do not think you will find another of its kind in London.”

The Constable looked to his fellow, then trained his eyes back to her. “It is a rare instrument and in all our searching we have not found its second.”

“You will find the other in his office,” Aphrodite said, “I promise you. I do not know for truth if Leo did the despicable deed, but if he has the dagger, it will be a good place to start.”

Nodding curtly, Davis reached for his hat. “We’ll see to it right away, My Lady, thank you for coming forward.”

Nervously, Aphrodite stood. “Please, put this matter to rest. My husband is still grieving this issue because no one was found guilty of it.”

“We give you our assurance, My Lady,” Toole said. “It is about time this had been put to bed.”

The two walked with her to her carriage and then went off to their carriage, and while they headed to the church, Aphrodite took the opposite way. She had been apprehensive that the men would not listen to her but thankfully, they had and were now acting on what she knew.

Her hands twisted in her skirts as she traveled home in the nighttime and felt more anxious when she descended the carriage and asked the footman at the door if Oswald was home.

“Yes, My Lady, he came home a few hours ago,” the man bowed.

Happy but still apprehensive Aphrodite went to her chamber to do away with the extra layers and then went to find Oswald, who was most likely in his study. Before she went, she went to the Dowager’s drawing room and took up a paper that was neatly set back in the box it had come in.

She headed to his study, glad to see light coming from the door and pushed it in. “Oswald—”

Jerking to a stop at the sight before her, her fingers went lax and the paper fluttered to the floor. Leo was there and Oswald, battered and bruised, with a bloodied lip and a swollen eyes was tied to a chair. The Dowager was similarly restrained, but what had Aphrodite’s heart in her throat was the serpentine dagger embedded in Oswald’s arm.

Leo reached for the dagger and slowly pried it out of the bleeding flesh. “Wonderful that you’re home.”