Lord Edwin Falls, page 1
Lord Edwin Falls
The Traitor Lords book 3
By Adella J. Harris
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Allen Brideson owns a successful shipping company, but why can’t he get one dockworker out of his dreams? Lord Edwin was at Oxford when his father and brother plotted to kill the king, saving him from suspicion but not from the ruin of the family’s fortunes. He is working on the docks to survive when he’s hired by the kind Mr. Brideson. But he knows it won’t last; Mr. Brideson wants to move in the world of the ton, and Edwin knows being seen with him will make that impossible.
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Copyright (c) 2017 Adella J. Harris
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Chapter 1
BRADLEY GILFORD, DUKE OF MARTFORD, was reported seen in the coastal village of Dymchurch with his eldest son Alfred. Of the three traitor lords, he is the only one unaccounted for. “It is only a matter of time before he and his son are brought to trial,” pledged Magistrate Shepney, who is under investigation for allowing the pair to leave the country. He was found to be guilty only of incompetence. The younger son, Edwin Gilford, was determined by the Crown to have been ignorant of the plan. He was studying languages at Oxford University during the time the conspiracy was being planned. The Crown has vowed to see the pair caught and has begun proceedings to declare the title and lands forfeit due to the taint of the blood. The first auction of the seized possessions of the Gilford family will be held on the 23rd of June.
Edwin Gilford folded up the newspaper. At least the Crown had finally realized he had nothing to do with his father’s actions. Neither Father nor Alfred had said a word about their plan to him. If they had, he would have tried to stop them, which was probably why they didn’t. If only he had been home instead of at university, then he might have seen something that would have told him how very foolish they were being. Then he could have tried to do something. He should have known when Father became so insistent on him pursuing studies at Oxford. He hadn’t even blinked when Edwin had suggested he’d like to study Eastern languages. That should have been a clue.
Edwin felt the hired hack come to a stop and tucked the two-day-old newspaper under his arm. No one told him anything it seemed. The chance purchase of the newspaper had been the only way he’d found out that their property was being seized, his along with everything else. He’d half-expected them to wait until his father and brother were caught. As it was, he’d only had time to inform his tutor and Fenning, who lived on the same floor as he did and had been entering as he’d been leaving, where he was going before he set off for London.
As Edwin got out of the hack in front of the house he’d shared with his father and brother, he could see the bailiff and his men were already there. He was too late. He paid the driver so there would be one less witness and went to see if he could salvage anything.
The bailiff noticed Edwin approaching and looked ready to tell him to leave, then he cocked his head to the side. “You’re the second son, aren’t you?”
Edwin knew there was a bit of a family resemblance, although he was smaller and more finely boned than his athletic brother and Father. Something around the eyes, everyone said, and the cheekbones they all shared. “Yes, I’m Edwin Gilford. I came to get my own things.” Perhaps acting as if he was entitled to them would work. It was the sort of thing Alfred did all the time.
“Sorry, everything in the traitor’s house is forfeit.”
“Even the things that belong to me?”
The bailiff shook his head. “They were in the traitor’s house, where they could be used by him in his conspiracy or to aid in his escape.”
“But some clothes? Books? Mementos of my mother?” He thought the last might elicit some sympathy.
“You’re wearing clothes, as for the rest, I think I was quite clear on that.”
“What about Martford Hall? When will that be cleared out?”
“Started yesterday if it started on schedule.” He turned away from Edwin and began to shout commands.
Edwin watched the bailiff as he started ordering the men about. Both homes would soon be stripped of everything that had been his family’s for generations. He’d thought he’d have a little time. Or that Father would come back and say it had all been a misunderstanding. Or that he’d wake up and find it had all been a dream. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“What am I to do?”
“How should I know. Should have thought of that before you betrayed the king.”
“But I didn’t...” But it didn’t matter. He’d been away at school, hadn’t known a thing about the plan, not the one to betray the king and not the one to run away. Even the newspapers agreed on that. Perhaps, if he’d been here, he would have heard something. Could have prevented something. “What about the servants?”
The bailiff glanced over his shoulder. “They all turned in evidence against the conspirators, so the Crown will be helping them to re-settle themselves.”
“Will they be all right?” Edwin had known most of them since he was a child.
The bailiff sighed. “Yes, I happen to know the butler was hoping to open a coaching inn near where he grew up and offered jobs all round.”
Edwin wondered if that was true, but then Sidmons had always been interested in people and had frequently spoken of the area in Kent where he’d grown up, so perhaps it was true.
There was a crash as someone dropped his mother’s portrait, the one that had hung in the study since she died. He couldn’t bear to watch everything they’d owned taken into the street. If he only had what he had on him, he couldn’t waste money on a hack. He turned and walked away from the house.
After a little aimless wandering, Edwin forced himself to think. He needed someplace quiet to think, and cheap since he couldn’t waste what little money he had, so he went to one of the hidden paths in Hyde Park and took stock of what he did have. A newspaper, a few coins in his pocket, so it could have been worse, his watch and cravat pin, his clothes, only the ones on his back but something at least. It was nothing compared to what he had had only days before, but he told himself not to think of that. He would need to find work, that was obvious, and a place to stay until he did. The money would last a little while if he was careful, and then he could begin pawning things. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it gave him a direction at least. At least he wouldn’t be one of the poor wretches selling themselves on the path that night.
When he left the park, Edwin went to what he thought was a modest inn several streets from the townhouse and took a room, and then began writing letters. The first was to a friend at Oxford, begging him to go to his room and send along anything that was left. The second was to his tutor, asking for any advice on finding work he could give. Then he wrote to anyone he could think of who had known him and might offer him some sort of job. Once the letters were posted, he began calling on any friend in town he could think of to ask for a position. He discovered most were not at home when he called, despite the twitching curtains and hastily closed doors.
By the time his pocket money had run out, he’d received replies to some of the letters he’d sent. The friend from Oxford said the contents of his room had been confiscated by the Crown, although Edwin suspected there was some student involvement. His tutor responded with sympathy and suggested he try counting houses and solicitors seeking clerks and sent him a written reference and his best wishes. That was the most helpful letter. All the others were polite, distant, and contained no offers of work. He had rather hoped Lord Lynster or Lord Heathborough might have offered something out of a feeling of sympathy, but he couldn’t be too disappointed in them; their fathers had left them enough to clean up without his problems.
Edwin left the inn that had seemed cheap not so long ago and found a cheaper one, then pawned his watch and cravat pin. The cravat pin was just something he’d happened to put on the morning he’d left Oxford, but the watch was a bit of a wrench. He’d bought it for himself when he’d managed to get a first in his exams at Oxford. No one else in the family had been impressed, so he’d decided to treat himself. He’d even had it specially engraved with a Japanese symbol for good fortune. But he needed to eat, so he promised himself he would come back for the watch when he could afford it, then carefully counted out the money and figured the price of the room and food. He’d limit himself to one meal a day until he found work, which would keep a roof over his head a little longer. And then he began the rounds of counting houses, solicitor’s offices, banks, anyplace that might need a clerk.
There was a glimmer of hope at the sixth counting house he tried. The owner looked him over and nodded. “You seem to be a bright young man. Literate, I assume.”
“Yes, sir.” He knew enough to be deferential and polite, even though a few weeks before the man would have been the one bowing and currying favor. “I read several languages and write with a good, clear hand. I’m good at figures and very careful.”
“Let’s test that, shall we? Copy this out, just as you would for me.”
It was a list of deposits hastily written on a bit of paper. Edwin copied them c arefully, being sure his figures were clearly written so there would be no confusion.
“Very nice. And you’re a polite young man. I’d be willing to consider giving you a trial. You have references?”
That was the part he was dreading. His tutor had given him a very good reference, praising his studious nature and his cleverness, and he had left out any reference to his father’s title, but he couldn’t leave out Edwin’s name altogether. Edwin handed the paper over and saw the moment the owner had read the first line, the one that said, “I am writing to say I recommend Mr. Edwin Gilford wholeheartedly and without reservation.”
“You’re Edwin Gilford? The traitor’s son?”
“Yes, sir, but I had nothing to do with what my father did.”
The owner sighed and handed back the paper. “I believe you, lad, but how can I be sure? And how could I tell my clients I hired a traitor’s son? They’d always wonder if you were going to grab their funds and run to meet your father wherever he is. I wish you luck, but I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Edwin had known that would be the reaction. And it was the reaction at every place he tried that seemed promising; one look at his name and he was sent away, sometimes regretfully, more often angrily. He tried not giving his name, but there was the need for a reference. If he didn’t produce the one he had, there were more questions.
And then the day came when he realized he had no more money. He’d gone to the hiding place in his shoe to take out enough to buy his midday meal and found two farthings and nothing else. No more roof over his head. Soon no more food. He felt guilty as he gathered his meager possessions and walked out the door of the inn as if he were merely going to search for a job again, but he knew he couldn’t throw himself on the mercy of the landlord. He’d seen others ask to work off debts, and the man had called the bailiff to drag them to the sponging house then the Marshalsea or the Fleet when he realized they couldn’t pay. Edwin did not want to see another bailiff ever again.
He kept himself moving from rejection to rejection by promising himself a meal when it was over. But when the offices were closing and there was nowhere else to try, he couldn’t quite bring himself to spend his last two coins. He roamed the streets and finally went to loiter in the park. It was a warm night. Perhaps he could find a quiet spot to sleep and things would look better in the morning.
“Can’t stay there all night. Want to be taken in for vagrancy?”
A night watchman. Edwin half thought of letting himself be arrested. There would be food and a room. But he wasn’t that desperate yet.
“Come on now, go where you’re going.”
“I haven’t any place to go.”
“Fine fellow like you, dressed like that? You’ve got somewhere to go.”
Edwin swallowed. “But I haven’t.”
“If you really hadn’t, you’d have sold those fine clothes and gone looking for work.”
It would be money at least. “Where would I sell them?”
The watchman stopped. “I’d try one of the shops in Petticoat Lane.”
“And I’d get something to wear there as well?”
“Yeah, wouldn’t be so fine, cast-offs from some other wretch.”
“And after that? When that money’s gone?”
“You find work.”
“No one will have me. They say they’ll try me, then they ask about my past, and they send me away.”
“You really are desperate, aren’t you? There’s always work at the docks. They don’t ask questions for day labor. It won’t be nice work, not for someone like you, and they’ll like seeing you do the worst. But it will be work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The watchman sighed and handed him a coin. “You can buy a pie in the next lane with this. Good luck.”
Edwin found the shop the watchman had told him about and went inside. He was able to linger over the meat pie until the shops began to open, then he went to Petticoat Lane and found a second-hand clothes dealer and made a deal for his fine clothes.
“And I’ll want to buy something to change into.”
“What do you want?” the man asked.
Edwin felt sure the man had cheated him, but he had no one else to ask for help. “I’m going to look for work at the docks.”
“You?” the man laughed. “I think I’ll walk by there just to see you do it. You’ll need something sturdy. How much of that you spending?”
“Not much,” Edwin whispered.
The man laughed again and pulled some clothes from a pile behind him. “These’ll do. They’ll last you a while.”
The clothes felt coarse to his fingers, but he could appreciate that they were sturdier than what he wore, so he agreed to the trade. The coat was looser and the trousers longer than fashionable, and the shoes felt large and heavy on his feet.
“Here, wind this ’round your neck.” The seller handed him a square of rag. “You’ll want to wipe the sweat with it when you work.”
It wasn’t long enough for a proper cravat, so Edwin settled for tying it in a simple sort of knot as he left.
“Good luck,” the seller called after him. Edwin wondered if he meant it.
Edwin fidgeted all the way to the docks. The new clothes felt wrong on him, but they would do he told himself. And he would lie if he had to get a job, any job that would give him money for food. At the docks, he found the man giving out jobs for day laborers and went to see him.
“You work here? The clothes are right, but those hands?”
He hated this part the most, the begging for people to understand he really only had enough money to buy a bit of bread and then it was all gone. “Please, I don’t have anywhere else. I’ll take anything. I’ll work hard.”
“Harder than you think. If you’re serious, there’s a cattle barge that’s just unloaded and needs to be mucked out. No one else wanted it.”
“I’ll do it, sir, but I’ve never...”
“Never mucked, I can see that. Wilson, he’ll take the job. Name?”
He knew he couldn’t give his real name. But best to be close so he’d remember to answer. “Ed Martin.”
“All right, Martin, this is Mr. Wilson. You work hard for him, and he’ll pay you.”
Mr. Wilson looked him over and clearly found him lacking. But he extended one hard hand and shook Edwin’s. “Come on then. You’ll be an expert at mucking by the end of the day. Do it long enough and maybe you’ll be strong enough to haul cargo instead of manure.”
Think about the food, he told himself. You’ll be able to eat and pay for a room somewhere. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 2
EDWIN WATCHED THE LISt the foreman was reading from. There seemed to be a lot of work for the warehouses. That was good. The more positions there were, the more likely he was to get chosen for one of them. After three years of working on the docks, Edwin was known as a hard worker even if he still wasn’t as muscular as some of the men, and one who was willing to take whatever he could get.
“Dormer, McSwain, Martin, Johnson. The Brideson Warehouse.” Mulgrave pointed to the man by his table.
A warehouse. That was the best work he was able to get. Carrying crates and hopefully working in nothing worse than dust and grime and sweat. Edwin hurried forward and followed the man down the dock with the others.
The man, who Edwin assumed was the foreman at the warehouse, didn’t say anything until they got to the warehouse, then he was calm, not yelling like some did. “There’s the ship, there’s the warehouse. Bring the crates in; I’ll tell you where to put them. My name is Mr. Humphries. If you see a problem, bring it to me directly. There are fragile items in some of the crates, so don’t drop anything.”
Edwin followed the other men to the ship. He could see it had traveled far, all the way from the East judging by the markings on the crates inside. Carrying them took none of his mind, which was free to wander and wonder what was inside them. Nothing on the labeling told him, just a line in the native language on the country of origin and a reference number clearly written by a contact of the warehouse. The foreman looked at the numbers and told them where in the warehouse to bring it.
