Page 8 of The Duke
Richard leaned all his weight on the chair and hung his head, no doubt gathering himself to try again. To appeal to whatever goodness Mr. Buttle might still possess.
Into this tense, hopeless silence, Kate said mildly, “What was it I paid you to spy for me? Twenty pounds?” They were the first words she’d spoken since entering the room.
Mr. Buttle went still, as though he was only now paying full attention. Richard might dream of a fairer world, but here was the truth: All of Richard’s passionate pleas could not carry the weight that one word from Kate carried.
“You paid me for the truth,” he said, “and I’ve given it. I won’tchange my testimony for any price, so don’t bother offering.” His voice was stronger now. Perhaps he’d begun to trust in the lie that had so far stood up to Richard’s badgering. Perhaps he’d even had to convince himself it was true.
She said, “I haven’t the slightest intention of paying you. Instead, I have spent my money elsewhere. I have bought your father’s debt, which he, though a fine solicitor, has too few years remaining to recoup. Most likely, he’ll die in debtors’ prison.”
Mr. Buttle’s eyes widened in shock.
“I have paid the carpenter from Shoreditch, to whom your sister has been engaged these two years, to cry off. Do oblige me by not playing the hypocrite.” The disgusted expression on Mr. Buttle’s face slackened as, perhaps for the first time, he perceived his own actions in a truly damning light. The carpenter from Shoreditch was certainly no worse than he. “Lastly, I have bought the building in Butchers Lane where your family resides. It’s quite a nice little investment. As your new landlord, I will be evicting the lot of you forthwith.”
Mr. Buttle rocked back, then shot to his feet with force. “What—” The colour left his face completely. “What have you done?”
“I have robbed your father, your sister, and yourself of all hope of future happiness,” she said equably. “Why, weren’t you listening?”
“This has nothing to do with them,” he said, changing colour again. “They aren’t at fault.”
“You amaze me. The children in Lord Wroth’s mines aren’t at fault, either. I thought we had agreed innocent lives were beside the point?”
“No, but I— But they—” He came around the table, driven to action. He searched her face for a frantic moment, then dropped to his knees. “Please. I’ll give my testimony in Parliament. I saw it, all of it, the girls as young as five who work naked alongside boys and men for twelve hours in the dark, the malnutrition, the poor, sodding amputees who go begging at the vestry and come back with the brandedV… I’ll testify to Lord Wroth’s knowledge ofit. Indeed”—he looked eagerly up, grabbing on to this perceived lifeline—“not only his knowledge but his explicit orders!Take as much coal out as possible, as quickly as possible, the human cost is unimportant.I’ll stand in Parliament and tell them so, just please, please don’t hurt my family!”
“But it’s too late for that, Mr. Buttle. The moment you exposed yourself to Lord Wroth you became useless to me as an informant. He will have ensured he has the means to discredit you, should you ever remember your conscience.”
He gave an anguished cry, his hands gripping his knees, and hung his head low.
“Kate,” Richard said, sounding shaken. “You don’t have to do this.”
She’d known he would be queasy about punishing Buttle, which was why she hadn’t involved him.
He didn’t understand that shedidhave to do it. Her power was absolute because no challenge to it was allowed to succeed, and no betrayal was forgiven. Just look at Mr. Buttle: He was less powerful than she, and so she’d been able to hurt him.
She would never stand in Mr. Buttle’s shoes again.
“You may leave us,” she said, suddenly hating the sight of the man’s bowed head. “If you didn’t spend all your ill-gotten money at once, you may yet be able to do something for your family.”
He looked up, hating her because he hadn’t the stomach to hate himself. She could guess the sum Lord Wroth had paid him, for which he’d sold his conscience and his word as a gentleman, and put his family at risk of retribution. She wouldn’t put it above fifty pounds.
“Go to the devil,” he said venomously.
She laughed. “Oh, I went.” She leaned forward and indulged in a little theatricality, baring her teeth at him. “The devil spat me back out.”
Mr. Buttle stumbled to his feet, scrambling away from her, then turned and made for the door like the hounds of hell were after him.
She had two other informants in the mine, so all was not lost, though Mr. Buttle had been far and away the most credible of them, as well as having the best access to the letters and documents she needed to prove Lord Wroth’s full knowledge of what went on there.
Richard’s silence became oppressive.
She turned her chair to face him, giving him her full attention. “Well?”
He said bitterly, “Listening to you, one would almost think you cared about the children in those mines.”
“I will have them back,” she said evenly, “no matter the cost. Those mines belong to me.”
“It’s been fifteen years!” he burst out. “For God’s sake, Kate, just let it go. The endless lawsuits, the public scandal, the espionage and political jockeying. It’s beneath your dignity. Could you not just…let it go.”
As children, Richard and Kate had met only once. She had come upon him sitting on a chair outside her aunt’s study. He had been small and serious; he had taken in the hall with its paintings and treasures with a wide, almost bewildered look. His mother had been inside, attempting to rekindle the bonds of kinship. She had failed.
