A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 165 - Hundred And Sixty Five

Carcel reached inside his heavy coat once more.

"And that’s not all," Carcel continued. His deep voice broke the quiet of the room.

Delaney tensed. She pulled her hands into her lap, twisting her fingers together. She was not sure her heart could take another massive shock today.

Carcel brought out a written confession. It was not a clean, elegant piece of parchment like the will. This paper was cheap, wrinkled, and stained with dirt and grease. It looked exactly like something that had been pulled from the dark, dangerous alleys of London’s worst slums.

He held the dirty paper up so the orange light of the fireplace illuminated the hasty, uneven handwriting.

"Vance is a very thorough man," Carcel explained, his tone completely flat and deadly. "When Rowan asked us to look into the Oakridge case, Vance did not just look for paperwork. He looked for the people who were there on that rainy night twenty years ago. He looked for the man who prepared the carriage."

Delaney stopped breathing. Her hazel eyes widened as she stared at the dirty paper.

"This is from the coachman who sabotaged your father’s carriage," Carcel said.

A sudden, violent chill ran down Delaney’s spine.

"Vance found him hiding in a cheap tavern near the docks," Carcel continued, his jaw clenching with disgust. "He is an old, broken man now, drinking his guilt away. Vance paid him a few coins, and then threatened to hand him over to the Crown guard. The man broke down weeping. He confessed everything to the magistrate’s clerk."

Carcel slowly unfolded the stained paper.

"He admitted that he cut the leather trace strap before your parents even stepped into the carriage," Carcel read, scanning the harsh words. "He made sure the leather would snap the moment the horses picked up speed on the wet road. It was a deliberate, calculated murder. He has been apprehended by my men and kept safe for the trial. He will serve as a witness."

Delaney felt a wave of absolute nausea roll through her stomach. "Who paid him to do it?" she whispered.

Carcel looked up from the paper. "It was..."

Delaney interrupted him. She did not need to hear him say it. The puzzle pieces were already fitting together perfectly in her mind. The man who had framed her father for the poisoned silk. The man who had hunted her for years.

"Lord Hawksley," Delaney stated. Her voice was as cold as ice.

Carcel nodded his head slowly. "Yes."

He paused, his dark eyes softening with a deep, profound pity for the young woman sitting across from him. He hated to deliver this final, crushing blow.

"With the help of your uncle," Carcel added softly.

Delaney froze. The color drained completely from her pale cheeks.

"What?" Delaney gasped, the word barely making it past her lips.

"Lord Hawksley colluded with your uncle," Carcel explained, his voice gentle but firm, forcing her to hear the absolute truth.

"Hawksley needed your father dead to take the blame for the silk scam. But Hawksley did not know the stable staff. He did not know which carriage your father would take."

Carcel tapped the dirty paper in his hand.

"Your uncle did," Carcel said. "Your uncle paid the coachman who sabotaged the carriage. Cole Kingsley handed the gold coins to the man in the stables. He helped murder his own brother."

Delaney covered her mouth with her trembling hands. A single, horrified tear spilled over her lashes.

She thought of the years she had spent living in her uncle’s house. She thought of the stale bread she was given, the cruel words she had endured, and the way her uncle and his family had looked at her with such deep annoyance. He had complained every single day about the burden of feeding an orphan.

Yet, every time he looked at her, he knew exactly what he had done. He had taken her parents’ lives. He had stolen her fortune. And then he casually sold her to the very man who had planned the murder.

It was a level of pure, concentrated evil that Delaney could barely comprehend.

Carcel watched her process the betrayal. He remained perfectly quiet, giving her the time she needed to absorb the shock. He did not try to comfort her with false promises.

After a long minute, Delaney slowly lowered her hands. She wiped the tear from her cheek. Her hazel eyes were no longer filled with shock. They were burning with resolve.

She looked at the dirty paper in Carcel’s hand.

"May I read it?" Delaney asked. Her voice was remarkably steady.

Carcel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. He leaned forward and handed her the coachman’s confession.

Delaney took the paper. Her hands did not shake as she read the sloppy ink.

I, Philip Cobb, being of sound mind, do confess my sins to the magistrate. Twenty years ago, on the night of the great storm, I took a hundred gold pounds from Mr. Cole Kingsley. He told me to take a sharp knife to the main pulling strap of the Baron’s carriage. He said Lord Hawksley wanted the Baron silenced before the Queen’s guard came for the silk ledgers. I cut the leather deep, leaving only a thin piece holding it together. I appointed a driver to take them to the port. My actions killed three people that night. May God forgive me, for the law will not.

Delaney stared at the signature at the bottom. It was a messy, guilty scrawl. She carefully folded the paper and handed it back to Carcel.

"This confession alone could be used to charge them for murder," Carcel said, slipping the dirty paper back into the inside pocket of his coat. He leaned back in his velvet chair, his expression turning grim. "It proves that Hawksley and your uncle planned the crash."

Delaney nodded. "Then we have them. We can send them to prison."

"We can," Carcel agreed. "But there is a severe problem, Miss Kingsley."

Delaney frowned. "What problem? We have a written confession of murder."

Carcel sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. He hated the complicated, unfair rules of the English legal system.

"Because it only proves murder," Carcel explained slowly, making sure she understood the legal trap they were in. "It proves they killed him. But it does not clear your father’s name of the original crime."