Gage tapped his hat against his side. “Mr. LaTouche has been in some awfully suspect places at suspect times.”
I had to agree. “But would he have killed them? Why? To keep Miss Lennox quiet about the parade, and Mother Mary Fidelis quiet about the first murder?”
“It’s reason enough if you’re devoted to the cause. Especially if he still believed Miss Lennox had converted to Catholicism.”
I sank down on the bench behind me, staring down at the stack of letters clutched in my hands. That hollow ache I’d been feeling for days began to throb again, seeming to open a hole up inside me. Sometimes it was difficult to accept the terrible lengths people would go to for their beliefs, particularly when they fooled themselves into thinking they were acting in the Lord’s name or for the public’s good when they were truly reacting out of hatred and fear. I had some personal experience with this beyond our other inquiries. I’d witnessed the wild panic and fury of the mob outside the magistrate’s court when I was brought up on charges of unnatural tendencies after my involvement in Sir Anthony’s dissections came to light. But that had been because of the rumored crimes they’d believed I’d committed—luring people to their deaths so we could desecrate their bodies—not because of who I was as a person. These people, these neighbors, both Protestant and Catholic alike, who spat at each other with such hatred that it sometimes erupted into violence, did so because their faith was slightly different. Because they couldn’t be bothered to learn the truth about each other.
Had Mr. LaTouche killed Miss Lennox simply because he believed her religious beliefs were different than his? I didn’t know, but the very idea, not to mention the fact that he would have been acting under a faulty assumption, made me despondent.
“Either way, a visit to Mr. LaTouche is in order,” Gage said, concern shining in his eyes as he looked down at me. “And since Mr. Scully led us to the letters, it would be good to speak with him again as well. As soon as he’s able to speak lucidly, that is.” I hadn’t told him about the laudanum, but it was a good bet that any man who’d just had a bullet extracted from his leg or an amputation would be dosed heavily. “If he knew about the letters, someone else also might have.”
“It would also be good to try to figure out who picked up and delivered Miss Lennox’s correspondence.” I explained my observations about the lack of address on the letters, and the sisters not recalling her receiving any mail.
“Whoe’er it was might no’ even live in Rathfarnham,” Bree observed. “He coulda just as easily rode doon from someplace like Dublin, havin’ been told where to convey his missives an’ collect what been left.” She shrugged. “’Tis how I’d do it.”
“Bree’s right,” Gage agreed. “The probability of us finding that man is slim. He’s not likely to show up bearing another message when everyone involved already knows Miss Lennox is dead. And if Wellington and the others . . .” his eyes hardened, making clear which others he was talking about “. . . had been worried about collecting their correspondence to her, they would have done so by now.”
“Or sent us to do it.” I arched my eyebrows, wondering if that had been Lord Gage’s intention all along.
We all fell silent, considering the implications of that while the drumming of the rain against the roof continued, though noticeably slower than before. I turned to stare out through the curtain of mist toward the abbey in the distance.
“Would someone in the British government have killed them?” I murmured, daring to say what we were all thinking. “Would they have killed them for disobeying orders, for knowing too much? Perhaps more than we even realize.”
Gage crossed his arms over his chest. “If so, they did a rather slapdash job of it. Leaving Miss Lenox on the outside of the abbey walls. Not positioning the rock so that it could easily be explained as an accident. And then sending us to investigate. That was a rather unnecessary risk. Especially when most people in Britain, including us, had heard nothing of her death.” He shook his head. “No. There would have been easier ways to manage the problem. They could have removed her from the situation, taken her back to her family.”
“Where if she’d wanted to voice her discoveries, to cause problems for them, no one would believe her.”
“Quite. Killing her would have caused them more problems, not less. And I cannot believe Wellington would condone it. I might question the wisdom of his decision to involve his cousin with this affair, but I feel certain he would have removed her if he’d known she was in immediate danger.”
I hoped he was right, but I’d seen men do far worse things for the sake of protecting their power and good name when they should have been more concerned with protecting others.
“What if one of the nuns had found out her secret?” Anderley spoke up, rocking forward on his heels as if he was anxious to be away. “Could one of them have killed her? For playing them false?”
“I don’t think . . .” I began, but then stopped, a thought having occurred to me. “Not unless . . .” I lifted my gaze to meet Bree’s and I could tell she was thinking the same thing. I hated having to consider any of the sisters, doing so felt horridly wrong somehow, but experience had taught me to keep an open mind when considering suspects. That even the best of people could sometimes do terrible things.
My shoulders sank as I considered the unthinkable. “Mother Mary Paul. She was also a convert, something I thought she had in common with Miss Lennox. If she discovered Miss Lennox had not really converted, that she was staying at the abbey under false pretenses . . .” I furrowed my brow in disbelief. “I don’t think she would be capable of violence, but I also don’t want to believe it.”
“She was in charge o’ Miss Lennox’s room.” Bree’s face showed the same pained incredulity. “The lay sisters told me they had to get permission from her to go in an’ clean or even strip the sheets from the bed.”
I gripped the packet of letters tighter, feeling the bite of the papers’ edges. “I’ll speak with her.”
I lifted my eyes to meet Gage’s and he gave a little nod, knowing me well enough not to press. I would do what was needed, even if I didn’t like it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Because of Mother Fidelis’s death, a number of sisters had been required to take over her former duties, including Mother Paul. So rather than wait for her to finish instructing her Italian class, we elected instead to pay our visit to Mr. LaTouche to discover why he had lied to us. Our explanations to the mother superior about Miss Lennox’s letters could wait, as well as our interview of Mr. Scully, who, as predicted, was heavily sedated after having the bullet extracted from his leg. I was relieved the surgeon had not thought it necessary to remove the lower half of his leg. There would still be some concern about infection setting in, but with proper care, hopefully the wound would heal adequately. It was fortunate the Scullys and the abbey had Davy to handle matters while he recovered.
The rain slackened and then stopped as we drove south from the abbey toward Eden Park. The sun even began to peek out from the clouds as we turned up the long drive to Mr. LaTouche’s home. We had taken a gamble that the man would even be in residence, but it paid off. The butler gathered up my and Gage’s wet things and showed us into the drawing room with its painted ceiling. I’d forgotten about Mr. Scully’s bloodstains on my skirts, but I hoped by folding them strategically while I sat, our host would never notice.
It was not long before Mr. LaTouche joined us, not appearing in the least surprised by our visit. He greeted us cordially, offered tea, which we declined, and then gestured us toward a grouping of furniture near the low-burning fireplace.
“I suspected I might be seein’ ye yet today after our conversation was interrupted at the cattle fair,” he proclaimed, settling back against the coffee leather of his wingback chair. By interruption I supposed he meant the violence that had erupted between the armed constables and the tithe protesters. What
a quaint way to put it.
A shrewd glint entered Gage’s eyes as he clasped his hands before him. “Yes. Some new information has come to light.”
“Oh?”
“We located Miss Lennox’s correspondence.”
Mr. LaTouche blinked hard. “I see.”
“Do you? Good. Because I would like you to explain why you lied to us.” Gage’s tone was perfectly casual, except the hard edge to it when he uttered the word “lied.” How or why Mr. LaTouche had not heard it and heeded it, I do not know.
“Lied?”
Gage’s eyelids lowered in derision. “You told us that Miss Lennox wanted you to warn Lord Anglesey about a rebellion the Catholics were planning, but that’s not true, is it? She wanted you to warn him about the disturbance and potential violence the Orangemen intended to cause during their parade in two days’ time.”
LaTouche’s jaw clenched in anger and he sniffed. “There’s no disturbance planned. If the Catholics cannot be keepin’ the peace, dat is not our fault.”
“It is if you’re deliberately provoking them.”
“Who says they’ll be provoked?”
I wanted to reach across and smack the haughty condescension from his brow.
“Why did you lie?” Gage demanded. “Are you incapable of honor or honesty?”
As insults went, it was just about the worst thing he could accuse a gentleman of, and for a man like LaTouche—who clung to the pretensions of a distant relation’s noble birth—it would be unforgivable. But I suspected Gage knew this, and had incited him on purpose.
LaTouche shot forward in his chair. “How dare ye! Why, I should be slappin’ yer cheek wit me glove for such an insinuation.”
Gage was unmoved. “And yet we’ve already proven you lied.”
LaTouche scowled. “Only because I knew ye would turn yer suspicions on the Orangemen when it’s clear a papist killed her.”
“You don’t believe a Protestant is capable of murder.”
“’Course,” he spat. “But not like this. Superstitious nonsense. Served her right for abandonin’ her rational thought and joinin’ ’em.”
“Except she hadn’t,” I replied, furious with his callous remarks.
“What?” he barked belligerently. “’Course she did. Why else would she be in that nunnery instead o’ . . .”
I narrowed my eyes, wondering what he was going to say when he stopped himself in time. “Because Wellington asked her to keep an eye on the tithe protesters here in Rathfarnham.”
If it were possible for a person to swallow their own tongue, I thought Mr. LaTouche just might have. He made a horrible sound in the back of his throat, and his eyes widened in shock. “Yer serious?” he managed to gasp.
“Very.”
“But she . . . Why didn’t she tell me?” he snapped, his anger returning.
I shook my head. “We’re not privy to those details. But we do know you spoke to her on the day she was murdered.”
He stiffened in affront. “I did not.”
Gage’s mouth tightened in aggravation. “Someone saw you.”
“Well, that’s a lie. I did not speak wit Miss Lennox for at least three days before she was killed.”
I frowned. He seemed awfully certain of himself. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I am.”
“And why should we believe you when you lied to us before?” Gage pointed out.
“I don’t have to stand for dis.” He shot to his feet, striding furiously across the room. “You can see yerselves out.” With that, he slammed the door.
I turned to stare at Gage, who was scowling at the closed door. “Could he have been telling the truth? About the last?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t being truthful.”
If he was, did that mean Davy had lied? Or had the young man become confused? He had seemed somewhat uncertain on that point, and LaTouche had stormed off before we could question him on the matter Davy was clearer on. Well, it was too late now, unless Gage wanted to go after him, and I suspected not. Not without more proof. But this was not the last Mr. LaTouche would see of us. That was at least one thing of which I could be certain.
• • •
I glanced up as the connecting door between our bedchamber and the room next to it opened to see Gage emerge in dry, clean clothes, his hair placed back in order by Anderley, and then I returned to the list I was making. Bree had come and gone, sighing over the stains on my skirt as she helped me change into a simple dress of lavender silk.
He crossed the room to stand behind me where I sat at my dressing table, resting his hands on my shoulders. I could smell the crisp lemon verbena scent of his soap. “What are you doing?”
“Making a list of the facts we know about this inquiry and how our suspects fit.”
I caught sight of his smile in the reflection of the mirror. “Organizing your thoughts. I was considering doing the same thing.”
“It feels as if we’re missing something, something just at our fingertips, but we can’t seem to grasp it. I hoped by writing everything down, I might figure out what it is.”
He nodded, reading over my shoulder as I continued to write. I started with the bare facts of each murder, added in the evidence and observations we’d made, and then inked in the information we’d been told, placing question marks by those things that had not yet been proven. Some facets which had previously puzzled us were now explained, such as the fresh manure on their shoes and the lack of correspondence in Miss Lennox’s room. Others still made little sense. Had Miss Lennox removed her veil? Why? And what of the man’s footprints? Was it proof that the murderer was a male, and therefore could not be Mother Paul, or had they been left behind by Mr. LaTouche the night before?
I sat back to stare at the page. “What do you make of the fact that the killer took the stone with him or hid it after Miss Lennox’s murder, but left it nearby after Mother Fidelis’s?”
“Perhaps he panicked. It seems evident from everything here that the first murder was unplanned. Maybe he seized an opportunity that was presented to him or was driven to it out of anger and then was shocked by his own actions. He could have panicked after he’d realized what he’d done and, not thinking, taken the stone with him.”
“But he was more prepared, more experienced when it came to the second murder. Having had time to think, he realized it would be better to leave the stone.” I pointed toward an observation I’d written on the page. “Mother Mary Fidelis said that she and Sister Mary Maxentia had called Miss Lennox’s name as they searched for her. Maybe the killer was still with her body and only ran off when he heard them.”
Gage nodded. “That makes some sense, though I’m not sure it can be proven.”
I set my pen aside and picked up the list, swiveling to face him. “What do you suppose he did with the first stone?”
He backed up several steps to sit in the armchair near the bed. “If he was smart, he got rid of it as quickly as possible. Where? I don’t know.”
I sat studying the list, but rather than having any sudden insight, I felt my exasperation grow. “None of our suspects fits everything we know.” I pressed a hand to my temple. “I suppose LaTouche is the most promising, unless you prefer to blame an unidentified Orangeman.”
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the chair. “I agree. This inquiry is maddening. Perhaps if we’d been able to arrive sooner. Or if Mother Mary Fidelis had seen fit to confide in you rather than take matters into her own hands.” He scoffed, raising his hands in entreaty. “Or if people in this bloody village would stop being so dashed suspicious, we could have caught the villain by now.”
Gage almost never cursed in front of me. It was obvious how sick and tired he was of this investigation. He rarely lost
his temper with an inquiry, so I knew there had to be more to his sudden aggravation than merely our lack of compelling proof. His philosophy was to keep doggedly working the elements involved until something turned up. That took intense patience and perseverance.
Setting the list aside, I crossed the room toward him, sinking to my knees. Before they could touch the floor, he pulled me into his lap instead. I didn’t speak. He knew why I had approached him. He would tell me what was bothering him in his own time. Instead, I rested my head against his shoulder and shared my body’s warmth.
“I’m a loyal British subject,” he finally said, his voice rumbling against my ear. “An English gentleman. I should reject any notion of treason, of breaking the rule of the law, of promoting civil discord. And yet, I can’t help feeling sympathy for these men and women, these Catholics.” He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I’ve heard the rhetoric all my life, the hateful jokes and slanders bandied about in London, but to see what happened today.” He exhaled heavily. “The taunting and angry words were on both sides, but the Protestants have all the power, and from what I could see, today they also had all the guns.”
So Constable Casey had told the truth. The tithe protestors had not arrived armed, even if they had forgotten to leave their tempers behind as well.
“Does it remind you of Greece?”
“Yes. In some respects. The same passion, the same defiance.” He sighed. “The same conflict over religion. Though Turkish and Christian beliefs are far different from each other than Catholic and Protestant.”
I could almost hear the recriminations spinning in his head, refrains similar to those that still plagued him from Greece. I lifted my head to look into his eyes. “Do not take this burden on yourself. Perhaps you turned a deaf ear to the slights made against Catholics and Irishmen in the past, but you did not create the problem. You cannot be blamed for your ignorance.”
As Death Draws Near Page 28
