by Olivia Drake
She squinted at the gold hands of the clock and then sat up straight. Lud, it was noon already. She’d slept for four hours. Papa must be frantic. Had Mama admitted to him her scheme to marry off their middle daughter to Wrayford?
Lindsey doubted it. Mama would hide the truth from him as long as possible.
She snatched up her bonnet and left the bedchamber. Swinging the straw hat by its ribbons, she hastened downstairs to seek out Jocelyn. At least the lateness of the hour would make her excuses simpler. Since no one had spied her as yet, she could claim to have stopped here while out on a walk. Jocelyn needn’t know that Lindsey had napped in one of the bedchambers.
But when she entered the sitting room, the chaise where Jocelyn always sat was empty. The white blanket that usually covered her legs lay neatly folded on a cushion.
Jocelyn could be anywhere in the house, in her bedchamber for a visit to the necessary, in the dining room eating luncheon, or perhaps in another room, diligently at work with her art master. It might be best to wait right here for her. Meanwhile, the girl’s lap desk would have paper and pen inside for Lindsey to use for her note.
Had Thane returned yet?
The thought of him proved an irresistible distraction. Abandoning her plan to linger, Lindsey took the back stairs down to the library on the ground floor, where she intended to use the connecting door. It might be too forward of her to visit his town house unchaperoned, but she no longer cared about her reputation. She needed to see him again, to find out if he’d succeeded in obtaining the special license. With any luck, they might speak their vows this very day. And then they would be together tonight and all the nights for the rest of their lives. . . .
An odd muffled thumping noise came from within the library. Thinking there was a servant at work, Lindsey stepped into the open doorway. She stopped, stupefied, her gaze riveted on the sole occupant of the room.
Clad in a pale green gown, her blond hair tied back with a ribbon, Jocelyn was standing up. Even more amazingly, she was using a cane to make her way toward the mantelpiece, where a coal fire hissed on the hearth.
“Jocelyn! You’re walking!”
The girl gave a start of surprise, thrust one hand behind her back, and nearly toppled over in the process. Lindsey rushed to offer support, slipping her arm around the girl’s slender waist.
“Lud, I can scarcely believe my eyes!” Lindsey exclaimed. “This is wonderful news. Why didn’t you tell me? But you ought to have someone here with you. Where is Fisk? What if you were to fall down?”
Jocelyn promptly burst into tears.
Remorse swept through Lindsey. “Oh, you poor darling. I didn’t mean to bombard you with questions. You must have overtaxed yourself. Here, let me help you to a chair.”
“No, you don’t understand!” Jocelyn said, wrenching away and nearly stumbling. Desperation shone on her tearstained face. “I’ve something I must burn—and quickly.”
“Burn? What do you mean?”
“The diary. I have to get rid of it before that awful man comes back.”
Jocelyn showed her a small leather-bound volume that she held half-hidden in the folds of her dress. Leaning on the cane, she limped again toward the fire.
Perplexed, Lindsey hastened forward and gently pried the book from the girl’s dainty fingers. Taking hold of her arm, she guided Jocelyn to a chair. “You aren’t burning anything until you explain matters to me. Now, sit down. You’ll tell me exactly what’s going on here.”
Jocelyn tensed as if to protest again; then all the fight drained from her and she sank into the chair. Her shoulders drooped in a pose of abject misery. “Oh, Lindsey, something dreadful has happened,” she said, her green eyes shimmery with tears. “I can scarcely believe it. I—I don’t know even where to start.”
Lindsey pushed an ottoman closer. She perched right in front of Jocelyn, placed the small book in her own lap, and then took hold of Jocelyn’s hands. “Start at the beginning, of course. What’s happened to make you so overwrought?”
Jocelyn drew a deep, shaky breath. “A—a man came to call on Lord Mansfield this morning. He looked like a gentleman; that’s why I didn’t realize who he was at first. I—I saw him from the window.”
“Do you mean . . . you walked to the window?”
Jocelyn nodded. “I’ve been practicing every day and doing my exercises. I wanted to surprise you.”
“You certainly accomplished your purpose. Now, do tell me what happened to upset you.”
“The man . . . he was next door for only a short time. Then a little while later, I overheard Fisk chatting to one of the maids out in the corridor. She said . . .”
“What? What did she say?”
Jocelyn tightened her grip on Lindsey’s hands. “Last night, there was another murder by the Serpentine Strangler. He left the . . . the body in Hyde Park, the same place as all the others. Oh, Lindsey, you won’t believe who was killed . . . it was Miss Valentine.”
Chapter 26
The cold fingers of shock crept down Lindsey’s back. She pictured the plain, dark-haired woman who had given Thane a look of admiration. “The clerk from the dress shop?”
Jocelyn nodded. A tear slipped down her pale cheek. “The man who came to see His Lordship was a Bow Street Runner. The maids were saying that . . . that he intends to arrest Lord Mansfield for murder!”
Lindsey sat frozen. A Runner who was dressed like a gentleman could only be Cyrus Bott. But she had sent notice to him that he was to cease investigating Thane because the two missing maidservants had been found. So why would Bott make such a threat?
Because he had seen Thane visit the shop? Bott had been lurking outside in the alley there, watching him.
But such flimsy circumstantial evidence was hardly cause to arrest Thane. Perhaps Jocelyn had mistaken the purpose of Bott’s visit. The girl had a flair for the dramatic. Maybe he had merely come to consult with Thane. After all, Thane had mentioned he was trying to find evidence to prove that Wrayford was the killer.
She rubbed the back of Jocelyn’s cold hand. “Don’t worry, darling. Lord Mansfield is not a murderer. You may be absolutely certain of that.”
“But-but I heard he didn’t come home last night,” Jocelyn said shakily. “The maids were whispering about that, as well.”
Lindsey fought back a blush. She couldn’t reveal that she knew precisely where he’d been. “I’m sure there’s a very good reason. Gentlemen often stay out until dawn. He could have been at a party or at his club. You mustn’t leap to conclusions.”
“But I’m not.” Jocelyn glanced at the open doorway and lowered her voice to a whisper: “I feared that awful man might come back and search through His Lordship’s belongings. So I sent Fisk away and made the footman carry me down here. Then I went next door and looked through his desk in the library. And I found this.”
She took the small volume from Lindsey’s lap. “Look, it’s Miss Valentine’s diary.”
A sick dread in her stomach, Lindsey opened the book. On the flyleaf, in spidery handwriting, was the inscription Miss Harriet Valentine.
She stared in perplexed shock. Why would Thane have this diary in his possession? Had the shop clerk given it to him for some unknown purpose?
A more logical explanation occurred to her. Perhaps upon leaving here this morning Thane had learned the news about the murder. Instead of obtaining the special license, he had changed his plans and gone to Miss Valentine’s place of residence, where he had procured the journal as evidence. Then he must have brought it back and secured it in his desk with no one the wiser.
Yes, that must be it. There was no other viable reason for him to possess the diary of the dead woman. Lindsey flipped through the pages to see tiny, precise script that filled every inch of the precious paper. Perhaps Thane hoped to find something written here that would connect Wrayford to Miss Valentine.
“Don’t you see?” Jocelyn said urgently. “Someone must be trying to make Lord Mansfield look guilty. An
d that’s why I have to burn it before that nasty man returns.”
Lindsey couldn’t break her promise to Thane. He didn’t want people to know that he was trying to find the Strangler. “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for the diary being in his desk. In the meantime, it would be wrong to destroy a valuable piece of evidence.”
“But I must. His Lordship will be thrown into prison if I don’t. And then what will happen to me?”
Lindsey’s heart went out to the girl. Leaning forward, she embraced Jocelyn. “Is that what’s worrying you? I give you my word, in such an unlikely event, I’ll watch after you, darling. You won’t ever be left to fend for yourself.”
“You—you would do that?”
“Of course. We’re the best of friends, aren’t we? And Lord Mansfield won’t be jailed, you’ll see. This is just a terrible misunderstanding. It will all be sorted out, I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll keep the diary and make certain no one but the earl sees it.”
Jocelyn bit her lip and nodded, although she still appeared somewhat apprehensive. Lindsey rang for tea, and after fetching the girl a drawing pad and pencil she sat down at one of the tables to compose a brief note to her parents.
In it, she wrote that Wrayford had attempted to abduct her but that she had eluded him and was now safe from harm. She would be returning home shortly and would explain everything.
Deciding that the missive would reassure them for the time being, Lindsey sanded the ink and folded the paper, sealing it with a blob of hot wax. Then she went to the entrance hall and handed it to the footman on duty at the front door. He was to slip it through the mail slot at her house without telling anyone who had asked him to deliver it.
Only then did Lindsey allow herself to contemplate the latest murder. Walking slowly back to the library, she was struck anew by the horrifying death of Miss Valentine. It was one thing to read about the Serpentine Strangler in the newspaper and quite another to have known one of the victims herself.
Last night, Wrayford had been miles away in the country without any means to travel. Didn’t that eliminate him as the murderer?
A possible scenario occurred to her. Wrayford had been in a rage at her for pushing him out of the carriage. What if he’d hitched a ride in a passing vehicle and returned to London in the wee hours of the night? What if he’d then taken out his anger at Lindsey by strangling Miss Valentine?
Gripped by a cold shudder, Lindsey rubbed her arms. She didn’t want to think that she might have been the impetus for murder. It was just too horrifying. Now, more than ever, she wanted Thane to return, to see if he knew any additional details. In the meantime, she could read the diary herself to see what information it might contain to implicate Wrayford.
As she neared the library, the sound of voices caught her attention, one male and the other belonging to Jocelyn. The girl sounded distressed again. Was she upset with the footman who had delivered the tea tray?
The tea cart was there all right, but not the footman.
Lindsey was startled to see a visitor in the room. He stood a short distance from Jocelyn, who was still sitting in the chair. Astonishingly, she brandished her cane like a sword.
“Mr. Bott!” Lindsey exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing in this house?”
“Miss Brown,” he said, bowing to her. “I wonder if you might reassure Miss Nevingford that I intend her no harm.”
“Why did he call you Miss Brown?” Jocelyn asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Lindsey said. “Now, do put down that weapon. There’s no need for it.”
As Jocelyn reluctantly lowered the cane, Lindsey’s mind raced. Bott must have come through the connecting door from Thane’s residence. Was he looking for evidence to prove Thane’s guilt?
Dear heaven. She had left the diary lying out in plain view on the oak table where she’d written the note to her parents. Although there had to be a logical explanation for its presence in Thane’s desk, it would serve no purpose to court trouble. She should ask Bott to follow her into another room. But that would require him to walk right past the diary.
Lindsey opted to move in the opposite direction from the table, so that Bott would keep his attention on her. The ploy worked. As she walked to the connecting door, he swung to face her, his back to Jocelyn.
He looked like a typical gentleman in the dark blue coat with the brass buttons, his cravat neatly tied beneath his chin. There was nothing remarkable about his wavy brown hair and even features; he was someone she might pass on the street and never really notice. Of course, that made him ideal for detective work.
“I can’t blame Jocelyn for being alarmed,” she said. “It’s highly inappropriate for you to intrude here.”
He ducked his chin. “Please accept my sincerest apology. I did knock before entering.”
“I only said come in because I thought you were one of the servants,” Jocelyn said with a sniff.
Bott glanced over his shoulder at her before returning his attention to Lindsey. “Forgive my imposition. It’s just that I’m investigating a rather urgent case. I thought perhaps Miss Nevingford could supply me with information as to Lord Mansfield’s whereabouts.”
“She doesn’t know where he is,” Lindsey said. “She hasn’t seen him today. You would be better off asking His Lordship’s valet.”
Behind the Runner, Jocelyn rose to her feet, using the cane as leverage. Her purpose quickly became clear to Lindsey. The girl was making her way toward the diary. How foolish of her to take such a risk! Didn’t she realize she would only draw his attention?
“I’m afraid the fellow wasn’t very cooperative,” Bott said ruefully, his blue eyes on Lindsey. “He seems to have taken an unfortunate dislike to me.”
“No doubt he sees you as impertinent for lingering around His Lordship’s house. I would think the best course of action for you is to leave a note for the earl and then return to Bow Street to await his summons.”
She was babbling, hoping the Runner wouldn’t look over his shoulder. Jocelyn had nearly reached the table.
Lindsey went on, “I do believe you should leave now. There can be no further purpose for you here. Good day, Mr. Bott.” She stepped aside to give him access to the connecting door. “I would suggest you go out the same way you came in.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering one last question. Do you know where Lord Mansfield was last evening?”
She kept her face impassive, although her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “Why would I? I’m merely a visitor here, a friend of Miss Nevingford.”
He looked at her closely. “But when you came to see me, you seemed to have particular knowledge of—”
Jocelyn uttered a muffled cry. She’d caught the tip of her cane in the rug and stumbled against the table. The diary slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the floor. Lindsey rushed to her aid, but Bott arrived there first. Clutching the table for support, Jocelyn tried to reach down for the journal, but he took it up in his hands.
“What’s this?” he asked, scowling as he opened the flyleaf. His fingers visibly tightened around the diary. “Why do you have a book belonging to Miss Valentine? Did His Lordship ask you to hide this for him?”
“Leave her be,” Lindsey began.
At that moment, the connecting door opened and Thane strode into the library. He appeared angry, his mouth set in a grim line as he glared at the Runner. “Bernard told me you were here—”
Thane stopped abruptly. “My God,” he said, his gaze honing in on Jocelyn. The severity of his countenance softened with wonder. “You’re standing up.”
Jocelyn lifted her chin proudly. “I can walk now. I’ve been practicing for weeks. See?”
Using the cane, she took a few tottering steps. But as she passed Cyrus Bott, she turned suddenly and attempted to snatch the diary out of his hands.
The Runner held resolutely to the small book. Their silent tug-of-war lasted the space of only a few seconds.
Both Thane and Li
ndsey rushed toward them. “What the devil are you doing?” he demanded. “If she wants the book, then by God give it to her.”
Bott stepped back with the journal in his hands. “No. This is evidence against the Serpentine Strangler.”
“Evidence?” Thane repeated with a questioning frown.
“Yes indeed. This diary belonged to Miss Harriet Valentine. She was strangled to death last night and left in Hyde Park.”
Thane’s dark eyes widened as a fleeting surprise played across his face. It was clear he’d known nothing of the murder. Then a stony bleakness thinned his mouth. “Miss Valentine . . . that name sounds familiar.”
Lindsey’s heart sank. So she’d been wrong to believe he’d found the diary himself. That could only mean someone really was trying to implicate him as the murderer.
She touched his arm. “She’s the clerk at the shop, remember? The place where Jocelyn ordered her gowns.”
“She was murdered,” Jocelyn cried, her beseeching eyes on Thane. “And this dreadful man is trying to blame it all on you.”
Thane aimed a lordly stare at Bott. “Is that so?”
The Runner gave him a wary look in return. “I’ve had certain suspicions these past weeks. It seemed a bit odd to me the way you, a nobleman, came to the magistrate to offer your assistance. And the diary does put you in a rather unfavorable light, my lord, seeing as it was discovered on the premises here.”
Thane swung toward Jocelyn. “Where exactly did you find it?”
“I-I don’t know. It-it was just lying about somewhere.”
Going to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent down to look deep into her eyes. “The truth, sprite. You won’t help me by spinning tall tales.”
A tear trickled down her cheek. “In-in your d-desk. Someone hid it there to-to make you look guilty.”
His expression grim, he turned to the Runner and held out his hand. “Let me see the diary.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Bott said, tucking it into an inner pocket of his coat. “You know the rules. I’m obliged to turn over all evidence to the magistrate. He’ll want to see you, too.”
