by Corwin, Amy
Archer had stretched the truth, and if the runner found out, it would not help Nathaniel prove his innocence. Not at all.
“Just a few more questions, Your Grace. Did you wear the apparel you have on now to the ball?”
“These? Good heavens, no.”
“Where are the clothes you wore?”
“Here, I….” Nathaniel picked up the portmanteau. “They are stained, I am afraid.”
“They would be, would they not?” the runner replied softly. “May I look at them?”
Nathaniel slowly pulled the bundle out. The garments were stiff with dried blood. The runner picked them up and examined them, his expression growing more grim.
“I sat in the coach before I realized she was there,”
Nathaniel hastened to explain. “I did not know. It was dark, and I had no way of knowing…. That is to say, the seat was soaked and I did not see it in the dark.”
“There is blood on the cuffs,” the runner noted.
“Yes. When I saw there was someone in the carriage with me, I touched her shoulder. I thought she had fallen asleep waiting for me.”
“Waiting for you?” Clark’s gaze sharpened. “Then this was an assignation?”
“No, not at all. I was not expecting her to be there. These females—they do that. They have been hiding in all sorts of places. I dare not enter a room without sending in a footman first to search the place.” The words spilled out. Nathaniel clamped his mouth shut, but the damage was already done. Everyone stared at him.
“I see. These females have been making a nuisance of themselves, have they? Like Lady Anne, perhaps?” Clark asked.
“No—yes—that is, they have been an utter plague if you want the truth. But I did not kill anyone. I touched her to awaken her, and she fell over onto the floor. I thought she might have fainted. When I checked, I realized she hd been murdered.”
“Mr. Clark,” Gaunt interrupted smoothly. He moved over to where the Bow Street runner was standing, holding up the discolored clothing. “If you will note, the largest stains are on the seat of the breeches. In addition, take a closer look at the cuffs. Fresh blood, as you must be aware, has a tendency to soak rapidly into material such as this linen shirt and yet, instead of saturating the fabric, it is clotted and smeared.”
“But look here, Mr. Gaunt, it is soaked through right enough on his right cuff. Which incidentally, would most likely be the hand he used to pull the hoof knife across her throat.” Mr. Clark shook his head. “Poor girl.”
“Yes, the fabric has absorbed a little, but even you can see it is dark and thick. It was already starting to coagulate when the linen came in contact with her blood.”
“The blood on his breeches has completely gone through,” the runner pointed out persistently.
“Yes. Because he sat on a cushion saturated with it. He did not know what had happened. Only a fool or remarkably incompetent murderer would sit down in a pool of their victim’s blood, and then keep their clothes to exhibit to the investigators. His Grace is neither, I assure you.
“So, we must think more deeply on how this could have occurred. The female probably did secret herself in His Grace’s carriage, hoping to escape notice until it was too late. She obviously hoped he would then be forced to do the honorable thing and marry her. However instead of His Grace, another person climbed into the carriage after her, before she could get seated.
“This person was behind the girl and pulled her head back to slash her throat, spraying the seats with blood. Then this person pushed the dying girl into the corner, climbed out of the carriage, and closed the door, “ Gaunt continued. “This monster would most assuredly have blood on their cuffs, but the girl’s dress and body would have kept the main effusion of fluid from staining the killer’s clothing. So in fact, the person you seek may have a stained cuff, but the rest of his garments should be fairly clean.”
“And who do you suppose this person might be?” Clark asked.
“That is the mystery, I am afraid, and the one which needs resolution. I am convinced of the innocence of His Grace. I will admit that a long delay in finding the man responsible will most likely bring this affair to an unhappy conclusion. However it is the discovery of the truth which remains important to us all,” Gaunt said with masterful calm.
The runner nodded in agreement. “With two ladies dead and His Grace present at both affairs, it will be difficult and ticklish. I understand he knew both ladies and may have shown some interest in them. Or impatience with their attentions, depending upon the person you interview. In fact, he was seen leaving the gardens in haste after the unhappy discovery of Lady Anne.”
“There were others in the gardens—I was not the only one. In fact, Miss Haywood gave me a list of guests who were in the gardens,” Nathaniel said.
“That goes without saying, Your Grace. And I would be very interested in your list,” Gaunt replied in his dry tone. “But, you were there, as well. Did anyone see you?”
“Miss Haywood. I was with Miss Haywood in the gardens—”
“The entire time?” Gaunt asked.
“No,” Nathaniel admitted unhappily. “Not all the time. But I was with her. She can attest to my innocence.” Except during the period when he had been running from Lady Anne. The crucial time. Or tonight when he found Miss Mooreland in his carriage. “At least she can prove I had no blood on me after Lady Anne’s death.”
“And where is this young lady, Your Grace?” the runner asked.
“I—uh, I am not sure. That is, she should be home with my aunt, Lady Victoria.”
“We shall certainly question the young lady again,” the runner said, writing the name in his black book.
“Now, regarding the Lady Anne. Did you escort Lady Anne into the gardens the night of her death?”
“No, I did not.”
“But you did show a marked interest in the young lady, did you not, Your Grace? Until she started pursuing you?”
“No more than any other of the hundreds of females I have met this Season,” Nathaniel stated. “In fact, if you want the truth, I was trying to avoid them all.” He appreciated Cheery Gaunt’s remarks, but he wasn’t going to just stand back and do nothing.
“So, you might have been upset by her interest in you, I gather. Upset enough to dispose of the young lady?”
“Certainly not. I wasn’t considering the young lady one way or the other.”
“And why was that?”
“If you must know, I have been trying to fix my interest with Miss Haywood.” What the hell am I doing? He glanced at Archer to see him smiling blandly in his direction.
“Indeed,” the runner replied. He didn’t appear impressed by the information. “Then these other young ladies might have presented difficulties to you? Perhaps they made Miss Haywood jealous enough to refuse you?”
“Certainly not! I am sure she was not even aware of them.”
The runner and Cheery both laughed at this.
“There is not a woman alive who wouldn’t be aware of her competition,” Cheery murmured.
Nathaniel glared at him. If this was his notion of assistance, Nathaniel would do better without him. His temper rose. “She did not have anything to do with these events, I can assure you.”
“I am certain that is true enough,” the runner said, still smiling. “Well, I will conclude my questioning for tonight. You indicated you are sending the poor lady to her family?”
“Yes. As soon as the coroner permits it.”
Clark nodded. “I will visit her family on the morrow then, which it already is.” He glanced at his pocket watch and grimaced. “Thank you for your time, Your Grace. You will be here if I need to speak with you again?”
“Certainly. That is, I will be at my town home.” Nathaniel eyed the portmanteau with his clothing, but the runner picked it up, obviously intending to keep it.
“If you gentleman don’t mind?” he asked, fist firmly around the bag’s handle. “I will return the bag to yo
u, once we conclude the case.”
Nathaniel nodded. What else could he do?
Chapter Twenty
(Abduction.) The taking away or detaining against her will—with intent to marry or carnally know—of any woman who has any interest in any property, or the taking away—with intent, &c.—against will of parents or guardians of any such woman… — Constable’s Pocket Guide
When Red returned to the attic an hour later, he was not alone. A small, energetic brunette led the way, carrying with a wooden tray. A linen cloth covered the contents. The girl wore the dark costume and apron of an upstairs maid, with a lacy, beribboned cap set at a saucy angle on her glossy curls.
“Here, Miss, I hope this’ll suit you,” she said, laying the tray on a rickety table and removing the cloth with a flourish.
A small, chipped pot of tea, along with a china cup, and a plate overflowing with food rested on a cotton-lace doily. The lacework was gray with age and needed mending. The platter contained an entire loaf of crusty bread, an eighth of a wheel of deep orange cheddar cheese, and a bowl of spiced, preserved apples.
Charlotte’s mouth watered, however she resolutely ignored the tray to study Red. He stood uneasily by the door, his eyes locked on the maid as if he were afraid she would simply disappear in a puff of smoke. The love and desperation were so plain on his face that Charlotte nearly winced.
She glanced at the maid, taking in the large, dark eyes and wreath of thick, deep brown ringlets. The chit seemed entirely unaware of the giant’s interest in her.
Charlotte felt her heart go out to him. She knew only too well what it felt like to want something you couldn’t have. She wanted a lot of things that were out of her grasp. She wanted her aunt to be alive. She wanted to go back to America or forward to Egypt. She wanted to be anywhere but here in England where she didn’t belong, and most of all, she wanted people to accept her. She was tired of seeing contempt in their eyes simply because she longed to discover more about the world around her than just how many ribbons she could attach to the crown of a bonnet.
She thought about Nathaniel’s laughing blue eyes, sparkling with wit and intelligence, and her heart ached.
If only he would have understood her and looked at her with admiration. Then she lowered her expectations a notch. Or accepted her. Even acceptance would do. Why dream for more than she could reasonably expect?
Still, as she watched Red looking at the maid, her heart ached for him. His feelings seemed to mirror her own so exactly.
“That looks lovely,” she assured the maid.
The girl curtsied and smiled broadly. “I am Rose, miss. I will be taking care of ye during your visit.”
Charlotte nodded. There was a clatter on the stairs behind Red. It sounded like the scrabble of a dog’s toenails on the bare wooden treads of the stairs.
Red glanced over his shoulder, but seemed unconcerned. His eyes followed Rose. When she turned to leave, he stayed in the doorway so she had to pass close to him on her way out. He stared down at her, his hunger blatant on his square, battered face.
“Red, stay a moment, please?” Charlotte asked, after Rose left.
He dragged his eyes away from the shadows outside the door and shuffled a little further into the room. His movements were sluggish and his jacket seemed to be straining more than usual across his heavy shoulders. As he moved further into the attic, Charlotte noticed a furry white object hanging from the back of his jacket.
“Red, what have you got on your back?”
“My back?” he echoed.
Charlotte made him turn around. A scruffy white dog hung by its teeth from Red’s hem.
“You have a dog!” she said. She tickled the dog around the ears and neck until it let loose. The dog landed with a clatter on the bare wooden floor. The animal pranced for a few minutes, sniffling excitedly at Charlotte’s hands and skirts.
“Jo—” Red said before he clamped his mouth shut. “What are you doing up here?” He awkwardly petted the dog’s head as if afraid he would hurt it.
“What is its name?” Red shrugged, looking cagey and embarrassed. “You called it Jo, earlier. Is that its name?”
He started to shake his head and then mumbled something unintelligible.
“Well, never mind,” she said bending down to pet it.
The dog licked her hands and rolled over on its back, waving its feet in the air. Three feet. One of the front legs was missing. Now that she studied the animal, she realized that it also had lost the use of one eye and part of an ear.
“You poor thing,” she murmured before standing up and dusting off her skirts. She turned back toward Red. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he replied mournfully, staring down at his feet.
“Are things not going well? Have they refused my ransom?”
“No—t’ain’t that. Or, leastways, I don’t know if it is.”
“Well, then, is it…Rose?”
His blue eyes flew to her face. A dark, wine-red flush washed over his cheeks. “Why do you be asking that?” Suspicion lowered his voice.
Charlotte shrugged as if unconcerned and poured herself a cup of tea. “She is very pretty, is she not?”
“Yes,” he replied with a sigh.
“But she is not interested in you?”
“And why would she be? What would a stable boy have to offer the likes of her?”
So he was a stable boy. Interesting. “I am sure that does not matter a whit to her.”
He snorted derisively. “She has got ambitions, that one does. She don’t want no bloke as cannot even read.” He stopped in embarrassment.
“A lot of people cannot read,” Charlotte assured him.
“Mayhap. But Rose will not fix her interest on a lout with no prospects.” He shook his head. “She says I lack ambition, and that is why I cannot read. If I just had enough money, I would prove I have got plenty o’ ambition.”
No wonder he was desperate enough to resort to kidnapping an heiress. He was trying to collect the resources to marry his Rose.
“Would it help if you could read?”
He shrugged and bent down to pet the dog. “It’ud help if I was a lord, too, but that is just as likely.”
“Why don’t I teach you?”
His blue eyes stared up at her, perfectly round with surprise. “You would teach me?”
“Well,” Charlotte replied. “I have nothing else to do, and it is very boring here with nothing to occupy my time. At least it would give me something to do.”
“There mayn’t be enough time—”
“Nonsense. Who knows how long it will take the Archers to meet the ransom? You did say you are asking for ransom, did you not? You have not let him convince you he should marry me, have you?”
“No. He don’t want to marry you no more.”
Charlotte stared back at him. Even a penniless kidnapper couldn’t stomach bedding her. “That is excellent,” she replied, raising her chin. “Excellent.”
Red gnawed a knuckle. “He would, you know. But he cannot stand yer carroty hair.”
“Thank you,” she replied, sarcasm creeping into her voice. Carroty hair. What a lovely description. And Nathaniel probably thought of her in precisely the same terms.
Red looked horrified. “Not that I mind yer color, Miss. You are like m’younger sister!”
“How kind of you,” Charlotte said dryly. “And you prefer brunettes, don’t you? Well, never mind. It is good, really, is it not? I don’t want to marry him, so this is all for the best. Now,” she said briskly, smoothing her skirts. “There are some items I must insist on having.”
Red shook his shaggy head, “Lor’, Miss. I be too long here already.”
“That is too bad, is it not? Would you like it if I started screaming?”
“You would not do that,” he stated firmly. “Would you?”
“I most certainly would.”
“No one would hear you.”
“Then there is no harm in me try
ing, is there?” She opened her mouth as if to yell, only to have Red look so ill she snapped it shut again.
“Miss, really,” he expostulated. “There is no call for that.” He cast his eyes down to his worn boots. “What do you be needing?”
“A change of clothing, for one thing, and some water to wash these in. And some books. I must have something to read. I have got to have something to do. A pack of cards, perhaps? And bring a slate with you, if you wish me to teach you to read. How often can you come?”
“Not that often.” He rubbed his chin. “Mayhap in the evening. I will send Rose with what you need come morning, ‘though I’ve no doubt you will not like the clothes—”
“They will be fine, I am sure.” She scratched her reddened shoulder. The pale green ball gown she wore was fine for a few hours, however after two days the tight shoulders were starting to annoy her. Even a set of Red’s old ragged breeches would be better. At least she might be able to breathe when she tried to sleep. “Oh, and one more thing, could you let me have a newspaper?”
He scratched his head and frowned in concentration. “That be a mite difficult—”
“Oh, please? I will go utterly mad without it. Please?”
“I will try.”
Left alone, Charlotte paced from one end of the attic room to the other. The room was long and narrow. She couldn’t tell if it was the entire attic floor of a long and narrow house, or just part of an attic of a quite large house. There were a few small, grimy windows along one side. They were only about a foot square and much too tiny to climb out of even if she wanted to.
Looking out of one only showed a small, enclosed kitchen garden surrounded by what appeared to be stables on one side and a dove cote near the rear with tall brick walls enclosing it all. A small well stood in the center surrounded by a ring of lavender.
The roof projected outward and the rest of the view was blocked by other brick buildings. She had no idea where she was. She could see nothing to assist her in determining her location, although she suspected she was still in London. Their ride here had not been that long, after all, despite how it felt.
