The Notorious Widow

by Allison Lane

  He resumed his seat as Rankin drank, then waited until the viscount’s color returned.

  Rankin shook his head, inhaled deeply several times, then stared at his visitor. “You are sure?”

  “The evidence is clear.”

  “I will listen, but I want Jasper here as well. He has a right to face his accuser.”

  “It is not a right he accorded Mrs. Parrish when he savaged her reputation, but I believe in fair play,” he agreed, relaxing. It was far better to catch Jasper unaware, with a witness at hand, than to grant him an opportunity to prepare excuses. He only hoped that Rankin’s pride in his position as magistrate would balance his obsession with the family’s good name, keeping him impartial.

  “Thank you. I have already sent for him. He should arrive shortly.”

  In fact, he did not arrive for another hour, but Blake remained silent. Rankin was arranging excuses and honing his disbelief. His eyes flicked often toward the family tree, usually accompanied by a grimace or a flinch. But that would make the disclosures more shocking and his condemnation of Jasper harsher. Yet conjecture, hearsay, and logic would not be enough to guarantee that shift, Blake reminded himself as Rankin poured more wine. Somehow he must push Jasper into admitting guilt.

  He suppressed a grimace, hoping Rankin knew about him only from London’s society pages. He might be an earl, but many lords considered him a dangerous heretic for his support of the reformers in Parliament. They knew he demanded equal justice for all classes – which was why Jasper’s crimes infuriated him.

  This case cast shame on England’s justice system. A merchant or laborer would have been transported long ago had he committed any of Jasper’s crimes, even inadvertently. High spirits excused harming others only in the aristocracy. No tenant could claim that trampling a lord’s fields was a boyish prank or careless mistake. No magistrate would listen. Only the result mattered. Yes, the aristocracy deserved privileges in return for the responsibilities attached to their positions. But those privileges should not include preying on those they should be protecting.

  Jasper embodied the worst traits of the aristocracy – arrogance, heedlessness, and a conviction that he could do anything with impunity. He must be taught a lesson.

  “What is so important that I must cancel my plans?” demanded Jasper, slamming the door behind him.

  “Lord Rockhurst has filed a complaint against you,” said Rankin, motioning Jasper to a chair. “As magistrate, I must investigate his charges.”

  Blake drew in a breath to steady nerves still jumping from Jasper’s explosive entrance.

  Jasper gave him a look of pure loathing. “I should have known he would make trouble when I learned he was Seabrook’s friend. You can ignore him easily enough. He is a weak-minded fool who has been deluded by a schemer. And he incited that brawl at the assembly rooms, though I’ve not yet discovered his purpose.”

  “Insults won’t erase your deeds,” said Blake mildly, holding his temper firmly in check – he suspected that Jasper was trying to trigger it. “Nor can excuses hide your intentions forever. The more victims you create, the easier it is for others to see the truth. Too many people now know that you punish any irritation, no matter how insignificant.”

  “Lies, my lord. Plots conjured by greedy men who hope to use your sympathy to force favors from me.”

  “Favors, sir?” asked Blake, feigning surprise. “What favor could I seek from you?”

  “Not you,” sputtered Jasper. “The fools you’ve been talking to. Carruthers. Jenkins. Seabrook himself.”

  “Odd that you can name so many victims before I’ve even begun,” he murmured softly. “As to favors, I’ve found no one willing to accept your favor, save Mrs. Telcor, but there is ample evidence of your misdeeds.”

  “Then perhaps we should examine this evidence,” suggested Rankin. His face slipped into a frown as he cast another furtive glance at the family tree.

  “Seabrook has known me since school. I’ve had some small success discerning the truth behind certain incidents and have served several years as a magistrate in Oxfordshire, so when the rumors harming his sister began, he asked me to investigate. He swore they were lies.”

  “He is hardly an impartial judge,” snapped Jasper.

  Rankin raised a hand. “You will have your say in a moment.” His voice had turned to ice.

  Jasper opened his mouth, but thought better of it when he met his father’s gaze. He subsided.

  “My lord?”

  Blake nodded. “Seabrook has always been honorable and truthful, so I agreed. The first fact that struck me was the timing. Dozens of rumors appeared, almost overnight. And though they claim witnesses to each act, not one person admits to being one of those witnesses. Nor can anyone name a soul who is.”

  “Why would anyone admit they’d kept such scandal secret, leaving others vulnerable to her corruption?” sneered Jasper.

  “Hold your tongue!” Rankin was as angry at the interruption as at the charge.

  Blake ignored them both. “In the course of my investigation, I talked to people of all classes,” he continued. “Many revealed other tales, all falling into the same malicious pattern.” He repeated several, pointing out the common theme. “There are more. And if a stranger can discover a dozen in less than a week, they must be legion.”

  “Fustian!” Jasper leaped to his feet. “It is a plot by that harlot to discredit me.”

  “Jasper!”

  “Don’t you see how he’s twisted the facts, Father? I have long since admitted fault for these so-called crimes and done my best to atone. As for the chandler’s daughter, the silly chit interpreted friendly greetings as flirtation and threw herself at me. I refused to court her, finally spending a month in Bath to avoid her. But she was so determined to rise above her station that she got herself with child, then claimed an affair that never existed, hoping her father could force me into wedding her.”

  Blake shrugged. “Your word. Her word. It matters not, for it is merely one of many. And I can produce witnesses to your misdeeds dating back to that cat you tortured at age ten.”

  “Old lady Green is dead.” Jasper snorted.

  Blake met Rankin’s eyes, satisfied that he had heard the admission. Though he’d named no names, Jasper had known exactly what he’d meant. “Every incident fits a single pattern,” he continued. “If someone irritates or insults you, intentionally or not, disaster follows. And you are always there. But I digress.” He held up a hand to halt further protest. “These cases merely establish your character. My real complaint is murder.”

  Rankin sighed, shaking his head.

  “Murder!” squeaked Jasper.

  “Murder. I hereby accuse Jasper Rankin, son and heir to Viscount Rankin, of killing the late Lord Seabrook and his son-in-law Harold Parrish by deliberately and repeatedly attacking Seabrook’s curricle until it veered into the ditch, dashing the occupants against the rocks.”

  Jasper’s jaw hung slack in shock.

  “I further accuse the aforesaid Jasper Rankin of killing Gerald Berens by burning his house down around him to prevent him from disclosing the attack on Seabrook.”

  Jasper’s face had taken on a green tinge.

  “Why kill Seabrook?” asked Rankin.

  “Several reasons. He embarrassed Jasper by chastising him for fleecing Nigel West of everything he owned. A dozen men overheard the confrontation. But beyond that, Mrs. Green had just told Parrish about seeing Jasper torture cats in childhood. At age ten, Jasper had not yet learned to disguise his motives, so he admitted that anything causing him the least harm must be punished, because he was the heir, so his every desire must be granted.”

  “My God,” murmured Rankin.

  Blake continued. “Mrs. Green also described how Jasper coerced her silence. Parrish had long sought evidence that would stop the attacks on his parishioners, so he asked Seabrook to listen to her story. Jasper overheard their discussion. To keep his activities quiet among his peers, he had t
o silence both men. Three witnesses overheard him plotting to force Seabrook’s curricle off the road. Berens heard Parrish’s description of the accident before he died.”

  “Then why has no one come forward in the two years since?” demanded Rankin.

  “Two men found it easier to accept tales of ghostly manifestations than to examine their suspicions. The other remained silent out of fear. He knows that Jasper strikes out against anyone who utters even innocuous criticism. How could he accuse him of murder?”

  “You are doing so.”

  “I believe in justice. A lord is dead, cut down to protect sordid secrets. Two others also died. Condoning such atrocities undermines the very foundation of the system you and I are sworn to uphold.” He held Rankin’s eye.

  Jasper snorted. “Ignore him, Father,” he said, shaking his head. “He seeks only to restore innocence to the village harlot. Somehow he thinks this plot will accomplish that impossible goal. Either he devised it himself, or he is gullible enough to believe liars and cheats. He cannot know whose word is trustworthy and whose is not. What right does he have to impose his wishes on your district?”

  “A charge has been made,” said Rankin slowly. “I cannot dismiss it without examining the evidence.”

  Blake relaxed. “Mrs. Green’s staff overheard her conversation with Parrish. She had previously told the same tale to her housekeeper. Colonel Bangor, Squire Hawkins, and Squire Pott were among those in the White Hart taproom when Seabrook arrived that evening. Jasper, Colonel Bangor, and Nigel West were playing cards. The colonel is unable to answer questions right now, as you know, but Squire Pott recalls that West tried to withdraw from the game several times. Jasper convinced him to remain.” He had spoken to Pott on his way to Rankin Park.

  “He could have left if he’d really wanted to,” muttered Jasper.

  “I did not suggest otherwise,” said Blake smoothly. “I am merely setting the scene. Parrish arrived during the last hand, his conversation clearly audible at the table you shared with Bangor and West. Pott also heard their words. Bangor sat out the last hand, for you offered West a double or nothing chance to recoup heavy losses. You won everything he had, including the estate on which you now live.” He flicked a glance at Rankin, satisfied to note the man’s frown, then returned to Jasper. “All the men agree that Seabrook chastised you for not ending the game sooner. He believed that a true gentleman would never have suggested that last bet.”

  “He insisted,” snarled Jasper. “He knew quite well what he was risking.”

  “That is beside the point, though Pott’s memory is rather different. You were already seething over Parrish’s attempt to punish you for your reprisals, so when Seabrook labeled your behavior ungentlemanly, you vowed that he would regret interfering.”

  Jasper shrugged.

  Rankin’s eyes revealed new anger.

  “As you strode toward the stables, you uttered further threats against Seabrook and his prized horses. Colonel Bangor and Squire Hawkins overheard you.”

  “Impossible. They stayed in the taproom.”

  Blake smiled. “No, they did not. They were barely ten feet behind you. Drink made you careless, so your voice carried.”

  “Everyone grumbles when angry. No one takes it seriously.”

  Rankin nodded.

  “Agreed. I doubt anyone is immune from angry outbursts,” said Blake. “But you took it further. You had ordered the White Hart grooms to keep your horse ready that night – a common demand whenever you suspected you might need a speedy exit. By the time you entered the stable, you were plotting in earnest.”

  Jasper snorted.

  “Unbeknownst to you, a groom overheard every word. He tried to speak up when he arrived at the accident scene the next morning, for the tracks on the muddy road clearly showed your attack, but no one listened. By the time they returned to town, he’d had time to remember your habits, so he kept quiet for fear of reprisals.”

  Rankin’s frown deepened as he gazed at his son.

  Blake continued. “You took the south road out of Exeter when you left the stable.”

  “That is not a road that leads here,” said Rankin.

  “He lies,” snapped Jasper.

  “Hawkins watched you leave as he waited for his carriage.” He switched his gaze to Rankin. “There is no doubt he took the south road. He probably waited in that copse half a mile out of town, for Seabrook did not spot him until he raced up from behind and jerked away the ribbons. Then he whipped the horses into a frenzy, slashing at their legs. Naturally, they bolted. Twice over the next quarter mile, they slowed. Each time, he returned, slashing at the horses until they finally veered into the ditch. The curricle overturned, killing Seabrook and fatally wounding Parrish.”

  “They weren’t supposed to die,” Jasper swore, then choked when he realized what he had said.

  “My God!” Rankin blanched.

  “I didn’t do anything,” shouted Jasper, jumping to his feet. “We were all shocked at their deaths. That’s all I meant. No one is supposed to die driving home after an evening with friends.”

  “Sit down,” Rankin ordered. “Have you more evidence, my lord?”

  “Parrish’s last words, which describe the repeated attacks of the horseman. He tried to name Jasper, but lost consciousness. But his words echoed in Berens’s head. Whether he recognized their meaning at once or only realized it after Jasper threatened him, I don’t know. But within the week, he knew his peril. For his protection, he told everyone he knew that the Frenchman had caused the accident, then took the extra precaution of locking himself in his house. His housekeeper heard him repeating Parrish’s dying words over and over. And she saw Jasper approaching the house just before the fire started.”

  “Lies!” shouted Jasper. “All lies. You’ve heard Berens’s stories, Father. He swore it was the Frenchman’s ghost.”

  Rankin shook his head. “You forget that I was summoned when the accident was first discovered. I interviewed Berens while others retrieved the bodies. He repeated Parrish’s words, but said nothing of ghosts. That story did not begin until later. If Parrish had been less crazed from pain, we would have paid more attention, but he seemed to be raving. Now I know he was not. He tried to tell Berens to ask Mrs. Green about the cat, and he claimed that West had been forced into that game. But we did not understand.” He let out a long breath. “I have overlooked your arrogance for too many years, Jasper.” His voice broke. “I should have taken you in hand after your first tutor swore you’d pushed him down the stairs. But I let Mrs. Telcor convince me he’d lied to cover drunkenness. I am as responsible for staining our name as you, for it was easier to ignore you than to train you properly.” He turned to Blake. “Did he mean to kill Seabrook that night?”

  “I don’t believe so. He had previously employed intimidation, using schemes that inflicted severe and lasting pain on his victims. He meant to cripple or destroy Seabrook’s horses, but he pushed too far and killed the men instead. Berens was deliberate, though. I cannot ignore that.”

  Rankin shakily drained his wineglass. “You have placed me in an untenable position, Rockhurst,” he said on a sigh. “How can I bind over my only son? Conviction would demand hanging. Seabrook was a lord.”

  “Father!” Jasper’s face turned white.

  Blake frowned, pretending to consider Rankin’s dilemma. Trying Jasper for murder was not his goal. As he’d told Catherine, the evidence was too weak to assure a conviction. Seabrook had been too drunk that night to control his team even without Jasper’s attack. And Mrs. Stevens had not seen nearly as much as he’d implied. Only Jasper’s weak protest had convinced him that the fire was indeed deliberate.

  “I have long championed justice, regardless of rank,” he began slowly, watching terror leach the last color from Jasper’s face. “I possess sworn statements from all the witnesses. This is a clear case of a malicious attack that resulted in the death of a lord.”

  “But you know his death was an acciden
t,” protested Rankin. “You can hardly call it murder when he did not intend to kill.”

  “The law makes no distinction,” Blake reminded him. “He sought to cause harm. His victim died.” He paused to let that sink in, watching Jasper out of the corner of his eye, then nearly smiled. He would wager a monkey Jasper was soiling his breeches. “Ask Jasper if motives matter,” he suggested. “He has avoided paying for his crimes for twenty years by asking people to judge appearances and ignore his real motives.”

  Rankin moaned.

  “But perhaps we should consider true justice and not just the letter of the law. Seabrook, Parrish, and Berens are dead. No punishment can bring them back. But the wrongs Jasper perpetrated against others can still be set right. If he repairs that damage, perhaps a lesser penalty will suffice. Overseeing your Caribbean estate for ten years might teach him responsibility.”

  Rankin slumped in relief. “What must he do?”

  “Father!”

  “Would you rather stand trial for capital murder?”

  Jasper sank back into his chair.

  Blake relaxed. “His most recent victim is Mrs. Parrish. While fighting off his unwanted advances, she revealed knowledge of his other crimes. He ruined her reputation so no one would believe her. Since the day William requested my help, Jasper has extended his rumors to include the entire family.”

  “Despicable!” Rankin drummed his fingers.

  “I agree. He must publicly admit that he started every one of the rumors, that every one is a lie, and that his goal was to discredit her so no one would believe that he killed her father and husband. He must admit that his other attacks were not inadvertent high spirits but deliberate attempts to hurt the victims. And he must repay the damage he has done to those victims. For example, without the income that should have come from those ruined crops, Jones’s family will starve this winter. Jasper’s so-called reparations were an insult.”

  “Arbitrating the damage claims will take years.”