The River Knows

by Amanda Quick

  After Louisa poured out her secret and apologized for the deception, she braced herself for dismissal. Instead, Emma had patted her on the shoulder and said, “Never mind, dear. The value of a good character is vastly overrated in my opinion.”

  “GOOD MORNING, LOUISA.” Emma crossed the study to warm herself in front of the fire. “You’re up rather early, considering that you did not get home until quite late last night. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  Louisa put down her pen. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Emma moved to stand in front of the desk. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. “My, my. Anthony Stalbridge. When I got your message from the footman, you could have toppled me with a feather.”

  “I seriously doubt that. Nothing could topple you, Emma.”

  “Of all the gentlemen you might have run off with last night, Stalbridge strikes me as far and away the most intriguing of the lot.”

  Louisa flushed. “It wasn’t what you think, Emma. Mr. Stalbridge and I encountered each other under somewhat unusual circumstances.”

  “The best sort, I always say.”

  “I found him waiting for me in the hall outside Hastings’s bedroom.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Good heavens.”

  “He came to the rescue when one of Hastings’s hired guards attempted to question me.”

  “Hastings employs guards?”

  “Yes.”

  “How very odd.”

  “He has good reason. It transpires that he is not just an investor in a brothel. It appears that he is also a blackmailer who has been extorting money from some very distinguished families.”

  Emma stared at her, shocked. “Never say so.”

  “There is worse to come. Mr. Stalbridge believes that Hastings murdered his fiancée, Fiona Risby. He suspects that Hastings also killed his own wife.”

  Emma sat down abruptly and gripped the arms of the chair.

  “Tell me everything, dear,” she said. “Right from the start.”

  Louisa gave her a quick summary of events.

  Emma listened intently and then sat back. “This is astonishing. Absolutely stunning. And here I thought you’d set off for a romantic tryst. I was so happy for you, dear. I admit I was somewhat concerned because the man in question was Anthony Stalbridge. Nevertheless, I thought it was a good sign that you were starting to emerge from your shell.”

  “I have told you on numerous occasions that I have no plans to emerge from my shell. At least not in the sense that you mean.”

  “Rubbish. You just haven’t found the right man.” Emma frowned. “But enough of that. What is your opinion of this business about Hastings being a murderer?”

  Louisa drummed her fingers on the desk. “To be honest, I do not know what to think. There is no doubt that Hastings has a financial interest in Phoenix House, and it seems clear that he is also a blackmailer, but I am not at all certain that we can leap to the conclusion that he murdered Fiona Risby.”

  “I agree. Her death was, by all accounts, a suicide.” Emma considered briefly. “But there is that necklace Stalbridge found in Hastings’s safe. Emeralds and diamonds set in gold, you say?”

  “Yes. It looked quite valuable. At this point, however, I have only Mr. Stalbridge’s word that it belonged to Fiona. Even if that proves to be true, it no longer constitutes proof of Hastings’s guilt now that it has been removed from the safe.”

  Emma gave a ladylike snort. “Stalbridge was right about one thing: Leaving it in the safe would have served no purpose. If Hastings really is guilty of murder, he is hardly likely to allow the police to search his house.”

  “And even if it were found in the house, I’ve no doubt that Hastings would be able to provide some explanation. He could always claim that the necklace belonged to his first wife, who had admired the Risby necklace and had ordered an exact copy from a jeweler.”

  “Not that Victoria Hastings would have worn a copy of anyone else’s jewelry,” Emma said dryly. “She was a lady who set the fashion. She did not follow it.”

  “I recall that you mentioned she was noted for her sense of style.”

  “Yes. She was a very beautiful woman.”

  Louisa quickly opened her notebook to the pages labeled VH. At the start of the investigation into Hastings’s business affairs she had asked Emma for some background information on Hastings and his first wife. She had also interviewed the lady’s maid who had worked for Victoria Hastings.

  There were not many notes on Victoria. At the time she had not considered the first Mrs. Hastings important, but in hindsight a couple of phrases took on new meaning.

  She ran her finger down a page of her own cryptic handwriting and paused.

  “You mentioned that she was one of the few women you had met who knew how to swim,” she said.

  “She was the only woman I ever met, aside from myself, who knew how to swim,” Emma stated. “It is not a skill that many females ever learn.”

  “That would seem to lend credence to Mr. Stalbridge’s theory that she may have been murdered. Why would a woman who could swim choose to jump off a bridge as a means of suicide?”

  “Any woman, skilled swimmer or not, who leaped into the river fully clothed would likely drown,” Emma pointed out. “A fashionable lady often wears nearly forty pounds of clothing. The sheer weight of her skirts and corsets would draw her down to the bottom as surely as if she were chained to a boulder.”

  Louisa shuddered. “True.” She consulted her notes again. “You said you did not know her well.”

  “No. I don’t believe she had any family connections of her own to speak of. I met her occasionally at various social affairs, but that was the extent of our acquaintance.”

  “Her maid told me that Hastings was in the habit of discussing his business affairs with her. It is rather uncommon for a husband to do that. He must have admired her intelligence.”

  Emma nodded. “She seemed to me to be a very shrewd woman. I can well imagine that she had a head for financial matters.”

  Louisa closed the notebook again and leaned back in her chair. “There is something that worries me about Mr. Stalbridge.”

  Emma raised her brows. “I am pleased to see that your intuition is functioning well. Tell me, what is it that alarms you? Aside from the fact that he knows how to break into a safe, of course.” She paused for emphasis. “I trust you do realize that is a rather unusual talent for a gentleman?”

  “I admit that skill does raise a few questions, but what concerns me the most is that he appears to be obsessed with the notion that Fiona Risby did not commit suicide. I got the impression last night that he would go to any lengths to prove that she was murdered.”

  Emma gave a small shrug. “I expect it is because he would like to clear his own name.”

  Louisa stopped drumming her fingers. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You were not moving in Society last year at the time of Fiona’s death. You did not hear the rumors that circulated.”

  “What sort of rumors?”

  “There was gossip to the effect that Mr. Stalbridge was about to end his engagement to Miss Risby at the time. Some said that the prospect of facing the humiliation of being jilted was what drove Miss Risby to take her own life.”

  Louisa shuddered. “Any woman who is rejected by her fiancé certainly finds herself in a dreadful situation as far as Society is concerned. But would she resort to suicide?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. A jilted woman becomes something of a pariah in the Polite World. There are those who would have expected her to retire from Society altogether, as though she were a widow in the first year of mourning.”

  “Was she from a wealthy family?” Louisa asked. She told herself it was the journalist in her that was interested in the answer. She had no personal curiosity about the woman Anthony had chosen for his bride.

  “Yes, indeed,” Emma said. “The Risby fortune is quite substantial. The fact that F
iona was an heiress would certainly have gone some distance toward easing her plight. There were bound to be other suitors. Also, she was very lovely. A charming young lady, indeed. I’m sure her father could have found another eligible gentleman for her. Nevertheless, the experience of being cast aside by Stalbridge would have caused enormous distress for her and her family.”

  “I see.”

  Of course Fiona Risby had been rich, beautiful, and charming. What else? Louisa picked up a pen and did a little staccato on the desktop.

  “The marriage was considered an excellent match,” Emma continued. “Both families were exceedingly pleased. The Stalbridges and the Risbys have been close friends for years. Their estates in the North march side by side.”

  “I see,” Louisa repeated. She realized she was tapping the pen tip with such force now that she was leaving little marks on the blotter. She made herself put the writing instrument down.

  “I should mention that there were other rumors last year,” Emma continued somberly. “Rumors that were far worse than those concerning a broken engagement.”

  Shocked, Louisa straightened. She did not take her eyes off Emma’s face. “Surely no one suggested that Mr. Stalbridge actually murdered Fiona Risby.”

  “I’m sorry to say that there was some speculation to that effect.”

  “What? Why would he do such a thing? What possible motive could he have had?”

  Emma looked at her very directly. “There was talk that Mr. Stalbridge discovered Fiona in the arms of another man.”

  A little shiver went through Louisa. “Surely you didn’t believe he murdered her?”

  “My dear, if there is one thing that I learned in the course of my travels, it is that any man or woman, regardless of social background or degree of civilization, may be driven to murder under certain circumstances.” Emma met her eyes in a very somber look. “The only question is which circumstances will motivate a particular individual.”

  Louisa swallowed hard. “I cannot quarrel with you regarding that conclusion.”

  Emma’s face softened. “My apologies. I never meant—”

  “There is no need to apologize. You are right, Emma. Nevertheless, I think it is safe to say that Mr. Stalbridge did not murder Fiona Risby.”

  “What makes you so sure of that?” Emma sounded genuinely curious.

  “Surely if he had killed her he would not be searching for the real murderer.”

  “It has been a little over a year since he lost his fiancée,” Emma said quietly. “Mr. Stalbridge is no doubt in the market for a new one, but the old gossip will likely complicate the business. Under normal circumstances, he could look for a bride among the most distinguished families in Society. As I told you, the Stalbridges can claim a very distinguished lineage, and now that their fortunes have been repaired they hold an unassailable position in Society. However—”

  Emma stopped and gave a tiny shrug.

  Louisa got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I understand what you are saying. Many of the best families will surely hesitate before marrying off a daughter to a gentleman who is rumored to have murdered a woman.”

  “Even if they don’t believe that gossip, they will be quite hesitant to allow a daughter to become engaged to a gentleman who is said to have jilted his first fiancée. What if he does it again? Concerned parents will be wary of subjecting a daughter to that sort of social humiliation.”

  “In other words, whether he is guilty of jilting Fiona or of killing her, he has a strong incentive to make it appear that she was murdered by someone else,” Louisa concluded.

  “He would need persuasive evidence, but if he succeeds, Society will conclude that he is innocent. He would then be free to marry any of the wealthy heiresses who will no doubt be cast before him by their extremely enthusiastic parents.”

  8

  Elwin Hastings looked across the desk at his bride of two months. He knew himself to be the envy of many men. Dressed in a fashionable green gown, her honey-brown hair piled high in an elaborate coiffure that required the attentions of a hairdresser every morning, Lilly was nothing short of beautiful.

  It was all he could do not to pick up the heavy crystal vase on his desk and hurl it at her silly, brainless head.

  “Next time you will show me the guest list before you instruct Crompton to send out the invitations,” he commanded. “Is that understood?”

  “Yes, of course.” Lilly clamped her hands together very tightly in her lap. Resentment flared in her eyes. “But you told me that Crompton knew who was to be invited to the ball. You said your secretary is aware of precisely how things are to be done in this household when it comes to social affairs and that I am to leave everything in his hands.”

  “I will speak with Crompton immediately and inform him that Anthony Stalbridge is to be removed from all future guest lists,” Elwin said.

  “I don’t understand why you are so angry that he attended our ball. Mr. Stalbridge is from a very prominent family. He is the nephew of the Earl of Oakbrook. Indeed, there is even speculation that he might someday come into the title because the old earl has never remarried and there is no heir.”

  “Like everyone else in that family, Oakbrook is a devoted eccentric.” Elwin controlled his rage with an effort. “Everyone knows that all the old earl cares about these days is his archaeological research. I am well aware of Stalbridge’s bloodlines, Lilly. I repeat, from now on, he is not welcome in this house.”

  Lilly burst into tears. “I thought everything went so well last night.”

  The tears were more than he could tolerate. He pushed himself to his feet. “That will be all, Lilly.”

  She jumped up from the chair, cheeks flushed with anger. “I do not comprehend why you are in such a temper today. Did Mr. Stalbridge do something to annoy you last night? I heard he left early with Lady Ashton’s relative from the country. I forget her name.”

  He ground his teeth. Disaster had struck last night, but he was not about to inform the stupid girl of that unpleasant fact. “My reasons for not wanting Stalbridge in this house are none of your concern.”

  “That’s what you tell me every time I ask you what is wrong. You’ve been in an absolutely vile mood since our wedding day. It is as if you have turned into a different person. When you asked Grandfather for my hand you were all that was charming and polite. Now everything I say or do is wrong in your opinion. I vow, I do not know how to please you.”

  “Leave me, Lilly. I have business to attend to.”

  She whirled and rushed to the door, her eagerness to escape plain.

  The feeling was mutual, Elwin thought, watching the door close behind her. She was everything he had believed that he wanted in a second wife: young, beautiful, and, most important, an heiress. True, her grandfather had made his fortune in trade, but after a couple of generations had passed one could overlook that sort of family background as long as there was enough money involved.

  Nevertheless, Lilly’s empty-headed chatter and her obsession with gossip and clothes were driving him mad. On top of everything else, she was useless in bed. Unlike Victoria, she had no intuitive understanding of his special needs.

  There were certainly times when he missed Victoria, he reflected. Fortunately, there was an establishment in Winslow Lane where his particular requirements were understood and catered to in the most satisfactory fashion.

  He would give a great deal to be rid of his new wife, but he could not afford to dispense with her just yet. On their wedding day he had discovered to his horror that he had not obtained control of Lilly’s entire inheritance. Her grandfather, the clever bastard, had tied up the remainder of her fortune in such a way that it was doled out in annual stipends.

  For all intents and purposes, Elwin thought bitterly, he was being forced to live on an allowance. Furthermore, if anything untoward were to happen to Lilly the yearly payments would be stopped immediately.

  It was demeaning. Humiliating. An outright insult.
This was what came of allowing men like Lilly’s grandfather to buy their way into Society. Bloody hell. If it weren’t for the damned money, he would never have even considered a woman with Lilly’s background as a potential bride.

  This was the second time he’d been forced to marry well beneath his station. First Victoria and now Lilly. And all because of money.

  It wasn’t right that a man of his breeding should be forced to stoop so low. A white-hot rage seared through him. He suddenly realized his hand had closed around a heavy silver paperweight. He hurled it against the wall. It struck the blue velvet drapes with a soft thud and tumbled onto the carpet.

  He had needed money very badly this past year. Things had started to go wrong almost at once after Victoria died. It was certainly fortunate for him that Society did not condemn a man to three years of mourning as it did widows. Widowers were expected to remarry, the sooner the better. Although he’d had no particular desire to acquire another wife, it had not taken him long to realize that a financially sound marriage was his only hope of remaining solvent.

  In the months following Victoria’s plunge into the river he had suffered several serious financial reverses. The death of Phillip Grantley two weeks ago had come as a devastating shock. Among other things, he had depended on Grantley to collect the blackmail money in an anonymous, untraceable manner. The blackmail scheme was the only one of his business arrangements that had continued to work properly after Victoria’s demise.

  More crucially, it was Grantley who had concocted the plan for the new investment consortium that was his only hope of freeing himself from Lilly and her stingy grandfather.

  Grantley’s supposed suicide had panicked him for several reasons. The fear that one of the blackmail victims had discovered the identity of the agent who collected the payments and had taken lethal action had badly rattled his nerves. Victoria had insisted that they select victims who were wealthy, elderly, and frail. It was difficult to imagine any of them tracking Grantley down, let alone killing him, but the possibility that one of them had done just that could not be ignored. What if that same individual had also learned that he, Hastings, was the person behind the scheme? It was that fear that had caused him to hire the two guards.