Текст книги "The Thames River Murders"

Автор книги: Ashley Gardner

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On its back was none other than Emmett Garfield, my daughter’s would-be suitor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I nudged my horse forward. The hunter coming toward me trotted evenly, Mr. Garfield rising and falling expertly with its pace.

I guided my mount directly into Mr. Garfield’s path, halting and turning to put the breadth of my horse in front of his.

Garfield pulled up and blinked at me from under his tall hat. “Sir?” He remembered his manners and bowed in the saddle. “Good morning.”

“Where did you get that horse?” I demanded.

Mr. Garfield cast a startled look at his mount as though for a moment, he couldn’t remember. “From Lord Compton. I sometimes borrow him.” He patted the horse’s neck, its rich coat gleaming with care. “Lord Compton and my father are old friends.”

“Did you borrow the horse on Thursday last?” I went on remorselessly.

Garfield looked puzzled. I noticed he was behaving less the conceited man-about-town as he had in the ballrooms, and more an ordinary young man confused by his elders.

“No, sir. Thursday last I was in Surrey. All day. I did not return until the next morning.”

His answer displeased me. I could easily verify where he’d been by asking his friends and family—or having Grenville do it—so he had no reason to lie. I remembered now, that at the supper ball on Friday, when I’d met him, he’d spoken of an uncle in Surrey and his visit to him.

Logic told me that Mr. Garfield would not profit by hurting me or Peter. He might believe that laying me up or killing me would prevent me from objecting to his marrying Gabriella, but it would not benefit him to hurt Peter.

Nor would it help Mr. Garfield if I were ruined, as the blackmailing letters threatened. A disgrace to me and my family was a disgrace to Gabriella. I doubted Garfield’s father would condone him bringing home a bride with scandal attached to her. If my antecedents were publicly called into question, so would hers be.

I let out a long sigh that stirred my now-nervous mount. I calmed him with a hand to his shoulder. “Does Viscount Compton lend his horse out often?”

Garfield considered. “I suppose so. He knows a great many people.”

Bloody hell. And this might not even be the horse in question. The hunter housed at the park’s stables, gone missing during the day of the attack, was the likelier culprit.

“I beg your pardon for my abruptness, Mr. Garfield. I am out of sorts today. A horse like that was ridden at my stepson last week, nearly knocking him to the ground.”

“I heard about that, sir.” Mr. Garfield looked appropriately indignant. “Miss Lacey told me. I understand your agitation then, upon seeing a similar horse.”

I was not in a good enough temper to have a young man tell me of conversations with my daughter, but I supposed I would have to become used to it.

“When you return the horse today, will you ask Lord Compton who else he lent him to? Last Thursday to be precise.”

“Of course, sir.” Garfield saluted me with his crop, eager to help.

“A long shot, possibly,” I said. “But I would be grateful of the information.”

Garfield nodded, but he made no move to continue riding. “Now that I have met you by chance, sir … No, I confess, not by chance. I was told how often you ride early in the park. I want to tell you that I have every wish to—”

“Stop.” I cut him off with a raised hand. “Not today, Mr. Garfield. I am in no mood.”

“But, sir, I long to—”

“No.” The word was sharp enough to make him draw back. “Not now. Call upon me … in a few years’ time.”

He looked startled. “Years …”

“Good day, Mr. Garfield.”

I heard him draw breath to argue, but I swung my horse around and rode off before he could say another word.

***

By the time I returned to South Audley Street, Brewster, who had been following me doggedly, announced that Denis wanted to see me.

“How the devil do you know?” I asked crossly as I left the mews, where I’d handed the horse to Donata’s groom. “You have been standing at the edge of the Row, staring at me the last hour.”

“Lad came with a message. I’m to bring you to him directly.”

I did not always like to run to Denis when he beckoned, but he had been good to lend me the men to keep watch last night on Bennett and at Lady Aline’s. “Very well,” I said, swallowing my impatience.

Not long later, I entered Denis’s house, which was quiet today, and pulled myself up the now familiar staircase to the austere study at the top of the landing.

Denis was at his desk, writing something, his pen scratching in the silence. He continued, ignoring me, while I was shown to my usual chair by the unyielding butler.

After a time, Denis laid down his pen, sanded the paper, and set it aside.

He folded his long hands on the desk’s top and looked at me. “You travel to Egypt in the winter.”

Not a question. I would not be surprised if Denis knew our complete itinerary before I did.

“That is so,” I replied.

“There is an object, in Alexandria, that I would like you to acquire for me.”

Ah. I realized the reason he’d so readily sent his men to help me with Gabriella’s come-out and with Bennett. Denis’s services were never without cost.

“Acquire,” I repeated. “How?”

Denis gave a small shrug. “Bargain for it. Purchase it. I will send a sum of money with you. You, I trust with such an amount. If the price is higher, you or Mr. Grenville will have to furnish the difference. But I want the object.”

“What is it? Something important, if you are willing to send me for it. It must be an object I’d not throw away to spite you.”

“That would be foolish indeed. I will keep a description of it to myself until you are ready to leave. I would not want others to know of my interest and acquire it before I can.”

“I am not a teller of tales,” I said stiffly.

“You would remark upon it to Mr. Grenville, who might let it slip to his paramour, who might let it slip to a friend … The best way to keep a secret, Lacey, is to tell it to no one.”

“I concede your point,” I said dryly. “Shall you convey your instructions to me in a sealed letter, warning me not to open it until I am in Egypt?”

Denis gave me a thin smile. “By the time you board your ship, I will tell you. Then no word of it will be able to reach Alexandria before you do.”

I nodded in surrender, and changed the subject. “Have you had any report from your men about Bennett? Is he staying at home?”

“He has not left his house since last night. His servants are talking of the death of Jack the footman, but Mr. Bennett had seemingly not noticed his absence. Mrs. Bennett is much distressed, but apparently Mr. Bennett is not one who pays servants much mind.”

“No, he is focused very much on himself,” I agreed. “Which is why I’m investigating his marriages.” I told him of the “Mrs. Bennett” I’d found off Soho Square.

A flicker of interest lit Denis’s eyes. “Remarkable. Wise to have Mr. Grenville check the parish records. I might be able to expedite the process. I am able to quickly lay my hands on information of all sorts.”

I frowned. “You are being extraordinarily helpful against this nobody, Bennett.”

Another slight lift of his shoulders. “I very much want the object from Alexandria. And a man who would kill his wife and toss her into the river to become a pile of bones puts a bad taste in my mouth. Killer or bigamist, you will have your conviction.”

***

I resisted the temptation to rush from there to Cavendish Square and see for myself what was transpiring. I chafed, but I decided to let Grenville and Denis perform their respective tasks. I wanted to be home when Gabriella returned, in any case.

She arrived, with Donata, at three that afternoon. Donata declared herself exhausted and she retired, but Gabriella was bubbling with good spirits.

“I enjoyed myself immensely,” Gabriella said after embracing me, and we sat down with tea in my study. “I never knew how much I enjoyed dancing, and the company was fine.”

It had been. I had to admit that Lady Aline and Donata knew how to plan an event.

“They invited the most agreeable people they knew,” I said warningly. “Not all ton gatherings are the same.”

“Yes, but I know the agreeable people now,” Gabriella said, brimming with confidence. “I will seek them at whatever outing I attend, and we shall be friends together.”

I cleared my throat. “Do you include young gentlemen in the agreeable company?”

“Of course.” Gabriella blushed. “I will admit, Father, that it was pleasant to be the focus of all attention. But I know that this will not be commonplace. Last night was my hour to shine. I am also quite relieved it is over.”

I relaxed but not entirely. “They will come to court you now,” I said. “The gentlemen.”

“Yes, indeed.” Gabriella made a wry face. “Lady Donata and Lady Aline have quite drilled that idea into me. But I am eighteen. Not yet ready to plunge into running a household. I have much to learn yet.”

I wanted to collapse in relief at the statement, but I was no fool. Gabriella could declare such things only because she had not yet met the gentleman she’d run to when he called.

“In any case,” I said. “I am happy you enjoyed it so. I did too, in spite of my misgivings. I must tell you, however, that when these gentlemen visit, I shall hover.”

Gabriella laughed. “Lady Donata said you would. It is a fine thing to have so many to look after me.”

I warmed under her praise. Every father wanted to be first in his daughter’s eyes, I supposed.

“I must change,” Gabriella said, jumping to her feet. “I will begin wearing the ensembles Lady Donata chivvied me into. She has been very kind, though I am not certain how I will find use for that many gowns. She says that I will begin having callers today, so I must be ready.”

So soon. But, yes, the flowers had already begun to arrive, prim posies that honored my daughter.

I was descending into hell.

I took myself to Donata’s chamber, knocked softly, and was admitted. She lay on her chaise, in a peignoir, her hair tucked under a cap, a cup of strong tea at her lips. “There you are, Gabriel,” she said tiredly.

I drew a chair to her and sat on its edge. “Are you all right?”

“No, I feel unwell.” She glanced up from her tea. “Do not look alarmed; it is nothing. I have carried a child before, and I know what happens. I stayed on my feet too long last night, is all. I will take a rest. I was far more ill when I carried Peter, believe me. And then I had no come-out to orchestrate, only servants to order about.”

“Gabriella’s suitors will soon come calling, she says. This afternoon.”

“Aline is journeying here to sit as chaperone. You need not worry that Gabriella will run off into the mist.”

“But she might accept a proposal,” I pointed out glumly. “This very day.”

Donata sent me a wan smile. “Gabriella is the most sensible young woman I’ve ever met. Astonishingly so, considering she is your daughter, and that her mother is insipid. The phlegmatic French major must be responsible for her steadiness.”

“She had a happy home.” I was grateful to Auberge for providing that, at least, even as I seethed at him for taking her away.

But would I have preferred Gabriella to be alone and miserable? No, indeed. The situation would ever be complicated.

I leaned forward and kissed Donata. “Thank you for all you’ve done for her.”

“She is a sweet girl, and I like her.” Donata finished this statement with a flush. “And truth to tell, I want to show I can be a much better mother than that milk-and-water miss you married.”

“You have surpassed all women, in my eyes, in many ways,” I said. “For one thing, I never will have to guess your opinions.”

Donata’s blush deepened. “Perhaps I am too candid at times. Admit, Gabriel, that if I were sweet and simpering, you would not like me.”

I thought of Margaret Bennett with her smiles and confidence in her fool of a husband.

“No, I would not,” I declared, and kissed her again.

***

Lady Aline had arrived and was in place by the time I descended. The callers had begun, ladies of Donata’s acquaintance, understanding but distressed that Donata was ill today.

Gabriella, in a day gown of long-sleeved light muslin, the white material embroidered over with ivory thread, sat daintily, conversed with the older ladies, and was kind and friendly to the younger.

And the gentlemen came. The drawing room was ever full, no matter how many callers arrived and went, so that I ceased worrying that Gabriella would be caught alone with a suitor. The lads were polite, correct, and kept a requisite distance, even if they were obviously eager and a bit fawning.

Mr. Garfield arrived in the company of another of the young men, Mr. Kent. Mr. Garfield even allowed Mr. Kent to take a chair close to Gabriella, in order to turn aside and greet me.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Garfield bowed, the sweep of it holding arrogance. I suppose he’d donned his self-satisfaction along with his very fashionable suit, a near copy of one Grenville owned.

“Mr. Garfield,” I said politely. “Good afternoon.”

Garfield bent to put his head nearer to mine. “May we speak privately?”

“Only if it is about the horse,” I answered, my look stern.

“To be sure. To be sure.” Garfield’s eyes glinted, as though he were trying to think of a jest that included both horses and women entering the marriage mart, such as I’d heard gentlemen at Grenville’s clubs do. I was either mistaken, or he thought better of it, because he simply walked with me to the back sitting room in silence.

When we reached the deserted room—though the doors were open, all comers clustered around Gabriella—Garfield faced me.

“I asked Lord Compton who’d taken out the horse, just as you requested. He doesn’t ride much anymore, but likes the hunter to be exercised by his friends. His reply will astonish you.”

He was brimming with excitement, anticipating my reaction.

Mr. Garfield was not endearing himself to me in any way. “What is it?” I demanded.

Garfield’s animation did not dim. “Lord Compton proclaimed that on Thursday last, he did lend out his hunter—to you.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

My reaction must have been all Garfield had hoped for. He grinned in triumph.

“I knew you’d be surprised, sir.”

“Quite,” I said, frowning at him. “He is certain? Although, obviously, mistaken.”

“I agree. How could you have ridden his borrowed horse and your own at the same time at the same moment? But he was adamant, sir. That friend of Grenville’s, that captain who married Breckenridge’s widow. Lacey, that’s his name.”

Garfield gave a fair imitation of the elderly viscount. I clenched my hand on my walking stick.

“Accompany me to Compton’s,” I said.

Garfield’s smirk vanished. He gave an anguished look to Gabriella, who was laughing with Mr. Kent. “But, sir.”

“You may throw yourself at Gabriella’s feet another time. I will make your apologies. She will understand.”

Garfield had deflated so rapidly it was comical. “Lord Compton won’t be home now. He’ll be at his club.”

“Then we shall go to his club.”

I guided Mr. Garfield out through the door that led to the hall. No need to parade through the front drawing room again.

Garfield was angry and disappointed, but then he brightened. No doubt he surmised that assisting the father would pave his way more smoothly to the daughter. He should not let himself be read so easily.

Viscount Compton’s club was Brooks’s, in St. James’s Street. The viscount was in the dining room, but seated in a corner on a sofa rather than at one of the large tables. The remains of coffee lay before him on a stand.

He set aside a newspaper and peered up at us nearsightedly. “Who is that? Oh, Garfield’s boy. Back to speak to me again? I am popular with the younger set today.”

“This is Captain Lacey, sir,” Garfield said, deferential. He gestured to me and raised his voice. “You said you lent him your hunter.”

“I can hear you—my trouble is with my eyes, not my ears.” Compton, with a shock of gray hair and very blue eyes, squinted at me. “How are you, Captain?”

“A bit puzzled, sir,” I said. “You told Mr. Garfield you let me borrow your hunter, but you did no such thing.”

“Nonsense. You came to me, gave me Grenville’s card, and asked. I know you were a cavalryman. I’m happy to have the beast ridden by those who know how, and Grenville says good things about you. That you’re a man of honor and all.”

“You spoke to me personally?” I asked. I did not like this. “Or did you only receive my message?”

“You stood in my sitting room. I admit, Captain, that my eyesight is not very good, and I don’t keep my house light, but you look the same. And sound the same. I sent you out to my groom. Now, either you have forgotten already, which means something wrong with your mind, or someone impersonated you.”

“Since I clearly remember the day,” I said, “then it is the latter. Why, I have no idea. But this person tried to run down young Lord Breckenridge with your horse.”

Compton’s rheumy eyes widened. “Dear me. I knew nothing of this.”

“Perhaps I can speak with your stablemen,” I said.

“You may, of course. But if they did not know you on sight either, they might be of no help. Damn it all—you have my abject apologies. I saw nothing wrong in it.”

“Not your fault.” My disquiet grew. “If this gentleman tries to see you again, please send word. To Mr. Grenville if you cannot trust whether it is me or the gentleman purporting to be me.”

“How very confusing,” Compton said. “Rest assured, I will have my household be on the alert. One gentleman should not go around impersonating another, blast him.”

“I quite agree. Thank you, sir.”

“I do hope you find him,” Compton said. “The blackguard.”

So did I. I left Brooks’s with Garfield, most uneasy.

***

When we returned to the South Audley Street house, the callers had gone, and Gabriella and Aline were readying themselves for their evening, shut away upstairs.

Garfield was disappointed to have missed her, but he was polite with his leave-taking, and promised that, if he heard anything of my double, he would tell me immediately.

Barnstable handed me a note from Grenville, asking me to call. I looked in on Donata, found her sleeping, and walked from South Audley Street to Grosvenor Street, too impatient to wait for a vehicle.

As I walked along Mount Street, followed by the faithful Brewster, I could not stop myself ducking through the passage to Grosvenor Mews, and found Lord Compton’s stables and groom.

“He was like you, sir,” the groom said, looking me up and down after my question. “But not you, I see now. I’ve noted you on the street, visiting Mr. Grenville. I thought him you.”

The groom was distressed, no doubt fearing he’d lose his place, since the horse and rider in question had caused such mischief.

I assured him that in a situation so bizarre, it was not his fault, and left him.

“Do you have a brother, Captain?” Brewster asked as we tramped on to Grosvenor Street. “Or a cousin?”

“No,” I said shortly. “No brother. Any cousins would have to be very distant. Would the resemblance hold up?”

Brewster shrugged. “I’d have to see the two of you together. Mr. Denis won’t like this—two Captain Laceys to deal with.”

“Not amusing, Brewster.”

“I know,” Brewster said, then was silent as we trudged on.

As soon as the footman let me into the house, Grenville called down over the banisters. “Lacey. I have much news.”

He did not rush down the stairs but bounced on his toes in his soft, indoor shoes as I climbed the staircase.

“As do I,” I said.

“Excellent. Gautier has brought up a bottle of port, and we will dissect this case over it.”

Not long later, we were ensconced in his private study, the silken tent he’d brought back from the Arab lands hanging over us and casting a red glow over all. The port, a darker red, filled the glasses with rich liquid.

“I’ve discovered much, Lacey,” Grenville said. “And Mr. Denis’s letter this afternoon filled in the rest.”

I took a sip of port, savoring it, even in my restiveness. “Regale me.”

“I’ve looked at six parish registers in total,” Grenville said. “Three today. That was all I could manage before I had to return home and recover. My old cronies can talk for a long time about nothing. It was easy to discover that Bennett married Margaret Woolwich at St. Marylebone. Bennett’s servants provided me that gossip through Bartholomew. I began there and then went to St. Giles and St. Martin in the Fields. Today, St. Paul’s Covent Garden, then on to St. Mary le Strand, and finally St. Clement Danes. London has so very many churches—I never appreciated the fact. Rather took them all for granted.”

My interest piqued. “You would not look so pleased with yourself if you had found nothing.”

Grenville’s eyes sparkled. “I was a bit hampered by not knowing from which parish Mr. Bennett hailed. But it turns out, it does not matter. The man is a thorough fraud. At St. Clement Danes, he married the woman you met, Ella Bennett. Ten years ago. All registered and aboveboard. He married Margaret eight years ago, and so that marriage must be a false one.”

I clenched my goblet of port so hard a bit splashed to my hand. “Got him,” I said. “The proof Pomeroy needs.”

Grenville smiled at me. “I have more to report. When I returned home, flushed with triumph, I read Mr. Denis’s letter. The man is thorough. He found where Bennett had married Judith Hartman. Very much legally—in Christ Church, Spitalfields. He claimed to be a member of that parish.”

“So he did not perpetrate fraud on Judith. That is good.”

“Who knows?” Grenville said. “Mr. Denis went on to say that Mr. Bennett is recorded as having married two more women, one in Surrey, and one in Southwark. The lady in Surrey believes she is a widow—I suppose he grew tired of traveling so far. These are all within the last ten years, and all of them, with the exception of Ella in Soho and Judith, had a fair-sized dowry.”

“Good Lord.”

I sank back in my chair. Ella’s son had assumed his father a gambler because he came and gave Ella large handfuls of cash.

“He is robbing Peter to pay Paul,” I realized. “Or at least, Margaret and his other wives to pay Ella. Perhaps he gave up the lady in Surrey after he spent all her money.”

“That can be ascertained. Shall we turn all this over to Mr. Pomeroy, so that he can find out?”

“Yes.” I stood up, setting the excellent port aside without reluctance. “Let us at once to Cavendish Square, truss up Bennett, and drag him off. What a scoundrel.”

Grenville rose quickly to his feet. “Indeed. Poor Margaret. And what will become of this Ella?”

“He will pay back every penny he took from these ladies,” I said firmly. “He’s robbed them and their families of money under false pretenses. He likely killed Judith because he could get no money out of her—or perhaps he was already married to yet another, and she discovered it. She tries to return home, he finds her and quarrels with her, then murders her.”

“That could be,” Grenville said. “But again, we have no proof.”

“Pomeroy or Thompson can wrangle a confession from him. He will hang—after he makes restitution to his wronged wives.”

I could see Grenville thought me too optimistic, but I was happy to be able to apprehend the man at last. Judith’s bones could be laid to rest, where she might cease haunting my dreams.

***

We rode to Cavendish Square in Grenville’s luxurious carriage. Along the way, I read Denis’s succinct, precise letter, which was mostly a list of Bennett’s current and previous marriages.

My contempt for Bennett increased the closer we drew to him. Had Judith confronted him? Her dark hair falling about her face as she shouted at him, demanding to know what he had done to her?

Had Bennett himself broken her arm some time before her death, and Hartman had sent her to the surgeon, Coombs, hiding her identity to hide that she was married to a fraud? Had that been what Hartman meant by her shame?

Denis’s list went back only ten years, aside from the evidence of marriage to Judith, but when he dug deeper, what would we find?

By the time we reached Cavendish Square, I was worked up into one of my fine tempers. I saw Denis’s men discreetly and not so discreetly on the lookout as I lifted the door knocker and let it fall.

I asked to speak, not to Mr. Bennett, but to Captain Woolwich.

The captain was in his bed still, his wasted body a far cry from the strength in his eyes. He received me politely, but I read his simmering anger, which matched mine.

I introduced Grenville as politeness dictated, but neither Woolwich nor I had patience for any niceties.

“You told me to come back when I could rid you of Andrew Bennett,” I said to Woolwich. “I can.” I handed him Denis’s letter and Grenville’s notes.

Woolwich read them in silence. The color drained from his face, then he dropped the papers and began to cough.

I sprang forward. “Grenville. Brandy.”

Grenville already had taken out his flask. He held it to Woolwich’s mouth, and Woolwich calmed enough to drink.

Woolwich took a long breath then another sip of brandy. Finally, he nodded to Grenville that he was all right, though his face remained gray.

“At last,” he said hoarsely. “I knew he was a wrong ’un.”

“He is a fraud, a bigamist, and a crook,” I said. “Will you prosecute?”

“Oh, yes.” Red crept back into Woolwich’s cheeks. “Even if it takes the rest of my fortune to do it. Did he kill his first wife? If she was his first.”

“I believe he did kill her,” I said. “I will certainly try to have him prosecuted for it.”

“Good.” Woolwich gave me an approving nod. “Thank you, Captain.”

I sobered. “What about your daughter? Would you like me to break the news to her?”

“No.” Woolwich coughed again, but gently this time. He lifted a handkerchief from the covers and patted his mouth. “She is my daughter. I will tell her. He has ruined her, poor child.”

“Yes.” Margaret’s marriage was false, which meant she was the same as a mistress. The world would hold this against her, through no fault of her own. “I am sorry to have to reveal such a thing.”

“I’d rather she lose her character than remain living with that charlatan,” Woolwich said. “So would you. I will make sure she’s looked after all her days.”

There remained little more to say. I took the papers back from Woolwich, and Grenville and I left the room.

Bennett himself waited for us on the first-floor landing. “Mr. Grenville,” he said, staring. “An honor to have you in my house. Captain … What is this all about?”

He gave us an affable look, innocent, as though nothing were wrong. I wanted to push him down the stairs.

Grenville stepped between us. “Mr. Bennett, I would like you to ride with me in my carriage.”

“Oh?” Bennett brightened. “Where are we going?”

“To visit a friend,” Grenville said. “I would like him to meet you.”

Grenville’s cool self-assurance moved Bennett as all my raging likely never would. I barely contained myself as we went down the stairs and out into the street.

In spite of the wheeled vehicles, horses, and foot traffic surging around the square, Jackson had kept Grenville’s team quiet, the coach waiting a foot from the door. Grenville himself opened the carriage door, though the footman from the house darted forward to assist us in.

Bennett suspected nothing at first. I sat myself across from him, laying my stick across my knees. Grenville settled beside me, but before the carriage could move forward, Brewster opened the other door and scrambled in, landing next to Bennett. Jackson started the horses, and off we went.

“What is happening?” Bennett asked nervously.

Brewster hemmed him in, his bulk filling most of the seat. “We’re off to Bow Street,” he said.

Bennett shifted his worried look to Grenville, who nodded. “It’s a bad show, Bennett,” Grenville said, at his most haughty. “You’ve hurt a good many people, and now you have no friends left.”

“I do not … I do not understand, gentlemen.”

He would protest to the last. I leaned forward, my walking stick between my hands. “We’ve found you out. All your wives of your so-called marriages. We have found four—perhaps there are more?”

Bennett’s breath stopped. Then it began again, his face going a peculiar shade of yellow. “You mistake me, sir. I told you, I am warm-hearted. I play at making them my wives—a pleasant fiction.”

“Not at all,” Grenville said. “You tried hard to make them appear legal, at least to satisfy the ladies and their families. They were respectable women, not the sort to readily become your mistresses. And if you could convince their families that the marriages were legal, you swept in the dowry and any property.”

Bennett went even more pale. “You will not be able to verify this.”

“Of course we will,” Grenville said. “We have the records, possibly the testimony of the ladies themselves. I imagine none of them would be happy to hear of the others.”

Bennett stared a while longer, realizing that he was at the end of his games. He shot Grenville a look of appeal. “Gentlemen, can you blame me? A man can fall in love more than once in his life. In this country, divorce or annulment is nearly impossible. One can not end a marriage when one falls in love again.”

“Indeed,” Grenville said. “And a good thing—where would we all be if we picked up and discarded wives at will? You did the thing very thoroughly, Bennett. And that will convict you.”

“But surely.” His smile incensed me. “We can come to some arrangement.”

I pressed the end of my walking stick to his thigh. “That is not all of it. Why did you murder Judith? Did she discover your cavalier approach to marriage, after you convinced her to leave her family, her friends, her entire religion behind for you? She sacrificed everything, and then no doubt discovered what sort of man you were. Is that why you killed her?”

“No!” Bennett’s voice rose in pitch. “I’d never hurt Judith. Never!” Tears welled in his eyes. “My poor, sweet Judith.”

“Enough.” Grenville’s smooth word cut through Bennett’s rising hysterics. “Do not weep—I might be ill. You broke her arm …”

“No!” Another wail, and Bennett began shaking his head. “I never hurt her. That was an accident. She fell. Slipped. Truly. I swear. I am not a murderer.”

I kept my voice quiet as I pressed harder with the stick. “And yet, she died. I will watch you hang for it, Bennett. I vow this.”