An Independent Woman

by Candace Camp

  Nicholas sighed, setting aside his fork and knife. “I find I have little appetite this morning.”

  “Were you up late dealing with…?” Juliana paused, unable to think of a delicate way to express her thought.

  “The body?” Nicholas asked bluntly. “Yes. I stayed until they left. And I locked the door myself to keep anyone else out of there.” He grimaced. “Of course, I am probably the likeliest suspect.”

  “Nicholas…no.”

  He looked at her consideringly. “You did not tell the magistrate the exact truth last night. You said that I was with you the entire evening after we left the ballroom. Yet there was a good hour, at least, when we were apart.”

  “I know,” Juliana replied evenly. “I heard you leave your room.”

  “Why did you not tell him that?”

  “I know you didn’t kill Crandall. And I certainly wasn’t about to let Lilith create any doubt that you might have done so.”

  “You have too much faith in me. I have done a great many wicked things in my life. And I hated Crandall. How can you be so sure that I didn’t knock him over the head?”

  “I know you,” Juliana told him simply. “I realize that you may not have lived an exemplary life. Perhaps you have done things that were…not exactly legal. But I know you are not an evil man. If you had killed Crandall, you would have had good cause, and it would have been in the heat of anger, in a face-to-face fight, just as it was last night on the dance floor. You never would have attacked him in that sly and sneaky way, coshing him from behind with a fireplace poker.”

  Juliana reached over impulsively and took his hand in both of hers, looking into his face. “Am I not right?”

  Nicholas looked at her for a long moment, and she saw then a subtle shifting of his face, a relaxation and warming, and his hand curled around one of hers. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

  “I am so grateful that you did me the honor of becoming my wife,” he told her.

  Juliana smiled at him. “No more than I.”

  “You are right, of course.” Nicholas released her hand and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t kill Crandall. Nor am I the magistrate’s choice in the matter. He is inclined to believe that it is Farrow.”

  “The blacksmith?”

  Nicholas nodded. “He clearly had a grudge against Crandall. He knocked him about a good bit last week. And he had opportunity. He was here last night.”

  “But that was at some remove. Why would he kill him a week later? Why not do it at the time he discovered Crandall assaulting his wife?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not convinced that he did. But it is possible that Crandall, who could be more foolish than one would have supposed possible, might have approached Mrs. Farrow again last night. He did go outside. When I talked to the servants last night, a couple of the footmen had noticed him outside mingling with the tenants.”

  “But he was killed inside the house.”

  “It would have been easy enough for someone to follow him inside. That room is not far from the side door. I do not think we can rule Farrow out.” He paused, then added, “That said, I am not inclined to think that Farrow is the killer. He is, I think, straightforward and honest—not the sort, as you said about me, to knock a man on the head from behind. But I fear that the coroner’s court will focus their attention on him. It would be far easier for them to convict one of the townspeople than a gentleman of influence.”

  “Or a lady of influence.”

  “You are right.” Nicholas inclined his head toward her in agreement. “I am sure that there are a number of women who would have liked to do away with Crandall.”

  “We cannot let them lay the blame on Farrow if he did not do it. And I cannot help but fear that Lilith will do her best to convince them that you are responsible. We should look into it ourselves.”

  “I do not intend to leave it solely to the magistrate and the coroner’s court,” Nicholas told her firmly. “I intend to investigate myself. However, I—”

  “The problem—” Juliana interrupted. She strongly suspected that Nicholas was about to tell her to stay out of his investigation, and she did not intend to let him exclude her. “—is that there are so few people we can rule out. Crandall had made enemies everywhere.”

  “That’s true enough,” Nicholas agreed.

  “His friend Mr. Hakebourne, for instance. I saw him arguing with Crandall just last night during the dance. I don’t think he came here just to see a friend. Crandall was quite surprised—and not well pleased—to see him. I think Crandall may have owed him money. I overheard Crandall and Sir Herbert talking one day. Crandall was trying to borrow money from Sir Herbert, and Sir Herbert said that Crandall owed a number of gentlemen money.”

  “Of course, if Crandall owed him money, it would not make much sense for Hakebourne to kill him. He’d never get the money back then.”

  “That’s true. But he was clearly angry with Crandall last night. Anger could have overridden his common sense,” Juliana pointed out. “And then there is Sir Herbert.”

  “His brother-in-law?” Nicholas quirked an eyebrow. “He seemed to have little liking for him, but enough enmity to kill him?”

  Juliana shrugged. “I don’t know. When I heard Sir Herbert and Crandall arguing that day, Sir Herbert seemed quite upset with him. Apparently, Crandall already had borrowed a great deal from him and not paid him back.”

  “Doesn’t seem like something you’d kill someone over. Just don’t lend him anything else.”

  “He was angry at Crandall for something else, though. Sir Herbert seemed to hold him responsible for getting Seraphina involved with a gambling crowd. Apparently she has lost a great deal of money at cards. That is why they are here instead of in London for the Season.”

  “Ah. Tapped out, then.” Nicholas nodded his head. “I had wondered. Seraphina doesn’t seem the sort to rusticate when she could be going to balls every evening.”

  “No. I dare swear she dislikes being here, and she may very well blame Crandall, too.”

  “There was little love lost there,” Nicholas added. “Crandall was always making little comments that seemed to rouse her ire.”

  “Yes. I thought it was odd. What he said always appeared innocuous enough, but she would shoot him an absolutely furious look.”

  “Of course,” Nicholas speculated, “the person with the most reason to want to get rid of Crandall would be his wife.”

  “Winifred?” Juliana asked, surprised. “But she is so small and, well, timid.”

  “Sir Herbert and Seraphina do not have to be around Crandall. If he is all that bothersome to them, why not just leave? But Winifred is stuck with the man. I am sure she must have realized long ago what a mistake she made in accepting him.”

  Juliana pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Yes, she would have the most reason to do away with him. It would be awful having to live with Crandall.” She paused, thinking of the marks she had seen on Winifred’s arm the day the girl had helped her write out invitations. “I think he might have hurt her—physically, I mean. One day she had bruises around her arm, as if someone strong had grabbed her tightly. And she would have been faced continually with the news of his betrayal of their wedding vows—Crandall would not have left other women alone, I’m certain of it. And just the other day at lunch…”

  “Yes. Clearly he was at least attempting to be unfaithful to her in that incident with the blacksmith’s wife. There was no way she could ignore that,” Nicholas said. “As for her being small and timid—well, he was struck from behind and with a poker, which would have evened out the physical disparity between them.”

  “We cannot discount the possibility that it could have been a woman,” Juliana agreed. “Look at what I found on the floor in that room last night, only a few feet from Crandall’s body.”

  She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out the ruby, holding it out to Nicholas in the palm of her hand.

  Nicholas’s e
yebrows soared upwards. “What is this?” He took the gem from her and held it toward the light coming in from the window. “A ruby?”

  “Yes. I saw it when you held the lamp over Crandall’s body. It glinted in the light. It was lying at the foot of the cabinet near Crandall’s feet. What if it came from the killer?”

  Nicholas studied the ruby thoughtfully. “It could have, of course. The room is used little, and it seems that if it had fallen from someone’s person in the past, a servant would have seen it when cleaning and picked it up.”

  “Possibly. Unfortunately, it is not large. It could have been overlooked. I noticed it only because you moved the lamp.”

  Nicholas looked at her. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No. I said nothing when I found it. I was afraid that if I said anything, it would give the killer—”

  “A chance to get rid of the ornament the ruby came from,” Nicholas finished for her. “You’re right. Good. It isn’t conclusive proof, of course, but it might give us a better idea of who did it.” He paused, then said, “Even if it does belong to the killer, it doesn’t mean that it’s necessarily a woman. This ruby could have come from a tie pin or shirt studs.”

  Juliana nodded. “I wish I could remember what everyone was wearing that evening.”

  “That’s a hopeless effort as far as I’m concerned. I remember only how you looked.” Nicholas stopped, and, to Juliana’s amazement, color darkened his cheeks beneath his tan. He stood up quickly and walked away, going over to the sideboard and refilling his cup. He stood there for a moment, looking down at it, then swung back around.

  “I must apologize,” he said stiffly, still not looking at her. “For my behavior last night. I—well, I have no other excuse than that I had been drinking.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. When she caught on to the fact that the behavior in question must be the way he had taken her into his arms and kissed her wildly, her spirits plunged. What she had found so vastly pleasurable was an embarrassment to him.

  “I see,” she replied faintly. Nicholas regretted kissing her; he wished he had stayed in his room and not given in to his passion. Had he truly not felt anything for her? Had it been only alcohol that had driven him to act as he did? It made her want to cry to think so.

  “I should never have imposed myself on you in that way,” he went on.

  “It wasn’t—”

  “No!” He shook his head sharply. “Don’t excuse me. We set the boundaries of our marriage, and I overstepped them. I acted inappropriately. I hope you will forgive me. I promise you that it will not happen again.”

  Juliana looked down at her plate, feeling awkward. She wondered if it followed from what he said that Nicholas thought she had acted inappropriately, too, since she had responded to him with a passion equal to his own. Perhaps he did. Perhaps she was not acting in the way he wanted his wife to behave.

  “Of course I accept your apology,” she told him, tightly reining in her own emotions.

  “That is very good of you.”

  He remained by the sideboard for a moment. Juliana could not bring herself to turn her head toward him for fear of what might show in her face. At last he moved, going over to the door and opening it.

  At first she thought he intended to leave, but then he came back over to the table and sat down. Juliana pushed the food around a bit on her plate. She did not feel able to eat it anymore. She set down her fork and looked up, keeping her face as expressionless as she could.

  Nicholas was watching her, his face a trifle uneasy. She wondered if he was afraid she was going to cause some sort of scene. She smiled at him brittlely, about to excuse herself from the meal.

  At that moment there were footsteps outside in the hall and Peter Hakebourne stepped into the room. Nicholas glanced at Juliana, and she knew what he was thinking. The first of their suspects was here, and Nicholas intended to get whatever information out of him that he could.

  She set aside all thoughts of leaving the dining room now. She might not be a wife to Nicholas in the truest sense, but at least in this, she would be united with him: She intended to help him find Crandall’s murderer.

  “Ah, Mr. Hakebourne,” Nicholas said genially, rising and getting the pot of tea to pour a cup for the other man. “We are serving ourselves this morning. I hope that is all right with you.”

  “Of course, of course,” Hakebourne agreed pleasantly.

  “Did you sleep well, Mr. Hakebourne?” Juliana asked.

  “As well as could be expected, I suppose,” Hakebourne replied as he sat down. He took a sip of his tea and set down the cup, then said, “Um, do you—have you heard anything about whom they suspect did it?”

  “Not really,” Nicholas answered. “Lady Barre and I were just discussing it. Do you have any thoughts on who the killer might be?”

  Hakebourne shrugged. “I don’t imagine it would be difficult to find someone who would have wanted Crandall dead.” He looked back across the table at Nicholas, his expression challenging, as he went on. “The hard thing, doubtless, would be narrowing it down to just one person.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A SILENCE HUNG in the air for a moment after Hakebourne’s provocative statement.

  Then Nicholas asked disingenuously, “Had Crandall that many enemies, then?”

  Mr. Hakebourne shrugged. “You knew the man. What would you guess?”

  “Crandall could be very annoying,” Nicholas conceded. “But enough for someone to kill him?”

  “Perhaps for some, it doesn’t take much,” Hakebourne countered.

  “What about you, Mr. Hakebourne?” Juliana asked quietly.

  Hakebourne turned toward her, his eyes wide. “Do you mean, did I kill him?” Before she could answer, he went on. “The answer to that is no. But as for being quite put out with him, I certainly was that. Crandall cheated me.”

  “Cheated you? How?” Nicholas asked.

  “Sold me a worthless piece of horseflesh. Oh, I know—caveat emptor, as they say, especially when it comes to horses. But blast it! The man claimed he was my friend. Then he turned around and sold me a hunter when he knew it had been injured. Damned bad form that. ’Scuse me, my lady.”

  “So he sold you a crippled horse?” Nicholas asked.

  “He wasn’t when I looked at him here. I was visiting Crandall, and I admired the horse, offered to buy it from him, but he was not having any of it then. A few months later, in London, he told me he had decided he had to sell the horse. He was short of cash, you see. Naturally, I said yes—damned fine horse. But first time I rode him, I realized something had happened to him. ’Course, Crandall denied it all, said nothing had ever happened to him. Clearly untrue.”

  “Is that what you were arguing about last night?” Nicholas asked.

  “Arguing?” Hakebourne looked surprised.

  “I noticed you and Crandall exchanging words during the dance,” Juliana explained. “It didn’t look particularly friendly.”

  “Well, it wasn’t. He was trying to tell me it was my fault. My fault!” He looked at them indignantly. “As if I was a green ’un. That’s why I came here—didn’t know about the wedding, you see.” He smiled a little apologetically. “Didn’t mean to intrude upon you. I thought if I talked to Crandall, he’d see the error of his ways. I mean, really, one doesn’t cheat a friend.”

  Juliana thought it was probably not right to cheat anyone, but she refrained from pointing that out.

  “I presume Crandall refused to give you back the money you’d paid him,” Nicholas interjected.

  “Flatly! And not just once.”

  “You must have been quite angry,” Juliana sympathized.

  “Indeed, I was. It isn’t as if I’m flush in the pocket, either. I could have used that money. But all Crandall could say was that he didn’t even have it any longer, that he’d used it to pay off some debt or other.” Hakebourne made a noise of disbelief. “More likely he’d used
it to place another bet. The man could not stop. He was obsessed.”

  It was a common enough problem among Crandall’s peers, Juliana knew. Many a gentleman’s fortune had disappeared into the pockets of gamblers.

  “On what did he bet?” Nicholas asked.

  “Anything,” Hakebourne replied candidly. “Horse races, card games, boxing matches…whatever he could find. Once he bet on a race between mice with Everard Hornbaugh. ’Course, in the end, he lost it all. And he was in debt to a number of people—not only money lenders, but gentlemen, as well.”

  “Are you the only person he cheated?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. I should think he had done so to a number of other people before he tried it with an old friend. He borrowed like mad, as well.”

  “From whom?”

  “Anyone who was foolish enough to lend him money. His sister’s husband, for one. He would always turn to Sir Herbert first, because of the family connection, you know. Sir Herbert has lent him hundreds and hundreds of guineas over the years, and Crandall never paid him back a cent. But I think Sir Herbert had finally stopped giving it to him. He was furious over Lady Seraphina, you see.”

  “Because Crandall had introduced her to gambling?” Juliana asked.

  Hakebourne nodded. “How did you know? He’d been doing it for a while, to pay off his debts to the gambling hells. He’d bring in flats for them to fleece, and they’d forgive some of his debt or give him credit.”

  “Flats?” Juliana asked.

  “Inexperienced players,” Nicholas informed her.

  “So he was betraying his friends there, too?”

  Hakebourne shrugged. “Well, most of them were new to town, if they were willing to believe Crandall would lead them to an honest game. But I suppose Lady Seraphina didn’t think her own brother would do that to her. Or perhaps she had been too sheltered. Sir Herbert is a trifle stuffy. At first she won—that’s the way they do it, you see. But then she started to lose. I hear she lost a fortune. That’s why they’re rusticating. That’s what the gossips say, anyway.”