“Mr. Biddle,” Matthews breathed.
Kendra nodded. “I’m not sure how long he’s been doing it. Based on his artwork alone, I’d say a couple of years. But it wasn’t until recently that Stone figured it out, when someone confronted him about the shoddy products and safety conditions.” She didn’t need to identify Joseph. “I think it made Stone suspicious. He probably decided he should take a look at the mill’s ledgers. I think that’s when he realized that Biddle had been embezzling from the mill.”
Matthews stared at her. “And Biddle killed him?”
“It wasn’t planned. I think Stone called Biddle into his office and had the ledger open on his desk. We’ve heard the stories about how Stone enjoyed threatening his workers. I can’t imagine him sparing Biddle.”
“No, I can’t either,” Matthews agreed softly.
“Biddle must have panicked when he realized his embezzlement had been uncovered. He grabbed the bronze . . .” She lifted her shoulders. “Maybe he didn’t even realize what he’d done until it was all over.”
The Duke spoke up. “Mr. Biddle may not have meant to kill Mr. Stone, but afterward he did everything he could to cover it up.”
Kendra nodded. “He put on Stone’s greatcoat and closed down the mill. He left with the workers, taking the ledger with him. The inside pages also had Stone’s blood on them. He knew he needed to get rid of the pages, and redo the figures. That’s why he was spending more time at his house. It was too risky keeping the bloodstained ledger in his office. He could never be sure when Bancroft might come by, or one of the workers might come into his office.”
Jameson remained silent, but Matthews looked shocked. “Good heavens. It all makes sense.”
“We’ll need a search warrant for his house,” Kendra said. “That’s where the ledger with Stone’s blood will be.”
“I’ll send word to my father to issue one.” Matthews hesitated. “And an arrest warrant.”
“Wait.” Jameson held up a hand, and scowled at Kendra. “Why’d Biddle torture and kill Mrs. Stone?”
Kendra frowned as she met the constable’s brown eyes. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “But I promise you, that’s going to be the first question I ask Biddle.”
40
An hour later, armed with the search and arrest warrants, they went to Biddle’s cottage. Mrs. Ferguson answered the door, her cheerful disposition sliding into concern when Matthews presented her with the search warrant. She allowed them to enter, but unfortunately, Biddle kept his study locked, and the housekeeper insisted she’d never been given a spare key. She also mentioned that until recently, her employer hadn’t locked the door at all.
Jameson suggested breaking down the door. Though she knew it would only add to the constable’s suspicions of her, Kendra took out two pins from the chignon that Molly had painstakingly twisted her hair into, and for the second time in two days, she bent down and picked a lock.
“’Tis a talent ter be found among those sent ter Botany Bay,” the constable muttered darkly.
Kendra grinned. Straightening, she pushed open the door to a room done in tasteful maroons and charcoal grays. Hanging on the wall behind the desk was a Gainsborough. How much did a painting like that cost in this era? Thomas Gainsborough had been dead for about thirty years now. In her time, it would cost a small fortune.
They didn’t have to search too hard to find the ledger, a large embossed leather-bound book sitting on Biddle’s desk. Biddle had cleaned up the leather jacket, so the shadowy stains were barely noticeable on the cover. Kendra imagined it would light up like a Christmas tree if she had luminol and a black light on hand. But she didn’t need it. All they had to do was open the book to see Stone’s blood. Some pages were pristine, filled only with columns—dates, accounts, debits, credits, balances—written in a spidery hand. Others had tiny black specks near the page’s outer edges.
Matthews inhaled sharply. The book fell open easily to the pages that had been exposed during Stone’s murder. They’d soaked up Stone’s blood, stiffening the foolscap and staining it so dark that the writing could barely be seen beneath.
“Lookee here,” Sam said, and they glanced over to where the Bow Street Runner was dragging a puce-colored greatcoat with three caplets out of a black lacquered chest. The light streaming in from the window caught the sable collar, making it gleam.
“Mr. Shannon is right—it’s a grand coat,” she said.
“Why’d the fool keep it?” Jameson wondered. “He should’ve burned it.”
“Maybe he planned to, or maybe he thought he could get rid of it at a second-hand clothing store in Manchester,” said the Duke. “The workmanship is superb. I think he would have received a nice price for it.”
Kendra shoved away from the desk, and the book that held Stone’s blood on its pages. “I think you have enough evidence. It’s time to talk to Biddle.”
The bits of cotton floating down from the gray sky reminded Kendra of the first time she’d come to the mill. It had been night then, and eerily quiet. It was day now, and the noise coming from inside the factory was so thunderous that Kendra could feel the vibrations through the soles of her feet as they approached the doors. Kendra covered her ears against the clattering of the machines inside. The smell of linseed oil, dust, and sweat struck her forcefully as soon as they were through the door. The factory floor was a whirling dervish of activity: men working the looms, racing around with bags of freshly carded cotton slung over their shoulders, leaping forward to pluck white fluff from the teeth of the machines, and jumping back before their fingers could be chopped off.
Kendra scanned the workers. Biddle wasn’t among them. She moved forward, walking rapidly toward the stairs. Alec, Sam, and the constable were beside her, while the Duke and Matthews followed. Kendra picked up her pace when she saw Biddle coming down the stairs with another man. They were talking, but Kendra saw the exact moment when Biddle spotted them. His face froze as his eyes locked on the constable.
Shit. Kendra knew what was going to happen from the panicked expression that crossed Biddle’s face, his eyes all but falling out of his head. Snatching up her skirts, Kendra dashed toward the stairs, the reticule, heavy with the muff pistol, banging against her thigh.
She made it to the bottom of the stairs when Biddle grabbed his companion’s arm and shoved him hard. Caught off balance, the man flapped his arms urgently, almost like he was hoping to take flight. Then he came crashing down the stairs. Kendra leaped to the side to avoid him, and continued racing up the stairs. Behind her, she thought she heard Jameson cry out as the man bowled him over.
Biddle reached the top of the stairs and kept running. Kendra chased after him, knowing that Alec was probably not far behind her, unless he’d been knocked over as well.
“Stop! You can’t escape!” she yelled. The walls acted as a barrier to the thundering noise of the factory, so she could actually hear her voice. “Give it up, Biddle!”
He didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. He plowed ahead, his footfalls loud as shotgun blasts as he ran past the offices and down the hallway, skidding around a corner.
Gritting her teeth—and silently cursing her shoes and skirt—Kendra followed. She yanked her skirts up even higher as she skittered around the corner. Ahead, Biddle jumped on the iron ladder bolted to the wall, scrambling upward. Her gaze traveled up the ladder, which soared into the shadowy catwalks. At the top, she noticed the door cut into the wall.
“Stop!” she shouted, her gaze fixed on the man climbing the ladder. “It’s over, Biddle!”
“Kendra!” Alec yelled from behind her.
She ignored him, launching herself at the first rung, and began to scale the ladder after Biddle. He was about eight feet above her. Kendra’s calves burned as she thrust herself upward. Halfway up, her foot caught in her skirt, nearly unbalancing her. She gripped the railing hard and kicked viciously, hearing the material rip. Freed, she kept climbing.
Biddle tossed a quick
glance down at her as he reached the door. Panting heavily, he worked the bolts. Then he flung the door open, its hinges giving a rusty shriek. Light poured through the aperture. Kendra leaped to clasp the rung above her, pulling herself up two rungs at a time. Her breathing was ragged by the time she made it to the door. Then she was plunging through it to the roof.
Icy wind slapped her face, and whipped her torn skirt around her legs. She drew in great gulps of air as she scanned the roof. The top portion was a long, flat strip, five feet in width that ran for about fifty yards. The slates plunged at a steep angle on either side. Ahead, the mill’s massive smokestacks rose up to bisect the roof. Kendra caught the dizzying sweep of countryside and East Dingleford—vivid autumn trees, a flash of the glimmering green-blue of the river, white and gray stone houses and cottages.
Biddle was sprinting down the flat strip of roof toward the chimneys.
“There’s nowhere to run, Biddle!” she shouted over the screaming wind. Where the hell was he going? She grabbed fistfuls of material, yanking her tattered skirt high above her knees as she again dashed after him.
Biddle had reached the end of the strip. Stumbling to a stop, he whipped around to face her. “Let me go!” he yelled. His eyes were bright with panic and fear. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear!”
Kendra skittered to a stop about seven feet from the man. Behind her she heard rapid footfalls, but she kept her focus on Biddle. “I believe you. Let’s talk about it, okay? Come with me, Mr. Biddle. Let’s go inside to discuss it.”
She inched forward. Five feet between them.
“Stay back!” he shrieked.
Kendra dropped her skirt, lifted her hands, and stopped. “Okay, Mr. Biddle. Stay calm!”
“Calm?!” He gave a bark of wild laughter that was instantly carried away by the wind. “This was never supposed to happen! He never gave a damn about the mill! I cared! It was my sweat, my blood that went into this place! Not Stone’s! Not the earl’s!”
“You deserved something for your efforts.” One step forward.
His eyes blazed. “You’re goddamn right I did! I was giving my life for this place, and barely got a pittance! No one cares about us workers! Do you know what happened when I asked for an increase in wage? The bastard laughed at me! Said he could snap his fingers and the earl would find another man more appreciative!”
“I understand.” Another step. “They failed to see you for who you were. An intelligent, resourceful man.” Four feet.
“I deserved to be compensated!”
“So you increased your own wages. Took a little here, a little there.”
“God helps those who help themselves. That’s what the Bible says.”
“Actually, no. That phrase isn’t in the Bible.”
Biddle glared at her. “I told you to stay where you are!” Suddenly he whirled around, his hands reaching out to steady himself against the smokestack. His fingers tried to dig into the brick as he slid, crablike, onto the section of the slate-shingled roof that sloped sharply downward.
Kendra’s heart leaped into her throat. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re going to get yourself killed!”
He ignored her, his attention focused on his feet.
“Kendra,” Alec said from behind her, a low warning. “Let him go.”
She didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge Alec. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on Biddle. He didn’t seem to notice that the wind was picking up strength, tearing at his jacket, fluttering his hair. Kendra could feel it buffet her, strong enough to rock her back and forth. Carefully, she moved forward. Less than two feet now.
“There’s no escape, Biddle!”
He glanced at her, his expression fierce. “Are you certain?”
Another slide. Another scrape. Kendra was stunned when he started to grin. She didn’t actually see him lose his footing, but she knew the moment it happened. She saw his body jerk, and his eyes go wide in a terrible comprehension. His fingers tightened on the bricks, his feet shuffling, desperate to gain traction, but the weight of his body tore his hands away. He screamed, and threw his hands out, clutching at air.
Instinctively, Kendra lunged forward, her hands outstretched to catch hold of his. He clawed at her arm, yanking her forward. His fingers locked around her wrist in a death grip that crushed her bones. A cry tore out of Kendra’s throat and she tried to throw herself backward to break the momentum, to offer a counterbalance against his weight and the inexorable pull of gravity. For a shocking second, they teetered together, their eyes locked on each other’s. The wind pummeled them. Then Biddle’s feet went out from under him, and he plunged backward, his hands still wrapped around Kendra’s wrists.
“Kendra!” someone—the Duke or Alec—yelled from behind her.
She cried out in pain as she fell forward, her body slamming against the roof’s slate tiles. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Then she found herself being dragged forward as Biddle’s weight pulled her headfirst toward the edge of the roof.
Her gaze was locked on Biddle’s terrified face, and, beyond him, the ground that swam dizzyingly below. Desperately, she kicked her feet, trying to slam her toes into the slick slate tiles to stop their downward momentum. Her hands were useless. Biddle’s fingers were shackled around her wrists, binding them together as they hurtled toward the edge of the roof.
Then suddenly her whole body wrenched, her ankles caught in a viselike grip. She screamed, her arms nearly ripped out of her sockets by Biddle’s dead weight. Her breath hitched in her chest as her gaze shifted beyond Biddle’s face, down the length of his body to where his boots were dangling off the roof.
“I’ve got her! Someone bloody well take hold of my coat, and pull!” Alec ordered. “Goddamn it, pull!”
Kendra gasped as her body was tugged back up the pitch of the roof, the tiles scraping painfully against her flesh. She tilted her head back to prevent her face from being scratched off completely. Biddle’s weight brutally stretched her arms. She kept her jaw locked to prevent herself from screaming in agony.
The hands on her ankles shifted to her calves, then to her waist. Sam and the constable reached past her to pry Biddle’s hands from her wrist.
“Let go!” Sam shouted. “Damn you! Let go, you bloody bastard!”
The next moment, Kendra was free, Alec’s arms locked around her as they rolled onto the flat portion of the roof. Breathing heavily, Alec straightened, dragging her across his lap as he leaned against the brick smokestack. She could feel his body trembling. Or maybe it was hers. Kendra caught the intense flash of green in his eyes before he swept her into a hard, wild kiss.
“My God . . . Kendra!” The Duke said behind her.
“I swear it was an accident!” Biddle’s voice rose up. “I didn’t mean to kill him!”
“Shut it, ye son of a whore!” Jameson yelled.
Kendra saw the constable shove Biddle toward the door.
“Are you all right, miss?” Sam asked, his golden eyes bright as they roved over her.
“I might need longer sleeves, otherwise I’m fine.” Still, she had to catch her breath. “I want to talk to him.”
“Aye. I’ll just assist the constable in taking the basta—the prisoner ter jail.” The Bow Street Runner grinned and gave her a jaunty salute before spinning around, hurrying to catch up with the constable and Biddle.
The Duke stared down at her and Alec. “How are you really, Miss Donovan?”
“Now I know how people felt when they were put on a torture rack.” She regarded him. “You know, I heard you call me Kendra. Do we really need to be formal again?”
A smile split his face, and his blue eyes were bright as they drifted over her and Alec. “No, I don’t believe we do. I think I shall go and explain what has happened to Mr. Matthews. He wisely stayed inside the mill.”
They watched as he jogged the distance to the door. He turned to smile at them again before disappearing inside.
�
�Alone, at last,” she huffed out with a laugh.
“Hell and damnation, Kendra.” Alec’s arms tightened around her. “I nearly died when you tried to grab the bastard. You are a courageous, foolish woman.”
“Why, thank you.” She stroked her fingers through his thick, dark hair, even though the movement caused her shoulders to ache. “I’m glad you were here.” She leaned in and kissed him, then sighed. “I need to interview Biddle. There are still unanswered questions.”
“Later. First, I’m sending for Dr. Poole to examine you.”
“Hell, no.”
“Kendra.”
“No. He’ll probably try bleeding me, or he’ll tell me to snip a lock of hair and burn it under a full moon”
“He’s not a witch.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” she muttered. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, okay?” She shifted, and winced. “Maybe a lot sore. But it’s nothing that a hot bath won’t cure.”
Alec helped her to her feet. As they stepped away from the protection of the smokestack, the wind pummeled them. Alec kept his arm around her. “I’m bringing you back to the Green Maiden. You’ll have to change your clothes anyway.”
Kendra glanced down at her ragged skirt. He was right, she realized. It was ripped so badly in places that she could see her legs. She’d shocked East Dingleford enough.
“And mayhap Mrs. Bolton has some liniment for your shoulder.”
“I wouldn’t object to that,” Kendra said, and smiled.
“You’re limping,” Alec observed as they reached the door.
“I banged up my knees when I fell. The bath and liniment should take care of it.”
Alec went down the iron ladder first. Kendra bit her lip to keep from gasping as she clutched the ladder’s railing firmly, each downward step jerking her bruised shoulders. A hot bath and liniment didn’t sound so bad, she decided. Then she’d interview Biddle.
The hot bath and liniment oil helped ease some of Kendra’s soreness. Mrs. Bolton’s apricot brandy did the rest. She didn’t want to overindulge. She had every intention of interviewing Biddle in the jail, but one small glass wouldn’t hurt, she decided, as she, the Duke, Alec, and Sam sat in front of a crackling fire in the private parlor.
Caught in Time Page 33