Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils)

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Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Page 22

by Samantha Kane


  “Well, I assume they fought,” Tinsley said defensively. “After all, she was running from him as if he were the devil himself.”

  “But you did not actually witness an argument?” the magistrate said again.

  “No, I did not,” Mr. Tinsley said, his nose in the air.

  Eleanor chanced a glance over at the prosecutor. He looked quite unhappy.

  “And Mrs. Fairchild was running from Mr. Enderby and not toward him, as if to do him harm?” the magistrate continued.

  “Yes,” Tinsley said. “Away.”

  Sir Robert’s fingers drummed on the bench again. “I see. And did you hear Mrs. Fairchild threaten Mr. Enderby?”

  “No, sir, I did not,” Mr. Tinsley said.

  “I see. So you saw a woman running away from a man and concluded that she killed him?” The gallery laughed.

  “I did no such thing,” Tinsley declared. “I simply told him”—he pointed at Mr. Burns, the prosecutor—“what I’d seen that night. I wasn’t the only one,” he protested. “Plenty of people saw it and commented on it.”

  “Did Mr. Templeton at least threaten the deceased?” the magistrate asked wearily.

  “What? Well, no,” Mr. Tinsley said, confused. “Why?”

  “I was hoping your testimony would shed some light on what actually occurred,” Sir Robert drawled. “It has not.” He turned to Roger. “Mr. Templeton, do you have anything else to ask the witness?”

  “Did you ask Mrs. Fairchild to dance on Thursday, the twenty-second of March?” he asked.

  “Did I what?” Tinsley asked. He looked flushed. “I have no idea.”

  “It was a supper party at Mr. and Mrs. Hale’s,” Roger supplied helpfully.

  Tinsley looked nervous. “Yes, yes, I did,” he answered. “I remember now.” There were hoots from the gallery at his response, and he shifted from foot to foot.

  “And what did she say?” Roger asked. His smile was both pleasant and victorious.

  “She said no,” Tinsley answered flatly. Clearly he’d realized his credibility was shattered. “She was already tupping your friend, St. John,” Tinsley continued in a snide voice, getting in a dig of his own. “I suppose she was too busy spreading her legs for him to dance with anyone else.”

  “Mr. Tinsley,” the magistrate barked. “This is a courtroom, not a ladies’ gossip emporium. You will conduct yourself in the appropriate manner or you will be ejected from the courtroom. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Tinsley said meekly. But the damage had been done. The gallery was abuzz, and she heard ‘St. John’s dove’ and ‘whore’ bandied about.

  “Was Sir Hilary St. John present that night at the opera when Mr. Enderby, Mrs. Fairchild, and Mr. Templeton had their encounter?” Roger asked, still pleasant.

  “No, sir,” Mr. Tinsley answered.

  “Then the lady’s relationship with Sir Hilary is not relevant to this line of inquiry. No more questions, sir,” he said politely to the magistrate.

  “You are dismissed, Mr. Tinsley,” Sir Robert said. “Thank you.” He turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Burns, dare I hope your next witness is more credible?”

  “I have several more witnesses who can testify to the events at the opera,” Mr. Burns offered hopefully.

  “Will any of those witnesses be able to tell us of an actual argument between Mrs. Fairchild and Mr. Enderby? A threat against Mr. Enderby’s life directly from the accused? Or is it more of Mrs. Fairchild running from Mr. Enderby, and Mr. Templeton taking him to task?”

  “The latter, sir,” Mr. Burns said reluctantly.

  “Then I believe we can dispense with those witnesses,” the magistrate said.

  “Sir,” Roger interrupted, standing abruptly. “I would like to entertain several of those witnesses. I believe their testimony is relevant to the events of last Wednesday evening that led to Mr. Enderby’s death.”

  Eleanor stared wide-eyed at Roger. What was he doing? The magistrate seemed just as confused.

  “Mr. Templeton, the last witness made it very clear that there was no argument between the accused and the victim. Do you really wish to investigate the matter further? At risk to your client?”

  “I do,” Roger said firmly. “I would like to establish quite clearly and firmly that my client was running away from Mr. Enderby. I wish the jury to be very clear on the subject.”

  Sir Robert sighed. “Fine.” He waved at Mr. Burns. “Your next witness, please.”

  Mr. Burns looked as confused as everyone else. “I would like to ask Mrs. Percival Eddings to please come forward.”

  A petite, tittering woman, solemnly wearing black as befitted the proceedings, stepped through the gate. And thus began a procession of Eleanor’s acquaintances. As she stood and listened to one after another say essentially the same thing, she realized Roger was buying them all some time. But would it be enough? She prayed Hilary’s continued absence indicated he was on to something.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I’m sorry, Sir Hilary,” Mr. Unger said, and it was clear to Hil that he truly felt unhappy about confirming his earlier statement to Inspector Vickery. He sat in one of Hil’s ornate chairs, his simple, brown broadcloth suit worn and wrinkled against the red velvet of the seat cushion. His hands were resting palms down on his knees, and he looked quite nervous. He smoothed a hand over his short, dark hair as he’d been unconsciously doing for the last half hour. Between forty and fifty, he was old enough to have learned his job and to approach it with a sense of responsibility and pride. “Saw her plain as day walking past The Bull and Mouth. She was wearing boys’ clothes and carrying a little brown bag. Had a hat on, but could see her curly hair under it, and that face. No man or boy ever looked like that. No, sir. I knew it was a woman right away. Figured she was out on a lark, or running from something. She kept looking behind her. Crossed the street to avoid the light and looked startled when she saw me.”

  Hil scooted forward and sat gingerly on the edge of his seat, hoping to convey sincerity and trustworthiness, while also communicating the urgency of the situation. “I understand, Mr. Unger. I’m not questioning whether or not you saw her. What I wish to know is whether you saw anyone else.”

  “Anyone else?” the watchman said, puzzled. “Well, I saw a lot of people that night. Busy part of town, with the coaching station at The Bull and Mouth. Who are you looking for?”

  “That, Mr. Unger, is exactly what we need to find out,” Hil said. He turned to Wiley. “Can you think of anything to help jog Mr. Unger’s memory?”

  Wiley looked a little taken aback to be consulted. “Me? Well, I …” He paused and ran a hand over his mouth and chin, looking a little nervous. “Well, if it was me, I’d ask if he’d seen anything or anyone else who seemed out of place, or different, like Mrs. Fairchild did.”

  “Exactly,” Hil said triumphantly as he turned eagerly to Mr. Unger. “Did you? See anyone out of place or different, as Wiley suggested?”

  Mr. Unger chuckled. “Seen a lot, actually. Run into all kinds of goings-on at a coaching inn, and in Ludgate in general, I tell you. Several fistfights, a stolen horse, a broken window.” He stopped and tipped his head to the side, lost for a moment in his own head. Hil got the impression that he was a man who noticed, and noted, everything. “Now that you mention it, it was a night for misdressed young people on larks. I saw a man dressed as a woman leaving The Bull and Mouth around midnight. Old enough, not a boy, but still young. I remember thinking they must be having some sort of a silly party in there.”

  Hil’s heart sped up. “A man dressed as a woman? Was he pretending to act like a woman, too? Or as you said, just being silly? Acting like a man wearing woman’s clothes?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “He was acting like a woman, but the walk wasn’t right, and he carried his reticule wrong. The bow on his bonnet was all wrong, too. Very messy. He stepped on something and hurt his foot and hopped about for a minute. Not ladylike at all. His clothes were old and shabby, bu
t he was acting as if he were a proper lady. Very odd, I thought at the time. I thought some of his rowdy friends would follow him, because he kept looking behind him as he hurried away, but no one did. He ducked out of the light, too.”

  Hil felt euphoric. “Did you tell the inspector about this man?”

  “Yes, yes I did,” Mr. Unger said, nodding. “Not in as great detail, of course, but about a man dressed as a woman. He dismissed it as nonsense.”

  Anger rushed through Hil, but he tamped it down. “Why do you think he did that?”

  “Well, he was looking for her,” Mr. Unger said, acting surprised at the question. “Specifically wanted to know if I’d seen her.”

  Hil grew suspicious. “Who discovered the body? You? The innkeeper?”

  “No, sir,” Mr. Unger told him. “Inspector Vickery did. Said he’d gotten a note from someone telling him where to find it, and directing him to Mrs. Fairchild.”

  “Damn it!” Lavender said angrily. “Why didn’t he tell us that?”

  “Because he might not have been able to collect a reward for it, then,” Wiley said in disgust. “Vickery’s always about the reward. He’s in it for the money, you know that.”

  “Well, aren’t we all?” Mr. Unger said prosaically. “It’s a job. Mouths to feed. Got to keep a roof over our heads.” He eyed Hil’s study. “Not all of us have got the blunt Sir Hilary has, you know.”

  “There was a time, Mr. Unger, when I was all about the money, too,” Hil admitted, seeing Unger’s point, and Vickery’s, too. Easy money is easy money, after all. “I’m not faulting anyone here. Things happen. But I believe—no, I know—that Mrs. Fairchild did not do this awful thing. I believe the gentleman you just described did it, with a mind to incriminating Mrs. Fairchild. It was merely poor luck that had her passing through there on her way here. A coincidence that could get her killed. Can you describe the gentleman you saw in women’s clothes?”

  “Well I don’t know much about her, or whether or not she did it or didn’t,” Mr. Unger said. “All I know is what I saw. Let me see, about the gentleman. He wasn’t as tall as you, but taller than me or the young gentleman over there.” He pointed at Wiley, who looked dumbstruck at being described as a young gentleman. “Couldn’t see much with the bonnet he was wearing. On the thin side, I think. Dark hair. Now that I think on it, he didn’t wear a wig. Looked just like your lady friend, with her short hair.”

  “Hardly another coincidence,” Hil murmured. “Go on.”

  “Not much more I can tell you,” Unger said apologetically. “Didn’t speak to him.” He paused. “Wait. One more thing. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Another dead giveaway he was no lady. And his fingers were dark, stained. Not sure with what.”

  “Blood?” Lavender asked eagerly.

  But Unger shook his head. “No, sir, stained, not wet. Dry and stained. Black it looked, but it was dark.”

  Black-stained fingers. Hil sat back in his chair. He tapped his toe on the floor, thinking. “Perhaps ink?” he wondered aloud.

  “Yes, sir,” Unger said, his voice rising with excitement. “Ink! That’s what it was.” He looked at Lavender and winked. “He’s good, all right.”

  “Thank you,” Hil said drily. “Who has ink-stained fingers?” he asked the room in general.

  “Printers,” Wiley answered. “Artists. Perhaps one of those broadsheet fellows.”

  “Perhaps, but unlikely,” Hil said. “They’ve no grudge against me. I provide too much fodder for their livelihood.”

  “But this story is a sensation,” Wiley argued. “Maybe of their making, to fill their own pockets.”

  “It doesn’t feel right,” Hil argued right back. “This is too personal. A scandal could have sold broadsheets just as well. Revealing Eleanor’s nightly visits here, for example. No, this is a direct stab at me, and it’s meant to be a mortal wound. She will die unless we save her, and the villain knows it. It’s what he wants.”

  “Well,” Unger said, “I knew an accountant once who—”

  “Exactly,” Hil declared, jumping up from his chair, his mind awhirl. Taunton was smiling just as broadly as he was. “Say it again,” he told Unger.

  Unger looked worried. “I was saying I knew an accountant who—”

  “An accountant,” Hil said, the rush of satisfaction and excitement he felt when he solved a case crashing through him. “Or more correctly, an accountant who is the son of an accountant who even now, if still living, resides in Botany Bay as a result of my investigative work.”

  Wiley had jumped up as well. “The chap who’s gone missing. The one we can’t find.”

  “Who?” Lavender asked.

  “Exactly,” Hil said, ignoring the inspector for the moment. “And I would be willing to bet he is about this tall,” he held his hand to his shoulder, “has brown eyes, a long, thin nose, brown hair, and at least one rather tired-looking brown suit, which he was wearing when he attempted to push first me, and then Eleanor, in the path of a speeding carriage.” He ran to his desk and grabbed the broadsheet and brought it back. Shoving it in Unger’s face, he pointed to the man in the picture and asked, “Was this the man you saw dressed as a woman at The Bull and Mouth?”

  “The accident last week!” Wiley exclaimed, leaning over Unger’s shoulder. “So it was related to this case. But why? If he had Eleanor in his sights, and she’d already been arrested, why try to kill you?”

  “What accident?” Lavender asked, standing as well. He glared at the two of them.

  “We were on our way to see him,” Hil said. “Though I’m not sure how he could have known that. Perhaps frustration drove him to act?” Hil surmised. “Eleanor had been arrested, but she’d been released and was clearly walking the streets with me as a free woman. If he were unfamiliar with the details of her release, he may have thought his plans had gone awry.”

  “Oh, they’ve gone awry, all right,” Wiley said with narrowed eyes. “Now he’s in our sights, and we’re damn well going to find him and see he pays, and pays good.”

  “No talk like that in front of the constabulary,” Unger warned. “Besides, I can’t tell if that’s him or not. I’d need to see him in ladies’ clothes to say for sure.”

  Hil snapped his fingers. “Of course. Cruikshanks. He can draw him again, wearing the clothes as you described them. Come on.” He grabbed Unger’s arm and dragged him out of the chair. He was manic with the need to act. This was the first solid clue they’d had so far.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door and Wiley dashed over to open it. James stood there with a note. “For you, sir,” he said and handed it to Wiley.

  Hil walked over to his desk and began rifling through the papers there looking for the information he had on his new suspect. “On the contrary, we are going to apprehend him and drag him into court and reveal his infamy there, where it will have the most impact on the jury, the judge, and public opinion. As much as I’d like to wring his neck,” Hil hissed between clenched teeth, “just the way Eleanor would have died, it would do nothing to prove her innocence to show up with another dead body.”

  “Who are we trying to find?” Lavender demanded angrily, planting himself in front of Hil, his hands on his hips.

  “Anthony Weekes Jr.” Hil said. “Accountant and villain. His last known address was Fleet Street. Eleanor and I were on our way there to see him when he tried to kill us both.” He handed Lavender the broadsheet. “That is a relatively accurate depiction.”

  “Then we’re for Fleet Street,” Lavender said, spinning around and heading for the door. “We’ll find him.”

  “Cruikshank’s first,” Hil said. “If Unger can positively identify him from the drawing, then we have credible witnesses to present at trial. Eleanor must be acquitted first. Then we can find Weekes.”

  Wiley waved the note triumphantly. “You’ll have to find him without me,” he told Hil. “Our dead body has arrived.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I believe we have heard from
enough witnesses concerning the events at the opera,” Sir Robert said impatiently, after listening to more than an hour of testimony on the subject. The crowd was becoming restless, and with each successive witness they had further turned against the prosecution. At this point there was shouting for Eleanor’s release, and denouncements of the ‘blackguard’ Enderby. She tried not to get her hopes up.

  “Mr. Burns,” the magistrate said, addressing the prosecutor, “we would like to hear from the watchman who saw Mrs. Fairchild at the scene of the murder.”

  Eleanor flinched again. She hated that word, murder, particularly when used in conjunction with her name. Her new name. She swallowed with difficulty as fear twisted her insides at the thought of revealing her real identity. Roger had told her it might be necessary. She hoped not.

  “We have been unable to locate him today, sir,” Mr. Burns said after a hushed conversation with an aide. “He was last seen in the company of Inspector Lavender of Bow Street. Perhaps he was called to another case.”

  “I see,” Sir Robert said icily.

  “You have his sworn statement, sir,” Mr. Burns boldly stated. “Surely the word of a member of such a notoriously faithful and respectable office is good enough for Mr. Templeton?”

  “I am not refuting that Mr.”—Roger paused and looked down to read off a paper—“Unger believes he saw the accused in Ludgate. I would, however, like to question Mr. Unger as to who else he saw that same night in the vicinity of the murder.” Lyttle tugged on Roger’s and arm and the two had a whispered conversation, Lyttle shoving a note he’d received earlier by messenger into Roger’s hand. Eleanor fervently hoped it was from Hilary.

  The prosecutor openly scoffed. “Is the honorable Mr. Templeton now going to try to convince us Mrs. Fairchild was running from someone else that same night in Ludgate?” Some people in the gallery laughed.

  “No, sir,” Roger said politely, tucking the note into his robes. “I am going to prove she was running from the same man in Ludgate.”

 

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