The Bridal Season

by Connie Brockway

  His words stank of innuendo. Color rose in Elliot’s face. Letty moved quickly between the two men just as the clerk returned bearing a wooden tray. With a shy smile, he placed it on Elliot’s desk.

  “Tea,” Nick said. “How cozy. And how like you, Agatha, to make such warm friends in so short a time.”

  “I dislike your tone, Mr. Sparkle,” Elliot said.

  “Really? I dislike your familiarity with my bride-to-be.” Abruptly, Letty realized that Nick had no idea why she was here. She almost laughed. Of course not. It would never occur to him that she might give him—and, in the course of doing so, herself—up to the law. Instead, he thought she was here on a tryst!

  “If you will excuse me a minute, Mr. Sparkle,” Elliot said. He motioned for his clerk. “Be a lad and run down to the farrier’s. Tell Kevin I’ll likely need his help with that gelding I told him about earlier.”

  The young cleric’s eyes grew round. With a bob of his head, he hurried out of the room.

  “Didn’t want the boy to hear what you been up to, aye?” Nick sneered. His gentlemanly mien had fallen off. He looked ugly.

  “Nick, please,” Letty begged.

  Elliot had moved forward, but her voice checked him. With a sound of frustration, he turned his back on Nick and went round to the other side of his desk, as though needing to put some obstacle between them.

  “Mr. Sparkle,” Elliot said, “whatever the young lady and I have been ‘up to’ is no concern of yours.”

  “Well, that’s a right cosmopolitan view of things,” Nick said with a bitter laugh. “Mayhaps I’m a bit old- fashioned, but I don’t like my future wife playing fast and loose with another man.”

  “I wouldn’t, either. If the lady in question was, indeed, promised to me,” Elliot said coldly. “But this lady says that you are not now, nor ever have been, engaged to be married.”

  At this Nick shot her an uncertain look. “What does she say we are, then?”

  The sound of hurrying footsteps clattered heavily in the outer hallway. The door swung open and the young constable, Brown, came through it followed by a huge, powerfully built man.

  “Garth, too? Very well,” Elliot said, regarding Nick with unmistakable loathing. “And to answer you, Mr. Sparkle, she says you are partners in confidence games. A charge I have the verification for here, in this telegram.” He lifted a sheet of paper from his desktop.

  Nick’s surprise lasted only a few seconds. He hadn’t survived in his profession by being slow-witted. He swung around, but found his path barred by the two large and formidable-looking men, one of whom held a baton.

  “You are under arrest, Mr. Sparkle, for conspiracy to commit fraud,” Elliot said. His cool, unreadable gaze swung to Letty. “As are you, Letty Potts.”

  She knew it was coming. It was why she’d come here, after all. To get it done and over, to mark the bill paid, once and for all. But the breath still left her lungs in a whoosh, and her head spun dizzily.

  She was so intent on Elliot that Nick nearly got to her. He lunged at her, reaching out to take her hostage, or simply to punish her.

  Elliot, caught behind the desk, shouted. Kevin, standing closest, grabbed Nick’s arm, wrenching it savagely up behind his back and thrusting the baton under his chin, jerking it back. At the same time, Garth seized his other arm.

  Nick didn’t fight long. He was no fool; he knew when he was outnumbered. But the look he cast at Letty made a thousand vile promises.

  “You stupid bitch!” Nick ground out. “You stupid, useless slut. I hope it was worth it, whatever pleasure you got on him.”

  “You will shut up, Mr. Sparkle,” Elliot’s voice was quiet and low, but lethal. Even Nick must have sensed that Elliot held his fury in check only by the slimmest thread, for though he glared at her and spat at her feet, he remained mute.

  Only as the two men dragged him from the office did he dare speak one last time. “I hope it was worth your life, Letty.”

  “I’m sure of it,” she answered.

  Chapter 29

  The villain gets to cheat, lie, steal,

  and kick the dog, because in the end

  you shoot him.

  Elliot asked the clerk to escort Letty back to The Hollies and ask the Bigglesworths to allow her to remain until he’d sent word. It would take a few days for him to call together a hearing. He disliked it, but he could see no alternative. She’d confessed to criminal intent and he was the magistrate. And while he could have quite easily released her to her own devices, she quite clearly expected him to act impartially.

  Odd that it should be this, her implicit belief in his honor, that kept him honorable.

  “What are we to do with him?” Kevin asked, jerking his head toward the spare back room in which they’d locked Nick Sparkle.

  “Ever been to London, Kevin?” Elliot asked.

  “Nah. Been here all my life and well you know it, Sir Elliot.”

  “Then it’s time you went,” Elliot said. “I want you to go down to the train station and buy two tickets in a private compartment to London on the dinner train tonight. On the way, stop at the telegraph station and send a wire to the Chapel Street Police Station, to Lieutenant Runcorn, stating that you will be arriving with your prisoner, Nick Sparkle, at Paddington Station on the eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  The young man’s face reddened with pride. “Coo, sir. You mean it?”

  “I do. And you’d best also stop and get some locks for the windows and door.”

  “Right.” With a smart click of his heels, Constable Brown marched out of the office, making Elliot smile. It faded abruptly as his gaze moved toward the room in which Nick Sparkle sat. The memory of the bruises on Letty’s wrists rose in his mind, bringing with it cold, unappeasable rage.

  A sudden, loud crash shook the storage room door, a string of muffled curses following.

  “I suggest you quiet down, Mr. Sparkle,” he said gently.

  “Do you?” came the sneered response. “And what are you going to do if I don’t? Arrest me again?” His laugh was sour. As if to press home his contempt, the door shuddered again, the sound of splintering wood accompanying it.

  The man was going to kick down the door at this rate, Elliot thought with a tincture of pleasure. He really couldn’t allow that. As magistrate, he owed it to his constituency to protect public property.

  He flipped back the bolt and pulled open the door.

  Nick stood in front of it, his head lowered. His gaze dwelled in open hatred on Elliot’s face before traveling to the empty corridor behind him.

  “Where’s the bully-boy with the knuckle-duster?” he asked innocently.

  “Down the road a ways,” Elliot answered.

  Nick nodded, his expression lax but his gaze sharply assessing. He was weighing his advantage, measuring the breadth of Elliot’s shoulders against his slender build, the big hands against the immaculate attire. Clearly, Nick liked the odds. Clearly, he’d have liked to make them even better. And that was where he made his mistake.

  “I been sitting in here wondering something,” he said, pursing his lips.

  “Oh?”

  He nodded, eyeing the ceiling reflectively as he wandered casually toward Elliot. “I was rather ’oping you’d ’elp me out. Bloke to bloke, you understand.”

  Elliot stood very still. The man was incredibly obvious. “And how can I do that, Mr. Sparkle?”

  “Well, I was wondering.” Nick’s lips spread back over his teeth in a feral grin. He leaned closer. Just within arm’s reach, he asked, “Was she any good?”

  He lunged forward, but Elliot anticipated him. He stepped sideways, clamping his hand down on Nick’s shoulder and spinning him around, pitching him back into the room. Nick staggered against the far wall, his face slack with incredulity.

  “Men like you, Mr. Sparkle,” Elliot began, and then he stopped, the blood rising fast and fiery in his veins. He hated that this animal had spoken about Letty like that. Hated that he’d l
eft marks on her, hated him in an intense, personal, and profound way.

  “Men like you,” he repeated again, “who live according to whatever impulse strikes them, always make the mistake of thinking other men are just as easy to manipulate as they themselves.”

  Nick surged forward at the insult and stopped. “You’re lucky you have your boys within calling distance, Sir Elliot, or I’d show you a thing or two about impulse. Like I intend to show Letty as soon as I beat this rap and run the bitch to ground.”

  Elliot stared at him, suddenly calm and absolutely clearheaded. “That was a mistake,” he whispered.

  “What?” Nick demanded.

  Elliot didn’t answer him. Instead, he smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “Constable Burns is at the train station where he will be occupied for at least another half an hour. Garth is back at the stables.

  “Now, Nick my lad, there’s a back door to this building. A quarter mile behind here is the north road. It’s a well-used road. Plenty of travelers. Some going to the coast, some north, some south. You’d only have to flag one of them down and you’d be far away inside an hour and no hope anyone would find you.”

  Nick regarded him narrowly. “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying that the only thing that stands between you and freedom is me.”

  “And just why are you telling me this?” Nick asked. At his sides, his hands had curled reflexively into fists.

  He would try rushing him low, Elliot judged, catching him in the belly and pounding him in his kidneys. Elliot shifted his weight forward, preparing to sidestep him once more.

  “Because I want you to try and escape,” Elliot answered truthfully. “I have seldom wanted anything more in my life.”

  Nick grinned just as his fist shot out and caught Elliot full on the jaw, dropping him to his knees. “Happy to oblige,” he said.

  Chapter 30

  The audience is the only critic that matters.

  They held Letty’s hearing in the Bigglesworths’ Great Hall, it being the largest room in the county and therefore the only one that could adequately seat those who’d come to see the questioning of the imposter. Little Bidewell Society was out in force, jockeying for the best seats, their voices humming.

  Everyone was deeply sympathetic toward the victims, the Bigglesworths. It seemed inevitable that Miss Angela’s wedding would be touched by scandal, and everyone bitterly regretted that. Those who’d looked fondly on the romance between Sir Elliot and “that woman” were further aggrieved.

  Plainly put, their sympathies were not with the defendant. Not only had this Letty Potts played fast and loose with Angela’s future, but she’d also deceived them, what with her charming ways and ready laughter. And it confused them that she could be so bad, when she’d seemed so dear. Everyone, that is, except Catherine Bunting, who’d been suspicious of Miss Potts from day one.

  Cabot had cordoned off the far end of the hall with a satin rope. Behind this a trestle table had been set up, a straight-backed chair behind it while its mate sat at an oblique angle in front. This is where Letty would be seated to answer whatever questions the magistrate deemed appropriate in judging whether or not she should be held over for trial. The rest of the room had been divided into two sections filled with chairs and separated by an aisle.

  The hum of voices grew as Sir Elliot entered from a side door carrying a pair of books under his arm. His bearing was as precise as ever, his hair combed to a polish, his attire faultless. His face was not quite so unremarkable. A yellowing bruise spread across his chin. Another darker mark raised the flesh beneath his right eye.

  The murmuring in the room grew hushed. They had been ill-used by this woman, but Sir Elliot had been in love with her. How could any man help but want to punish the woman who’d so deceived him? Yet, knowing Sir Elliot, they trusted him not to let his personal feelings interfere with the outcome of the inquest. In Little Bidewell’s opinion, Letty Potts was immeasurably lucky.

  Elliot set the books down and nodded. He took his seat while Constable Burns hurried toward the back of the room and poked his head behind the door. A moment later, the door swung open and out stepped Eglantyne Bigglesworth, her face set in unaccustomedly grim lines. Behind her came Letty Potts.

  She was dressed in the same lilac lace dress in which she’d arrived. The huge picture hat balanced atop her glossy deep red hair somehow looked gallant above her pale face. She looked neither right nor left, but kept her gaze fixed on her destination.

  Dazzling rectangles of light coming from the upper-story windows lay on the parquet floor, and as she passed through each, the strain of the last few days was clearly and remorselessly revealed. Her skin looked waxen, the blue veins beneath her eyes prominent. Quiet unrolled behind her like a carpet as she passed.

  At the end of the room, Eglantyne took a chair behind the satin rope. Letty took her seat. Only then did she raise her eyes to Elliot and see the bruises on his face.

  She half rose from her chair, her lips parting in an inarticulate sound of distress. Her head swung around, her eyes sought Eglantyne. Eglantyne leaned forward.

  “It is said that he and Mr. Sparkle had an accident,” she whispered. “If it is any comfort, Dr. Beacon says Mr. Sparkle took the brunt of it. He had to be carried to the train station.”

  The first shock of seeing him over, Letty relaxed slightly. She smiled bitterly. “How am I to be comforted by the knowledge that Elliot was hurt by a man he never would have met if I hadn’t come here?”

  “We seldom anticipate the consequences of our actions, my dear,” Eglantyne said gently.

  Elliot nodded and the constable paced to the center of the room and called out in a loud voice for everyone to be seated. Elliot rose to his feet.

  “This hearing is to determine whether or not a crime has been committed by Miss Letty Potts,” he announced. A buzz of excitement filled the room. “Over the course of the last four days I have been in constant communication with the law enforcement officials in London regarding the criminal activities of Mr. Nicholas Sparkle, who is awaiting trial on a variety of charges.”

  Again, voices rose in speculation.

  “Please,” Elliot called out. The murmurs died away. “Now, while Mr. Sparkle has been unremitting in his accusations that Miss Potts aided him in his criminal activities, the London police cannot find anyone desiring to bring charges against her, nor can they find anyone to attest to her complicity in Mr. Sparkle’s crimes.”

  At this, Letty pushed herself to her feet. “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “I freely confess my involvement.”

  Elliot regarded her dispassionately. “This is not London, Miss Potts,” he said. “Please be seated. It is not my province to hear cases outside my jurisdiction. I could extradite you, and would extradite you, if you were wanted in London. You are not.”

  “But—” She began to protest, but he raised his hand, silencing her. He was a stranger, utterly imperious and decidedly not to be gainsaid. She sank down in her chair.

  “That is not to say you cannot be tried for any crimes committed, or in the process of being committed, in Little Bidewell. And will be, should it be warranted.”

  Squire Himplerump shouted, “Hear, hear!”

  “Now,” Elliot said, turning back to Letty. “Let us begin…”

  At the end of half an hour, Elliot had finished questioning Letty. She was exhausted. If she’d feared that he would gloss over her initial motive in coming to Little Bidewell, if she thought he would hide the fact that she’d intended to steal Lady Agatha’s belongings, she needn’t have worried. Cool and detached, he led her through the last three weeks, beginning with the fire at her boarding house and ending with Nick Sparkle’s arrival.

  The spectators listened in fascination. Many eyes had widened on hearing that Letty was a musical actress. Some had nodded knowingly. A few had pursed their lips when she described how she’d intended to flee.

  Letty couldn’t have guessed what they thou
ght of her. She’d spoken only to Eglantyne since Constable Burns had escorted her to The Hollies four days ago, and Eglantyne simply refused to think badly of her. But then, Eglantyne would.

  Letty gazed along the lines of avid faces listening to Elliot’s summary. Angela appeared more puzzled than anything else, while Anton looked openly bewildered. Behind him sat Atticus, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Dr. Beacon and his sister wore identical expressions of troubled uncertainty. The Jepsons simply seemed sad. Colonel Vance had fallen asleep and was snoring peacefully, while beside him Elizabeth worried her hands anxiously. Near the back of the room stood Merry and Grace Poole, Merry looking disgusted and Grace Poole angry.

  Even the Himplerumps seemed subdued, but for this Letty had an explanation. Angela’s letter was the one point that had not come to light during the hearing. Letty assumed the Himplerumps would just as soon keep it that way.

  “Has anyone anything to say or ask Miss Potts before I make a decision about whether she is to be bound over for trial?”

  Conversation bubbled forth again. Letty waited uncertainly. Things had not gone as she’d imagined. She’d thought she’d be arrested by now. Instead, it appeared she was only “rather” arrested and even that was unclear.

  “Yes, Mrs. Poole?” Elliot said.

  Grace Poole marched down the aisle and turned around. Her face was flushed, but she carried herself with dignity. “Seems to me,” she said, “that if we’re to stick strictly to the law, no crime ’as been committed against anyone in Little Bidewell.”

  “That is not strictly true, Mrs. Poole,” Elliot said calmly. “By her own admission, Miss Potts has used and altered Lady Agatha Whyte’s clothing and, again by her own admission, doubts whether Lady Agatha shall ever be able to use those garments again. Unless,” he scowled at the notes he’d taken, “Lady Agatha ‘suddenly develops a bosom and shrinks three inches.’” Snickers of laughter erupted in the room.

  But Grace was not to be so easily quieted. “I said, Sir Elliot, no crime had been committed against anyone what was in Little Bidewell. ‘Strictly speaking’, sir, Lady Agatha ain’t here to make no complaint against Miss Potts, and since she ain’t a citizen of this town, I don’t see as how it’s our duty to do it for her. Besides which,” she sniffed audibly, “if Lady Agatha had been doin’ ’er job, what the Bigglesworths hired her to do, we wouldn’t be having this hearing in the first place now, would we?”