She added, “You might as well tell me, if you mean to kill me. I’d rather not go to my death with this mystery left unfinished.”
He chuckled. “You weren’t clever enough to puzzle it out in time, were you?” Slowly straightening to tower above her once more, Mr. Greaves answered in a bored tone. “Miss Young had the misfortune of being a silly girl without the sense to remain with her chaperone.”
“So she was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“And she resembled the wrong woman.”
So Katherine had been right to suspect that connection, after all. “This is all about Miss Smythe.”
“Isobel.” He bit off the name like poison. “Yes. That unfaithful cow got what she deserved. The others… well, someone had to be brought to justice for the killings. Why not Somerset? He has one foot in the grave anyway. Not to mention he is halfway to senile and conveniently missing from the gathering most of the time. I even saw him sneak off with a maid when I let myself into his garden to meet with Isobel that fateful evening.”
Katherine pushed herself into a sitting position, testing her weight on her arms. They trembled but not as severely as a minute before. Her head was clearer, as well. “You’ve been trying to frame the Duke of Somerset.”
“Trying,” he scoffed, taking a step nearer. “I would have succeeded if not for my hasty lie this morning. Once you bothered to look, you would have found the ribbons in his room.” He laughed. “I thought you had me caught for a minute the other day when I came out, but I suppose you had your little mind too focused on marriage prospects. A stroke of luck, wouldn’t you say?”
Katherine cringed at her lapse. If only she’d counted the doors properly that day. Lord Somerset and Lady Burwick had both been telling the truth about the ribbons. Greaves had planted them.
Now she remembered that the bust of Caesar was in between Lord Somerset and Lady Reardon’s room, but when she’d seen Greaves, she had been just past the bust, heading into the section for the married chambers. Greaves had come out of the room on the other side of the bust, which was Lord Somerset’s room, not Mrs. Reardon’s as she’d assumed. She shifted her legs a bit to try to get her heels beneath her. She moved slowly, so as not to arouse his suspicions. “And in the garden when you confessed you’d heard Somerset threaten Miss Rosehill, was that a lie?"
Greaves nodded.
“I don’t understand. Why Miss Smythe? If you were trying to protect your friend Mowbry, why not simply warn him that she was intimate with another man?”
Bones popped, as if Mr. Greaves clenched his fists so hard that he cracked his knuckles. Katherine froze, fearing that she would prod him into attacking her and finishing the deed.
“Miss Smythe,” he spat, “deserved what came to her for her lies. That little adventuress pretended that she was different from all the other rapacious debutantes. She was bedding me the entire time she made eyes at Mowbry. Then she has the audacity to tell me our affair was over because she fell in love and intended to marry my closest friend? I couldn’t let that rest.”
“So you killed her?”
“My temper got away from me, I’ll admit, but it ended up for the best. Mowbry and I—we’re both better off without her.” He stepped closer. “And I’m afraid the gathering will be better off without you prying into everyone’s business, Lady Katherine.”
Not yet. She scurried away from him on still-watery knees. To keep him talking, she said the first thing that jumped to her mind. “Don’t you care about the grief you’ve caused your closest friend?”
Mr. Greaves hesitated. “Grief? I’ve done him a favor.”
“You’ve left him heartbroken. Certainly, he covers it by flirting—”
“As he should.”
Katherine got her heels beneath her. She braced one palm against the wall, hoping Mr. Greaves could see as little as she. Her only hope of surviving was to run when the moment was ripe.
The scoundrel added, “The only way to get over the wounded pride left by a woman is to find another. I encouraged Mowbry to return to sowing his wild oats. Forget about the little whore who would have cuckolded him, given the chance.”
Slowly, Katherine moved from sitting to a squat. Her legs wobbled, but she couldn’t keep him talking for much longer. She had to make her escape as soon as she could muster the strength.
“Is that what you did?” The suggestion turned her stomach, but it did as she expected and distracted him.
His voice warmed as he stepped forward. Whether by design or luck, he stepped on her hem, effectively trapping her. Sard these infernal skirts!
“That is precisely what I did. At first it was just so I could frame Somerset. I needed to stage the murders better than Isobel’s. But the entire time Miss Rosehill thrashed in my arms, I was thinking of Isobel. You don’t look quite enough like her to satisfy—”
Crack!
Katherine gasped as Mr. Greaves reeled to the side. His head smacked against the stone bench before he fell to the ground. Another figure stood behind him, hefting an object. A woman?
“That’s for killing my closest friend, you monster!”
Katherine tugged her hem from beneath Mr. Greaves’s limp body. “Pru?”
Her savior stepped over the unconscious man to offer Katherine her hand. She helped Katherine stand. “Did he harm you?”
“Nothing lasting. I… Thank you, but I must ask, how did you find us?”
“I followed his steps. I was a bit delayed by Lord Northbrook as he returned from the garden, and wasn’t certain which path you’d taken. I…” She fiddled with the object in her hand. “Oh, piddle. That knock over the head must have tipped out the oil.”
It seemed an unlit lantern had been Mr. Greaves’s undoing.
Katherine managed to keep her feet, feeling steadier with each passing moment. Swallowing against a knot of fear, she used the wall for support as she bent to find the ribbon Mr. Greaves had meant to use to strangle her. Her fingers trembled as she gripped it. She used it to truss him up instead, lest he regain consciousness.
“Oh, wait,” Pru exclaimed. “I think I have it!” A spark flared to life, followed by a flame and a growing light in the lantern. Triumphant, she set it at Mr. Greaves’s feet.
Gingerly, Katherine turned him over, curious to see whether he was dead or merely incapacitated. He seemed to be alive, though a gash in his head bled profusely. She stood and turned to face the other woman.
Pru wore a look of contempt as she beheld him. Katherine stepped closer and took her arm, leading her a few steps away from the scene, just as much for Katherine’s peace of mind as for Pru’s. “You said you followed him. Why?”
Pru pulled away and crossed her arms. Her mouth remained mulish as she trained her eye upon Mr. Greaves. “I suspected all along that he killed my friends, Isobel and Mary—Miss Smythe and Miss Rosehill. I will never forgive him for taking them away.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but she didn’t bother to wipe them. In fact, they seemed to fuel her.
Katherine rubbed her shoulder. “Nor should you. But how did you learn it was him?”
“The diary. Mary and I had a falling out because she started seeing a man privately so soon after Isobel’s murder. From various comments she made, I suspected it might be the father of Isobel’s child, but I had no idea who it was. She said this was her one great romance before settling down. I told her it was her folly. If I’d only been more supportive, maybe she—” Pru paused to wipe her eyes. “She wouldn’t tell me his name, and we shared everything, but I had my suspicions. After Isobel was killed, I talked Mama into hosting a party so I could try to figure out who killed her, and Mary ended up being killed at the party. It’s all my fault. If I’d only figured it out sooner… Isobel’s diary told me enough to put the lingering pieces together. When I noticed Mr. Greaves slip away from the parlor, I followed, hoping to catch him unawares. I was nearly too late again.”
“You arrived at precisely the right time, Miss Burwick.” Katherine s
tudied the girl. “So that’s why you were in Mowbry’s room and Northbrook’s room? Looking for evidence?”
Pru nodded. The woman’s hardened exterior cracked, and a smile slipped through. When smiling, with tears shining in her eyes, she looked approachable. Perhaps even beautiful. This entire time, Katherine had suspected her of having a heinous character, when in fact she had been working through her grief to find her friend’s killer. Would Katherine have been able to think clearly, under the circumstances?
“Pru, please,” the woman corrected.
Katherine smiled. “You know, Pru, I think you’d be a remarkable investigator, if you ever put your mind to it.”
Her smile slipping, the other woman looked down. “I had extraordinary incentive, in this case. I won’t rest until I see him brought to justice.”
“So he will be. That, I can promise you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I don’t think the ribbon will hold him,” Lyle mused as he stood over the unconscious body, examining it. “Well done on the lump on his head, though. He’ll have a screeching headache for certain when he rouses.”
Pru turned pink and lowered her gaze modestly.
Katherine, still a bit dazed, ceded the criminal to Lyle without comment. Harriet left the group to fetch a stronger rope to keep the man bound for the duration of the journey to London.
As she departed, Wayland stepped around the corner of the manor. Katherine stifled a groan. Her chest still ached from her altercation with Mr. Greaves. She didn’t have the fortitude to do battle with the rival detective at that moment.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Wayland stepped up next to her. He surveyed the unconscious man as Lyle unknotted the ribbon from around his wrists.
“You found him. Allow me to tender my congratulations on a job well done.”
Katherine eyed him warily. “That’s all you mean to say? Congratulations?”
He smirked but hid it behind his broad palm as he rubbed one hand over his chin. When he returned his hand to his side, he looked composed once more. “Did you expect something different?”
“A reminder that we might have worked more quickly together, perhaps.”
“It seems to me that you already know that. Perhaps when our paths cross again, you’d do well to remember that we are on the same side.”
Katherine didn’t have anything further to say. She turned away, locking her knees to keep from leaning her weight against the solid, welcoming wall. After the excitement of the evening, she wanted nothing more than to retire to bed.
Wayland asked, “Are you certain he is at fault?”
“I am certain. He made a full confession.”
“What did he say, precisely?”
Annoyed, Katherine shot him a glare. He didn’t seem the least bit moved by her open hostility. “I’ve already given a full account to Lyle, who will be accompanying Mr. Greaves to London.”
“Alone, with a burly chap like him?” Wayland shook his head. “I won’t hear of it. We can’t have Mr. Greaves escaping custody. Mr. Murphy, please accept my assistance in escorting our prisoner to London. We can take my carriage, if you haven’t one.”
Lyle hesitated. He glanced at Katherine and drew out his words as he answered. “Your assistance would be welcome…”
Katherine stifled a sigh. She couldn’t blame Lyle for wanting another body nearby to aid in the transport. Katherine couldn’t provide such a service, for she remained Annie’s chaperone until the conclusion of the party. With the murders solved, she hoped that everyone would disband and return home.
Wayland turned a dazzling smile upon her. “You see? If I’m to be escorting Mr. Greaves, I ought to know all the information at hand in case I have to give a report.”
“Why don’t you ask Lyle?” she countered, her voice so falsely sweet it made her teeth ache. She turned to Pru, who looked every bit as weary as Katherine felt. “Why don’t we return indoors and inform the party of this most welcome outcome to recent events?”
Nodding, the other woman stepped forward and linked her arm with Katherine’s. “Yes, let’s.” As they strode toward the manor door, no one protested. The moment they turned the corner, Pru leaned closer and whispered, “Perhaps we should stop by my room first, however. I have something that doesn’t belong to me.”
By the time they reached the parlor, the room was abuzz with the news that something had happened, even if the occupants seemed too confused and on edge to have been informed of the details. As Katherine and Pru stepped into the room, a hush fell over those gathered. Everyone turned to stare at them with expressions of concern and curiosity.
Katherine drew herself up and announced, “Mr. Murphy, the representative of Sir John, has made an arrest. Mr. Greaves has confessed to the murders of Miss Smythe and Miss Rosehill, as well as the attack on Miss Young.” And on me.
Gasps fluttered around the room like birds erupting into flight. The sounds were followed by mutters. Although Katherine could make out precious little with everyone speaking over each other, the consensus seemed to be that everyone had expected it all along.
She gritted her teeth. This is the last time I’ll have to find myself among these grasping, bacon-brained vultures. They would have turned an ill opinion on anyone, for any perceived slight.
The person most affected by this news was Lord Mowbry. The color drained from his cheeks, and he sat heavily in the nearest armchair. “It can’t be.”
The whispers ceased, and the guests stared at him.
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Not Isobel—why would he?” When he glanced up, he seemed so forlorn that Katherine’s heart broke for him. His best friend had killed the woman he loved. There were no words she could utter to soothe that situation.
“He wanted Miss Smythe for himself. I’m sorry.”
Mowbry looked lost.
Clearing her throat, Pru stepped closer and offered him the journal in her hands. “I believe this belongs to you, now. To remember her by. She loved you.”
When he met her gaze, his eyes shone with tears. “Thank you, Miss Burwick.” His voice cracked as he reached for the journal.
The hush over the guests as they witnessed his pain seemed to deepen and writhe like a living thing. After glancing at Annie, Lord Northbrook cleared his throat.
“I have some news of my own that bears an announcement.”
Everyone looked to him, including Katherine. At his side, Annie ducked her head, her cheeks turning pink and her dimples winking to life as she tried to contain a smile.
Northbrook straightened his shoulders and reached for Annie’s hand, which she gave him willingly. “I have asked Miss Pickering to be my wife, and she has accepted.”
Exclamations encircled the room. Some—like Mrs. Fairchild’s, “You cannot be serious!”—expressed surprise and disbelief. Others, mostly the men, conveyed their sincere congratulations for the happy news.
One sharp voice shattered them all to silence. “Her?”
Annie shrunk into Lord Northbrook’s shadow as his mother elbowed her way between two matrons to stand in front of him. His expression didn’t falter for a moment, nor did he release Annie’s hand.
“Yes, Mother. I have fallen madly and deeply in love with this woman. She is beautiful and kind, energetic and intelligent. Best of all, she also collects moths and understands my interest in them.”
Annie beamed, peeking around Northbrook’s side. “Not only moths. I collect butterflies, as well. Some dragonflies. And—”
To Katherine’s astonishment, the dowager started to laugh. Her chuckle turned into a roaring guffaw that brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them, shaking her head as she muttered about Northbrook and his “bloody moths.”
Smiling, she opened her arms and embraced Annie. “If he’s found someone to make him this happy, you must be a gem, indeed.”
Annie, although shocked, returned the embrace after a moment’s hesitation.
The party descended on them, off
ering their congratulations to the engaged couple and to Katherine as well for a job well done. Katherine tried to protest—after all, she hadn’t done much at all to facilitate this match, and she certainly didn’t want to encourage future matchmaking requests—but her words fell on deaf ears. Between the swarm of matrons and debutantes who seemed bent on currying her favor, Katherine glimpsed Mrs. Fairchild seething in the corner of the room.
When Pru stepped in, trying to pry the throng away from Katherine, all she managed to do was make way for her own mother to step closer.
“What a brilliant coup you made with Miss Pickering,” Mrs. Burwick exclaimed.
“It wasn’t my doing. Miss Pickering is a lovely young woman with plenty of assets to draw a man’s eye—”
Mrs. Burwick slipped her arm through Katherine’s and tugged her down until their heads were on the same level. “That little thing I told you regarding the Duke of Somerset seems to have fallen through. You don’t think you might be able to orchestrate a match for my dear Prudence, do you?”
Pru turned a stark shade of white. She shook her head vigorous, silently begging Katherine to refuse.
Lucky for Pru, Katherine never intended to accept another matchmaking job. After all, she had set out to do precisely what she’d done. She’d solved a murder that even her father couldn’t. Even if she had had some help in the end, her success spoke for itself.
When Papa learned of it, he would have to award her dowry as agreed. She had brought the Pink-Ribbon Killer to justice.
Epilogue
September 1, 1816.
Katherine’s twenty-fifth birthday.
Katherine’s brows tugged together as she skimmed the news rag. There, below a story of a string of robberies in Bath, was the account of the capture of the Pink-Ribbon Killer, which curiously named Lyle Murphy as the detective who had solved the crime. Wayland hadn’t taken credit?
An Invitation To Murder Page 19