The Wedding Caper

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  He had been wrong.

  The shooting must serve as an admonition to him. He needed to find this killer soon, and, until that killer was found, he could not relent in guarding Priscilla and the children. The murderer may have been trying to frighten them, rather than kill them. If so, the ploy had succeeded. If the murderer had hoped to curtail their investigation, he had failed utterly. The killer had made the chase personal now, and Neville intended to make him rue hurting Priscilla.

  Turning on his heel, he strode toward the back parlor. He took another drink from the bottle as he reached to open the door.

  The door opened below, and he heard Thurmond’s voice. Leaning over the railing, he waved to the Bow Street Runner to come up the stairs. He started for the front parlor, then turned to go into Priscilla’s book-room. It was far more private. He hoped Thurmond would have some insight into this incident. If the Runner did not, they were still at the mercy of a madman who had decided it was their time to die.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “But you are not seating the guests in proper precedence.” Aunt Cordelia tossed aside the list Priscilla had made up with Mrs. Moore’s help. “You cannot expect a countess to sit with a baron’s wife.”

  “If you will recall, Aunt Cordelia, the countess and the baroness are sisters.” Playing with the pearl necklace she wore to complement her ivory morning dress, Priscilla tried to ignore her aching head. She had not thought the attack yesterday would leave her with a head that still throbbed. Or mayhap it was no more than she was growing exasperated with her aunt. “They specifically asked if they might sit together. As the breakfast will be informal, we are not conforming to every canon of propriety. I would rather the guests have a pleasant time.”

  “But propriety—”

  “I will leave propriety to you, Aunt Cordelia, if you and Duncan set a date for your own wedding.”

  Her aunt flushed, but her voice remained firm as she set herself on her feet. “Priscilla, I shall never understand you. Your older daughter is the talk of the ton with the attentions a marquess has been showing her, and your son creates curiosity wherever he goes because there is much interest in how much influence

  your fiancй will have on him. As for Leah ...” She shook her head.

  “I have chided Leah for sneaking out into the square in hopes of finding the balls shot at us. She will not be so unthinking again.”

  “She should not have been so unthinking to begin with.” Aunt Cordelia sighed. “I cannot expect anything else when you have allowed him to run tame through your house.”

  “Are you speaking of Lord Witherspoon?”

  “No, of your fiancй. You must have known that.” Priscilla had known that, and she regretted baiting her aunt. Coming to her feet, she said, “I am sorry, Aunt Cordelia. I am sorry, as well, that the arrangements for the wedding are not what you expected. As we will be celebrating a second marriage for me, I thought it would be better to have the wedding breakfast less formal than it will be when the girls marry.”

  “Marry? The girls?” Aunt Cordelia’s eyes began to glitter. “Are you saying that Lord Witherspoon has offered for Daphne already? It would be a prime match. The Witherspoons’ title is as ancient and revered as our family’s. He would not care if Daphne’s dowry is small—”

  “Daphne’s dowry shall be taken care of.”

  “You have only the little left to you by my brother and the pittance you inherited from your late husband. Isaac cannot give her any money because his inheritance is in trust for him until he reaches his majority.” She tapped her chin. “I may be able to help you arrange for some funds to be transferred, and, of course, I intend to contribute to each girl’s dowry.” Priscilla hugged her aunt. “Thank you, but that is not necessary.”

  “Nonsense! You may have this lovely home and the cottage in Stonehall-on-Sea, but you have little more money than a poor church mouse.”

  “Neville will see to the matter of Daphne’s dowry.”

  “What?” Aunt Cordelia bristled like a frightened hedgehog. “Priscilla, how can you allow him to do such a thing?”

  Sitting again, Priscilla clasped her hands in her lap. She had anticipated a storm of protests from her aunt on this matter, but even Aunt Cordelia must be sensible.

  “Aunt Cordelia,” she said as evenly as she could manage, “Neville will be their stepfather. It would be expected he would provide for this family.”

  “But with the money from his family. You know where it came from.” She lowered her voice, even though every servant in the house knew how Neville’s ancestors had made a fortune by bamboozling excise men through the centuries. “Smuggling money, Priscilla. Do you want your daughter to go into marriage with such unclean money?”

  “You are getting yourself all distressed for no reason. Lord Witherspoon has made no offer for Daphne.”

  “Oh.” Her aunt’s shoulders sagged as if she once again were taking on the weight of the whole world.

  “They have known each other such a short time. Daphne has seen firsthand how foolish it is to fall in love without considering the consequences.”

  “She has been offered for before?”

  Priscilla smiled. “No, it was another case of calf-love, which she is well over now.” She would not speak of how Daphne had believed herself, in spite of his efforts to dissuade her, in love with Neville not many months ago. Aunt Cordelia would see that only as another sign of the appalling influence he had over the family.

  “I am glad to hear that. She does not need her mind befuddled during her first Season. She—” Aunt Cordelia frowned. “Good morning. Do you often call at such an unreasonable hour?”

  Priscilla was not surprised to see Neville in the doorway. His face was drawn, as it had been since they were shot at, and she realized he was wearing the clothes he had yesterday.

  He ignored her aunt as he came to where Priscilla was standing and drew her to her feet and into his arms. She put her arms around him, not caring that her aunt would be scandalized by such a public display between a couple not yet married. When she felt him tremble, she drew back and looked up at his scratched face. He was not fearful. He was furious. “Tell me,” she said.

  “There is little to tell. Thurmond came to my house a short time ago. He is waiting downstairs and wants me to go with him to the Prince of Wales Theater. I insisted on coming here first to tell you there has been another murder. This time, it is a man.”

  She heard her aunt gasp and sit heavily on a chair that creaked in protest “Who?” Priscilla asked.

  “Lord Sitwell.”

  “Oh, no!” She grasped the front of Neville’s coat, not trusting her abruptly weak knees. “The man we met at the Park yesterday?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Daphne told me that he and Lord Witherspoon belong to the same club. They are not close friends, and they often disagree as they did yesterday.” Her eyes widened. “They argued about wearing jewelry. Lord Sitwell said there was no danger. Now he is—” He put his finger to her lips. “Sweetheart, take a deep breath.”

  She tried, but sobs rattled in her chest. “Was he robbed, too?”

  ‘Yes.”

  Aunt Cordelia gasped, “This is madness. No one is safe from this killer.”

  ‘Your household is safe, Pris,” he whispered against her hair. “I promise you they will stay safe.”

  “How? I cannot cocoon them in wool and believe they will be protected.”

  Leading her to the settee, he sat with her. His arm around her shoulders was the only invitation she needed to lean her head against him. She did not care if Aunt Cordelia was watching.

  “Do not let any of them go out alone,” Neville said quietly. “All the people who have been killed apparently have been alone when the murderer attacked them.”

  “We were not alone yesterday. We were with each other.”

  He nodded. “I thought of that, but that assault does not match the pattern of the others.”

  “But
he has killed a man now. That does not match the pattern of the other murderers.”

  “In some ways, it still does. The murder was at the theater, and the victim was a member of the Polite World. Also, he was robbed of those rings, which were family heirlooms.”

  “Was Lord Sitwell involved with Birdwell in some way?

  “Birdwell has shown his definite taste for women, and there is no possible way they could have been in business together. I suspect Sitwell may have done just as Witherspoon feared. He taunted the murderer into killing him for the gold he wore.”

  “This murderer must be stopped!” announced

  Aunt Cordelia in a tone that suggested nobody else had given credence to such a course of action before.

  “I agree.” Neville came to his feet. “Thurmond is waiting, so I cannot linger any longer. He has kept his men and anyone else in the theater from tramping through the scene of the murder, so we may be able to find some clues that were lost with the previous murders.”

  “An excellent idea.” Priscilla stood. “Aunt Cordelia, if you will excuse us . . .”

  “Pris, you should stay here,” he said.

  “Why? Because of the danger?” She put her hands on her waist. “You did not flinch from asking me to go with you through the bowels of London.”

  “You went where?” asked Aunt Cordelia.

  Neville ignored the older woman, who scowled and strode out of the room, calling for her carriage to be brought.

  “This has nothing to do with danger, Pris. Thurmond wants to interrogate everyone who was in the theater when the murder took place. Those working at the theater may be willing to speak to me, but they will not be so forthcoming with an outsider.”

  “But you are an outsider now.”

  “Most of them still accept me as one of them, for they believe once one is a part of the theater, one always will be. Others, like Birdwell, see me as a traitor who turned my back on them once I was given my title.”

  “Don’t they know about your patronage of the theaters where you worked?”

  “I never mentioned anything about that to you.” She curved her hand along his cheek. “There was no need to. I know you, Neville Hathaway, and I know you would never turn your back on anyone in need. “I would not go that far.”

  “All right. You would never turn your back on a friend who needed something.”

  He held her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “And you look as if you need a kiss right now.”

  “A kiss could hurt you. That cheek looks painful.”

  “Pris, you will note that a scratched cheek does not impair me when you need a kiss.”

  ‘You are trying to change the subject and persuade me not to go to the theater with you. I will not let you go alone.”

  “Are you going to nag me like this when we are married?” He grinned as he put his arm around her waist. “Should I expect a curtain-lecture every night?”

  She laughed. ‘You have made it clear that marriage will not change you, Neville. I do not intend for it to change me, either.”

  “Is that what you think?” He slipped his fingers through her hair as he tilted her mouth under his. “Are you telling me you will continue to need this? That you will continue to need me?”

  He gave her no chance to answer as he claimed her mouth. She tasted his anxiety for her and his frustration at not being able to stop the murderer. Then, as the kiss deepened, only his longing for her remained on his lips. It was everything she wanted.

  Thurmond shot furious glares at Neville as they entered the Prince of Wales Theater. Neville paid them no mind. Even though he wished Priscilla had stayed at Bedford Square, he hoped she would have some insight into the murder that the others missed. She often did.

  Unlike the last time they had come here to see a corpse, the front of theater between the staircases was full. All the people waiting for word that the theater

  would be reopened had been gathered by Thurmond’s men with the help of the local watch.

  Neville saw rage as well as fear on their faces. Morton sat on the lowest riser of the right-hand staircase and glowered. No doubt he was anxious that someone might go into his props room and disturb it again.

  “This is all of them,” a scraggly man said, scratching his nose. “We pulled a few of them out of a tavern where they’d ’oped to ’ide.” The Charley’s grin revealed most of his teeth were gone, and he leaned on a long staff. “Lucky fer us, some of the others were willin’ to tell us where t’look.”

  “Good work,” Thurmond said. “Just keep them here.”

  “Wotever ye say.” He turned to look at the people gathered in the entry and rested his arms on the staff again.

  “This way.” Thurmond opened a door and motioned for them to enter.

  Neville said nothing as he led Priscilla through the doorway and out onto the ground floor of the theater. It was lit with lamps from the stage. Looking up at the boxes hanging overhead like raptors waiting to swoop down on unsuspecting prey, he remained silent.

  Thurmond walked to the right, where the shadows from the boxes concealed the bare floor. He paused by Lord Sitwell’s body. It was lying facedown next to the bench that ran along the full length of the wall. As with the other victims, a knife was driven into him.

  “This accounts for the missing knife,” Neville mused. “I trust you have men watching the props room to make sure nobody runs off with another.”

  Walking back to the door they had entered, Thurmond shouted for one of his men to guard the props room. He came back. “A good suggestion, Hathaway.

  You know this theater far better than I do. What else do you suggest?”

  “Nothing at the moment. Sitwell was stabbed, and the rings he wore are gone. It looks like the other murders.”

  “Not quite,” Priscilla said, pointing to the floor. “Look at those marks.”

  Neville knelt and examined the black marks that stretched more deeply into the shadows. Ignoring his stomach that threatened to explode, he picked up one of Sitwell’s feet. The toe of his boot was rubbed dull, although the rest shone with obvious attention.

  “He was dragged here,” he said. “Mayhap in hopes that the shadows would conceal him long enough for the killer to elude us again.” He peeled Priscilla’s fingers, which were digging into him, away from his shoulder as he stood. “Three members of the ton murdered and stripped of their heirloom jewelry.”

  “And other robberies before the murders began,” she added. “Being robbed is the one thing all the crimes around this theater have had in common. Could it be the robberies that connect the murders, as well as Mr. Birdwell?”

  He smiled at her. “By Jove, Pris, why didn’t we think of that earlier?”

  “We had no reason to think of it earlier. We considered the victims themselves because they did have Mr. Birdwell in common. Considering the victims is a logical way to look at the crimes.”

  “But we should have looked beyond the obvious,” Thurmond said, amazed.

  “Do you mean that you should have?” Neville asked.

  His friend’s lips twitched with a smile. “I have to own that I know better than to consider only the most obvious aspects of a crime.”

  “As we all should,” Priscilla said.

  “Yes, Pris, you are becoming all too familiar with murders.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “I do believe you remarked once that we would never again be invited anywhere if the stigma of murder continues to stalk us.”

  ‘Then we shall have to remain at home.”

  A screech drowned out anything else he might have said. When a woman rushed toward them, Neville caught her to keep her from tripping over Sitwell’s body.

  “My beloved, my beloved,” she moaned, and he knew he held Ella Ayers.

  “Let me,” Priscilla said.

  With a grateful look, Neville nodded. He stepped back, but kept himself between the actress and Lord Sitwell.

  Priscilla put her hands on eithe
r side of the woman’s face. “Miss Ayers, listen to me.”

  “My beloved, my beloved!”

  “Listen to me.”

  Her stern voice must have reached the frantic woman, because Miss Ayers looked at her. “Lady Priscilla! You must help me.”

  “I will be glad to do all I can, but you must be calm and heed what we tell you.”

  “Is he—?”

  ‘Yes, he has been killed.”

  Another scream threatened to burst Neville’s ears. When Priscilla shook the actress gently, Miss Ayers pressed her face against Priscilla’s shoulder and wept.

  “It is my fault,” the actress choked out.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted him to give me some token to show he truly loved me.”

  “A piece of jewelry?” asked Neville.

  “Yes, but I asked for that before these killings began. I told him not to come back here. He was stubborn. He sent a note this morning saying he would be stopping by with a gift for me.”

  Neville stepped closer. “Could anyone else have seen the note?”

  “Everyone could have. It was not sealed.”

  “Who brought it to you?”

  “It was slipped beneath my door.”

  Neville swore vividly, and Thurmond muttered something. Every clue led nowhere.

  Taking Miss Ayers to sit on the bench closer to the stage, Priscilla went back to the body. She knelt and tried to see something that would reveal the truth.

  “What is this?” she asked aloud, pointing to his right hand.