‘Poor Lynton! I have now to tell him that he faces yet another night at the Four Feathers.’
* * *
She skipped up the stairs to her bedroom, her face warm with love and her heart beating happiness. She still found it hard to believe that Jack loved her—more, that he wanted to marry her! The world had gone mad, but it was a wonderful madness and the temptation to accept his offer was great. Doubts remained, though, and very subtly infiltrated her joy. She wasn’t sure that Jack was ready to forget the past entirely and she could not quite expunge her mother’s words lingering like a dark stain on her mind. But Agnes Devereux had chosen badly, she told herself, and it did not mean her daughter must follow in her footsteps. As for Rupert... A whisper of reproach clouded her delight again. Jack had implied that she needed to let go, allow her brother to make his own way in the world, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps this was the moment when she should draw back.
‘Luce, I need to talk to you.’ Rupert stopped her at the doorway. If it were possible, he seemed paler than ever and his face had grown more haggard.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ Euphoria drained away for it was clear that her brother was in trouble—again.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he repeated dully. ‘Alone.’
It sounded bad. She ushered him into her room and closed the door. They would not be disturbed for some time for Molly was busy in the kitchen helping Cook prepare Rupert’s homecoming feast.
She took her brother’s hand and led him to the window seat. ‘You look as though you really are a ghost. What is troubling you?’
‘This.’ He thrust a crumpled sheet of paper into her hand. Not more letters, she quailed inwardly. Letters inevitably spelt disaster. But she quickly read the note while Rupert drummed his fingers against the window pane in increasing agitation. She was as pale as he when she had finished. This was a disaster.
‘How can Partridge threaten you like this? Did you ever gamble at The Four Feathers?’
He nodded dumbly.
‘But this man that Partridge mentions—he says he died.’
‘He was a crook, an ivory turner. He was cheating me. I may have been drunk, but I knew I was being cheated.’
‘How much did you lose?’
‘A lot. Money I didn’t have, money I’d borrowed. You know the score, sis.’ She shook her head wearily.
‘But it was worse than that, I lost the Lacey ring.’
‘How could you, Rupert? How could you pledge our father’s own ring?’
‘I had to, there was nothing else left. But when I realised he’d foisted loaded dice on me, I refused to hand it over. I was going to walk away—I would have let him keep the money, but he wasn’t going to get his filthy hands on the ring. He would have sold it for tuppence.’
Lucinda looked at him, her gaze painfully intent. ‘What happened when you prevented him taking the ring?’
‘He grabbed me, tried to throttle me, but I fought back. I may be slight, but the drink was powerful. It gave me strength and he was befuddled by liquor—he’d dipped much deeper than I. We struggled, I remember, lumbering round the room in a kind of bear hug, neither of us able to land a killing blow. It could have been comic except that he lost patience and drew a knife on me.’
Lucinda put her hands to her face in horror. ‘Why did you never tell me this?’
‘It’s hardly the kind of thing you relate to your sister.’
‘But did he wound you?’
‘He would have done, for certain. But I drew my own knife and threatened him. I had to do it—he was going to kill me.’
Lucinda jumped up from the window seat. ‘What knife?’ she asked jerkily.
‘The dagger I had made. The one with the Lacey motif.’
‘But you swore that the dagger was simply decorative.’
‘I didn’t tell the truth—I didn’t want you to worry. It had the sharpest of edges.’
He saw her appalled expression and burst out, ‘I’m not proud of lying, but you would have rung a peal over me if you’d known and probably told our uncle. He would have found some vindictive way to punish me for it. And I had to protect myself when I was in London. I ended up in all kinds of dangerous places, but I never thought I’d need the knife in this backwater.’
‘So why,’ she asked, her voice trembling, ‘did you take it to the Feathers?’
‘I always wore the same jacket for gambling. It was to bring me luck.’ His grin was ghastly. ‘Anyway it was in my pocket that night and when the stranger lunged at me with his knife, I drew mine.’
‘A knife fight? Oh my God, Rupert, what have you been at?’
‘It never came to a fight. He charged at me like a mad bull. He really wanted that ring. I did nothing, I swear Lucy. I just stood there with my knife outstretched to fend him off and he ran into it.’
‘You killed him.’
She sank down on the bed, her head bowed, her hands restlessly pinching at the counterpane.
‘I didn’t mean to. It was self-defence, surely you can see that. He killed himself—he just ran into the knife,’ Rupert repeated flatly.
There was a terrible silence between them. At last Lucinda roused herself and looked across at her brother. ‘Surely the disturbance must have brought people on to the scene. Why were you not arrested there and then?’
‘It was odd. The whole thing—the lumbering around the room, the stabbing—took place in complete silence—except...’ for the first time he faltered in his tale ‘...except for his dying. A horrible, choking wheeze kept coming from him.’ Rupert put his hands over his ears, as though the sound still travelled in time. ‘I never want to hear that noise again.’
His sister shook her head impatiently. ‘But you must have called Partridge—why didn’t he report it to the authorities? Why didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t call Partridge. I fled.’
‘Rupert!’
‘Don’t look at me like that.’
‘Rupert, a man died a violent death—no matter whether or not you were responsible—and you called no one!’
‘I panicked. All I could think was to get away.’
‘You must have been seen, though—customers in the public bar, people coming and going in and out of the inn.’
‘I wasn’t. No one saw me. There’s a back entrance to Partridge’s private room—he keeps it locked, but opens it when he knows he is to have guests. It’s some distance from the public bar. The man was already in the room when I arrived. Nobody knew I was there.’
‘Partridge must have known.’
‘Yes,’ he gestured miserably to the letter. ‘Of course he must.’
She got to her feet again and began to pace up and down the room, forcing herself to think through the grisly events of that evening. She had to help Rupert, but how was she ever to extricate him from this devil’s brew?
‘Partridge had to have found the body. He knew you were coming that night and when he found the man dead, he would guess there had been a struggle between you.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘So why did no one know about the fight?’
‘Partridge could not have reported it.’
‘But why would he not? The man would have to be buried. Partridge couldn’t just forget he had a dead body in his inn.’
‘A story went round the village a few days later that there had been a suicide at the Feathers. I wonder you didn’t hear it.’
She had heard nothing, but others had and she wondered how such a falsehood had spread so speedily through the neighbourhood. ‘Do you think the landlord put it about that the man had stabbed himself?’
‘He must have done. Anyway there was no official enquiry. The magistrate must have been satisfied because no one came asking questions. A few weeks later, th
ose damn London tradesmen put out an arrest warrant for me and I was dragged to Newgate. The rest you know.’
Lucinda was reeling from the shock of her brother’s disclosure, but she was also greatly perplexed. Why would the landlord have covered Rupert’s tracks by swearing to a magistrate that it was suicide? The scene played out in her mind: Partridge finding the body with its stab wound—it would have needed only a single blow to the heart to kill—testifying to the magistrate that the man had been drinking, that he was in depressed spirits perhaps. He would swear that he had seen no one else in the vicinity and if, as Rupert asserted, there had been no real fight, there would be little sign of a struggle. The magistrate would be eager to close the case and happy to believe Partridge. What was one drunken vagrant after all? But why had the landlord in effect protected Rupert? Had he really believed at the time that it was suicide?
‘Why do you think that Partridge testified it was suicide if he knew you had been with the man in that room?’ she demanded.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it,’ her brother said bitterly, pointing to the letter, ‘he always planned to implicate me in the man’s death. He would bide his time until the right moment and then strike. My going to gaol was a hiccup, but now I’m back, he’s free to do his worst.’
‘He says he has objects belonging to you which he will turn over to the Runner unless you pay up. He means the ring, I presume. But you could have lost that anywhere. So it’s his word against yours. You could swear that you had never been anywhere near the inn that night—no one else saw you.’
‘It’s not that simple.’ Rupert looked moodily down at the floor. ‘It’s not just the ring that he has.’
‘What else?’ She strode towards him, shaking him by the shoulders. ‘What else, Rupert?’
‘He has my dagger.’
She looked at him blankly.
‘My knife. The one that killed the man. It probably still has his blood on it.’
‘But how can Partridge have it?’
‘I told you, I fled. I left it behind and he has squirrelled it away to use against me.’
Her hands went to her face again.
‘He is cunning beyond belief. He saw the decoration—the Lacey motif—and knew it was mine. He hates this family, hates all gentry. He must have decided he would keep it and use it when he could most benefit.’
Lucinda began her pacing again. The picture could not look bleaker, she thought. How could her brother have got himself embroiled in such a dreadful situation? Debt was bad enough, but murder! For it would be seen as murder, no matter how much Rupert protested his innocence. His plea of self-defence might have been believed if he had alerted the authorities at the outset, but after all these months no one would credit his innocence.
But time had passed for Partridge, too. Would anyone believe him after all this time, if he did as he was threatening and went to the local magistrate? Her face brightened.
‘If the landlord suddenly comes up with this story, who will believe him? The magistrate will want to know why he did not report the fight earlier. He will be accused of covering up for you and charged as an accomplice.’
‘He is not that stupid, sis. He will have his story ready. He will say that he saw me there that night and that I was gambling with the man. But he was working all evening in the public bar and saw nothing else until he found the man dead.’
‘Which at least has the merit of being true,’ she said tartly.
Her brother ignored the interruption. ‘No doubt he’ll say that he had suspicions at the time, but he did not like to voice them. We are a powerful family in the district and in the past he has fallen foul of Sir Francis. He was worried, he’ll say, that if he suggested my involvement, he would be punished—our uncle would make sure that his licence was forfeit and the Feathers closed down. He would lose his livelihood, so he thought it best to say nothing. His conscience was tortured, but then I went to prison—not for killing anyone, but at least I was in prison and he could feel that I was being punished.’
‘And now...’ she began thoughtfully.
‘Now I have been freed and that is unjust. He’ll make a great play, I’m sure, of how difficult it has been to come forwards but how the public good demanded that he did.’
She reached out and took his hand. ‘Humphrey Partridge is hardly known for his integrity. If you tell your story first, Rupert, you might well be able to spike his guns.’
‘I won’t. Think of it—I have already been in prison and I am only here because a rich well-wisher paid for my freedom and I cannot even name him. What chance do I have of getting a fair hearing? Who will believe that I acted in self-defence and simply panicked? Nobody. I will be condemned even before I’m sent for trial.’
He sat steeped in gloom while the minutes ticked by. ‘There’s only one way out,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll have to escape abroad—go to France—and do it quickly. I’ll travel to Newhaven and find a skipper to take me over to Dieppe. That shouldn’t be difficult.’
She looked aghast. ‘If you do that, you will never be able to return, Rupert. You will have to spend the rest of your life on the Continent.’
‘Is that so bad? Napoleon is locked away on St Helena and Europe is safe again.’
‘But how would you live? You have no money and I have none to give you. How would you pay for shelter and food?’
‘I would have to chance my luck at the tables. But at least I’d have a life. Don’t look like that—it’s true. If Partridge carries out his threat, the gallows is all that awaits me or, if I’m lucky, a miserable existence as a chained convict half a world away.’
‘Perhaps he won’t.’ She clutched at straws. ‘What good would it do him? It is money he wants.’
‘And it’s money he won’t get, so he’ll settle for revenge. That will taste almost as sweet to him.’ There was a pause before he said thoughtfully, ‘I wish I knew the identity of my well-wisher. He might be willing to tip over the dibs.’
‘No!’ Her voice crackled ominously, surprising them both. ‘Even if we raised the funds to pay this time, Partridge will demand more and more. That is what blackmailers do.’
‘It would give me a breathing space.’
‘But you don’t know your benefactor’s name.’
Rupert was looking at her curiously and she felt an incriminating flush steal over her face. ‘Do you know who it is, Lucy?’
‘I don’t,’ she lied, ‘and even if I did, I would never ask him. It would be a bottomless pit. And you cannot go to France, you would likely starve to death there. There is no alternative—you must tell the truth.’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘I cannot.’ The words were unequivocal.
He rose from the window seat and began to walk around the room, whistling tunelessly through his teeth for minutes on end. Just when Lucinda thought she could bear it no longer, he stopped in front of her and looked closely at the floor as though the solution to his problems lay beneath the tufted rug on which he stood.
‘There is something we haven’t thought of.’ She distrusted the way his eyes refused to meet hers. ‘There is a way that we could get the dagger back, the ring, too.’
‘What do you propose? That we should walk into the inn and ask for them?’
He ignored her caustic tone and said slowly, ‘I couldn’t, of course. I can’t go near the inn. I am too well-known there and Partridge will be on the lookout for me. But you could.’
‘I am to march into the inn and ask the landlord for your belongings back? Are you quite mad?’
‘No, listen, Luce, this is what to do.’ He was all
eagerness now, his misery temporarily forgotten. ‘The ring and the dagger are sure to be in Partridge’s private room—he keeps every secret there.’
‘And?’
‘You break in to the ro
om and you search for them.’
‘I am to burgle Partridge? But of course. That shouldn’t prove at all difficult—perhaps we could invite the whole village to watch.’
‘You go at night, under cover of darkness. The rear door will be locked, but there’s a small side window facing the woods, so if you climbed in there, you wouldn’t be seen.’
‘Then if it’s possible to get into the building without being seen, why don’t you go?’ She could not believe she was suggesting this. It was proof, if proof were needed, of how desperate they were.
‘I may be thin, but I’m still too large to get through that window. It would be easy for you, you’re small enough.’
‘You are mad.’
‘I’m not. It would work. You could go in disguise—lose your skirts and wear a pair of my breeches and a jacket. If they are black, you will be virtually invisible. And if you go when the inn is bursting with customers, the landlord will be too busy pulling the beer to worry about what is going on at the back of the house. You could be in and out in no time.’
‘And what if he keeps his valuables in a safe?’
For a moment Rupert looked worried. ‘That would be a problem if it’s shut.’
‘Of course it would be shut,’ she exploded. ‘Why would you have a safe and leave it open?’ She could not believe she was actually discussing this.
‘You could take an iron bar just in case—one blow to the handle would open it.’
‘No!’
‘Tonight, that’s when to go,’ he said excitedly. ‘There will be nobody anywhere near that room, I’ve just remembered.’
‘Remembered what? How can you be so sure?’
‘Because it’s Jeb Farrar’s name day and he’s holding a celebration. Molly told me. Everyone in the village will be at the front of the bar, including Partridge. It’s the ideal time.’
She brought down silent curses on Molly’s head. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘You can, Luce, you’re agile enough.’
‘I mean that I won’t do it. I have made a promise.’
‘What promise?’ He was suspicious.
‘The details don’t matter. While you were away I was given help and in return I made a promise,’ she said vaguely.
Unmasking Miss Lacey Page 18