The Suspect's Daughter

by Donna Hatch

  “But, you…” She let out a sob. “Peter?”

  He rolled his eyes and sat shaking his head.

  Her chest heaved as she gasped and tears formed in her eyes. “Ye…ye lied to me? I gave ye ever’thin’…”

  “Should’ve killed you to keep you quiet.”

  She recoiled. Agony crumpled her face. Everyone in the room fell silent.

  Bitter rage took over her features. Through quickly-swelling eyes, she looked at Grant and said in slow, deliberate, perfect Queen’s English, “I want to make a deal.”

  Grant exchanged glances with Jackson. Though technically only a magistrate could make those kinds of deals, Barnes would likely go along with Grant’s recommendation. He crouched next to her. “What do you propose?”

  “I go free. Completely. The rest of them hang.”

  “Only if what you know is valuable enough.”

  “The main conspirators’ names are George Smith—”

  Peter’s expression of disbelief turned to terror. “Emma, shut yer trap!”

  She sat calm and still, un-intimidated by the screams of rage from her former lover. “John Hamilton. Frances Martin. And Peter’s real name is Joseph Carter.”

  “Emma!”

  Still speaking clearly, her accent genteel, Emma said, “Joe Carter is not just the person who learned where the cabinet would be having dinner, he’s one of the main leaders of the Freedom Fighters.” She shot Peter—Joseph Carter—a sneer of triumph. “I’m not as foolish as you think, Peter. I keep my ears open.”

  Grant almost quoted the famous line by Congreve, Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

  Carter raged, “I’ll kill you, you—”

  “Silence!” Jackson roared.

  Carter fell quiet. Even the guards took a step back.

  To Emma, Jackson said, “Your cooperation is appreciated, Miss White. I will speak with the magistrate about setting you free once we have confirmed you are telling the truth.”

  Grant interjected. “Why were you leaving evidence that Mr. Fairley was involved?”

  Comfortable in her role, Emma said calmly, “If he’s in jail for murdering the cabinet, he couldn’t be put in as new prime minister, and Redding was too weak to take the role. The king hasn’t been coroneted yet—and he’s a wastrel.”

  Jackson started pacing. “They’re trying to create anarchy—no leadership, no government.”

  The horrible reality sank into Grant. “That’s just what happened to the French. And it paved the way for Napoleon.”

  Jackson nodded grimly. To Emma he asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  Her eyes unfocused, and then darted back and forth as if searching for missing memories. “They have another weapon, something besides guns, but I don’t know what.”

  Joseph Carter said, “Stupid slut, I’m going to wrap my hands around your neck—”

  Grant stood over the man and pointed his pistol at him. “You are a traitor and a murderer. If you open your mouth again, I will kill you right here, right now.”

  Carter clamped his mouth shut.

  They questioned Emma further, but she’d given them all she knew. Grant ordered her wrist shackles removed, although he kept her ankles restrained just in case.

  Before he and Jackson departed, Grant said to the head guard, pointing at Joseph Carter, “If that treasonous insect opens his mouth, or if he attempts to escape or to harm another prisoner, shoot him.”

  The guard nodded. “With pleasure, sir.”

  The entire sordid affair left Grant feeling soiled. Odd, but such events didn’t used to leave a stain on him. He went home, stripped off his clothes, and sponged off until his skin was raw. Clean at last, he laid on his bed and quieted his mind. But instead of drifting in the realm of calm, his thoughts returned to Jocelyn. She’d been composed and brave tonight, unexpected qualities in women but he’d come to expect them in her. Still, she continued to impress him—her strength and courage, her no-nonsense way of dealing with tragedy and unsettling surprises. She hadn’t even shrunk from the darkness within him.

  Her smiling face led him to visions of loving and being loved. But that was only a sweet dream. He refused to let his darkness extinguish her light.

  Chapter 28

  Jocelyn awoke with the words she’d overheard at the house party running through her mind. If Emma White were the only co-conspirator in the household, who had she heard talking about Lord Liverpool, and sacrifices, and destroying innocent men? There had been two speakers, both male. If only she’d discovered who they were!

  She grabbed a dressing gown and raced to her father’s room. It stood empty. His valet gathered up clothing and straightened the room.

  “Where is my father?”

  “Gone done to breakfast, miss.”

  She tore downstairs and burst into the breakfast room. Papa sat reading a newspaper and sipping tea. At her approach and raised his brows. “Haven’t you spent enough time in a state of undress?”

  “Papa, I just remembered something I heard at the house party. Late one night, the night Grant saved me from my fall, I overhead two men talking. I can’t remember everything they said but one of them mentioned Lord Liverpool. They said something about sacrifices and destroying innocent men.”

  He lowered his paper and stared in open shock. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark and they were speaking softly.”

  He let out his breath slowly. “Where was this?”

  “Near the main staircase, somewhere towards the library, I believe.”

  He ran a hand over the top of his head, a familiar gesture of pensiveness.

  “How sure are you?”

  “Well…they were speaking very softly, little more than a whisper, but I’m certain they were male, and their words were very clear.”

  “If they were in the main hall, it’s unlikely they’d be servants.” Her father verbally reviewed the list of guests. “None of them would be interested in murder, especially not of this magnitude.”

  “I know, but I have no other explanation for it.”

  Her father closed his eyes before getting up to pace. “Dawson has mentioned on more than one occasion that I ought to allow him to spread rumors about Lord Liverpool and call into question his morals as well as his methods. He has also suggested we could throw doubt on Mr. Redding’s reputation as well. It would make my appointment more likely—assuming they actually call for a vote of no-confidence against Lord Liverpool.” He paced. “It’s possible what you heard was a conversation regarding that.”

  Jocelyn ran what she could recall of that conversation through the context of an appointment to the position of prime minister, rather than through a murder plot. It was possible. But if they were mistaken, and there were others involved in the conspiracy, lives might be lost.

  A servant stuck his head in. “Your coach is ready, sir.”

  Her father touched the side of her shoulder. “Don’t worry, princess. We’ll get to the bottom of it. I need to get to the House. Later…” He paused. “Do you really like Lady Everett?”

  Jocelyn blinked at the sudden turn in the conversation. ”I do. Do you?”

  “Yes, very much. You know, I actually think I might be falling in love with her. Me—at my age.”

  “Oh, pish. You’re not so old.”

  “How would you feel about her as a stepmother?”

  “I think I would like that very much. If you recall, I am the one who started inviting her here.”

  He smiled. “True enough.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ve invited her to join me at the opera tonight.”

  “Lovely. I’m happy for you, Papa, truly I am.”

  Alone, Jocelyn sat smiling, pleased that her father and Lady Everett finally seemed to be admitting their long-standing friendship could be more. But she didn’t have the luxury of indulging in pleasure just yet. That conversation she’d overheard continued to roll through her mind.
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  Who had been speaking that night? And why hadn’t she been bolder and lit a lamp or something, anything to have learned their identities? Papa might be right, but Jocelyn couldn’t rest until she put her mind at ease.

  Perhaps she ought to speak with Grant about it. Normally, she knew better than to engage in such unseemly behavior as to contact a gentleman. But Grant cared little for social conventions. And this was part of the conspiracy, which gave her some license.

  At a secretary desk, she sharpened a pen and went to work. She began and crumpled up four notes. Each time, she began with too many courtesies the likes of which he wouldn’t appreciate, or, considering how things were between them presently, even read. She began the fifth one by getting right to the point.

  Grant,

  Remember the conversation I overheard at the house party? The parties involved must be more extensive than we presently know. I will be at home today if you wish to discuss this further, or have me repeat what I overheard.

  I am always your

  His what? Love? Humble servant? Obedient servant? How does one end a note about murder plots to a man one loves but who has not accepted her love?

  Jocelyn let out a groan and penned the words

  friend,

  Jocelyn Marie Fairley

  She snorted. “Friend” didn’t begin to explore the relationship she wanted with Grant. But at least if he could think of her as someone he could trust, he might learn to think of her as more than a friend eventually.

  She snorted again. And horses might sleep hanging upside down as bats. Who was she fooling? Grant would never trust her. Aunt Ruby was right; he was too angry and cynical. Too wounded.

  But a wounded man needed a healer, not a judge. And she loved him. She would not turn her back on him just to soothe her hurt feelings. Besides, giving up on him and feeling sorry for herself made it worse, not better. She’d stay focused. Bold and determined.

  She sealed the letter and held it toward the butler. “I need you to see that this is delivered post-haste, Owens. Send only a trusted runner.”

  He nodded gravely. “Yes, miss. Right away.”

  A vague apprehension crept over her; every servant seemed to develop sinister motives. “On second thought, I’ll deliver it myself. Have a coach ready to depart as soon as possible.”

  To ensure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands, she could send one of her aunt’s servants to deliver the message to Grant.

  She dismissed Owens, tucked the note inside her shift, and hurried upstairs where she raced through her morning ablutions.

  However, as she donned her gloves in the foyer, Aunt Ruby arrived. “We need to talk.”

  Delight and relief at her aunt’s timely arrival scattered her apprehension. “Yes. Can we talk somewhere else?”

  Ruby blinked. “Of course. Care for a trip to the confectioners? I have a terrible sweet tooth.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  Inside Ruby’s carriage, Jocelyn told her aunt everything about the conspiracy, beginning from Grant’s behavior in her father’s study when she thought he was an intruder, to her fears this morning.

  Ruby listened without interrupting, her eyes wide until Jocelyn had finished talking. “And now you suspect all your servants.” She stated it as a fact.

  “They are the most likely, although the men’s speech I overheard suggests they were educated, but why would they help members of the lower classes bring down the government? What could they hope to gain?”

  “No, I agree, that doesn’t make sense. Well, if it’s your Grant that you need to see, we’ll go there straightaway ourselves. I remember his address from when I invited him to dinner.”

  “Aunt! We can’t call upon a man in his rooms!”

  “We aren’t. We’ll simply wait in the carriage while my footman delivers the message.” She rapped on the roof and called out an address.

  “Yes, missus,” the coachman called in reply.

  Ruby settled back into the squabs and gave Jocelyn her full attention. “What happened last night in the conservatory?”

  Jocelyn stared out the windows. Those events seemed days ago instead of only hours. She sighed, letting her head rest upon the pane. “He thought the reason you left us alone in the conservatory was so we could trap him into marrying me by claiming I’d been compromised.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s not exactly what I intended. I simply wanted to give you some privacy so he could kiss you and be reminded that he does, in fact, like you and needs you in his life.”

  “He told me about the woman who broke his heart.” Pain lanced her chest and tears blinded her. “She used him very ill.” A sob wrenched out of her, carving a hole through her chest.

  Aunt Ruby gathered her into her arms and held her in a motherly embrace.

  Jocelyn rested her head against her aunt. “I’m sure he cares, Aunt. But how can he ever trust after something like that?”

  “I know he cares, sweeting. I can see it in the way he looks at you, and in the way he tries not to look at you.”

  “What do I do? What if I’m not pretty enough or slender enough or smart enough or—”

  “Stop right here.” Ruby pulled away and put her hands on either side of Jocelyn’s face. “Pretty and slender are only wrapping—it’s what catches a man’s eye. But it’s what’s underneath that earns his love. Besides, you are much more than merely pretty—you are lovely. And thin? Ha! Who wants a thin wife when he can have a wife with so many delicious curves?” She uttered the last word so lustily that Jocelyn stared. And blushed.

  Aunt Ruby chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll understand. And he appreciates your curves. He tries very hard not to look, but he does. And his eyes say it all; he wants to eat you up like candy. Don’t worry about it, sweeting. He wants you aplenty. Sooner or later, if he’s not completely the most foolish, brainless man who ever lived, he’ll come to his senses and see that he’s better off with you than alone.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a plain yet respectable dwelling. Aunt Ruby held out her hand. “Give me your message.”

  Jocelyn fished it out from where it still resided in her shift underneath her stays, and handed it to her aunt. She called to the footman riding on the back of the carriage and instructed him to deliver it and wait for a reply.

  Jocelyn’s heart thumped at the thought of seeing Grant again. Despite her fatigue last night and the draining effect the events had on her, she still hadn’t slept well. Instead, she fantasized about Grant touching her, kissing her, declaring his love for her.

  Of course, that was in between fantasizing about making that merciless Isabel pay for her sins. Isabel being motivated to seek revenge on the enemy who assassinated her father, Jocelyn could understand. But to pretend to love a man, and then cast him off so brutally, mocking his love and using it to lead him to torture and slow death, it was beyond unconscionable. It was heartless.

  Surely Grant would see that Jocelyn bore no resemblance to Isabel, that she offered a true love freely and without guile.

  Aunt Ruby patted her hand. “Don’t give up on him. That he opened up to you is very encouraging. Be patient. Someday he will shower you with all the love in his heart. I suspect he has a vast reservoir of love waiting for you.”

  Jocelyn smiled sadly. “I hope so. But with a man like Grant, I’ll probably never hear sweet words of love, nor flowery phrases. I’d be lucky to get a brutish phrase such as, ‘I’m probably making a mistake, but marry me, wench.’” Even that was probably too romantic.

  Ruby laughed. “Would that be enough?”

  Jocelyn rested her forehead on the window. “Yes. It would be enough.”

  If she had to wait years, she’d give him time to accept her love. The love he would offer her in return would be worth the wait.

  Chapter 29

  Grant enjoyed a breakfast at home unlike any he’d had in longer than he could remember. Apparently, Maggie had left at the crack of dawn to buy supplies and had outdone herse
lf creating a feast. For one.

  He glanced at the other side of the table, envisioning a smiling, lovely face across from him, her eyes the color of a cloudless, summer sky—eyes soft with genuine love.

  But could he truly recognize genuine love? He’d thought he’d found it in the past, but that was a convincing counterfeit. And since then, he’d become the most unlovable person he knew. Was what he saw in Jocelyn’s eyes the real thing?

  He thought back. His brothers all seemed happy, married to surprisingly decent women. Each couple freely exchanged loving glances that certainly mirrored what he’d seen in Jocelyn’s expression. And it bore little resemblance to the false adoration, the feigned passion Isabel had poured on him. The idea that a good woman, a woman like Jocelyn, would love a closed up lout like him was almost laughable. But it had been there last night, and at other times. He recalled her arms wrapped around him as he poured out his grief. He’d felt safe. Truly safe. With Jocelyn.

  Could he accept her offering? Did he dare hand her his heart and trust that she’d keep it safe?

  He was too broken to make a woman happy. She’d soon see how little he had to offer and give up on him.

  Although, she had backbone. She’d proven herself calm under pressure and met every challenge face on, all with that dignity and composure he’d come to associate with her. And that smile. Cheeky wench. She certainly took delight in teasing him.

  A life with her taunted him, a tantalizing dream. He visualized waking up with her in his arms, basking in her smiles across the table, sharing his thoughts with her, listening to her animated voice as she spoke of fairies and elves. He would certainly spend fewer nights creeping about London in search of a fight if she were waiting for him. She seemed to view him as a rogue Runner, a defender of the law, a protector of peace. But really all he wanted was an escape from his own loneliness and misery.

  Perhaps he’d sought that escape in the wrong places.

  Jackson arrived, grinning. “I thought I smelled food.”