by Candace Camp
Of course, Charity dismissed out of hand the hints that it might be Dure who had killed him. It was absurd. Laughable. She was certain that no one would be foolish enough to believe that.
Their news set the rest of the household all atwitter. Elspeth collapsed into a faint, and Belinda and Horatia besieged them with questions, most of which Charity and her mother could not answer. Even the usually calm and well-mannered Serena was agog at the news.
When Simon arrived that evening to escort them to the soiree, Charity immediately hurried down the stairs to him, saying, “Oh, Simon, have you heard about the murder? Do you have any more news of it?”
Simon shrugged. “I know only what the fellow from Scotland Yard told me.”
“Scotland Yard!” Charity gaped at his mention of the police force that had been formed in London a few years earlier. “You mean, they visited you? But why?”
“Why, to ask me questions, I presume. Several people had been so kind as to point out that Reed and I had quarreled last night.”
“Surely they can’t suspect you of doing it!”
“They seem to be able to,” Simon answered dryly.
“No! He had many enemies—he’s bound to have, a scoundrel like that.”
“Unfortunately,” Simon replied, “I imagine that few of them had a handkerchief embroidered with the Dure crest.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHARITY STARED at her fiancé, momentarily bereft of the power of speech.
Finally she said faintly, “What do you mean?”
“They found one of my handkerchiefs on the floor beside his body.”
“You can’t be serious. This is a jest, surely.”
“I wish it were.”
Charity raised a hand to her forehead. The world was spinning around her. “But how? How could one of your handkerchiefs be there?”
“Ah, Charity, you are a jewel.” Simon took her hands and raised them to his lips. “Are you so sure of me as that?”
“Sure that you did not kill Faraday Reed?” Charity looked incredulous. “Of course I am. You would not kill anyone, even Faraday Reed. Why, if you weren’t driven to kill him years ago over what he did to your sister, I can’t imagine why you’d suddenly decide to kill him now.”
“I did attack him last night, because he had tried to rape you. According to several who were there, I also threatened him, although I was so angry I’m afraid I don’t remember precisely what I said.”
“You may have, but it was the sort of threat one often makes when he is angry. I’ve threatened Belinda with all sorts of horrid deaths, but I was never serious. Besides, anyone who knows you would realize that if you did kill a man, you would do it openly, in a rage, not cold-bloodedly shoot him hours later in his house. And you would never have been so stupid as to leave your own handkerchief there.”
He smiled faintly. “Thank you, my dear. I only wish that the chap from Scotland Yard had your faith in me. He is of the opinion that, in my excitement, I probably paused to wipe the sweat from my brow with it, then accidentally dropped it as I stuffed it back in my pocket.”
“He sounds like a ninny,” Charity said stoutly. “And I’ll be happy to tell him so, if he asks me anything about it.” She frowned, then said. “Are they sure that it is your crest?”
“There’s no question of it. They showed me the handkerchief. It’s obviously mine.”
“Then someone else put it there. Someone is deliberately trying to make it look as if you had done it.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But why? Who would hate you so much?”
He cast her a wry look. “The only one I can think of is Faraday Reed.” He sighed. “It may be that the killer doesn’t hate me. He may be indifferent to me, or only dislike me a little. His main reason could be simply that I was a perfect person on whom to cast suspicion in order to hide his own guilt. Everyone knows that there has been bad blood between Reed and me for years, and after we fought last night…no doubt it seemed a gift from heaven.”
“Oh. But how could they have had your handkerchief?”
Simon shook his head and glanced away. He could not keep his mind from straying, as it had done when the detective first told him, to the handkerchief he had lent Venetia a few weeks earlier, when she was crying and telling him about Reed’s extorting money from her. He dismissed the thought guiltily. There was no way Venetia could kill anyone, even Reed, and even if she did, she would never cast the blame on Simon.
“That is the question,” he said. “No one would have one, unless they stole it out of my drawer.”
Charity thought for a moment, then said, “Or else you might have visited them at one time, in the country, say, and accidentally left one of your handkerchiefs in a drawer. Or perhaps one could have fallen out of your pocket at a ball or the opera or, well, almost anywhere.”
Simon frowned. “Perhaps. But it doesn’t seem likely. Surely I would have noticed it falling out of my pocket, which is not precisely an easy thing. And my valet is quite punctilious about my clothes. I find it hard to believe that he would have forgotten to pack anything on a stay at someone else’s house.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s possible. If a person was desperate enough to kill, he would have been desperate enough to enter your house and steal it—or bribe one of your servants to take it for him.”
“I’ve already questioned the servants about it, and they know nothing.”
“Nothing that they’ll admit. Considering what was done with the kerchief, I doubt there would be many who would want to admit taking it. They know they would be let go immediately.”
“You’re right about that….” He paused, and sighed. “The thing is, I don’t know how I could go about proving any of those things.”
“Is the detective so convinced it is you?”
“I’m not sure. It’s rather damning, but he doesn’t want to jump off and accuse a peer of the realm of murdering a man, at least not without thoroughly convincing proof.”
“I don’t see how he could obtain that. He will stop looking in your direction soon, I’m sure. There’s bound to be a more likely suspect.”
“I hope you’re right.” Simon rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, looking down at it steadily. “The thing is, I’m afraid there will be a scandal anyway. People are certain to talk.”
Charity shrugged. “For a while, no doubt. But I can’t think anyone would seriously believe that you could have killed Reed. It will blow over soon.”
But even Charity’s cheerfully optimistic spirit was dampened by the party they attended that evening. When Charity walked in on his arm, Serena right behind them, a hush fell over the crowd. It seemed as if every person there turned to stare at them. There was a long silence, then a sudden rush of chatter, as everyone turned back and began to talk to each other.
Charity’s fingers tightened on Simon’s arm, but her smile never faltered as they advanced into the room. She greeted everyone she knew, and, though no one cut her or her sister, nearly everyone looked obliquely at Simon, curiosity and speculation in their expressions. There was no one brave enough to say anything to her face or to Simon’s, but Charity heard the sibilant whispers that spread around her like an eddy of water wherever they walked.
“…shot through the head, by gad.”
“…never got along…”
“Suspicious, if you ask me…”
“How can he dare to show his face?”
“Poor Charity Emerson.”
“How will the Westports ever hold up their heads again?”
“…his handkerchief, monogrammed…”
“Reed always said he was a blackguard.”
Charity realized, in some amazement, that society was already trying and condemning Simon for Reed’s murder. Fury flamed up in her at their narrow-minded gossip. However, there was little she could do, as no one directly confronted her with the rumors. Beside her, Simon grew grimmer and tauter as the evening went along, and when he drov
e her and Serena back to their home, his goodbye was terse.
Over the course of the next few days, the gossip grew worse. Charity had hoped that it would die down, that people would realize that Simon could not have committed murder. But almost every caller, every person at any party, seemed determined to discuss the latest gossip with Charity and her family. Charity, infuriated, defended Simon at every turn, even to the point of one afternoon jumping up in the midst of tea with Emma Scogill, crashing her cup and saucer onto a low table and denouncing the woman’s speculation that it would be only a matter of days before Lord Dure was arrested for murder.
“You have no idea what the truth is!” Charity cried, eyes blazing. “You repeat whatever you hear, embellishing it at every turn. One would think Faraday Reed was a saint and the Earl of Dure a monster, the way you people talk. But it was Faraday Reed who was a monster—and Lord Dure did not kill him!”
With that, she slammed out of the room and out of the house, striding home as fast as she could walk, leaving her mother staring after her in dismay.
Her mother upbraided Charity for her discourtesy, so Charity forced herself to sit, lips tightly closed, through the next day’s callers. But it was a relief when a servant entered the room and told Charity that her father wished to see her. She moved quickly down the hall to the study, wondering if her father could possibly know how timely his intervention was. She rapped lightly upon the door and swept into the room. A delighted smile spread across her face when she saw that the Earl of Dure was in the room with her father.
“Si—I mean, Lord Dure. What a pleasant surprise.”
Both her father and Simon were seated, Simon gazing moodily at the floor and her father seemingly entranced by the picture on the wall across from him. The two men stood at her entrance and turned. It was immediately clear from their stiff expressions that the visit had not been a pleasant one.
Charity faltered as she glanced from her father’s grim face to Simon’s expressionless one. She closed the door behind her and faced them, her hands clenched tightly together.
“What is it? Is something the matter?”
“Charity, my dear, please sit down,” Lytton began, in a serious voice that was most uncharacteristic of him.
Charity edged over to the nearest chair and sat down in it, still looking uneasily from one man to the other. Her father took his seat behind his desk again, but Simon remained standing.
“Lord Dure has come to me on a matter of some importance—concerning you, of course, which is why I sent for you,” her father went on. He looked away from Charity’s clear, questioning gaze. “Dure, tell her.”
Simon’s face was blank, though an odd light burned in his eyes and his body was taut. He held his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “I have told your father that I release you from your obligation to me.”
Charity stared at him, unable to take in his meaning. “What? My obligation?”
“I am releasing you from your pledge to me.”
“To marry you?” Charity’s eyes widened, and her face suddenly paled. “You mean…you are breaking our engagement?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Simon said roughly, then clamped his lips shut and turned away. “I am giving you the opportunity to do so. I will not hold you to your obligation.”
“But I have no wish to break the engagement.” Charity looked, puzzled, to her father. “Papa? What is happening? What does this mean?”
“Lord Dure is acting as a gentleman should,” her father told her sadly. “There is now a scandal attached to his name. The only proper thing is to allow you to detach your name from his.”
“Because of the murder?” Charity asked, understanding dawning on her. “You mean to say that he is calling off our engagement because people are whispering that he murdered Faraday Reed?”
Lytton nodded.
“What nonsense!” Charity bounced off her chair, her chest swelling with indignation. “I know he did not kill that…that…pig! Surely you cannot believe that he did, either, Papa!”
“No,” her father answered quickly. “But His Lordship is right—he is tainted now by the rumors. If you married him, you would be subject to the same whispers and innuendos, the same scandal. He does not want that. Neither do I.”
“You can’t mean that you accepted his offer!” Charity gasped, staring at her father. “That you allowed him to—”
Lytton nodded. “I have to think of you, my dear. It would not be good for you to start out a marriage this way, the prey of gossip, the cynosure of every eye, your good name dragged through the mud.”
“But they will find the one who really did it, won’t they? Everyone will see that they were wrong, that Simon didn’t do it.”
Simon shook his head. “They are likely never to know. They have evidence against me, so I doubt they’ll look anywhere else. I told you that the Scotland Yard chap thought I did it.”
“But that isn’t evidence. How could they prove that it was you? They can’t arrest you!”
“Perhaps not. But even if they don’t arrest me, it won’t stop the gossip. The whispers. Do you always want to have to face what happened the other night at the soiree? Every time you enter a room, hearing the voices stop, seeing the eyes all turn to you? And then, of course, the words of whatever ‘kind’ soul decides to inform you of the things everyone is saying about you. It isn’t pleasant.”
“I’m aware of that. But I pay no attention to it. That dreadful Emma Scogill was saying all sorts of things yesterday, but I gave her a sharp set-down. I can do the same with anyone else.”
Simon shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips. “I have heard of it. You are like a terrier, Charity. You’d never weigh the size of an opponent before you waded in. I am sure that you would be my champion. You are much too loyal and fine not to be. But I will not ask it of you. What if I’m brought to trial? Think about it—going to court to see me standing in the dock, reading my name plastered all over the papers, hearing the criers calling out that your husband is a murderer? I won’t allow you to endure that.”
“You won’t allow!” Charity glared at him, then at her father, planting her fists pugnaciously on her hips. “And you withdraw your approval for our marriage. Pardon me, but don’t I have anything to say about the matter?”
“It is a matter between gentlemen,” Dure said stiffly.
“Then perhaps you should have been engaged to marry my father, if it is a concern only for gentlemen!” Charity shot back.
“Charity, please! Lord Dure asked me for permission to marry you, and I gave it,” Lytton said with unaccustomed firmness. “Now I am withdrawing it. We will send the announcement to the newspapers this week.”
Charity stared at her father, stunned into silence. She could not remember when she had not been able to talk her easygoing father into anything. But now, when it was so important, he had turned intransigent.
She drew a breath and began to argue. “What about the dishonor to our name when I break my vow to marry someone? Isn’t that a scandal? I thought Emersons never broke their word?”
“Everyone will understand. These are unusual circumstances.”
“It’s all right to break a vow when the circumstances are unusual? Pray tell me, what else excuses acting dishonorably?”
“Charity, you aren’t thinking straight.”
“I am! Don’t you realize, doesn’t either of you see, that it will look even worse for Simon if I break our engagement? Everyone will say, ‘He must be guilty. The Emersons refuse to be associated with him. Even his fiancée thinks that he is guilty.’ And I don’t! I believe in him, and I want everyone to know it. I refuse to break my engagement! I want to marry him!”
A low, choked noise came from Simon. Charity looked at him. His face was twisted with pain. Seizing her advantage, she took a step closer to him.
“Is it that you don’t want to marry me?” she asked softly. “Is this an easy way to excuse yourself from a marriage you’ve realized you no
longer desire?”
“This is hardly easy….” Simon ground out the words.
“Then you still wish to marry me?”
“God, yes. More than ever.”
“Then do so.” Charity spread her arms out to the sides. “I am yours.”
There was a moment of silence. Simon’s chest rose and fell in deep breaths, and for a second Charity thought that his resolve would break and he would take her in his arms. But then he whirled around and walked rapidly away from her, to the window.
Charity gazed after him, tears filling her eyes. She wanted to burst into tears and run from the room, but she was not the sort to give up. She dashed the tears from her eyes with one hand and stiffened her spine.
She thought for a brief moment, then curled her lips into a sneer and said, “So, like a coward, you’re going to slink off into the night?”
Dure swung around. “I am not slinking off,” he retorted through thinned lips.
“No, no, of course not,” Lytton interjected anxiously. “Charity really! You mustn’t say such things.”
“Not even when they are the truth? What else should I call him but a coward? I am willing to stand up and fight for him, for our marriage. But Simon is not. He won’t face his accusers with me. He will not even allow me to face them. I never thought I would see the day when Lord Dure broke his word.”
“I am not—” Simon started toward her, his face blazing, but then he visibly pulled himself under control and continued more calmly. “I am not breaking my word to you. I would not. You should know me better than that.”
“I thought I did,” Charity responded in a clear, cool voice, her eyes meeting his steadily. “I did not think you were the sort to toy with a girl. To break her heart.”
“Charity!” her father protested weakly. “Really, Lord Dure, I’m sorry. She’s a trifle overset by all this.”