Page 19 of The Lady Confesses
“What do you know about the Ernsdale kidnapping?”
Felix Monroe, the man who shared his office, shrugged. “I know the shite was going to let his wife die rather than pay the ransom.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, drumming them in an impatient rhythm. “What if there was no kidnapping?”
“What?”
“It was never reported to us,” Maurice mused. “Surely if anyone had been truly concerned for her safety they would have brought it to our attention? Of course, if the entire thing was a ruse, as Ernsdale had suggested, they would have done anything to avoid our involvement.”
Felix shook his head. “That theory doesn’t hold water, Bates. The Hound of Whitehall was involved in her rescue. He’s the one that gave us the Walpoles for the murders of them women in the rookeries. He’ll not take kindly to you casting aspersions on the sister of his new wife!”
Alister sneered. “The Hound of Whitehall... bloody criminal. He’s lost his power in this city. Moved off to the country with his bloody reformer.”
“I don’t think that’s the way of it,” Felix countered. “He’s still got the power. ’Sides, he ain’t gone yet. I reckon he’s got shelves of ledgers—all of ’em filled up with the things others don’t want the world to know about them. Secrets is where his power lies, not money, though he’s got boatloads of it. Those secrets? He holds ’em by the score.”
Maurice knew that. He knew it well. But he was privy to a few secrets of his own. “We’ll see. I mean to bring Lady Ernsdale to justice for her husband’s murder.”
“You really think she done it?” Felix demanded. “I just don’t see it. Poisoned? Yeah. Even shot, from a distance, yeah. But women, and ladies especially, ain’t usually for the up close kind of murders.”
Ignoring the fact that Monroe’s arguments mirrored his own assessment, Bates shrugged. “She had motive.”
“And an alibi,” the younger man said.
“From her bloody servants. She pays them. Of course they would lie for her!”
Felix sighed, as if realizing that any attempt to dissuade him amounted to beating his head against a wall. “Do what you want, Bates. You always do anyway.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hettie knocked onthe door of her sister’s home. Honoria no longer resided in the townhouse that had belonged to her late husband. And Vincent refused to allow her to stay in rooms over his club. To that end, he’d bought a house on the very next block—far enough removed from the gaming hell, but still in a very genteel neighborhood. In many ways, he was much more of a stickler for propriety than either she or her sister were.
Stavers opened the door. “Lady Ernsdale! What a pleasure it is to see your lovely face. Do come in... I’ll inform Mrs. Carrow that you have arrived.”
Hettie smiled. “Thank you, Stavers. I do wish to visit my sister, but before that, I need a private word with Vincent—no. I need a private word withthe Hound.”
One of the butler’s silver brows lifted. The other, bisected by a scar, did not budge. Clearly he understood the distinction. Trouble was brewing. “You may wait in the study, Lady Ernsdale. I’ll have him fetched from the club.”
Hettie nodded and went to the small study off the entryway. Closing the door softly behind her, she seated herself in one of the green velvet upholstered chairs. They were definitely Vincent’s taste and not Honoria’s. He was a man who appreciated luxury. Honoria would have looked at the velvet and figured out how many warm coats could be made for women and children rather than how many chairs she could cover with it.
They were such polar opposites, she mused. And yet despite their many contradictions, they were so perfectly suited to one another that, at times, it was painful to see.Because she was envious.
It was a terrible thing to admit, even to herself. She had wanted her sister to be happy for so long, to be free of her late husband’s awful temper and heavy hands. Even as a young girl, long before her own debut, she’d known that something was amiss there. But she’d never known the whole of it. Not until she was married herself. Only then did she understand just how little recourse a wife had against the abuses of a husband.
Now, Honoria was married to a man the world called a criminal. But he cherished her sister. Loved and worshipped her with a devotion that was positively staggering. She would never begrudge her sister such happiness, but was it really so wrong to want a similar sort of happiness for herself? Though she supposed her priorities would have to change now. It was no longer simply about what she wanted and needed. She would have a child’s needs to consider.
The enormity of that thought overwhelmed her. Leaning forward, Hettie placed her head in her hands and tried to fight back the headache that threatened to lay her low. She could not afford to give in to such ailments when there was so much to be done.
And that was how Honoria found her, looking as if the weight of the world rested upon her shoulders.
“Are you unwell?” Honoria asked, her concern evident in her voice.
Hettie looked up. “I need to borrow your widow’s weeds... Ernsdale is dead. And a Bow Street detective believes I killed him.”
*
Joss had beenwaiting in the office at the club for some time when Vincent finally walked through the door.
“Sorry. Had a bit of a problem on the floor. Beaumont called Mawbry a cheat, and they very nearly dueled with the cutlery,” the Hound relayed with derisive amusement. “Children.”
