Page 92 of One Wicked Secret
Mr Charmers laughed as Mr Daventry placed him under arrest. “We have the documents you had Tyler sign, inflating profits and contracts. Witnesses saw you at The Salty Gull thenight Lord Grafton was murdered, and dock workers say you run a band of river pirates. Your scarred lackey damaged the hoist?—”
“Wait! Wait!” Mr Charmers shook his head and scrunched his eyes shut as he swayed, attempting to absorb the gravity of the situation. “I didn’t kill Grafton.”
“We have statements to say you did.”
“No!” The fop yanked at his hair, pulling at the roots in desperate confusion. “It wasn’t me. None of it was me. Well—it was, but it wasn’t!”
“Sir, I saw you in my father’s study,” Elsa said, cutting through his babbling. “I’ve seen your seal on the document. Mr Carver told me about the plan before you killed him.” That was a slight lie.
“My, my, Charmers. You have been a busy fellow,” Mr Hawke drawled. “If you manage to dodge these charges, don’t come back, or I’ll kill you myself.”
“Wait! Allow me to think.” Mr Charmers pressed his hand to his forehead. “It’s all a blur … a nasty nightmare.”
The man had some cheek. “A nightmare is being shot in the dark and living with the constant threat of death.” However, she would suffer it again if it was the only way to marry Daniel.
“Death! Yes, that’s it!” Mr Charmers hopped like a mad hare. “I had no choice, or I would have been killed by that beady-eyed fellow with the scar. Though he didn’t have a scar the night he dragged me into an alley and beat me senseless.”
“We need his name,” Mr Daventry demanded.
“You should know his name. He works for Magnus Tyler.”
Chapter Seventeen
Daniel had barely slept. He’d held Elsa in his arms as she cried herself to sleep—her kin’s betrayal cutting to the bone—and spent hours staring at the ceiling, his mind awash with confusion.
Magnus had given Daniel no reason to doubt him. But what was his goal in this treacherous game? To prevent Elsa from marrying Denby? To silence Lord Grafton because Magnus had stolen money from his father through the fraudulent schemes?
None of it made sense.
Every answer led to more questions.
None explained why Magnus would want to shoot Elsa.
As if hearing his silent torment, her hand brushed his chest, the soft touch pulling him from his reverie. He drew her closer, her warmth easing the weight of his burden but not the nagging fear he might lose her.
“Did you manage to sleep?” she said, her voice husky.
“A little.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, her hair mussed andsoft against her bare shoulder. “Hopefully, Mr Daventry will get the truth from Mr Charmers during today’s interrogation. He might have lied to us last night. Lied about Magnus, I mean.”
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, unwilling to suggest she was being naive. “Yes, there’s a chance.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“Because we’re missing something vital: a motive for these heinous crimes. Until we discover the missing link, we don’t know who to trust.”
She cupped his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “But you do trust me? You don’t believe any of that nonsense at the perfumer’s or The Raven Hotel?”
“I trust you, Elsa. As I hope you trust me. But now you mention it, perhaps I should question the staff again.” This time, he would follow the men from work and confront them in a dank alley. Somewhere they’d be less inclined to lie.
“But not before we visit Islington and Harrow,” she said. “Every clue my mother left has a purpose. It’s the meaning behind them we’re missing.”
And questions still lingered about Finnegan and Mrs Tate, who had both vanished without a trace. It was another mystery they were no closer to solving.
“We could take Clara with us.” He couldn’t bear the thought of Clara sinking into melancholy. He wanted her to feel she was gaining a sister, not losing a friend.
“Clara is with the countess today, assisting with preparations for the masquerade ball. It’s good for her to have something to focus on.”
