Monday, October 28
Knight's Manor
Darcy
Throughout my conversation with Mr. Gardiner, I sent frequent glances to Elizabeth, who served cups of coffee and tea. She wore a gown of lemon-coloured spotted muslin and had never looked lovelier. Her pleasing person, fluid movements, and cheery demeanour had an infectious quality; not only did she raisemyspirits, but everyone she met appeared more sanguine for having encountered her.
The reconciliation between Mr. Barton and Mr. Gardiner yesterday had lifted a great weight from my shoulders. If their reunion had been disastrous, I should have borne the blame for my part in bringing the two men together.
My sole remaining anxiety rested with Elizabeth. For the first time in my life, my privilege, wealth, and authority meant nothing, for they would not influence her heart. If she decided against me… No, I should not contemplate the possibility—not whilst hope remained for a better outcome.
“Pray, could you remind me of that lady’s name?” Mr. Gardiner’s head tipped towards the older petite woman speaking with Hayward.
It took a moment for the answer to come to me, for although I had been in company with the lady several times, we had not exchanged more than a few words. “That is Mrs. Ware of Hawthorn Ridge.”
“Ah yes, thank you. Usually, I am skilled at associating names with faces, but I have been introduced to three brown-haired ladies today, all of a similar age.”
A flash of movement behind him caught my attention. Miss Barton led a pleasant-looking lady in our direction and proceeded to introduce us to Mrs. Vaughan, the eldest daughter of Mr. Rowe. In response to Mr. Gardiner’s questions, Mrs. Vaughan, who wore a perpetual smile, related that she lived with her barrister husband in Northampton and described the local area. As she spoke, she toyed with a striking circular jade pendant suspended from the gold chain around her neck. The green stone resembled a flower—a rose. Ajade rose.Could this possibly be Mrs. Cooper’s necklace—the one stolen on the night of her murder?
My pulse throbbed in my ears as I awaited the first break in the conversation. At last, they each paused to sip from their cups, and I gestured to Mrs. Vaughan’s throat. “Your necklace is striking.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Vaughan adjusted the pendant to a straight position.
Miss Barton leaned closer to inspect the jade stone. “I agree. It is beautiful.”
“This is a family heirloom.” Mrs. Vaughan fingered the pendant and raised it from her sternum. “For years, we believed it had been lost, but my father found it a couple of months ago tucked inside one of my mother’s handkerchiefs.”
So, Mr. Rowe had recovered the necklace around the time of Mrs. Cooper’s murder. I could not discount such a significant coincidence. Could this mild-mannered man, who enjoyed the respect of his neighbours and friends, including Hayward andElizabeth, be capable of homicide? An icy sensation traversed my back. I needed to confront him without delay.
With a mumbled excuse to my companions, I rambled through the room towards Mr. Rowe, who stood conversing with Mr. Noah Barton. Both men turned to me at my approach. “Pardon my interruption, but I should like a word with Mr. Rowe.”
“Yes, of course.” The elder gentleman’s smile widened, even as his eyebrows rose.
Mr. Noah Barton patted Mr. Rowe’s shoulder and regarded me. “Well, in that case, I shall leave you to it.” He inclined his head and walked away.
I glanced at the doorway. “Would you mind if we removed to another room?”
“No, not in the least.” Mr. Rowe swept his arm forwards. “You may lead the way.”
I chose the sitting-room at the front of the house; in the event he raised his voice, we should be a fair distance from the others. The two of us took seats in matching Thomas Hope chairs situated near the fireplace.
“Well, you have piqued my curiosity.” He stretched his legs out, easing into a relaxed position.
“Two months ago in London, my nearest neighbour, Mrs. Cooper, was murdered in her home.”
Mr. Rowe stiffened, and the colour drained from his face.
“I have met with the Bow Street runner investigating the crime, and I am aware the primary suspect is a gentleman who called upon Mrs. Cooper on the night of the killing. Based upon witness statements, this man used the assumed name of King, wore a white wig, and is believed to have come from the Salisbury area. I think the man in question is you.”
A derisive noise spewed from Mr. Rowe’s lips. His hands formed a tight ball, and his knuckles whitened. “There must be many men in the area who fit that description.”
“You had the opportunity since you spent most of August in town, and I imagine Mrs. Cooper’s servants would readily identify you on sight.” I waited a beat for him to grasp the consequence of my words. Mr. Rowe’s show ofbravado crumbled, with his shoulders bowing inwards. “Do you deny that you called upon Mrs. Cooper whilst concealing your true identity?”
His chin dropped. “No, I…I do not.”
I swallowed. “Did you kill her?”
His head shot up. “What? No! I never harmed Mrs. Cooper in any way.” He moved to the edge of his chair, searching my countenance. “Is that what you think? I am no murderer! Anyone who knows me would tell you that.”
