“Thank you. But I don’t think you want me lifting Mr. Upchurch’s bedclothes to search for it in your presence.”
Her neck heated at the thought. “You’re right. Well, see you later.”
Nathaniel stood in his bedchamber, eyeing his bed with longing. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to undress, climb under the bedclothes, and sleep for hours. But his spirit was troubled. He felt drawn to pray at his brother’s bedside first. Leaving his room, he quietly descended the stairs.
At the half landing, he paused. A figure stood in the shadows, just outside the sickroom door. For a moment, panic seized him. Had Saxby or Preston come to finish the job? But then he realized the figure was feminine. A girl in an apron. Mobcap askew atop dark curls. Margaret—keeping a nighttime vigil. Such devotion. His heart ached to see it. She’d declared she no longer had feelings for Lewis, and he wanted to believe her.
If only he could ignore the evidence of his eyes.
They formed a small investigative unit named the
Bow Street Runners. These were private citizens not paid
by public funds but rather permitted to accept rewards.
—John S. Dempsey, “Introduction to Private Security”
Chapter 28
Dr. Drummond called again the next day. He seemed perplexed as to why Lewis had yet to regain his senses. But he did say he was pleased with how well the wound was healing. The physician gave credit to the surgeon, even though Mr. White had seemed certain Lewis would not survive the first night. Apparently he had taken the time to do his best work anyway. Nathaniel decided he would send the surgeon his gratitude and perhaps a gratuity as soon as he had opportunity.
When the physician had taken his leave, Robert Hudson entered the library.
“Sir? A man was here while you were busy with Dr. Drummond. A Mr. Tompkins. He was asking questions about the shooting.”
“Did the sheriff of Kent send him?”
“That was my first guess. But he isn’t a local man. He’s from London.”
“London? Why would a London man stray so far?”
“He’s a runner, sir. Engaged to look into the matter.”
“Engaged by whom?”
“He would not say, beyond ‘a private citizen.’ Someone acquainted with your brother, I gather, who wants to see justice done.”
Nathaniel frowned. “I want that more than anyone. Still, I find it irksome that someone should be investigating the matter without involvingme.”
Hudson cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind my saying, sir, I deduced from the man’s questions that you are one of his chief suspects.”
“Me?”
“Did not many people witness the fight between you and your brother at that London ball?”
Nathaniel groaned.
“Perhaps whoever hired the runner fears justice will not be done if you are overseeing the inquiry—or if local officials are in the pocket of the influential Upchurch family.”
In one sense that was true. Because Helen had urged him not to involve the local magistrates, Nathaniel had gone to see the current sheriff of Kent privately to inform him of the matter. The sheriff was an appointed official with affairs of his own to manage. He was not likely to spend much time looking into the situation, especially when the family was not urging him to do so. He was also an old friend of their father’s and understood Nathaniel’s request to keep the duel quiet, so as not to endanger Lewis should he recover. Should Lewis die, then that would be another matter entirely.
A thought struck Nathaniel. “Might the man who shot Lewis have hired the runner to keep abreast of Lewis’s condition—to discover if we know his identity so he might flee if necessary to avoid arrest?”
Hudson screwed up his face in thought. “It’s possible, I suppose. But I wouldn’t think he’d want to link himself to the duel for fear of drawing suspicion to himself.”
“Unless he means to divert suspicion by assuming the role of avenger.” Nathaniel ran an agitated hand through his hair. “In any case, we need to find out who is paying this runner.”
“Shall I take it on, sir?” Hudson asked, eyes alight.
