The captain reached into a pocket and laid the gold bar on the table. “I shall have this valued tomorrow, which will give us a rough idea.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “By all the saints, that is… well! And you have over seventy of them?”
“Seventy-six,” the captain said crisply. “Some larger than this and some smaller, and without weighing them all, we will not know the exact value, but I think it may safely be said that Miss Nicholson is a very wealthy woman. If the gold should turn out to be hers, of course. That has yet to be determined.”
“So nothing is settled yet,” Tom said, in disappointed tones.
“But at least you can stop this foolish confession business,” Tess said. “Tell the captain the truth, Tom — that you made it all up.”
“Aye, tis true, sir,” he said sheepishly. “I’m right sorry for misleading you but it had to be done.”
“Had to be done, did it?” the captain said tersely. “Would you explain to me, Mr Shapman, why youhad toconfess to a murder you did not commit? Why youhad toshut down my enquiries, thereby leaving the real murderer free? Why youhad tomislead everyone, including the murdered man’s widow, into believing that the terrible time was at an end, and all was resolved? Because I can tell you that I am very tempted to leave you to hang for it anyway. It is no more than you deserve.”
“I’m not going to hang,” Tom said, with a little laugh. “I have people who’ll swear I didn’t do it.”
“AndIhave a written confession, signed by you and witnessed by the magistrate, that swears you did. What do you think the Assize judge will believe, eh?”
“I’ll just tell him that—”
“Tell him?Tell him?Do you know what will happen at your trial, Shapman? Your confession will be read out and you will be sentenced to hang, that is what will happen. You will not be allowed to say anything, and even if you were, no one will listen to a self-confessed murderer claiming to be innocent, no matter how many people swear to it.”
Tom blanched and Tess cried out in horror. “But he did not kill anyone! English justice will not hang an innocent man, surely?”
Captain Edgerton laughed. “English justice is not always as wise as one would hope, Miss Nicholson. However, even if the courts would condemn an innocent man, I would not, so I will get you out of here if I can. Who are these people who will swear to your innocence?”
“Will Gowland, of Gowland’s Farm. About ten miles to the west of Birchall. His four sons will speak for me, too.”
Tess exhaled sharply. So it was true! Gowland’s Farm… and the poultry maid.
Captain Edgerton produced a notebook. “Names?”
Tom listed them as the captain wrote.
“And you were there at the time of the murder — around four in the morning?”
“I were there all night.”
“Relations, are they?”
“No, just friends.”
“Do you often stay overnight?”
“Maybe once a month or so. Walk out the afternoon before, spend the evening there, sleep until about six or thereabouts, then walk home.”
“Why?”
“I… what?” Tom said, frowning.
“Why do you go there?”
“I just enjoy their company.”
“No, the real reason,” the captain said.
There was a long silence. Tom looked at the ceiling, he looked at Tess, he looked at his hands — his calloused, work-worn hands, so unused to idleness. He sighed, he twitched at his sleeves, then he looked at the ceiling again.
Tess could not bear it. “I expect he went there to see his poultry maid,” she said, her voice quavering.
