Tom’s head shot round, eyes wide. “You know about Ruby?”
“Oh, is that her name? I know of her existence, yes. I know that you have beenlyingto me all this time, Tom Shapman.”
“Nay, I never lied! I may not have mentioned Ruby, that’s true, but I told you no lies, Miss Tess.”
That was so disingenuous that Tess could not even respond to it. For two years — two whole years — he had led her to believe that he loved her as she loved him. Oh, he had never said as much, and he had always argued that she was too good for himand anything between them was unsuitable, but he had never once suggested by even the smallest hint that he did not feel the same way about her. And that was as good as a lie… or as bad, perhaps.
Grief poured through her like a rainstorm. Her pleasant dream of a fine, handsome husband was gone. She had wanted a real man who worked for a living, unlike the soft and selfish aristocratic men she met, men who cared more about their clothes and their horses than their women. And then she remembered Ulric, who also cared more for his horses than anything else on earth. Did she really want to marry a man like that? Or would she be better off with Edward, who had promised her both her money and her freedom? What a strange, desperate thought.
Captain Edgerton’s harsh voice cut through her introspection. “You have still not explained to mewhyyou felt it necessary to risk your neck to the noose.”
“Why, so Miss Tess could find her fortune, of course. You’d started looking at Pickering and she panicked a bit, thinking you’d find her fortune before she did. She wanted you called off, so… I confessed. Of course, it was all for naught, seemingly, for you found it anyway.”
The captain buried his head in his hands. “Sometimes I despair,” he muttered. “I thought at the very least you were protecting the real murderer.” His head shot up. “And perhaps you are! As a proven liar, Shapman, why should I believe a word you say? I always doubted the reason you gave for killing Mr Nicholson, that he thwarted your marriage to his daughter, but this is also implausible. You must have known… at least, Miss Nicholson must have known that her trustees had forbidden anyone from entering her house in Pickering, so you could not have had any fear for whatever was inside it. No, you are protecting the murderer, that much is plain.”
“No!” Tom cried. “I’ve no idea who killed Mr Nicholson, truly.”
“So you say, but again, why should I believe you? And there is only one person who might inspire you to confess to protect her from suspicion.”
“No!”he yelled. “Miss Tess never hurt anyone! She’d never kill her own father.”
“So says the man who invented a story about murdering someone. No, that will not do, Shapman. If you did not kill the chaplain, then the most likely murderer is Miss Nicholson herself.”
Tess stared at him in horror. Everything was going wrong! Her fortune was in Captain Edgerton’s hands, Tom would be free but would marry his poultry maid, and now she herself was suspected of murder.
It was so shocking she could not even cry.
14: Leaving Pickering
Michael concentrated on the delicate task of unfastening the many buttons on the back of his wife’s gown. He always took his time over it, savouring her nearness, the sweet perfume that hung about her, the soft sound of her breathing. There was the anticipation of the night to come, too, which was by no means the least of his pleasure.
He kissed her neck gently. “I am so glad you got rid of that lady’s maid,” he murmured.
She chuckled softly. “So am I. She was only there to impress the Corland people. Now that we have been ejected from the castle, I no longer need the air of respectability she gives me. It is far more fun with just the two of us.”
“I entirely agree, wife.” He slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her shoulder this time.
“Do you truly believe that Tess Nicholson could have murdered her father?”
He returned to the long line of buttons. “Not for a moment. She shared a bed with Lady Olivia, after all, and it seemsimpossible that she could have crept out of that bed, run downstairs for the axe, back upstairs to kill her father, then got back to her own room unnoticed. She would have been covered in blood, after all. Did she divest herself of a blood-stained nightgown, wash any remaining blood from her hands, put on a clean nightgown and just climb back into bed? Lady Olivia must be a remarkably heavy sleeper not to notice any of that.”
“She could have gone somewhere else to change and wash.”
“But then there would have been a bowl of blood-stained water to dispose of, as well as the nightgown. No, I cannot see her as a vicious murderer, but this will be a good excuse to get her back to Corland and ply her with questions, as I have long wanted to do.”
“You always say that anyone is capable of murder.”
“And I believe it, but murder by means of an axe in the middle of the night? That is a certain kind of murderer. Miss Nicholson, I feel, would use a more subtle method.”
“Rat poison in his bed-time brandy,” she said.
“Something like that, yes. Do you not agree?”
“I do. You have stopped unbuttoning, husband. We shall never get to bed at this rate.”
For a while he worked in silence, removing first the gown and then the stays. But when Luce sat down to unroll her stockings, he said fretfully, “What am I to do with these gold bars, Luce? Every option is fraught, it seems to me.”
“You must do the right thing, Michael.”
