The reverend’s crescendo of pleas continued until he reached his finale. Then his mistress released him from the whipping block, leashing him and leading him out of the ring to the applause of the crowd. Wick took Beatrice’s hand, the two of them following at a discreet distance.
The passageway from the arena had chambers sprouting off both sides. Wright entered a room two doors down while his mistress continued on to the end of the hall, disappearing up some stairs.
Wick led Beatrice to Wright’s door and knocked.
A few seconds later, the door opened. The reverend still wore his mask although, thankfully, he’d donned a robe. “The room is presently occupied—”
Whatever words he’d intended to say next vanished as Wick shoved him backward into the room, Beatrice closing the door behind them.
“What in God’s name?” Shocked recognition flashed in Wright’s gaze. “Miss Brown…is that you?”
“Indeed, Reverend Wright,” she said coolly.
His jaw slackened. “I d-don’t understand. How did you find me here…?”
“We have your pocket watch,” Wick growled. “The one you dropped when you set her barn on fire.”
“Wh-what? I didn’t start the fire,” Wright sputtered.
Either the man was an excellent actor, or his innocence was real.
“Why should I believe you? You’ve been sowing discord against me and my tenants since you arrived in the village.” Beatrice folded her arms beneath her bosom. “You’ve been working to get rid of me from the start.”
“No. That is,yes,” Wright said quickly when Wick gave him a menacing look. “I know that I’ve caused trouble for you. But it wasn’t my idea—it was Squire Crombie’s.”
“What is the nature of your association with Crombie?” Wick demanded.
“He’s been…paying me to spread rumors about Miss Brown and her tenants,” the reverend admitted. “To tarnish her reputation in the community. He wants her estate, you see, and he thought that making her feel, ahem, unwelcome might persuade her to sell. To pack up and leave.”
“Was it Crombie’s idea for you to persecute Mrs. Haller?” Beatrice said scathingly.
“No.” Wright drew himself up with a righteousness that Wick could only marvel at. “Sarah Haller was a prostitute and has a bastard to boot. For the sake of my congregation’s spiritual and moral well-being, I had to make an example of her—”
“While you, yourself, cavort in the most lascivious manner,” Beatrice said with disgust. “Howdareyou judge her? You, sir, are the worst sort of hypocrite.”
“You won’t tell anyone…about what you saw tonight?” Apparently, Wright finally registered that he was in a glass house and paused in his slinging of stones. “It would ruin my career, my standing in the community, devastate all who depend upon me.”
Wick’s fists curled. Christ, he wanted to plant a facer on the sniveling, duplicitous bastard. It was obvious that the reverend felt no remorse for the pain he’d caused Mrs. Haller or for accepting a bribe to defame Beatrice. Nor did he give a damn about his congregation.
He was only sorry for himself…that he got caught.
Yet punching Wright, while satisfying, wouldn’t advance the cause.
“Why was your watch at the barn then?” Wick demanded.
“It wasn’t. I can prove it to you.” Wright went to fumble through a pile of clothes on a nearby chair. He returned, holding out…a pocket watch.
“See?” he said eagerly. “I have mine here.”
Wick examined the watch. It was identical to the one that currently sat in his pocket.
Which posed the question: whose watch had he found in the barn?
Beatrice’s brow pleated. “The watch we have belongs to someone else?”
“We need a list of the club’s members,” Wick said.
“I don’t have it. No one does,” Wright said quickly. “The founders—whoever they are—have been very hush-hush about its membership. That is why I joined. A man of my standing couldn’t risk, ahem, indulging otherwise.”
