John turned to him. “Marietta is good for you, Gabriel. I quite like her. Don’t be a fool and let her go.”
“I can do nothingbutlet her go, John. Sometimes love can only be given by setting someone free.”
John watched him, then held up his bound hands. “You speak truly.”
Gabriel paused, unsure whether he could truly bring himself to cut the rope. One cut through his bindings and it would be done. He pulled a knife from the bundle. His hand reached out, like a body part separate from his control, and cut the rope. The coil fell onto John’s lap, then slithered to the ground.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Gabriel handed him a piece of charcoal, the cloth bundle with its two bulky objects bumping his thigh. John rubbed his hands over the charcoal, wiping streaks along his cheeks, his forehead, down his nose. Over his ears and around his neck. Over the shirt. Anyplace identifiable.
“I will have to do something to my hands,” he said in a conversational tone.
“Yes.”
“The street, maybe. A quick swipe to open the skin, to roughen idle fingers.” His smile was self-deprecating.
Gabriel didn’t respond.
John finished his ministrations and straightened his shirt, an unconscious gesture. “How do I look?”
Gabriel nodded, his lips unable to form words, his heart unable to beat.
John looked at him for a moment. A lifetime. “Good-bye, Gabriel.”
“Good-bye, John,” he whispered, somehow dredging up his voice. “May you find peace.”
John smiled. A smile of old, like when they were younger, before Eton had separated them; playing on the estate, no cares in the world. “Yes,” he said simply.
He held out his hands, and Gabriel placed the bundle on top, the two objects clacking together, one heavy and one thin.
John’s hand shot out before he could blink and pulled Gabriel to him. A fierce hug, a promise. Then he pushed him away and gripped the carriage handle. “Good-bye.”
And he was gone.
Gabriel sat in the carriage. Staring at the opposite seat. Unable to tap the trap to tell his driver to move.
The carriage started moving without his tap. John had obviously not had such trouble. Gabriel allowed the motion to sway him back and forth. They rounded the corner. A distant shot rang out.
Gabriel didn’t need to look back. To see. He trusted his friend. He smiled grimly. And wasn’t that the crux?
Chapter 22
Middlesex murderer dead! Shot by own hand at the scene of a previous crime! Murder weapon found in his pocket—letter opener used on all the victims…Servant from the Dentry estate gone mad, an Edward Smith…though physical identification impossible…Arthur Dresden discovers murderer and claims the reward…whole story from his mouth on page four…Lord Dentry testifies! Kenneth Winters found innocent at trial and released! All charges dropped on both Winters brothers! Monetary settlement given by Lord Dentry…Statements on page six…London rejoices! Safe once more…
“Are you angry with me for not telling you before we left for the estate that John was guilty?”
Marietta pushed the special edition papers aside and looked at Gabriel, who was holding a mug of tea to his chest, the steam swirling up and around his face, as beautiful now as it had been the first time she’d seen him. Perhaps even more attractive now, if such a thing were possible.
“No. If you had told me about Alcroft after you made the discovery, I would never have been able to keep it a secret from him. I would have acted differently.”
He nodded, his eyes falling to his tea, as if searching for the answers inside. “Are you leaving tonight?”
She wet her lips, her heart beating, unsure. “I can. Mark and Kenny are back in our rented house. Kenny said neighbors have been pouring in with congratulatory gifts and goodwill. Invitations are overflowing. Everyone wanting the first bit of gossip.”
“You are welcome to stay here until the fury dies down.”
“Thank you. I should probably go back, though. In case Kenny needs me.” The last was more of a question. Would he ask her to stay?
“Best for you not to be caught here either. Everyone is probably wondering where you’ve been. Off to a friend’s in the country. Stick with that story, no matter what your ratty cousin says.”
