The coroner scanned the room. “Are there any more who can attest to the whereabouts of Joshua Bickley in the days before his death, or who can shed light on his demise?”
The whispering died down. Men and women glanced about, but none came forward to volunteer information.
“Very well.” The coroner gathered his papers with a heavy hand. “The jury will adjourn to conclude their verdict. Keep in mind I have more cases to go through today, gentlemen,” he said to the men in the corner.
The gentlemen of the jury looked put-upon, but huddled into a tight knot to discuss things.
As much as I wanted to go say a word of comfort to Bickley, I remained where I was. Miss Farrow was next to him now, speaking rapidly to him. The young woman, her eyes as full of tears as Bickley’s, held his hand.
Mrs. Morgan, after a long look at me, slipped out. I’d have followed her, but I wanted to hear the jury’s conclusion—though there was not much doubt what it would be.
The jury did not take long to deliberate. They approached the table, and the coroner asked for their verdict.
“Willful murder by person or persons unknown,” one of the men intoned.
Whatever the coroner said to that was drowned by the voices of the excited crowd. I left the room, putting on my hat as I walked out of the inn.
Brewster, who’d entered as the jury finished, fell into step beside me. “Looks like she wants a word.” He nodded at Mrs. Morgan, who waited at the end of the street. Clement, in his footman’s livery, had appeared out of nowhere to stand next to her.
I moved to them and tipped my hat to Mrs. Morgan. “The verdict was willful murder,” I said.
“I guessed that. What else could it have been?” Mrs. Morgan, her colorful shawl a bright note in that gray space of town, beckoned me to follow as she walked across the road to the promenade.
Clement hurried after her, looking uncomfortable, and Brewster and I followed.
“Well, tell them.” Mrs. Morgan gave her son a mother’s impatient glare. “Exactly what you told me.”
Clement was not happy, but he drew a breath and looked me in the eye. “You asked me to poke about and find out when His Royal Highness left the Pavilion Monday night. He had his things packed up earlier that evening, but he’d departed by three in the morning.”
My eyes became fixed on his, pools of deep brown framed by thick lashes. “And you and I found Isherwood’s body at …”
“Two in the morning, sir.”
My heart beat faster. “Then we have a new suspect.”
Chapter 16
Captain Lacey, you cannot run to the magistrate and accuse the Prince Regent of murder,” Mrs. Morgan said crisply.
Around us men and women drifted down the promenade, ignoring the clump of us blocking the way as they determinedly enjoyed the sunshine.
“I realize that.” I made myself say the words, because of course I wanted to hurry back to the court and tell Pyne and the coroner this very thing.
I could easily envision the Regent, spoiled and hedonistic, running Isherwood through in a crazed duel, and then making certain another was caught as his murderer.
I liked the idea, because it would mean I hadn’t killed Isherwood. But Mrs. Morgan was wise, and caution stilled me. First, I’d have difficulty explaining why anyone should not believe me a madman; second, I’d have to confess how much I knew about Isherwood’s death; and third, if Ihadbeen given a mind-blotting concoction beforehand, that spoke of careful planning. I could not imagine the impetuous Regent coolly coming up with such a scheme.
Mrs. Morgan watched me. “It would be your word and my son’s to the Regent’s.”
I saw her worry about repercussions against Clement. I let out a breath. “Do not fear, Mrs. Morgan. I will hold my tongue—at least until I am very certain. Clement—can you find out why the Regent departed so late? And what he did in those hours between rising from the supper table until he left the Pavilion?”
“I already have.” Clement looked annoyed I wouldn’t think he’d done so. “He went to visit a lady right after supper. It’s why he was in such a hurry to excuse himself.”
“A lady.” Of course. “What lady?”
“Lady Hollingsworth. She has a house in Brighton—or at least, her husband does. She arrived here alone, and off he went to meet her.”
The Regent, despite his bulk and his gout, still indulged himself ardently with the fairer sex. While physically he might not be as active as he had been in the past, he still preferred the company of the ladies. I hardly blamed him on that score.
