“We have discussed this.” Donata tossed her spent cigarillo into the bowl. “I do not believe you killed Isherwood, no matter how angry you were with him. He was horrid to his wife, yes, and angry at you for helping her, but that was seven years ago, and he had not seen you since. It is unlikely you were still incensed enough about that to run him through—and even then, you’d challenge him to meet with seconds.”
“I hope you are right,” I said. “Then again, who knows what would set me off if I’d drunk a strong concoction of opium?”
“I suppose it is true we can’t know that, but I still do not believe you’d lose your sense of honor, even then. And how do you plan to let it be known that you’ve regained your memory of the night? Invite all those we supped with at the Pavilion to dine? There were twenty people there—we haven’t the room.”
I laid my arm across the back of the sofa, letting it touch her shoulders. “I will ask Isherwood’s son if he’ll allow Mr. Quimby to announce that Isherwood was murdered. Mr. Quimby can imply that I know something about it and am helping to find the killer. Which is true.”
“Young Isherwood might not agree,” Donata warned. “He was adamant, you said, not to put the stain of murder onto his family, and not to embarrass the Regent.” She took a breath. “Oh, Lord, what if the Regent trulydidkill Colonel Isherwood? You’ll cause a terrible scandal if you reveal it.”
“The Regent causes enough scandal on his own—will anyone notice?” I spoke lightly then sobered. “I understand your fears. A man who accuses his monarch of a capital crime will not be well received, even when that monarch is unpopular already. I hope it will not come to that.”
“I had planned to call on Lady Hollingsworth today, but the Gibbonses arrived. I will go tomorrow and persuade her to tell me all the Regent said to her that night, including any intention to run back to the Pavilion and stab Isherwood.”
“Would she tell you?” I asked doubtfully.
“She would.” Donata gave me an arch glance. “My dear Gabriel, I know many things about many people. Most will take great care that these things are not made common knowledge.”
I gazed at her in half admiration, half worry. “You mean you blackmail them.”
My wife smiled at me. “Only a little.”
I suppressed a shudder. “I pray you will not have to exercise your criminal tendencies. I will find Mr. Quimby and ask him to pay a call on young Colonel Isherwood.”
* * *
I had a repast first,with Donata and Gabriella, then went out into the gathering darkness, heading for Quimby’s lodgings. On the way, I found the Quaker woman, Miss Purkis.
Or rather, she found me.
Chapter 19
You are Gabriel Lacey?” A middle-aged woman in a finely-made frock of dark maroon and a high-crowned bonnet stopped me.
I did not know her, and politely bowed. “At your service, madam.”
A smile spread across her face. “I hear you have been searching for me. I am Katherine Purkis. Or at least, I was. I am Mrs. Craddock now.”
“Craddock ...” I blinked in amazement. I also realized that she, a Quaker woman, had not usedtheeorthou, and had called herselfMrs.
“Good Lord.” I fumbled for words as she watched me with evident delight. “I beg your pardon, but you have astonished me. The bishop I met at the Pavilion is called Craddock.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Indeed. And I have married him. Two days ago.”
“Good … heavens.”
I thought about the few times I’d encountered the bishop, how he’d growled and snarled about Dissenters—all Dissenters, not only Quakers. His comments on how they dismissed those who turned away from them suddenly took on new context.
I bowed again, my heart lighter. “My felicitations, good lady. I am pleased to see you are happy and well. The Friends were worried about you.”
“Not at all—I have no doubt they wanted you to find me so they could stop me. Dear Ephram took me to his niece’s house at Worthing.” She leaned close, a scent of mint and cloves wafting to me. “I married not to kick dust on the Friends, as Matilda Farrow believes. I fell in love.”
I thought about the testy bishop with his penchant for miles-long tramps along the coast, but his surliness made a bit more sense now. He might have feared betraying Miss Purkis’s whereabouts. Growling about how he despised all Dissenters might have been meant to put everyone off the scent, though his disparagement had rung with truth.
“I offer my congratulations once again,” I said. “How did you know I looked for you? Not very successfully, I admit.”
“Matilda, once I broke the news to her, confessed that she and Clive Bickley asked a known friend of the Runners to hunt for me.” All merriment left her expression. “She also told me of Joshua. The poor lad. How could something so foul happen to him?”
“It is tragic, indeed.” Josh Bickley’s death would haunt me for some time.
