Henry shook his head and rested his forehead on the palm of his hand. “They’ve all been paid off by Leonard and his deep pockets.”
“That may be so, and I’ve thought of using it as part of your defense, provided we can find the evidence. I have a man gathering information as we speak.” He paused and cleared his throat before saying, “But I’m afraid there is more bad news.”
“Another witness?” Henry recalled Hobsworth telling him there were three witnesses.
“An eyewitness who saw you and the victim together in the early hours of the morning when she disappeared from her home.”
“That’s impossible! I never saw Miss Leonard again after Lady Dawley’s ball. Even then, I didn’t actually see her. It was so dark, and things happened so quickly that I—”
“The police refuse to release his name to me—for his own protection—they say. But I have seen his statement, and he claims to have seen a young woman exit the Leonard residence and enter a brougham carriage bearing the Hudsyn family crest during the early hours of 28 July.”
“That’s simply not true,” Henry said. “Craventhorp must be paying this witness.”
“Yet, you told the police that at 3:00 am on the morning of 28 July, you climbed into your carriage and instructed your driver to take you to your estate in Sevenoaks.”
“That’s correct.”
“The police claim you made a stop at Park Lane first.”
“But Miss Leonard ended up dead in the Thames, not in Sevenoaks with me. Their theory makes no sense.”
“Well, that’s what I hope to prove. On the other hand, the Attorney General will work equally as hard to convince your peers that you strangled Miss Leonard in your carriage and disposed of her body in the Thames.”
Henry ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Their theory is full of holes; it shouldn’t be too difficult to prove my innocence.”
“It shouldn’t, but the press has sensationalized the story, and the public is out for blood. Your stepfather has managed to keep things quiet until now, but when your arrest and indictment headlines tomorrow’s newspapers, I’m afraid the pitchforks will come out.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Five paces by four and a half, five paces by four and ahalf,
five paces by four and a half.” The prisonerwalked
to and fro in his cell, counting itsmeasurement.
—Charles Dickens,A Tale of TwoCities
Annabel lay awakein the darkness, listening. She heard Nate stoke the fire in the grate and move around in the outer room as he boiled water for his morning tea. The sun had not yet risen, and the wind rattled the thin windowpanes. Despite this, all she could think about was getting outside.
As soon as she heard the front door open and then shut, she strained to listen for the sound of the key turning, locking her inside. She couldn’t hear it, but she knew it had happened all the same, and she gritted her teeth.Three days! Three days he’d kept her locked in this fishmonger’s cage. How dare he keep her prisoner and tell her it was for her own protection? He was lying. She no longer trusted him. There was something out there he didn’t want her to know—or someone he didn’t want her to see.
She threw off her bedcover and got out of bed. Shivering, she washed with the water she’d set below the small washbasin the evening before. Then, she quickly dressed in multiple layers to stave off the cold. The kitchen fire was a welcome sight, and she sat beside it after making herself a cup of tea. A stream of daylight filtered in through the small windows high above—too high to look through and too small to squeeze through. Those were the only windows in the hut, and the hefty green door that Nate bolted every day was the only way out. She’d searched for something heavy, something she could use to break it open, but there was nothing. A chair would only splinter and fall apart if she swung it at the door, and it was the heaviest object she could find within these walls.
Annabel sipped her tea and gazed into the fire. Nate gave her everything she needed to survive—food, fire, tea, and plenty of fresh oysters for dinner, but that didn’t justify his taking away her freedom. How could he say it was for her own good that he locked her up like a caged animal?
The heat of injustice rose in her chest. She stood up, strode to the door, and pushed against it with both hands. It didn’t budge, of course, but it made her feel better—for a moment. Then the anger returned, and she lunged forward again, pushing the hateful door with both hands.
To her surprise, it swung open, and she almost fell onto Nate.
She steadied herself. He stood in the doorway, and they stared at each other for a minute.
“What are you doing back?” She folded her arms. “Why aren’t you out harvesting?”
“The wind is too rough. I thought you might want to go for a walk along the beach before I—”
“Before you lock me up again for the day?”
“I told you, it’s to keep—”
