“Yes, but—”
“Then it stands to good reason that you bear as much responsibility for my sister’s death as whoever related your observations to the public, and the paper who actually printed the lie.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” Mrs.Riley informed him, her voice strong, firm, and filled with so much quiet outrage that Adrian finally understood.Envy made her vindictive.She’d likely suffered an unhappy marriage, had never known the kind of pleasure she’d witnessed between those bushes, and had punished the perpetrators to the best of her ability.
He glared at her.“Consider this then, my dear Mrs.Riley.Marsdale is a close friend of mine.I feel as at home in his house as I do in my own.So on the eve of the ball, when I grew weary of standing about the ballroom, I invited my sister for a tour of his home.A clock chimed while we were in the upstairs gallery.The ninth hour, to be precise, making it physically impossible for my sister to have been in the garden at that exact time.As you’ve just suggested she was.”
Confusion dimmed Mrs.Riley’s eyes.She shook her head.“Impossible.Unless I mistook the time.”
“What you mistook,” Adrian told her darkly, “was the situation as a whole.You heard a name used and fell for a ruse.As a result, a young woman – my beloved sister – is dead.”
“No.”Mrs.Riley shook her head vehemently.
“Your punishment will be the truth,” Adrian continued, not caring what kind of turmoil would sink its talons into this woman as soon as she knew the extent of her blunder.“The coroner made a thorough examination of my sister’s body, and do you know what he found, Mrs.Riley?An untouched virgin, innocent of everything you would have her accused of.”
Mrs.Riley’s stricken expression offered only a marginal piece of satisfaction.“I don’t understand.”
“Who was the author?”By God, he’d make sure they never wrote anything ever again.
“I…I really can’t say.”
Anger flashed behind his eyes.“Tell me.”
When Mrs.Riley still said nothing, he seethed, “I’ll see you cut from Society unless you give me her name, and if that’s not enough, then I urge you to think of poor Henson.Wouldn’t do for stolen goods to be found in his possession.”
Despite visibly trembling, she glared at him as though he were the devil.“Mrs.Thackery.”
How easily she’d sacrificed her long-time friend.
Sick of her presence, of the stuffy parlor depriving him of air, and of struggling to rein in his finely controlled temper, Adrian left.Someone had set Evie up by staging the whole bloody thing and using a decoy in her place.
The question preying upon him now, was who and why.
18
Peter Kendrick returned to his office after his latest meeting with the chief magistrate and poured himself a large glass of brandy.Sir Nigel’s displeasure with him had been felt in every punctuated word the man had uttered.
He was most unhappy with Peter’s continued failure to catch the killer and with the time it was taking Miss Carmichael to get nice and comfortable with Mr.Croft.Since Sir Nigel had put Peter in charge of that assignment as well, he not only had to explain his own inability to provide answers now but Miss Carmichael’s too.
Made him look like a bloody amateur.
He tossed back the drink he’d poured and hissed in response to the welcome burn the liquid produced as it slid down his throat.The smoke from the cheroot he’d lit wafted toward him.He picked it up and took a few drags before reaching for a piece of paper.It was time for him to check in with his agent and, if need be, to press her for some much-needed results.
The tip of his quill scratched the paper with long sloping letters as he penned the note her errand boy would deliver to her.The lad always showed up near the back entrance a couple of times a day, just in case a message such as this needed relaying.
He wrote his initials at the bottom of the note, folded the paper, and sealed it shut with a shiny blob of red wax.Snatching it up between his fingers, he then pushed his chair back and stood.
The boy was exactly where he’d expected to find him, lurking in a doorway, a grey cap pulled down across his brow to conceal his face.Peter approached at a clipped pace, the missive carefully concealed where he held it, flush against his thigh.
As he approached, he whistled the first few notes from “Greensleeves,” allowing the song to fade when the boy slowly straightened, stepped out of the doorway, and walked toward Peter.His gait was almost lazy – a scamp on the prowl for the next pocket to pick.When he drew flush with Peter, his hand caught the missive, snatching it away with such skill, Peter failed to notice the action, even when he knew it was happening.
Without looking back, Peter continued to the bakery just around the corner, from which he purchased a steaming hot minced meat pie.If anyone from Mr.Croft’s network happened to see, they’d hopefully remain unaware of the secret correspondence taking place beneath their noses.
Two hours later, he read the response Miss Carmichael had written.
Tell your friend to be patient.As it is, instinct compels me to withdraw for a number of days to avoid detection.Unless, of course, you want me to fail, in which case I am more than happy to press ahead without caution.
Brief and blunt.
