A Dangerous Madness (28 page)

The young woman narrowed her eyes. “How did you get on to me?”

“We were trying to find out who Bellingham spoke with when he was at the tavern, and you arrived just as we were leaving. I recognized you from this morning. It could hardly be a coincidence, you working at the tavern and for Lord Sheldrake.”

Margie looked away. “Didn’t really know why his lordship asked me to do it. That I swear. He paid me well and I didn’t ask no questions. All I had to do was talk to Bellingham, and then tell him legal things, pretending my brother were a law clerk. His lordship told me stories, like what a law clerk would know, working on cases, and I was to tell them to Bellingham, like something interesting to pass the time of day, like.”

“I’m surprised Sheldrake thought it would work.”

“Bellingham was very interested.” She looked up again. “Asked me questions to ask my ‘brother’. I knew he were thinking about killing someone in the end. Can’t say I didn’t, not with the questions he were coming up with. And I knew his lordship were encouraging it with the answers he gave me to pass back.”

She closed her eyes, and tipped her head back, as if trying to catch some of the light filtering down on them.

“He couldn’t get past his imprisonment, Bellingham. I think he were innocent of what they said he’d done in Russia, and that the British ambassador didn’t help him as he should. I heard the story from him often enough, and I’m sure he’s telling the truth. He simply couldn’t put it behind him. Being in prison was so far from his idea of what his life should be—losing everything he’d worked for. He couldn’t cope. He liked his life ordered and tidy.” She bit her lip, and a tear ran down her cheek. “No one helped him. He told me all the places he tried to get help. Redress, he called it. He was getting desperate. I think it was his last push, you see. I spent so many weeks with him, seeing him every day, and he knew if he couldn’t get a resolution soon, he’d never get one. And he couldn’t accept that.”

“And that’s when he started getting interested in legal defenses?”

Margie nodded. “Was he right? Will he get away with it if it was without malice aforethought.”

Phoebe couldn’t hide her shock that Margie had believed it herself. She shook her head. “Without malice aforethought is only applicable in the case of accidental death. Mr. Bellingham planned the murder of Mr. Perceval. He bought the guns, he practised shooting them, he even had a secret pocket sewn into his jacket to hide his weapon. That defense will never hold up.”

Margie stared at her, and her gaze had turned from pleading to anger. “So they used me to trick him? Trick him into killing the prime minister?”

Phoebe nodded.

“Just a bunch of nobs, needing a working man to do their dirty work for them, like usual.” She spoke with a sneer. “And a working woman, too, at that.”

Phoebe nodded again.

“You know, the only good to come out o’ this is my job at the tavern. This might not look too fancy to you,” she gestured down the stairs, “but it’s an old basement room. The rent is cheap and it’s mine. No one can come looking through my things, and there’ll be no more lecherous lords feeling me up when I walk past, and I can’t say a word about it.”

“Sheldrake did that?” Phoebe couldn’t imagine it, but as this last week had shown, she didn’t know Sheldrake at all.

Margie shook her head. “Mr. Wentworth. Wanted me to stay on as the one maid they could afford, how about that? Another thing Mr. Jackson was angry about. What was he going to tell Mr. Wentworth if I didn’t stay?” Margie tossed her head. “I told him what he could say when I walked out this morning, after doing everything Mr. Jackson gave me to finish before he’d let me go with that money you gave us.” She took a deep breath. “And thanks for that, by the way. Paid me deposit on this room, it did. Got me my freedom, so I owe you one for that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” The sky above darkened, and Phoebe looked up and saw through the narrow gap that storm clouds were gathering. “But can you tell me, what did Bellingham give to you?”

“Give to me?” Margie frowned. “Oh, the list? The one I gave to Lord Sheldrake?”

“What list?”

“He were nervous about something. Asked me to give my brother a list, check it to see if it would hold up in court.”

“What did it say?” Phoebe shivered as the wind blew a little harder.

Margie shrugged. “I can’t read. I gave it to his lordship, and he were right angry. Threw it straight in the fire, and said Bellingham were coming apart at the seams, and that it was all going to hell. Told me to tell him it would definitely hold up.”

“When was this?”

Margie looked at her; a long, steady look.

“It was Saturday or Sunday last week, wasn’t it?”

She nodded. “Saturday afternoon.” She turned away. “I saw him one last time, Sunday afternoon.”

“I’m sorry.” Phoebe could see the girl had come to like Bellingham. Her hands were clasped together, and her shoulders were hunched. “It was wrong of Sheldrake to use you.” She shook her head. “Everything about this was wrong.”

Margie looked back at her. “That chap following me? Was he with you?”

Phoebe gave a nod. “I’ll call him off. Get them to leave you alone. If the list went in the fire, there’s no proof of any of this.”

“There were a man. Not a nob, though, someone else, like a lawyer or a merchant or sommat. I think Lord Sheldrake was payin’ him, too.” Margie lowered her voice. “He sometimes came round the tavern, talked to Mr. Bellingham. Encouraging him, like, to not let it go. Assuring him he were in the right, sort of thing. It weren’t just me danglin’ some bait. They were eggin’ him on.”

Phoebe gave a nod, but like everything else, it was nebulous, hard to pin down the wrong of it. She turned to go back, then stopped. “If you need help, or lose your position, you can come to me.”

“Ta, but I’ll do fine all on me own.” Margie climbed partway down the stairs. “I’m done with getting mixed up with nobs.”

As Phoebe walked away, she thought it ironic she was done with it, too. Except for one. She was deliberately getting mixed up with him.

The rain started long before she reached the street where the carriage was waiting, and the shouts and calls of housewives pulling in their washing overhead made her smile.

She’d never been given a choice in who she associated with before.

She did now.

And she’d make her choice count.

Chapter Thirty-six

E
verything had gone to hell.

Jimmy, just ahead of them in the crowd, slowed, and then stopped, spinning a full circle, looking for the girl.

“She was right ahead of me.” He spun again, as if a second time would reveal what he was searching for.

“Keep looking. Tom, stay with him and help, George and I will go back to the carriage.” James had a sudden sinking feeling about having left Phoebe alone with only the driver to keep watch.

No one could know they were here. They were still using the old battered coach he’d hired for today’s investigations, but he was jogging by the time he reached it.

The carriage was pulled up on the left of the street, but the way was narrow enough that his driver kept being harangued by passing carts, and the man looked hot and bothered, despite the cooling breeze and the darkening skies.

James could see his relief when he spotted them.

He opened the carriage door, and stared at the empty interior.

“Where is Miss Hillier?” He tried not to shout, not to panic, as he called up to the man.

The driver frowned. “Inside.”

But she wasn’t.

He turned, the movement reminding him painfully of Jimmy, not minutes ago, looking up and down the street.

Why would she leave, and without attracting the driver’s attention?

He couldn’t understand it.

She hadn’t gone the same way as he and his men, he would have seen her on the way back. So the alternatives were the way they’d come or…there was a narrow lane almost directly opposite the carriage, and something about it had him stepping in its direction. “George, you trace our way back towards the tavern. We all meet back here at the carriage.”

His footman disappeared into the crowds, and James crossed the street at a run, dodging wheelbarrows and people, and stepped into the narrow access way. It was colder here—there was a relentless wind blowing between the buildings, and the dark sky meant it was even gloomier than in the wider street.

Rain started to fall, and it blinded him as he strode as fast as he could on the slippery cobbles through the twists and turns the lane made between the high buildings, accommodating a kink here and a jutting corner there.

Then he stepped around a sharp turn and ran straight into Phoebe, walking with her head down against the stinging needles of rain.

“Oh.” She was in his arms before she even knew he was there, and he held her, his chest tight and his breath short at the relief of finding her.

“Thank God.” He shuddered in a breath and reluctantly loosened one arm to push wet tendrils of hair off her forehead. “Where did you go?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he realized he was holding her as if he would never let her go. He couldn’t help himself.

He could feel an uncomfortable sting where his injured arm protested at the strain he was putting on it, but he didn’t care.

“I saw Margie come this way, so I followed her.” She tipped her head back and gave a rueful grin. “I knew your driver wouldn’t leave me and go after her himself, and anyway, what would he have done with her, grabbed her against her will? I didn’t think he’d leave the carriage and come with me, either, so I did it on my own. We would never have found her once she’d disappeared down here, not until she came back to work at the tavern tomorrow, and with the trial starting in the morning, that would be too late.”

“You’re…right.” He forced himself to admit it. It was strange to have someone help him, someone who understood all the stakes, intelligent enough to put the pieces together without being told, and who wasn’t afraid to take action.

He didn’t think Gascoyne would come after her again, not after this afternoon’s confrontation. He must realize now how much James knew, how little killing Phoebe would achieve, but he may not have had time to pull off his dogs yet. She was still at risk, and the thought of her down this dark, narrow lane alone made his heart pound.

He tried to hide his fear, although he still couldn’t loosen his arms. “Did you discover anything?”

She nodded, and miraculously didn’t try to struggle free, seemingly content to stand in the rain pressed up against him. “I spoke to her. Sheldrake had her pretend she had a brother who was a law clerk. She related tales from this fictional brother to Bellingham, feeding him various defense strategies. They also sent a man in to befriend him, casually, it sounds like. He’d let Bellingham go on about his troubles over a pint and encouraged him to keep going.”

“Did you find out what it was Bellingham gave her?”

She leaned forward, and rubbed her forehead against his coat to wipe away some of the rain, as if she, too, couldn’t bear to let go of him. “A list. She can’t read, but from what Bellingham told her, it sounded like a list of how he planned to carry out the assassination, and then the defense he intended to use. Everyone he could turn to for compensation had refused him, some of them multiple times. He had to find another way to bring the issue to the public’s attention, something so violent and shocking, no one could ignore him, and he wanted Margie’s ‘brother’ to tell him if his defense would hold up in court.”

“What did Sheldrake do with the document?” James didn’t wonder Bellingham had panicked during his hearing at the thought of his list of steps to kill the prime minister ending up in Bow Street’s hands.

“He threw it straight in the fire, and told Margie to tell Bellingham the defense would hold. That was the last time she saw Bellingham before he killed Perceval. My guess is Sheldrake panicked. If one list existed, who else had Bellingham told or given a list to? That’s why he ran. He didn’t know Bellingham had finally decided to kill the prime minister, he just knew that they’d wound him up too tight and Sheldrake decided not to take any chances.”

James shifted as a fresh wave of icy rain came in from above, trying to protect Phoebe from the worst of it. He still couldn’t move. Couldn’t find any motivation to walk her back to the street, to the relative comfort of the carriage. It was as if they were in a cocoon, and he held on to it for a little longer.

“If Sheldrake destroyed it, then we have nothing. Nothing to tie this to Sheldrake, anyway. Margie is a young serving woman, and the prosecution could easily discredit what she has to say, not to mention it’s her word against a dead peer of the realm. No one will touch that. And there’s just as little tying it to Gascoyne.” He had known this was likely, almost from the beginning, but knowing it for sure was worse than he’d imagined. Draining, and suddenly depressing. As sharp and cold as the rain trickling down the back of his neck.

“Unless we can get another of the Prince Regent’s men to confess, no.” She wedged herself even more tightly in his arms, and lifted her hands, smoothing her fingers over his cheeks to brush away the raindrops.