A Rose Before Dying (12 page)

While he hadn’t pressed her for an
explanation, the bruise on her cheek spoke volumes. She had a man
in her life, already. The notion twisted in his gut, for he knew
the type of man who would inflict such bruises on a woman. However,
he was also aware that women who chose to intertwine their lives
with such men ignored and resented any interference.

She’d clearly made her choice. It saddened
him, but at the moment, other matters required his attention. The
best thing he could do would be to avoid any further contact with
her, except on a professional level.

“Do you—do you believe Sir Edward is
responsible?” she asked in a soft, hesitant voice. Her eyes flicked
from the window to his face and then back again, as if she, too,
realized the futility of pursuing a relationship.

“I’d prefer to think he’s innocent. It’s
becoming more and more difficult to sustain that belief,
however.”

“Oh, dear. Should we search his house and
hope we can find Miss Baxter before, well, before anything
happens?” She held a handkerchief to her lips as if to repress a
cry. “You don’t think—”

“No. She’s alive. Never fear.” At least for
now. Why leave clues if the victim was already dead? Unless the
killer meant to taunt them.

“Thank you.” She reached across the space
between them and squeezed his hand. “I realize you don’t want me
here—I’ll only slow you down—but I needed to come. If we find her,
she’ll need the support of a woman. Someone she knows.”

“You could never be a burden,” he said.
However, she did distract him, which was far worse. Although she
was correct on one matter. If by some miracle they found Miss
Baxter alive, he preferred to have another woman deal with her.
“I’m grateful for the company.”

She laughed.

He smiled and leaned forward. The desire to
touch her hand, or knee, was almost irresistible. Her leg moved
under her dark, heavy skirts as if she, too, felt the pull of
attraction.

“You’re simply relieved you won’t have to
deal with a hysterical woman. Men are always awkward where emotions
are concerned.”

“Very true.” He glanced out the windows as
the coach gradually slowed. “Here’s Sir Edward’s house. Would you
prefer to wait in the carriage? If I discover anything, I’ll send
for you.”

“No. Let me come with you. I’ll go mad
sitting here, wondering what’s happening.”

“Very well.” He assisted her to alight and
after a moment’s thought, paid the coachman and sent him on his
way. There was no sense in keeping him when they had no idea what
they might discover.

Charles mounted the short flight of stairs
and knocked. When the butler opened the door, he looked beyond him
to Miss Wellfleet, standing with evident uncertainty on the
walkway.

“Your uncle is not here, Lord Castlemoor. I’m
sorry.”

“Are you sure? Where did he go?” Charles
glanced at Miss Wellfleet and shook his head.

Her gaze flicked from Charles to the butler.
She raised her brows in inquiry.

“To the cottage, my lord. He felt a desire to
leave London.” The butler’s face showed curiosity and puzzlement.
“He did not leave any message for you. I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Thank you.” Charles turned away. The
sensation of stepping into quicksand pulled at him. Had he been a
fool to believe in his uncle’s innocence?

He hurried back to Miss Wellfleet, regretting
his decision to send the hackney away. “He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“Rye.” Near Romney Marsh.

She paled. One hand rested briefly in the
hollow of her throat. “That second rose—it’s also known as the
Marsh Rose!”

“I’m well aware of that,” he replied with a
bit more sharpness than he intended.

She gripped his sleeve. “I’m so sorry! I know
you hoped—we both hoped he was innocent, but….”

“Nothing is proved, yet.”

“Of course.” The pity in her hazel eyes told
him she knew how useless it was to continue to deny the truth.

How could Sir Edward be innocent? It was
clear he had kidnapped Miss Baxter and taken her to his cottage
where he planned to end her life. He could murder her in Romney
Marsh and leave no evidence behind except the taunting note and
roses. The marsh would erase any traces of evil.

But he’s innocent!
He had to believe
that.

“I’ll escort you back to Rosewell, of
course.” Charles glanced down the street, searching for another
hackney. As luck would have it, none were in sight.

“No. I’ll come with you.” Miss Wellfleet
gripped his sleeve. “She may still be alive. I have to find
her!”

“You can’t travel alone with me…”

“I know it’s unusual. However, once you find
Miss Baxter, she’ll need me.”

He nodded, his throat constricted. Miss
Baxter might already be past needing anyone. “I understand, but if
I’m to go to Rye, I can travel more quickly by horse—”

“No, please, a carriage. Can’t we take a
carriage.
Please
!” Her eyes pleaded with him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he agreed
although it left him with another issue. He hadn’t brought any of
his inherited equipage on what amounted to a reconnaissance trip to
London. “I’ll request a vehicle from Second Sons. Are you sure you
wish to accompany me?”

“I must.”

“Very well.” With deep reluctance, he flagged
down a carriage for hire and deposited her inside. “I’ll be at your
door in one hour.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said through the
window.

Grim-faced, he gave instructions to the
coachman to take her to Rosewell, while he went in the opposite
direction to Second Sons. As he walked, his thoughts wavered
between inappropriate pleasure at traveling with Miss Wellfleet,
and the idea that he could avoid a great deal of trouble by simply
neglecting to return to Rosewell for her. Despite the underhanded
nature of the later action, it would, in fact, be the right thing
to do.

However, if he left her behind and managed to
save Miss Baxter, he’d need the assistance of a woman. He wasn’t
proud enough to believe he could—or wanted to—deal with an injured
woman. Assuming, of course, that she was missing because she was
the next target and not because she’d run off for any one of a
number of reasons, such as an unknown lover. It was not unheard of,
even for an older woman.

In the end, however, his desire for Miss
Wellfleet’s company outweighed any noble concern for her social
position, and he assuaged his guilt by reminding himself that she
could refuse to go if she had any concerns. Miss Wellfleet was a
mature woman. She was sensible enough to make her own decisions,
and evidently, her father agreed or he would have left instructions
in his will to provide her with a guardian.

Once Charles saw the battered carriage owned
by Second Sons, he had to stifle a heavy sigh. The carriage had
black streaks on the sides where the coachman had tried to paint
over the seal of the previous owner, and the leather upholstery was
worn and cracked. However, Mr. Gaunt assured him the wheels and
frame were sound. Charles watched as the coachman prepared the
vehicle and was only vaguely surprised when he turned and found
Gaunt studying them from the doorway.

“Will it suit you, my lord?” Gaunt folded his
arms over his chest. A shaft of sunlight drenched his shoulders,
leaving his face in shadows, but Charles didn’t need to see his
expression to know he was uneasy. Evidently, the lack of progress
in the investigation frustrated both of them.

“Yes. It’ll do.”

“May I ask if there’s anything you can share
about your inquiries, my lord? Did Miss Wellfleet provide any
insight?”

“I’m not sure. I may just be chasing
shadows.”

Gaunt nodded. “Are you traveling far?”

“Rye.” If he didn’t tell him, the coachman
surely would. While the servant was middle-aged, he was still too
young to have learned the value of keeping his mouth shut. Charles
could feel his curious eyes flash from him to Gaunt as the coachman
backed the horses into the traces.

“Rye. I see. It’s Thursday—I apologize for
reminding you, but the inquest for Lady Banks’ murder will begin on
Monday. I couldn’t justify an additional delay to the Magistrate.
I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Yes. Well, thank you for trying.”

“Will you be able to return by Monday?
Unfortunately, you may be required to give testimony, or at least
answer a few questions, if the magistrate feels it necessary.”

“My lawyer has my statement. I saw nothing of
importance.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but you saw the
notes and the flowers. You’re related to the main suspect and were
making inquiries into the second death, which appears related to
the first. The judge may have questions for you.” His eyes seemed
sympathetic, despite his insistence.

“I understand.” The muscles in Charles’s jaw
tightened. He didn’t require the reminders. He was well aware of
the situation and doing his best to find the proof required to
exonerate his uncle. “In the meantime, I trust you’ll continue your
inquiries, as well.”

“Most assuredly, my lord. I’ve been
questioning the servants and passersby. I’m afraid they saw nothing
that would help Sir Edward. The servants in particular believe no
one else could have shot Lady Banks. I’m sorry.”

Charles nodded abruptly. It was painfully
clear that if sufficient evidence were found during the inquest to
bind Sir Edward over for a trial, he’d probably be found guilty and
hung. The combined weight of the circumstances made it difficult
even for Charles to believe in Sir Edward’s innocence. His uncle
knew the victims and had the motivation.

But his uncle wasn’t the sort of man who
would commit murder and then taunt Charles and Gaunt with
riddles.

“Was Miss Wellfleet able to identify the
roses?”

“Yes. She identified them as the ‘Spineless
Virgin’ and the ‘Marsh Rose’.”

“Is that why you’re going to Rye? You believe
you’ll find a spineless virgin languishing in Romney Marsh, my
lord?”

“Yes.” Charles shifted, flicking a glance at
the coachman who was moving at a glacial pace as he checked the
harnesses.

“And Sir Edward? Have you spoken to him? His
presence in London might prove his innocence if the villain is in
Rye. If the roses were accurately identified, my lord, as I’m sure
they were.”

“I haven’t spoken to him.” That much was
true.

“It might be useful if you could…”

He swallowed but couldn’t quite control the
rough edge in his voice. “I’m quite capable of managing my family’s
affairs.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Gaunt bowed.
“My concern over this matter made me more persistent than wise. Sir
Edward showed a great deal of perspicacity when he placed his trust
in you, my lord.”

Because he hoped my family loyalty would
cover his crimes sufficiently to allow him to escape the
gallows?
Charles didn’t voice his frustration, but he wondered
if they were all thinking the same thing.

Though to Charles’s surprise, his anger only
spurred him on to find the truth. Perhaps a murder investigation
was not something an earl ought to be engaged in, but damn it, he
couldn’t let his uncle be falsely accused no matter how black it
looked.

“While my uncle does have a cottage in Rye,”
Charles clarified, “I don’t believe he’s responsible for these
crimes. It would’ve been extremely difficult for him to shoot Lady
Banks when he was walking with her in her garden. There were no
marks of scorching or gunpowder on her clothing, so the marksman
had to be at some distance away.”

“If you’ll excuse me taking the opposite
side, my lord, I must point out she’s dead. She can no longer tell
us if he remained at her side throughout their entire stroll. We
have only his word that he was next to her at the time, my
lord.”

“She would hardly have stood alone in the
garden while he dashed off far enough to shoot her. And why would
he be carrying a firearm?”

“He may have hidden a rifle and told her to
wait while he went to retrieve it.” He held up his hand when
Charles opened his mouth. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but he could
have given her any excuse—a trip to the privy for example. Or going
back to pick a rose for her. Any excuse would suffice.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Unfortunately, the
tightness in his belly said it was all too possible. “You know Sir
Edward well enough to realize that.”

“All men are capable of murder. And his
recent injury has changed him, made him bitter. He’s not the same
man he was when we first met a few years ago. And he can’t help but
blame Lady Banks. I met her last month. The lady was enamored of
flowing scarves. No doubt one of the damned things startled the
horse and thereby triggered the events that crippled him. And then
for her to abandon him for another man—younger and sound of
limb—well, even the kindest of men would find the situation
difficult to stomach. We should’ve already informed the magistrate
of these facts. I wish it were otherwise, but you can’t hope to
suppress this information during the coroner’s jury my lord.”

“I understand, but what if someone
else—someone angry at Sir Edward—wanted to see him suffer? What
better way than to make it appear he murdered his lover and her new
paramour? And while his lameness has changed him, it has also made
it highly unlikely that he was active enough to do all of these
things, carriages notwithstanding.” Charles turned slightly, lacing
his hands behind his back. “I intend to prove he did not commit
these crimes. And I’m disappointed that your friendship with my
uncle is so fragile.”

Gaunt smiled. “I hope you can prove him
innocent. I’m willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. But
I’m also a practical man, Lord Castlemoor. I have to accept that I
may have been hired to turn attention away from the real
murderer.”