A Convenient Bride (29 page)

“Why don’t you two run along,” Mrs. Turner said. She pointed across the ballroom. “I believe I see some frilly young things better suited for your attentions.”

Bowing, the two men left. “You do not like the older Mister Everhart,” Mrs. Turner said. “Nor do you like the nephew.”

Brenna nodded. “No, I do not like the elder Everhart. He is charming, yet I’m not entirely comfortable in his presence.” She watched the two men approach a gaggle of girls, and soon they were all laughing together. “He is very forward with his attentions.”

The baby kicked. Brenna instantly forgot anything but the child. She placed a hand over her abdomen.

“The baby comes soon.”

“He does,” Brenna said. She scanned the room for Richard. He was speaking to a gentleman in dusty travel clothes. Curious, she watched, realizing there was something familiar about the man, though she could not see his face.

The music died, and Richard’s companion turned.

Jace Jones? She blinked. It
was
him. Why was he here? Had something happened to Simon?

R
ichard noticed Brenna’s interest in Jones. “We need to find a private place to talk. You have drawn the attention of my wife.”

He turned and led Jones from the ballroom and out of the house. He’d never met the man before Jones approached him in the ballroom, but the stranger knew him and insisted they speak privately.

The brisk air was welcome after the heat of the ballroom. The bright stars and lamplight from the windows lit the garden as Richard led Jones away from prying eyes. Jones followed him to a small courtyard.

Once he was certain they’d not be overheard, he faced his companion. “Now tell me what this is about.”

“Simon Harrington sent me to check up on Brenna.”

“What? Why?” His temper flared. Did Harrington think Richard incapable of tending to his own wife? “Brenna is my concern,” he said bluntly. “Tell Simon he need not worry about her.”

He stalked a few steps away before Jones’s voice brought him upright. “Wait. There is more.”

Richard released a harsh sigh and turned back.

Jones rubbed his eyes with his palms. There was weariness in the man that came from a hard ride from London. “A few weeks past, there was a murder at the Mayfair home of a client. A maid was found strangled in the mews behind the house,” Jones began. “Bow Street is investigating, but they are unable to come up with a suspect at this time.”

Another death? His interest peaked as his mind drifted to the dead maid from Dover. “We’ve heard nothing of this murder.”

Jones settled back on his heels. “It was kept quiet. The Runners think it might be part of a rash of murders. They are hoping not to cause panic.”

This was interesting. “We have heard of the deaths of a maid from Bath and the other in Dover. Are they connected? We were under the assumption that those were accidents.”

“The Runners believe the incident in Bath was accidental. The girl had fallen before.”

“And Dover?” Richard pressed. Though he had no idea what this had to do with Simon’s concern for Brenna, it was a bleak and fascinating story.

“They are convinced that one was murder.”

Richard glanced back at the house. “Two murders so far apart does not mean the same man has killed both women. The man would have to have the means to travel to commit those crimes. It would be no common killer.”

Jones stared at him in the darkness. “True. But when you add another maid in Hastings and a tavern wench in Oxford, it makes a compelling case.”

This was a surprising turn. “Four murders?” Richard shook his head to clear it. Jace Jones had not come all the way out here on a lark. There was more to this story; he knew it in his knotted gut. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason Simon sent you here. I suspect it was not to see if I am mistreating my wife.”

The stranger took a step closer, the light filtering over his hard features. “I have reason to believe the killer is somewhere in or near this park.”

B
renna froze. A killer in the park? She stepped from the shadows into the small opening in a circle of hedges leading to the fountain outside the meeting hall. The two men turned to her, clearly startled by her appearance.

“There is a murderer. Here?”

Richard came to her and took her by the arm. He walked her to a bench and eased her onto the surface. “You should have stayed inside, Brenna. There is no need to alarm yourself. This is all speculation, with no proof.”

She shook off his arm and faced Jones. “I am not a child. Tell me what is happening, Jace.”

“You know each other?” Richard asked, but Brenna was focused on Jones. He should have known that they’d be acquainted. The man knew Simon Harrington. It wasn’t a stretch for Brenna to know him, too.

Jace nodded. “There is a series of killings of women.”

“Jones,” Richard interjected. The warning in his voice carried no weight. It earned an exasperated sigh from his wife.

“Continue,” she said, unabated by Richard’s desire to protect her from this dark news. “I am no wilting flower in need of protecting.”

Jones nodded. “Four women have been murdered.” He moved to take a seat beside her and glanced at her stomach. His face grew troubled. “Perhaps you
should
return inside, Brenna.”

“You do not need to coddle me, Jace.” She encompassed both men in her glare. “I want to know everything you know. If there is a chance the women of this park are in danger, I should make sure they are warned.”

Jace glanced at Richard, who shrugged. Brenna knew neither man wanted to tangle with her. She might be close to birthing, but she was still a formidable opponent.

“Two years ago, a maid was murdered in Hastings. She was found strangled in a meadow. The case was never solved. Last year, another woman suffered a similar fate, though her body was discovered in a churchyard. The Dover maid fell from the cliffs, but she had marks on her neck. The constable thinks she may have fought off her attacker and fallen while trying to flee him.”

“And the maid in London?” Brenna pressed.

“That is where the story takes a turn. She was stabbed to death.” Jace paused. “There seemed to be no connection. It was after the girl had been dead for two days that marks became visible on her neck. The culprit had tried to strangle her but could not finish the deed. So he stabbed her.”

Brenna clasped her hands, saddened by the tale. She knew every maid in her family’s employ and here at Beckwith Hall, too. It frightened her to think that any one of the girls could suffer a similar fate.

“What leads the Runners to believe the killer has come here?” Richard asked.

“Underneath the last victim was part of a torn note. There was only enough to deduce that it was directions to an inn about a half hour from here. We have no proof that the note was lost by the killer; it could have blown into the alley at any time before the murder. But it is too big a clue to leave uninvestigated. The Runners have gone to the inn to see what they can find.”

A moment of quiet followed. Then Richard spoke. “The killer could be out of the country by now. There is no reason to believe he has come here.”

“True,” Jace conceded.

“Why, then, do you think we need to be dragged into this sordid business?” Richard said.

Jace leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground for a minute. When he lifted his eyes, he met Brenna’s gaze. “Though the note was torn, I recognized the letterhead from letters Simon received from you and shared with me. The paper was yours, Brenna.”

T
he shock could not have been greater had he told Brenna that someone had witnessed her murdering the maid. She had to take a moment to collect her thoughts before she could speak. When she did, her voice was no more than a whisper.

“How can that be?” She often wrote her family and friends; thus, the paper could have come from anywhere and anyone. Still, it worried her that a killer may have dropped her writing paper during the murder. “Are you certain?”

“Simon confirmed it. I have a Runner friend who let me see the note. I described it to your brother. It contains the same swan pattern as the notes you send.”

Brenna turned to Richard. Her stomach burned. “Mother had the paper printed for my twentieth birthday. She designed it herself, as she knows I adore swans. No one else shares that design. Simon would know it well.”

“The Runners know it, too,” Jace said. “I have come ahead to warn you. After they have checked out the inn, they will come here. I thought you should be ready.”

Richard reached for her hand. “They cannot suspect Brenna.”

Jace shook his head. “They do not, for many reasons. They
want to speak to you about your friends, family, and acquaintances. They think the killer is someone you know.”

The many people she’d met through her lifetime blurred through her mind. She tried to think of anyone who could be capable of these horrible deaths and could not name a single man who stood out.

“I don’t believe this,” Brenna said. “Surely this man could not walk among us as if nothing were amiss. He has to be a monster.”

“He is,” Jace said. “But on the outside he could appear quite normal.” He stood and walked to the fountain. “Some years ago a bookkeeper in New York was arrested for killing two prostitutes. He buried the first in his garden and was caught with the body of the second one in his home. He was small and meek, not what you would picture in a killer. Yet he did kill.”

Crickets chirped in the night while Brenna pondered all she’d heard. Suddenly, she wished she had stayed inside after all.

R
ichard paced the clearing, fear gripping him to his bones. He’d thought the incident with the carriage had been a onetime dangerous prank, by someone with a grudge against him or someone at the hall, and the tree fire, an accident.

Now a killer was loose and may be stalking his wife?

He turned to stare into the darkness, unsure of what he expected to see. All he knew was that he needed to tell Jones about the incidents. The time for keeping secrets from Brenna was over.

He raked his hands through his hair. “There is something you should know.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Last fall someone tampered with one of our carriages by cutting a bolt. The wheel broke when Brenna and I were out. It was through God’s good grace that we were largely uninjured.”

Brenna shifted on the seat. “You told me the broken bolt was accidental.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “You kept the truth from me?”

Jace stepped between them before Brenna could start an argument. “That is odd. If the cut bolt was meant to harm someone and failed, why didn’t the culprit try again?”

Glancing past Jace to Brenna, Richard gritted his teeth and knew his wife would take off his head for keeping the truth from her. Still, he had to tell Jace. There was no way around it.

“Last Christmas we had a fire. Someone put a candle under the children’s tree, and it burned. Mrs. Beal was certain the candle was not there when she went to bed.”

“Lud,” Brenna bit out.

“Could it have been accidental?” Jace interjected.

“We do not know,” Richard said. “No one came forward to confess. It remains a mystery.”

Silence fell. Richard wondered if Brenna was plotting his demise. She hated being coddled, and he’d kept two very big secrets from her.

When he looked past Jones, there was no anger on her face. In fact, she looked rather controlled.

“Richard?” Brenna shifted again and rubbed her back. “There is something I have not told you, either.”

“What is it?”

“Last fall, and a few times over the winter, things of mine disappeared and were later put back, like my favorite brush or shawl. I’d notice the item missing, and then when the search turned up nothing, it would mysteriously return.”

“And you did not tell me this until now?” Richard said. He tamped down his temper. They’d both kept secrets.

“I thought it was either my own forgetfulness or someone playing pranks.” She stretched her back. “My arrival was not exactly welcomed by everyone in the household.”

The two men shared a glance. “I find it difficult to believe a killer would stoop to such a spiteful game,” Jace said. “Still, if the prankster is our killer, then the person lives in or has access to your household.”

“I suspected it was Bethany and still hold that belief,” Brenna admitted. “She would like nothing more than to see me flee to London and never return.”

“It is possible,” Richard agreed. “I’d rather consider a jealous woman behind the matter than a killer roaming my household unnoticed.” Richard paused and tried to put all the incidents together. The pieces did not match. “The hidden brush sounds like a petty prank that Bethany would do. The fire and the carriage accident caused real danger. I’m convinced they are separate matters.”

Jace nodded. “As do I, though it is best to keep vigilant in case we are mistaken.”

Brenna stood. “The baby is restless.” She bent forward and kneaded her back. Richard went to her and took her arm. With her large belly hindering her balance, he worried she might topple forward.

“We can continue this conversation tomorrow,” Richard said. “Jones, will you stay at Beckwith Hall tonight?”