Read The Bartered Bride Online
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
"You mentioned evidence that the fire was arson?"
"Broken jugs of lamp oil were found throughout the ruins." Gavin replied. "Unfortunately they seem to have come from the Elliott House supply, so while the jugs prove the fire was set deliberately, there's no clue who did it. The witness doesn't think I was in the warehouse long enough to spread about gallons of oil, but he isn't sure." Gavin was grateful that nothing he'd said made the Kenyons seem suspicious of him.
"What is your theory?"
"I don't know," Gavin admitted. "The simplest explanation is that the maid, Daisy, had a criminal lover who thought this would be an easy way to rob a rich woman. But it wasn't likely that Alex would be at the office with money or jewels, and no one was seen going in through the unlocked door. If Daisy's lover only wanted to rob the warehouse, why not break in when no one was there? And why set a fire so quickly that there wasn't time to steal much? None of it makes sense."
"It will when the whole truth is known," Catherine commented. "But it's hard to find the truth when all you have is questions with no answers. I understand Daisy has disappeared?"
"Yes. She must have fled London immediately, or the Runners would have found some trace of her." Not only had she run, but she was well hidden. Or, possibly, dead, if this whole ghastly business was part of a larger conspiracy.
"Ashburton sends his regards," Lord Michael said. "He'd visit you himself, but feels it would be inappropriate when soon he'll be sitting as your judge."
Gavin nodded, understanding. Thinking Lord Michael might answer a question Sir Geoffrey and Kyle had been avoiding, he asked, "Do you have any idea how public opinion is running? If I'm widely assumed to be guilty, a number of peers will probably feel the same way."
"The gutter press has been railing against you, and Ashburton said at least one peer has been doing the same."
"Lord Wylver? I'm told he's the one who personally convinced the police I was guilty of what no one else thought was a murder, until he spoke up," Gavin said dryly. "He claims to be a connection of Edmund Warren's, but my aunt, Lady Jane Howard, is doubtful, and she knows the lineage of every aristocratic family in Britain. Wylver may just dislike me as a colonial upstart, unfit to pollute the hallowed halls of Westminster."
Or Wylver might be acting for someone else, but there was no proof of that. Though Sir Geoffrey and Kyle were pursuing every line of investigation either of them could think of, so far ... nothing. And time was running out quickly.
Catherine got to her feet. "Shall I bring Katie before we take her to Wales?" He hesitated. "Use your judgment. I want very much to see her, but not if a visit will be upsetting."
"She's more upset about not seeing you. She's like..." Catherine's voice faltered. "Very like her mother, who always preferred truth and action to well-meaning attempts to protect her."
"Then please bring her to see me." Especially since it might be for the last time.
"Tomorrow then." Catherine hugged him again as she took her leave. "Have faith that justice will be done, Gavin."
"I hope you're right." As he escorted them to the door, he said, "It means a great deal to me that you don't think I'm guilty."
Lord Michael waited until Catherine had left, then said quietly, "If I did, you would be dead." Then he turned and walked away.
It was a day for visitors. News of the murder and subsequent arrest had reached those who'd left London for the summer, some of whom returned to complicate Gavin's life still further. Apparently anyone who presented himself at the Tower and appeared well bred could be admitted. Of course, it hadn't been that many years since a small fee allowed visitors to not only see the crown jewels, but even try on a crown.
In mid-afternoon Philip Elliott arrived, looking uncomfortable. Gavin glanced up from the luncheon he was finishing. Not bothering to rise, he said dryly, "Come to chastise me for sullying the fair name of Seabourne, or are you hoping you won't actually have to vacate the Seabourne properties?" The younger man flushed. "As your heir, I thought it right to call on you." At least Philip had manners. "If you're curious, no, I didn't kill my wife, but I have no idea if the House of Lords will believe that. If I'm hanged, Seabourne will come to you unencumbered of debt, but my personal fortune will go elsewhere, so do try to handle your money more carefully." Philip looked even more uncomfortable. "I'm not usually extravagant. After years of restraint I ran a little wild after I inherited. If ... if I do become earl again, I'll be more prudent."
"I'm glad to hear that. The people dependent on the Seabourne estate will be also." A thought occurred to him. "If you need people to re-staff Seabourne House, the Berkeley Square servants are capable and honest." Hired by Alex.
"I'll remember that."
With no business to discuss and no real relationship, an awkward silence fell until Gavin said, "It was good of you to come. I do appreciate it, even if I'm not very hospitable."
"I can't say that I blame you. You're in a damnable position. Please believe that I'm not hoping for an innocent man to die merely to advance my station in the world." Philip paused with his hand on the door knob. "I'm very sorry about Lady Seabourne's death. She was a lovely woman." His sympathy triggered one of the swift waves of anguish that struck Gavin many times a day. He nodded thanks and turned away, struggling to control himself. On some primal level, he couldn't really believe she was dead. Particularly at night, when he tried to sleep, she felt so close that he almost believed he could reach out and touch her.
Perhaps the spirits of the murdered really were restive, or-perhaps sudden death had caught her by surprise and she wanted to stay close to him. He hoped the latter. He couldn't bear to think of her spirit as distressed and crying for vengeance.
The thought was painful, so he was not in a good mood late in the afternoon when Major Mark Colwell stormed in wearing a travelstained military uniform. Gavin glanced up from the business papers Suryo had brought the day before. Being noticeably foreign looking, Suryo hadn't been allowed to visit until he came with Kyle, yet a raging major with an unrequited passion for Alex was admitted easily. It was another thought that didn't improve his mood.
Colwell glowered at him from just inside the door. "You murdering bastard. I'll cheer when they hang you."
"Obviously it hasn't occurred to you that I might be innocent."
"They had enough evidence to arrest you. I pray the House of Lords doesn't give you the benefit of the doubt because you're an earl."
Colwell's eyes burned with hatred. "You became a peer and no longer need Alexandra's family connections, so now you want some young girl with no children and a grand fortune. For that, you murdered the sweetest, most beautiful woman on earth!"
Any sympathy Gavin had for Colwell's grief evaporated. In a cold rage, he rose from the desk and stalked across the room toward his visitor. "You arrogant fool! You may have pined for your vision of Alex for years, but you didn't know the first thing about her. Do you have any idea how strong she was?
How brave? How passionate? How stubborn? How idealistic?"
He stopped a yard short of the other man, his fists clenching as he struggled with a desire to knock sense into Colwell's thick head. In a quieter voice, he said, "She was my wife, Katie's mother, the daughter of Lord and Lady Michael Kenyon. Her death is our tragedy. It has nothing to do with you or your fantasies. Now get out."
Colwell turned white. "May you rot in hell." He spun on his heel and walked out. A muscle jumping in his cheek, Gavin crossed the room to stare out the window. Probably Colwell was related to half the peerage and would now tell all his lordly relatives that Gavin was a murderer who must be punished.
What a damnable strange country this was, where Gavin's fate would be decided by a group of wealthy, arrogant men whose only qualification was an inherited title. There was no need for them to have intelligence, honesty, common sense, or good judgment. If Gavin escaped the gallows-and he figured his odds were no better than even-he would leave England forever.
Without Alex or Katie, there was nothing to keep him here.
The sentry called, "Halt, who goes there?
"The Keys!" replied the Chief Yeoman Warder. "Whose keys?"
'Queen Elizabeth's keys."
"God preserve Queen Elizabeth!"
"Amen!" A chorus rumbled from the escort of four armed guards. Gavin gazed into the darkness as he listened to the ceremony that took place every night at ten o'clock. The Virgin Queen had died in 1603, and over two centuries later her damned keys were still being carried around the Tower of London. Very British.
He spent a lot of time at the windows of his prison. Though his cell was spacious, his jailers polite, and his views splendid, he was still a captive. There were times when he felt like hurling himself against the bars like a caged bird desperate to escape. The experience was giving him a gut-deep understanding of what Alex had endured in slavery. Freedom was as natural and invisible as the air one breathed, until it was gone.
He was glad that his trial would begin soon. One way or another, it wouldn't be long until he left this place.
His anger from earlier in the day had long since dissolved into sadness. For one brief moment he'd had everything a man could want. Then it was gone before he had time to recognize joy. Rest well, Iskandra, wherever your spirit may be.
Alex's captivity settled into a routine. Most of her days were spent relentlessly gouging at the mortar, with regular breaks where she stretched her muscles with wing chun exercises. Jones had given her a pencil stub, and every time he brought a meal she made a careful mark on the cell wall. She'd been here almost six weeks.
Being able to wash helped her morale considerably, and the food kept her and Captain Cat satisfied. The tomcat was a godsend in terms of her sanity. He still prowled the vaults in search of prey, and lately he'd taken to depositing dead rats outside the cell for her admiration. She could have done without the rats, but she enjoyed his company, and whenever she lay down he soon materialized to sleep beside her. So far she hadn't needed any of the clean rags that Jones had provided. She had a strong suspicion that she was pregnant again. Unlike the disastrous pregnancy she'd endured on the voyage home, this time she felt fine, except for tiring easily. She'd felt like this when carrying Katie. God willing, she'd have another strong, healthy child. She refused to think about the possibility that she would be sent to the Barbary Coast. She would not bear and raise a child in slavery.
Her long hours of slowly grinding away the mortar gave her time to think about Gavin and their marriage. When they met, he'd been her savior and hero. She'd been profoundly grateful, and deeply aware that she was barely holding on to sanity.
After leaving Maduri she slowly regained her equilibrium, but she'd always felt that she was Gavin's charity case, protected because he was too much a gentleman to walk away in disgust. She'd been unable to think of them as equals, each giving and receiving. Perhaps a woman needed to be courted by an adoring man so that she entered marriage feeling the power of her femaleness. She'd felt that with Edmund, and that sense of power had helped keep her from falling apart when he betrayed her. But there had been no courtship with Gavin-only a marriage born of his duty and her desperation.
No wonder she'd never really defined her feelings for her husband. She'd known she was grateful-dear Lord, she was grateful! She recognized his character and charm and how good he was with Katie, and as her fears slowly subsided she'd begun to feel a powerful attraction. But never had she asked herself if she loved him. Now, in the long silences of the vault, knowledge had emerged with vivid clarity.
She loved him as much as she admired him. She loved talking and laughing and being silent with him, loved that he accepted her as an equal like no other man she'd ever known. She also desired him to distraction. She had never fully appreciated how beautiful a man's body could be, or how profound sexual fulfillment created indissoluble emotional bonds. When she slept at night she dreamed she was safe in his arms, for with him she had found her soul and salvation.
Now she must free herself so she could free him.
She estimated that removing a dozen stones would make a hole large enough for her to escape. She couldn't remove the stones before she was ready to leave because that would leave a visible hole, so she dug out most of the mortar, stopping when the stone started to feel loose. Wadded shreds of rag pressed into the gaps concealed the empty spaces from a casual glance.
Slowly she was gouging away the outside perimeter of the group of stones she'd chosen. With luck, the whole section could be pushed out at once when the time came. She hoped so, but with only a blunt, bent spoon handle, the work was agonizingly slow.
Hearing sounds in the passage, she scrambled from her working position despite the protests of her strained muscles. Frederica Pierce was making one of her all too frequent visits; her lighter footsteps were distinct from Mr. Jones's. Amazing how well one learned one's surroundings when there was so little else to notice.
After straightening herself and brushing off sawdust, Alex lay on her cot as if she'd been napping. When Frederica appeared, she lazily sat up, covering a delicate yawn as if she was a lady of leisure. "Be careful where you step, Frederica. There may be dead rats."
The other woman gasped and jumped back, almost bumping into the guard. "Where?"
"A cat often leaves them about where you're standing." Alex watched with malicious satisfaction as Frederica squeaked and pulled her skirts tight.
There was indeed a dead rat. Without comment, Mr. Jones slid Alex's food into the cell, then put the rat into a sack he'd brought for the purpose. When the rat was gone from sight, Alex said, "I'm sure you have some bad news for me. Please feel free to reveal it. I'm in need of amusement." Frederica gave her a poisonous glance. "Seabourne's trial begins tomorrow." So soon? "I'm sure he'll be glad to have it over and be a free man again."