The Sudbury School Murders (17 page)

Sebastian looked at me across twenty years,
and did not agree.

I tried another tactic. "If you take the
blame for the murder, Sebastian, then the true killer will go free.
He could be at the school, right now, or in the village of Sudbury.
Do you think Miss Rutledge will be safe? What if he decides she
knows you did not kill Middleton and wishes to keep her from
speaking? Or what happens if he decides your family is a
danger?"

Sebastian looked at me in alarm. "You must
look after Miss Rutledge. You must tell my family to get away."

"I cannot be everywhere. And I cannot live at
Sudbury the rest of my life."

He looked away, eyes troubled. "The
magistrate will not believe me, or my uncle, or Megan."

"Leave that to me," I said. "Now, tell me the
truth this time, when you arrived at Lower Sudbury Lock, did you
see any person, or any activity out of the ordinary?"

He shook his head. "I wished only to reach
the stables before the others stirred. I never noticed."

"A pity, but never mind." I rose, leaned on
my walking stick in the low-ceilinged room. "If you truly love Miss
Rutledge, you will let her go. Let her marry a gentleman who will
take her to live in a dull house and talk of dull things. She will
be cared for, in that way."

He looked at me, eyes full. "You are wrong.
Her father will marry her off to a man just like him, one who will
make her miserable."

Sadly, I suspected he was right. If Rutledge
allowed Belinda to marry at all, he'd likely find someone as
bullying and tyrannical as he was.

I sighed, put on my hat, told Sebastian good
morning, and let myself out of his cell.

*** *** ***

Upon my return to Sudbury School, I found
breakfast just ending and tutors and pupils scurrying to lessons.
Grenville emerged from the dining hall among the crowd and hailed
me.

"I breakfasted with Rutledge in the dining
hall," he said. "Fletcher was there." He nodded toward the lean man
who stalked down the corridor to his lecture hall. "He spoke to no
one. Mr. Sutcliff still seems subdued. In my opinion, Sutcliff
needed the thrashing."

"I have no doubt he did. But I wonder what
provoked it."

"I could not get close enough to Fletcher to
ask." Grenville looked me up and down, taking in my muddy boots and
breeches. "What did you get up to this morning? Rutledge demanded I
tell him your whereabouts, and I was forced to answer that I did
not know. I must say, it has been a long while since a headmaster
called me on the carpet."

"I found the Roma," I said evasively.
"Sebastian stayed with them the night of the murder. I would tell
you more, but Rutledge is glaring." I tipped my hat. "I will see
you at dinner."

Grenville looked annoyed, but he could say no
more. He would simply have to wait until I could tell him the
tale.

In Rutledge's study, I removed my hat and
gloves, seated myself, and gave myself to my duties. Rutledge
entered soon after I did, gave me a long, loud-breathed stare. He
strode to his desk and sat down.

"You missed breakfast," he observed.

"I was riding."

He said nothing. He opened ledgers, shuffled
papers. Presently, he said, "I plan to sack Fletcher."

I stopped writing, raised my brows. "Does he
deserve that?"

"Of course he does. Getting his books burned
in the quad, losing his temper with a pupil who can make a large
difference to this school."

I wondered suddenly if Sutcliff had demanded
that Fletcher be sacked.

Rutledge glared at his ledger. "Damn
difficult to find another Classics instructor. Fletcher at least
knows his subject."

"Then why let him go?"

He did not answer. "I would ask Grenville for
a recommendation," he said in a surely tone. "But he's already
landed me with a damn fool secretary."

"I had thought you satisfied with my
work."

"Oh, I have no quarrel with your
work
,
Lacey. But your tongue is sharp, and you have difficulty with
respect. Did your regimental colonel never beat any into you?"

I was torn between anger and amusement. "My
regimental colonel did not. And I do have respect, sir, for a man's
deeds and his comportment. I cannot respect a man simply because he
was born into the correct family or has a large fortune."

"Huh. You are egalitarian, like the damned
Frenchies. You do not respect me."

"Not true. You have a difficult job, and you
carry it out with efficiency. Even if you are a bit ruthless."

His grizzled brows rose. "High praise from my
impudent secretary."

"I beg your pardon if I am impudent. At
times, in the army, if a man did not speak his mind, it could be
life or death for his men. I came into the habit."

"Humph. Grenville ought to have warned
me."

"Yes, he ought." I finished the letter I was
copying, laid down my pen, sanded the sheet. "I would like to
journey to London tomorrow."

Rutledge stared. "Eh? What for?"

I had known he'd balk, so I was prepared.
"When I arrived, we agreed that I should have a holiday once a
fortnight. Tomorrow is a fortnight since my arrival."

He gave me a sour look. "I wonder why I do
not sack you."

I met his gaze with a tranquil one of my own.
"Grenville would not be pleased."

"No, he would not. Grenville's approval is
much sought after these days, is it not? I must be able to say that
Sudbury School has it. You have a powerful friend in him, you know,
Lacey."

"I know." I felt somewhat ashamed of myself
for deliberately baiting Rutledge, but I was in a foul mood, and
tired of trying to please people. I was angry at Sebastian for
lying, and angry that I would have to hurt Belinda Rutledge in
order to set him free. Her life was not tranquil, and I hated to
destroy her one bit of happiness, as tenuous as it was.

"Very well, take your holiday," Rutledge
grumbled. He looked back at his ledger and muttered, "Dear God, but
I am besieged by fools."

I knew precisely how he felt.

* * * * *

Chapter Twelve

I left for London the next morning with
Bartholomew. After a long discussion with Grenville that escalated
into near argument he agreed to stay and keep an eye on things in
Sudbury. I knew he was worried about me visiting James Denis alone.
James Denis and I always stood on precarious ground, and Grenville
feared that I'd overstep my bounds and Denis would retaliate. I
promised I'd be cautious, and Grenville at last conceded.

I had reported to him about what I had
learned from Sebastian and his family. His reaction was similar to
mine--surprise and annoyance. He agreed to watch over Belinda
Rutledge and also to continue investigating in my absence.

I sent a message to Marianne explaining that
I was traveling to London and that Grenville was remaining. I
half-hoped she would seek out Grenville while I was gone and
confess her troubles to him. Neither of us could predict what
Grenville would do, but in all fairness, I ought to give him a
chance. So should Marianne.

I had planned to go post, but Grenville
insisted I take his traveling coach, and I did not argue with him
too heatedly. So, at five o'clock in the morning, Bartholomew and I
departed Sudbury and rode in luxury to London.

Grenville, as always, had stocked the coach
well. A compartment held port and crystal glasses, and Bartholomew
had procured a bit of roast from the Sudbury School kitchens in
case we grew hungry on the road.

He also reported to me what the constable had
discovered, that the knife that I had found in the brush had come
from the kitchens of the school. The cook, a very fat woman of
about fifty years, was most distraught. Knives, she'd snapped to
Bartholomew, were very dear, and why did the Romany have to steal
one from
her
kitchen?

The information was useful. Sebastian had
never been allowed on the grounds outside the stables, and no one,
Bartholomew said, had ever seen him near the kitchens. A point in
Sebastian's favor if I could get Rutledge and the magistrate to
believe it.

Bartholomew and I ate and talked, drank and
rested through the long ride. By the time we reached London later
that afternoon, the roast was a bone and the port gone.

Grenville had insisted I spend my visit to
London in his house in Grosvenor Street. Bartholomew charged inside
when we reached it early that afternoon, shouting orders to get
rooms ready for me. To my discomfiture, the maids and footmen
scurried about the place as though the Prince Regent had come to
call.

Bartholomew took me to the huge guest room
that I had used once before, unpacked my clothes, shined my boots,
and told me that Anton, the chef, was creating a midday meal
especially for me. I resigned myself to sleeping in a soft bed and
eating fine food, though I felt a bit of a fool eating by myself in
the palatial dining room while a maid and two footman hovered near
to serve me.

After I thanked them and showered compliments
on the chef, I at last persuaded the eager staff that I had to go
out.

There was nothing for it but that I use
Grenville's town coach, they said. This I did refuse, preferring to
be inconspicuous on my errands. The servants looked bewildered, but
Bartholomew assured them that I was investigating and needed to be
cautious, and so they at last let me depart.

My first visit was to Sir Montague Harris in
Whitechapel. Sir Montague, a man I'd helped earlier that spring
with the affair of the Glass House, greeted me effusively. Sir
Montague was rotund and had silver hair which he wore in an
old-fashioned queue. I had written him, outlining the situation at
the Sudbury School and keeping him informed of what I'd discovered.
He began discussing things even as his servant bustled around to
bring us coffee.

"A pretty problem," Sir Montague said, his
eyes twinkling. "You will make yourself unpopular if you champion
this Romany, you know."

"I am already unpopular," I said dryly. I
accepted the coffee, sat down. "But I have found no connection
between Sebastian and Middleton except that they worked together in
the stables. The Roma's evidence shows that Sebastian was with his
family on the barge when Middleton was getting himself killed. They
could, of course, be covering up for him, I cannot deny that. Also,
Sebastian swears he did not quarrel with Middleton."

"That quarrel seems odd to me," Sir Montague
said. He sipped his coffee and dismissed his servant. "Only one of
the stable hands heard it, no one else. If Sebastian is telling the
truth, then either the stable hand Thomas Adams was mistaken, or
Adams was lying, and why should he?"

"Unless Adams murdered Middleton and is
attempting to thrust the blame onto Sebastian," I suggested. "Adams
could have killed him, I suppose. The stable hands were fast
asleep. Not one of them can confirm when Sebastian returned to the
stables. Thomas Adams could easily have slipped out."

Sir Montague looked thoughtful. He leaned
back in a chair whose wooden arms had spread to fit his bulk and
whose seat sagged in a perfect U. "Or perhaps Sebastian and his
people did not like that Middleton was in on a scheme to expand the
canal. So they killed him." He looked at me, waiting to see what I
made of that.

I shook my head. "An expanded canal system
means the Roma could travel farther, though they'd have more tolls
to pay. No, I can see no reason for Sebastian to hate Middleton,
unless it was personal--for instance, if Middleton were impertinent
to Miss Rutledge. But I have heard no evidence to this end. From
all I gather, Middleton and those in the house rarely
interacted."

"Ah, but Miss Rutledge came to the stables to
ride. She managed to steal moments with Sebastian, did she not?
Perhaps Middleton knew this, threatened to tell her father."

I sat back comfortably, thought this over. I
liked talking to Sir Montague. He could steeple his fingers, put
forth every argument, logical and illogical, and force me to
counter them. He approached things without emotion, with only
academic interest in a problem. I, who tended to approach
everything with emotion, appreciated that he tried to make me think
clearly.

"Sebastian seemed more bewildered by the
man's death than satisfied," I said. "I never sensed that he had
any anger toward Middleton; in fact, he was grateful to the man for
letting him work in the stables."

"But you discovered that Sebastian was a
liar."

"True. I am not happy with him for keeping
the truth from me. I do not believe that he clearly understood what
not being open right from the start would do to him, but I believe
it is dawning on him now."

"The case against young Sebastian, then," Sir
Montague said, "is that he and Middleton supposedly quarreled,
perhaps about Miss Rutledge, Sebastian followed Middleton and
killed him. He is young, he is fiery, he is Romany, and therefore,
likely to be violent." He paused, studying the ceiling a moment.
"However, if Miss Rutledge and Sebastian's family are both telling
the truth, the timing is all wrong. Sebastian would not have had
time to meet with Miss Rutledge, lure Middleton down the canal to
the spot where you found the knife, kill him, get his corpse into a
boat, row up the canal, deposit the corpse in the lock, row back
down, get rid of the boat, wash himself and change his bloody
clothes, and then meet with his family. Time would have had to
stand still, or half a dozen people would have to be in on the lie.
Possibly, yes; probably, no."

"You see that," I said. "The task is to get
the country magistrate to see that. I did not want to involve Miss
Rutledge, but it may be unavoidable."

"Unless you and I can decide what truly
happened," Sir Montague said smoothly. "Which is why you are here,
is it not?"