The Sudbury School Murders (25 page)

"Yes, sir."

I could not know whether my words had impact,
or whether he thought me just another adult giving a lecture. I had
not come here to reform him, in any case. I'd come to wring
information from him.

"Let us speak of the night of Middleton's
murder, Ramsay. Or, rather, the morning when he was discovered. I
believe you rose very early that day."

Ramsay probably thought I knew everything
there was to know about him. He nodded without denial.

I went on, "At daybreak, it was quite misty
and gray. You were near the lockkeeper's house. You saw a barge
come up the lock, and you hid. Am I close?"

Ramsay nodded, eyes round.

"I must ask you, Ramsay, what were you doing
out here? Going to start another fire?"

Again, Ramsay nodded. He swallowed, his face
paling. "I was going to light some rubbish near the lock. Make lots
of smoke."

"So people would come panicking to put out
the fire. I will tell you, Ramsay, that if I catch you doing such a
thing, or even believe you have done such a thing, again, I will
certainly thrash you. It will be worse than anything Rutledge can
give you. I know quite well how to do it so that you will never
forget." I'd learned from my father, who'd been a master at beating
his son.

Ramsay's gaze fell on my sword stick with a
flicker of fear. "Yes, sir."

"I will take you at your word," I said.
"While you were skulking by the lockkeeper's house, you saw the
boat. Tell me about it."

"It was the Roma, sir. No mistaking it. There
were three men on the deck, all smoking pipes. And two dogs and a
goat."

"Where did they stop?" I asked him.

"Right in front of the lock. I thought they'd
come and rouse the lockkeeper, but they just stopped the horse and
backed up the boat until they could turn it around."

I watched him intently. "Anything else?"

Ramsay nodded. "Sebastian got off. He came
out on deck with a woman and kissed her. One of the men said
something to him I couldn't understand. Sebastian ignored him. Just
walked away without a word."

"Where did he go?"

Ramsay shrugged. "Down the path, toward the
stables. The woman went back inside, and the barge floated back the
way it had come."

"Did Sebastian stop at the lock, look in it,
or anything?"

"No. Just walked toward the stables. He
walked fast, like he wanted to get as far from the canal as quick
as he could."

I exhaled slowly. Megan was an observant
woman. Only she had seen the shadow skulking about the lockkeeper's
house. And with that slender thread, I'd concluded that she'd seen
the prankster, not the murderer. The murderer had no reason to stay
near the lock; indeed, he'd want to be elsewhere as quickly as
possible. That left the prankster, up to no good, fearing to be
caught. Timson I'd dismissed as being too cocky. Ramsay, on the
other hand, as Fletcher had once told me, walked about with an air
of innocence. Ramsay, who had friends in both houses. Ramsay, who'd
easily climbed a tree, snake in hand, unseen and unnoticed.

"You might have told the magistrate all
this," I said. "And saved Sebastian much trouble."

Ramsay frowned. "Didn't Sebastian tell
him?"

"No. Sebastian was foolishly trying to save
another from scandal. Besides, a magistrate is not quick to believe
a Romany, no matter what he says."

Ramsay conceded this. "But could Sebastian
not have killed the groom, anyway? Earlier?"

"Perhaps. Indeed, several people could have
killed the groom that night--Sutcliff, Sebastian, the stable man,
Thomas Adams, who probably invented that argument, and you." I
turned to the lockkeeper.

The big man blinked in astonishment. "Me,
sir?"

"You are the correct height and build. You
could have overpowered Middleton and cut his throat. We have only
your word that you heard no one come to the lock that night. And
who would be better placed to dispose of a body in the canal?"

The lockkeeper's rather florid face slowly
drained of color. "Why should I kill 'im? Never knew 'im."

I made a placating gesture. "Do not worry, I
do not believe that you did. I said only that you could have." I
turned back to Ramsay. "Would you be willing to tell a magistrate
what you just told me?"

"The magistrate would not listen to me. Not
in Sudbury. He pays Sutcliff, too."

I closed my eyes briefly. Damn Sutcliff.
"Another magistrate has arrived, a friend of mine, from London. He
would be most interested in what you have to say."

Ramsay eyed me doubtfully but nodded.

Bartholomew regarded Ramsay in curiosity.
"What does the magistrate pay Sutcliff for?"

"He has two wives," Ramsay said promptly.
"One here and one in London."

"Good Lord," I said. "Well, Sutcliff did not
exactly keep that secret, did he? The magistrate should demand his
money back."

Ramsay shrugged. "Sutcliff didn't tell me. I
found out the same as he did. I was with Sutcliff in London when we
met the magistrate's London wife."

*** *** ***

Much later that afternoon, Bartholomew and I
walked home from Sudbury on the towpath. The rain had ceased and a
bit of blue sky shone between the clouds. Spring flowers poked
yellow heads from the clumps of grass beside the path.

Ramsay had told his tale to Sir Montague. The
Sudbury magistrate, the one calmly practicing bigamy, had remained
doubtful. I let Ramsay go after that and left it to Sir Montague to
argue with the other man. I even whispered the magistrate's secret
into Sir Montague's ear. Sadly, I was not above a little blackmail
myself.

"Little bleeders," Bartholomew muttered.
"Poisoning each other, blackmailing each other. Goes to show what
happens when you try to get above yourself, doesn't it?"

"Greed, fear, and ambition can be a terrible
combination," I remarked.

Bartholomew scowled. "They think people will
regard them as gentlemen because they've got buckets of money."

"And many will, Bartholomew."

"That ain't right, sir. Mr. Grenville, now,
he's a gentleman through and through and always will be, even were
all his money to go away. You too, sir."

"You flatter me."

He shook his head, his blue eyes sincere.
"No, sir, it's the truth. You're more a gentleman living in your
two rooms above a bake shop than Mr. Sutcliff ever will be in a
gilded palace. Don't matter how many gold plates he has, he'll
never have what you have. He'll always be the son of a banker's
clerk."

Marianne had said much the same thing. The
Rothschilds had copious amounts of money and power, but they would
never be received in many houses of the
ton
. And yet,
banker's clerks were beginning to rule the world.

"Me mam has the right of it," Bartholomew
continued. "If you keep to your place and be your very best in it,
you'll know happiness. You try to move outside, you'll never fit
in, no matter how much money you have. You try, you'll just get
misery."

The philosophy of a nineteen-year-old, I
thought cynically. Bartholomew's place at present was footman to
one of the wealthiest and most generous men in England. He might
not be talking about keeping to one's place so complacently if he
worked for a miserly gentleman who enjoyed beating his
servants.

I understood Sutcliff's need to blackmail,
however. I thought of his rather shabby suits and his willingness
to take handouts. His father, as wealthy as he was, kept Sutcliff
in straits, for whatever his reasons. Sutcliff, the scheming little
devil, had to find some way to supply himself with the missed
money.

Sutcliff had gone so far as to convince
Ramsay that he would be accused of the murder and forced him to pay
for silence. It was Sutcliff who needed the strapping.

We reached Grenville's chamber, and Matthias
let us in, looking tense and drawn. Grenville was unchanged.
Marianne sat by the bed, watching him.

I suggested both brothers take a nap, but
they refused. "One of us stays," Bartholomew said. "In case they
try again, like you said."

I could not argue. Having one of the footmen
close by in a fight would be a good idea. Bartholomew suggested I
be the one for the nap, but I could not bring myself to leave the
chamber again. Bartholomew brought me soup and ale from the
kitchen, and I settled myself in a wing chair with a blanket over
my legs. I ate without much tasting the food, then made myself lie
back and close my eyes.

Exhaustion coupled with overtiring my leg
sent me to sleep. I barely heard Bartholomew take away the
tray.

I slept hard, drifting in and out of dreams.
I dreamed of Jonathan Lewis standing in Lady Breckenridge's parlor,
drawling about his novels. I dreamed that Grenville stood by my
side, his satirical smile on his face, listening to him. The dream
changed, and I thought Louisa stroked my hair, her lemon perfume
touching me as she soothed me in her sitting room.

I dreamed of Lady Breckenridge, wreathed in
cigarillo smoke, as she said acidly, "Good God, Lacey, can you not
stand on your own?"

I dreamed of my boyhood, and my father
thrashing me so hard that I'd had to crawl away to my bed. Lady
Breckenridge's voice sounded again. "He's dead and gone, Lacey. He
cannot hurt you any longer."

But he could still hurt me. Things could
crawl at you out of the dark and hurt you again and again. The past
did not always stay dead.

I opened my eyes with a start. Darkness had
fallen. Someone had lit candles on the mantel, and they flickered
feebly in the greater light from the fire. Matthias slumped in a
chair across the room, snoring loudly.

Marianne was holding Grenville's hand again.
His eyes were open, and he looked calmly back at her.

* * * * *

Chapter Seventeen

I wanted to leap from my chair, but my aching
limbs would not let me move.

Grenville's dark eyes were half-closed, his
lashes black points against his white skin. He did not see that I
was awake; he saw only Marianne. "Good Lord," he whispered to her.
"It's you."

"So you are alive, then," she returned.

"I seem to be." His voice was too weak. He
tried to turn his head, grunted with the effort. "Am I in
London?"

"Berkshire," Marianne said.

"Why are you here?"

"Heard you'd gotten yourself stabbed," she
answered lightly. "I came to make sure you'd live to give me more
coins."

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I should
have known." He faltered. "Is there any water?"

I shoved away the blanket and got to my feet.
The other two did not seem to notice me. I poured water from a
porcelain pitcher into a glass and brought it to the bed.

Marianne took it from me. "I'll do it."

As gently as I'd seen her handle her son, she
slid her arm beneath Grenville's neck and lifted his head. She
poured the water between his lips. The liquid dribbled from the
side of his mouth, but he managed to swallow.

Marianne lowered him back to the pillow and
dabbed his lips with her handkerchief.

Grenville looked up at me. "Hello, Lacey. You
look terrible."

"You look worse," I said. "Lie as still as
you can. The knife went deep."

He grimaced. "Do not remind me." He touched
the bandage. "Hurts a bit."

"Do you want laudanum?"

"No," he said quickly. "No."

"You might do better to take it. You should
not move too much, and it will help you sleep."

"I do not want it, Lacey," he said, his frown
increasing. "I will not move."

I wondered at his aversion, but I did not
pursue it. I had learned to appreciate the benefits of laudanum on
the nights when my leg pained me so that I could not sleep. I knew
people grew addicted to it, so I tried to resist as much as I
could, but some nights, there was nothing for it.

Our conversation had awakened Matthias, who
sat up and rubbed his eyes. Grenville seemed slightly amazed to
find us all in the room with him.

"I do not wish to tire you," I said. "But
will you please tell me what the devil happened?"

Grenville studied Matthias' watchful face,
then moved his gaze back to Marianne. Their hands were still
clasped.

"You must have guessed most of it," Grenville
murmured. "I saw someone moving about the quad, or thought I did.
So naturally, I tried to investigate." He paused, resting for a
moment until he could speak again. "I am not certain what happened.
Someone brushed past me, and I never felt the knife go in. But all
the sudden it was there, and I was falling."

"A tall man?" I asked.

He nodded. "Tall. I thought it was you at
first."

I leaned against his bedpost. "Tell me,
Grenville, why were you dressed and wandering about the school in
the middle of the night?"

"Yes," Marianne said, "that's a bit unusual,
don't you think?"

He looked from me to Marianne, his look
ironic. "When you are both finished scolding, I will tell you. I
had been to Hungerford. I met Sutcliff's lady in the public house
there."

"Met her?" I asked. "Why?"

"To question her, of course. I know you had
spoken to her before you went to London, but you were a bit vague
about the details."

He sounded put out. I had so enjoyed my visit
with Jeanne Lanier and hadn't wanted to share our conversation with
anyone, other than to reveal relevant information about
Sutcliff.

"What did you discuss with her?" I asked
him.

"Canals, of course. She is a very charming
woman."

"Yes, I found her so," I agreed.

"Indeed," Marianne said scornfully, "she has
measures of charm. She must, otherwise she could not earn a
living."

"It is a studied charm, I do admit,"
Grenville said. "She wished me to invest a good fortune in a canal
scheme proposed by one of her friends. Quite convincing, she
was."