The Untamed Mackenzie (13 page)

“Maybe not. But consider—once she’s arrested and examined by a magistrate, and the magistrate determines her innocence, she’ll be let go. End of the matter.”

Fellows shook his head. “For God’s sake, you know she can’t afford to appear before a magistrate. He’ll be compelled by Hargate’s family to push her through to a trial, and they’ll make sure the very best prosecutor in the country gets her convicted. The Scrantons haven’t been well liked since Louisa’s father ruined half the aristos in Mayfair. No one would fuss much if a Scranton was buried for this.”

“Then Lady Louisa’s family will come up with a barrage of solicitors to help her. You know that. Her ties to the Mackenzies will help too. And those ties are the exact reason I’m taking you off this case.”

Fellows stood up, his fists tightening. “What the devil does that mean?”

“It
means
that you are the finest detective on the force—until you have something to do with the Mackenzie family. Then your common sense takes a dive out the window. You break rules, you don’t sleep, you focus your energy on them and everything about them. Five years, wasn’t it, that you tried to pin a murder on them? The duke had to threaten gents in the Home Office to get you to stop. And then you went behind everyone’s back, chased Lord Ian Mackenzie to Paris, and tried a number of ways to get around the rules to land him.”

“But I got to the bottom of the problem,” Fellows said, voice stiff. “Murders solved. Case closed.”

“You’re quibbling, Fellows. You solved them, all right, but a woman died, and another nearly died in the process. I’m taking you off the case, because I can’t explain to Hargate’s father—an earl—and his mother—the daughter of a marquis—why you haven’t arrested Lady Louisa Scranton by now. I imagine you don’t wish me to tell them it’s because she’s your mistress.”

Fellows’ face burned. “Good Lord, sir. She is
not
my mistress.”

“Then why did Dobbs charge in here bright and early this morning and tell me she was? Yes, he gave me the whole story of finding you ravishing the lead suspect in the Hargate case on top of your desk.” Kenton’s mouth tightened. “You need to speak to that lad about going over your head to spread tittle-tattle. A constable should be loyal to his own guvnor, whether that guvnor is ravishing suspects or not.”

“I wasn’t ravishing her,” Fellows said. “Dobbs got it wrong.” And he’d wring the boy’s neck.

“Dobbs’ exact words were:
He had her spread across the desk, knees up, and he were kissing her tits.
” Kenton mimicked Dobbs’ youthful voice exactly. “Not something I wanted to hear, trust me.”

“It doesn’t matter what Dobbs saw or what he said.” Fellows’ voice hardened. “It doesn’t matter what my feelings for her are either. Louisa Scranton is innocent. I know it. Whatever the world thinks of her, she did
not
kill the Bishop of Hargate.”

“Climb down off your high horse.
I
don’t care if you had her naked on her hands and knees and were giving her one up the backside. I care that Hargate’s dad and mum and all the titles they’re connected to want a result. My neck’s being breathed on, and so I’m breathing on yours. You’re too slow. I’m giving the case to Harrison.”

“No.” Cold fear spread through Fellows’ body. “Harrison arrests everyone in sight then sorts out who did what. Sometimes he doesn’t find out the truth until several people have been hanged.”

“But he’s fast and he gets his man. Or woman.”

“No.” Fellows leaned over the desk again, barely stopping himself from grabbing Kenton and shaking him. “Please. I promise I’ll stay the hell away from Lady Louisa. Miles away if need be. But don’t take me off the case. I’ll find the culprit—I promise you. Don’t leave her to Harrison’s mercy.”

Kenton gave him a severe look. “I’ve gone to the wall for you, Fellows. Several times. Worth it to keep you. But by God, you push it.”

“If you give this to Harrison, sir, I’m off the force.”

Kenton scowled. “Don’t threaten me. I’ve been threatened by more frightening men than you in my time, believe me, including my own guvnor.”

“I’m not threatening. If I’m off the case, I’m gone. I’ll not stay where men arrest innocent young women only to prove they’re getting things done. I’ll go, and then I’ll protect her from you any way I can.” He paused. “Sir.”

Kenton sat back in his chair. The look on his face said he knew damn well Fellows wanted to throttle him, but he put up no defenses. “You said you were going off to the races on Monday. To Newmarket.”

“Yes, but I won’t go. Keep me on, and I’ll stay here and work—”

“Let me finish. You’ll go. You need the day out. If, before you leave, you make an arrest—one that will stick—then I won’t pull you from the case. If you haven’t solved it before you go, then you’re off.”

Fellows stared at him in dismay. “That’s only two days.”

“Yes, it is. It’s the best I can do for you.”

“I mean it,” Fellows said. “If I can’t solve this case in two blasted days, and you pull me off, I’m gone.”

Kenton raked papers back toward him. “Then you’d better solve it quick then, hadn’t you?”

Fellows moved his fists from the desk again and straightened up. Kenton was finished, the interview over.

As Fellows walked to the door, Kenton cleared his throat behind him. “And stay away from the Scranton woman. I’ll hold you to that. Unless you’re escorting her to Bow Street and the magistrate, I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“Yes, sir,” Fellows said stiffly, and made his way through the building back to his office.

He walked in on Dobbs sitting on a wooden chair holding a hand to his bruised and bloody face. Pierce was wringing out his own hand, looking furious.

“Pierce,” Fellows snapped.

Pierce betrayed no shame. “I was just explaining to Dobbs that he don’t go around his chief inspector to tell tales, no matter what. You respect your team.”

Fellows gazed quietly down at Dobbs, who gazed back, half fearful, half defiant. “Dobbs,” Fellows said, his voice as chill as his stance. “It’s not you peaching to my guv that I mind. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. But if you ever speak about Lady Louisa again, especially in those words, to
anyone
, I will pound you until you can’t walk. Understand?”

Dobbs swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Now get me coffee and don’t spill anything this time. Pierce, we’re going to clear up this case before Monday. I want you to—”

“Monday?” Pierce said, springing up. “What the devil did the chief super say to you?”

“Monday,” Fellows repeated. “We’re dividing up the suspects between us, and we’ll poke and prod until we get answers. I don’t care who we annoy, provoke, or just plain make hate us. We’re not out to make friends; we’re out to catch a criminal. The first thing I want, though, is for you to find out everything—I mean absolutely everything—about the Honorable Gilbert Franklin. I want to know where he’s been, what he does when he’s there, what he has for breakfast, and when he shits it out again. All right?”

“Shits it out again,” Pierce wrote down in his notebook. “Got it, sir. I’ll start right now.”

Chapter Thirteen

That afternoon, Louisa sat once more in Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ back sitting room. This time, though, Daniel was with her, and Louisa had come for a purpose.

The fact that Mrs. Leigh-Waters received Louisa at all encouraged her. Mrs. Leigh-Waters had always been a close friend to Louisa’s mother and to Isabella, one of the few to stand by Isabella when Isabella had left Mac.

Today, the lady was full of sympathy for Louisa and also for Hargate. “I wake up with palpitations thinking about that poor man,” Mrs. Leigh-Waters said, pressing a hand to her bosom. “What he must have suffered. It must have been quite distressing for you, Louisa, to watch him die. I am so sorry, my dear.”

She sounded sorry, but also a bit morbidly curious. “Indeed,” Louisa said. “Thank you.”

“And you, Mr. Mackenzie,” Mrs. Leigh-Waters said to Daniel. “So kind of you to stand by our dear Louisa.”

“Not at all,” Daniel said. He gave Mrs. Leigh-Waters his best I’m-young-but-very-intelligent-and-understanding smile. “Louisa is a favorite of mine.”

“Of mine as well.” Mrs. Leigh-Waters returned the smile, but with a glint in her eye. She looked back and forth between Louisa and Daniel with obvious interest. Daniel was nineteen, it was true, and Louisa years older than he, but such matches had been made. Once Daniel finished university and came into his majority, he would be a very wealthy young man indeed.

Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ eyes were truly gleaming now. Louisa broke in hastily, “What I wondered, if you’ll forgive me asking, is how you decided who to invite to the garden party? I saw people here I hadn’t in ages.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters blinked. “My guest list was quite large, dear. My garden party is always an important Season gathering. I invite a wide circle, though I keep my list to those I like best.”

In other words, the gathering was large enough to be interesting, but exclusive enough for those invited to feel superior over those who had not been.

“What Louisa means,” Daniel said, “is that she’s surprised the Bishop of Hargate made your list. Louisa hadn’t thought you were particular friends. In fact, Hargate could be a priggish and condescending oik, God rest him.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters flushed. “You are certainly forthright, Mr. Mackenzie.”

“But truthful. Hargate rose high in his profession very fast. My uncle Hart figured he called in favor after favor and bought his way to the top.”

Hart would know. He’d used similar methods himself on occasion, and he likely knew whose nest Hargate had feathered to become bishop.

“Well, your uncle Hart might not be wrong,” Mrs. Leigh-Waters said. “Hargate did ask my husband for a word in the right ear in exchange for him helping Mr. Leigh-Waters in certain matters. It’s often done, but with Hargate . . .”

“It was obvious and obsequious,” Daniel finished. “Is that why you invited him to the party? To repay what he’d done for your husband?”

“No, no.” Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ flush went deeper. “If you must know, I owed the bishop a bit of money, and he was needling me for it. I invited him at his request, intending to settle the debt here.”

“And did you settle it?” Daniel asked. He softened the abrupt question with a smile, took a sip of tea, and then gestured with his cup. “I mean, did you have the chance before . . . you know.”

“I did, as a matter of fact. I gave him his hundred guineas. Well, most of it.” Mrs. Leigh-Waters leaned toward them, lowering her voice. “Please don’t tell my husband.”

Louisa shook her head. “Never fear about that. Was it a gambling debt?”

“Pardon?” Mrs. Leigh-Waters looked surprised, then her face grew as red as the velvet curtains behind her. “Oh. Yes. Indeed. I had some very bad luck at cards and had to give Hargate a vowel for what I’d lost. I planned to pay him as soon as I could, but he was a bit impatient. For a man of the cloth, I must say, Hargate did not practice much forgiveness.”

In fact, Hargate seemed to excel at all the deadly sins, Louisa thought, pride and avarice being the top contenders. But some gentlemen went into the clergy not because they had a calling or deep faith, but because, if they went the right way about it, they could make a good living and gain power. Hargate had been a power-seeker and hadn’t much tried to hide it.

“I am sorry,” Louisa said. “I know this is difficult for you.”

Daniel gave Mrs. Leigh-Waters a cheerful smile. “At least your slate is clean. You were able to pay your debt, and all was finished.”

“Not exactly.” Mrs. Leigh-Waters put her hand over Louisa’s, her eyes welling with tears. “Dearest Louisa, I must beg your forgiveness. I couldn’t pay Hargate the entire amount. My pin money for the month was gone, and I could not ask my husband for more without telling him why. I didn’t want Mr. Leigh-Waters to know. He doesn’t approve of gambling.”

This was the first Louisa had heard of it.
Mr.
Leigh-Waters was often seen around card tables at Isabella’s parties, his wife the same. But Louisa smiled encouragingly and let Mrs. Leigh-Waters go on.

“Hargate threatened to go to my husband directly. I begged him not to. I asked what else I could give him, something to keep him happy until I could raise the rest of the money. He said—oh, my dear Louisa, I am so ashamed of myself now.”

Louisa thought she understood. “Did Hargate ask you to arrange for him to speak to me alone?”

“Yes. Oh, my poor darling, I’m so sorry. I knew he meant to propose to you. He often spoke of you as being the perfect bride for him. He wasn’t wrong—you’d have made a very good bishop’s wife.” Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “I agreed, I’m afraid. Anything to keep him from going to my husband.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ distress was true but seemed a bit much for a woman who’d owed a debt from a card game. Most people in Mayfair owed each other for losses at whist, faro, hazard, the American game of poker, any sporting matches, or even which side of the street a cat would walk down. Gambling mania was alive and well in the
haut ton
. Louisa knew men who’d lost pieces of unentailed land, favorite horses, servants, and even houses, to their friends. The bets were squared eventually, often good-naturedly. Wives whose husbands frowned on their gambling did try to be covert, but sympathetic friends often helped them pay. Mrs. Leigh-Waters had lied when she’d said her husband disapproved of gambling, though, but Louisa couldn’t fathom why.

Daniel broke in, his voice quieter. “What did Hargate expect you to do, with respect to Louisa? Was letting him speak to her alone the end of it?”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters shook her head. “He wanted me to encourage her in the match if she proved shy. Talk her into it. Or bribe her, threaten her, whatever it took.”

Louisa’s eyes widened. “You promised him that?”

“I couldn’t help it.” More tears came, Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ large bosom rising. “I was desperate, my dear. And I didn’t see the harm. You told me yourself you’d decided this Season to look for a respectable husband. Hargate
would
have been a good match for you—would have helped you and your family.”

“At the expense of her happiness,” Daniel said. “If Louisa had accepted Hargate, I would have done anything to persuade her out of it.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t stick having Hargate for an uncle-in-law. Imagine having to be pleasant to him over pudding at Christmas. No, thank you.”

“I would have refused him,” Louisa said. “Hargate did try very hard to persuade me, telling me he’d forgive my family’s debts to him if I married him. My family has paid back most of what my father owed him, but he intended to squeeze me for the rest of it. Horrid man.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters looked even more distressed. “Oh, Louisa, you mustn’t . . .”

“Speak ill of the dead?” Daniel asked, before Louisa could answer. “It’s not the done thing, no, but death doesn’t change what a person was in life. Hargate wasn’t above a bit of blackmail to get what he wanted. Key to most of his successes, I’d wager. He even tried to blackmail me once.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters wiped her eyes. “He did? What about? I mean . . . Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Mackenzie. I don’t mean to pry.”

Daniel shrugged. “Youthful indiscretions. I’ve had so many of those I had to tax Hargate a bit before I pinned down exactly which youthful indiscretion he was threatening to tell my father about. I told Hargate to tell him and be damned. Which he did. My dad came down on me hard, but I confessed my sins, Dad and I argued, he forgave me, we had a whiskey, and all was well.” Daniel’s relationship with his father in a nutshell.

“Rather mean of Hargate,” Louisa said indignantly. “Did he ask you for money to keep quiet?”

“That and a word with Uncle Hart to hurry Hargate’s chances of getting into the House of Lords. Only room for so many bishops’ bums on the seats there. Someone has to die before another can come in the front door. Hargate wanted to be moved to the top of the list. I told him he was optimistic about Hart opening a way for him. Hart’s harder to blackmail than anyone I know. Trust me. I’ve tried. My ears still hurt from the drubbing he gave me.” Daniel rubbed the side of his head. “Of course, I was only ten at the time and not practiced.”

Daniel’s casual tone, dismissing blackmail as merely a nuisance, was having good effect on Mrs. Leigh-Waters. Her crying quieted, and she started to relax.

“Was he blackmailing you too?” Daniel asked her. “I’m sorry if he was.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters nodded. “Please,
please
don’t tell my husband.”

“No.” Louisa squeezed her hand. “We understand.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters looked at them watching her, then she jumped. “But if you are thinking I poisoned Hargate to keep him quiet, I did not. I paid him, as I said, and set up the appointment for him to meet you. I knew he might try for more money in future, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.”

Louisa wondered very much what knowledge Hargate had possessed that so shamed Mrs. Leigh-Waters, but she wouldn’t ask. The poor lady had suffered enough without having to worry that someone else knew her secret. Hargate was gone now, and Mrs. Leigh-Waters was safe from him.

“Never fear,” Louisa said. “I don’t see how you could have killed him, anyway, if the poison was in the teacup. How could you know which cup he’d choose? Or which I’d choose to give him? It was me who handed him the cup. I am, unfortunately, the most likely suspect.”

Louisa deflated. She’d come here hoping to learn much more. She’d discovered from their conversation that Mrs. Leigh-Waters did indeed have a motive for killing Hargate, but she had difficulty picturing Mrs. Leigh-Waters thinking of so intricate a way to administer the poison. Besides, would the lady risk killing the man in her own garden? In front of a large party of people?

Someone had. And that someone had shifted the blame squarely on Louisa.

“Thank you.” Louisa squeezed Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ hand again. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this.”

“And I you,” Mrs. Leigh-Waters said. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Leigh-Waters let out her breath, her relief plain. Louisa and Daniel exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to end the conversation, and they took the rest of their tea in peace.

***

When Louisa and Daniel left Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ house, Louisa gave Mac’s coachman directions to take them straight to London and Scotland Yard. She would try to keep Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ confidences as best she could, but she wanted to tell Fellows what they’d discovered about Hargate. Immediately. As awkward as it would be to face Fellows again after last night, she wanted him to know.

Daniel agreed, and the coach headed east at a good clip.

When they reached Scotland Yard, however, the sergeant downstairs told Daniel that Fellows was out. So was Sergeant Pierce and Constable Dobbs. But they could always leave a message.

Daniel returned to the coach, where Louisa waited, with this information.

“I suppose I can leave him a message,” Louisa said, unhappy.

“No.” Daniel knocked on the roof of the coach and directed the coachman to the Strand. “We’ll wait for him in his own lair. Might be a while, though. I say we fetch food and drink on the way.”

***

Sergeant Pierce had suggested to Fellows that they go back to Richmond to reexamine the scene of the crime, but Fellows negated the idea. As he’d contemplated before, this was a crime of Mayfair. The players, and the answer, lay in that section of London.

Fellows began by visiting the Bishop of Hargate’s father, the Earl of Norwell, in Norwell’s Berkeley Square house. Norwell didn’t want to see Fellows, the butler informed them when he answered the front door. He also said that Fellows and Pierce should have gone down the stairs to enter the house via the kitchen.

Fellows did tell Pierce to go down—it never hurt to cultivate those below stairs and learn the household gossip—but Fellows remained squarely in the doorway.

“Tell his lordship that if he wishes me to find and arrest his son’s killer, and quickly, he’ll speak to me,” Fellows said to the butler.

The man looked aggrieved, but at last he obeyed. Pierce sketched a cheerful salute and departed for the kitchen.

The Earl of Norwell kept Fellows waiting in a reception room for at least half an hour before the butler returned and led Fellows up a flight of stairs to a study lined with books. The room’s high walls held a second floor of bookcases, reached by an iron spiral staircase.

Norwell looked much like his dead son, handsome and lean, though twenty years older. His hair was gray, his belly gone to fat from too much rich food and too much port, his black mourning suit making his pale face more sallow.

Norwell ran his gaze up and down Fellows, obviously not liking what he saw. “So you’re old Kilmorgan’s by-blow.”

Fellows made a shallow bow, hiding the sting. “I have that honor.”

Norwell grunted. “You look like him. Kilmorgan was a mean son of a bitch, and the current duke is no better.”

Fellows took this stoically. He’d come to like Hart more and more as he got to know him, but he knew he’d waste his breath defending him to Norwell. Norwell was the sort of man who made his judgments and stuck to them, come hell or high water.