“But I am not one of ‘their own,’” Gavin pointed out. “I’m a stranger—a Scot and a Yankee and in trade, and I’ve only lived in London for a couple of months. Apart from Wrexham, I have no friends among the peerage. Most of the other lords I’ve met are my wife’s family or friends, and they may want to see me hang.”
“You are not without friends,” Kyle said. “Ashburton is scrupulously fair and he has a great deal of influence. If he believes you’re innocent, others will also be inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“You’ll need it,” the lawyer said dourly. “A major drawback of being tried in the House of Lords is that you can be convicted by a simple majority. In a king’s court, the verdict would have to be unanimous.”
That was not good news. “What kind of evidence does the prosecution have? Obviously there can be no eyewitnesses to an event that didn’t happen.”
“I am not privy to the Crown’s case, but I believe much will be made of the facts that you and your wife were heard arguing vehemently, and that the evening before her death you killed two men with your bare hands.”
“That was in self-defense!”
“Yes, but it makes you appear inclined to violence. Also, there is evidence that the fire that destroyed your warehouse was arson, and you had quite recently taken substantial insurance coverage.”
Gavin flinched as he saw the pattern forming. “So it will be claimed I was angry with my wife, killed her during an argument, then set fire to the warehouse to cover my crime and collect the insurance.”
“Exactly. While there are no eyewitnesses, what you have described is very believable.”
“But none of that happened!”
“It might be suggested that you didn’t mean to kill her, but in the heat of argument you struck her, with tragic consequences. Manslaughter, not murder.”
“I would never hit Alex!” Gavin bit off further protests, knowing it wasn’t Sir Geoffrey he had to convince of his innocence. The manslaughter theory was frighteningly plausible. Would that gain him life in prison rather than the hangman?
Kyle intervened. “I’d like to know why a case was drummed up against Seabourne so quickly. On the face of it, the fire and death seemed accidental. To be arrested so quickly suggests that someone actively pursued charges against him.”
“Very astute of you, Lord Wrexham. That is exactly what happened.” Sir Geoffrey peered over his glasses. “Do you know Lord Wylver?”
Gavin exchanged a puzzled glance with Kyle. “I’ve never heard of the man. Do you know him?”
“He’s a rather feckless viscount from East Anglia,” Kyle replied. “Not someone I would have expected to involve himself in a criminal matter.”
“Yet less than twenty-four hours after the fire, he presented himself at the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police with a file on you and your alleged crime,” the lawyer said dryly. “He claims to be a connection of Lady Seabourne’s first husband, which gives him an interest in seeing justice done. Are you sure you haven’t made an enemy of the man, my lord?”
“I can’t imagine how,” Gavin replied. “A better question is whether Lord Wylver is acting on behalf of someone who is an enemy.”
Kyle frowned. “Your cousin Philip was going to sponsor Barton Pierce for the Seabourne parliamentary district. That ended when you succeeded to the honors, but Pierce isn’t the sort to give up. Might he have enlisted Wylver as a patron and used the connection again when he saw a way to make mischief over Lady Seabourne’s death?”
“It’s certainly possible.” Gavin shook his head. “But I can’t imagine what his motive might be. Encouraging murder charges seems extreme.”
“You said that when Pierce learned you were Seabourne, he offered to buy Elliott House. He might think a capital murder charge would force you to sell.”
“Far-fetched but not impossible,” Gavin conceded. “Sir Geoffrey, I need to draw up a will leaving my business interests in trust for my stepdaughter.” Katie was the closest thing he had to family. With a quarter interest in the business, Kyle could oversee Elliott House and ensure that it didn’t fall into Pierce’s grasping hands.
“I shall have an associate draft a will for your approval, Lord Seabourne.” The lawyer squared up his notes, signaling that the meeting was over. “The evidence against you seems largely circumstantial. Unless damning new evidence surfaces, I believe you have an excellent chance of acquittal.”
Gavin hoped so. As they stood, he asked the lawyer, “What happened to Lord Ferrers, the last peer to be accused of murder?”
“He was hanged at Tyburn,” Sir Geoffrey said. “But of course that case was quite different.”
So much for the Lords taking care of their own. Despite his paralyzing grief, he wasn’t going to die without a fight.
The candle had burned out. Relentlessly chipping at the mortar kept Alex from screaming and battering at the bars. She tried not to think of Katie. She was a cheerful, resilient little girl, but to have the horror of losing her mother followed by the arrest of her adored stepfather must be shattering.
Alex’s only comfort was knowing that her daughter would not be neglected. Within days she would be in the care of her grandparents, and no one was more comforting than Catherine Kenyon. But there would be many tear-filled nights, and Alex ached for her daughter’s grief.
A faint glow of light showed from the corridor. Swiftly, Alex retreated across the cell to sit on the cot, concealing her spoon under the blankets. She braced herself to see Frederica or Barton Pierce, but when the visitor appeared it was the same stoic guard from the day before, juggling a tray and a lantern.
“I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaimed. “It seems like forever since the candle burned out.”
“Aye, it would.” He hung the lantern on a hook, then pulled three candles from his pocket. “Knew one wouldn’t last. These should make it through until tomorrow.” He lit a candle from the lantern, then handed it and the spares through the bars.
“You are so kind. What is your name? I should know what to call you.”
He hesitated before saying, “Jones.”
She guessed it wasn’t his real name, but at least it was a name. “Thank you, Mr. Jones.” She pushed the previous day’s tray under the bars.
He slid the new tray under, then scowled at the old one. “Where’s the spoon?”
Alex thought quickly. “There was something scratching out there in the dark, so I threw the spoon at it.”
Jones made a cursory survey of the passage and the opposite wine storage room. “Don’t do it again, or you’ll have to do without.”
“I’ll be more careful.” It was easy to shudder. “With the light, I won’t be so frightened.” She sensed it would be a mistake to make a blatant attempt to win Jones over, but the gentle female glances and words that came naturally to her mother seemed to be effective.
She suddenly remembered that she had a little money in an inside pocket under her skirt. A quick check proved that no one had thought to rob her when she was unconscious, so she still had a folded bank note and a gold sovereign. Saving the note for possible future use, she drew out the coin. “Mr. Jones, I just realized I have this. Would you be able to buy a comb for me?” The sovereign glinted brightly in the lantern light.
He accepted without hesitation; paying for extra comforts in prison was an ancient custom. “Anything else you need, ma’am?”
She cast her gaze modestly downward. “I’ll need some clean rags in a few days.” She gave him just long enough to become embarrassed before continuing, “Also, though it would be a great deal of extra work for you, if you could bring a bucket of water all the way back here every day, I’d be so grateful for the chance to wash.”
“It’s not that far from the main door, but a bucket won’t fit between the bars,” he pointed out as he deposited the sovereign in his pocket.
Too true. “A tin basin would fit where the food comes through. I could dip water into it from th
e bucket with my teacup.” She smiled bravely. “I have nothing but time.”
The reminder of her captivity made him look uncomfortable. “I’ll bring the water and rags, and maybe a towel and a bit of soap?”
“That would be wonderful. You’re so kind, Mr. Jones.” She smiled warmly.
The guard softened perceptibly. Touching his cap, he said, “See you tomorrow.”
Collecting the old tray, he picked up his lantern and left. Thoughtfully Alex settled down on the cot with her food. She’d learned that the vault wasn’t enormous, and she’d noticed a large key ring under his coat. When she was ready to leave, she’d be able to follow tracks in the dust and sawdust to the door, then wait for Mr. Jones to enter so she could escape. She hoped she wouldn’t have to hurt him.
Once again her meal was soup, this time a thick potato and onion mixture. With the bread and cheese, it would feed her adequately for the next day. She estimated that the squat brown teapot held about six cups. She sipped it slowly so it would also last.
“Mrrowr?”
With feline genius for timing, Captain Cat appeared. She gave him his cheese. “You’re doing a good job. I don’t think any rats came too close, though there are little lizards and spiders.”
She hadn’t slept much in the menacing darkness, but now that she had light again she felt like resting. After eating about a third of her food, she set the tray down and curled up under the blankets. When she got the basin, she’d use it to cover the food. For now, she had to hope that the vermin kept their distance.
Captain Cat jumped up on the cot and turned several times to establish that he wanted a piece of space by her head. She was glad to cooperate. If she closed her eyes, maybe she could pretend that she was sleeping with Gavin….
Chapter 35
THE MOMENT Gavin had been dreading occurred the fifth morning after his arrest. When the door of his quarters opened, he stiffened at the sight of Lord and Lady Michael Kenyon. How does a man greet the parents of the wife he is charged with murdering?
Lord Michael had aged a decade since the last time they met. If he’d pulled out a pistol and aimed, Gavin wouldn’t have been surprised. And he probably wouldn’t have tried to avoid the bullet.
Catherine broke the tension by crossing the room and embracing him. “My dear Gavin. What a horrible, horrible business.”
“I’m so sorry, Catherine. Sorry for everything.” He hugged her hard, deeply grateful for her compassion. “How is Katie?”
“Devastated, but trying to be brave. Watching her breaks my heart.” Catherine wiped her eyes with a gloved fist. “She’s staying with us in Ashburton House. She wanted desperately to visit you today, but I thought it best not to bring her until we’d had a chance to speak with you. She said you didn’t even say good-bye.”
Gavin swallowed. “The policemen were impatient. Also…I didn’t want her to see me taken away, accused of murdering her mother. Ever since, I’ve wondered if I did the right thing.”
“Having children means one is always wondering if one does the right thing,” Catherine said as she sat down.
“The same is true with wives. If I’d had more sense, Alex would be alive now.”
“Sit down and tell us what happened. The note from Bard said very little.” Lord Michael’s expression was like flint.
For what seemed like the thousandth time, Gavin repeated the story. The Kenyons listened unemotionally, though their clasped hands tightened when Gavin described how Alex’s body had been found. At the end Lord Michael said, “You couldn’t have stopped her from doing what she wanted, Gavin. She always was headstrong. Like her mother.” He gave his wife a ghost of a smile.
Catherine returned it despite the dark circles under her eyes. “Michael is right. Feeling as Alexandra did about slavery, nothing you said could have dissuaded her from doing what she could to stop it. If only…” Catherine bit her lip and looked away. There were a thousand “if onlys,” and none of them could change the past.
Lord Michael said, “Has anyone investigated who might have entered the warehouse while you were at the livery stable?”
“An old man who lived across the street claims no one entered or left after me,” Gavin admitted. “The barrister who is acting for me has hired Bow Street Runners to see what they can find, but so far no other witnesses have been located.”
“Presumably the old man couldn’t see the river side of the warehouse.”
“True, but no one else seems to have, either. Half-a-dozen men could have entered that way for all we know. On the river side the warehouse had a pair of very large doors that could be opened to bring in merchandise, plus a regular door for use at other times,” Gavin explained. “There was no sign of the lock being forced on the large doors. Since the smaller door vanished into the river when part of the building collapsed, it’s impossible to prove anyone broke in that way.”
“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 Holland, 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 midafternoon 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 restaff Seabourne House, the Berkeley Square servants are capable and honest.” Hired by Alex.