The next witness proved to be the stable hands called Thomas Adams, who claimed he'd heard an argument between Sebastian and Middleton. "Tell us, in your own time, Mr. Adams, what you heard when the gypsy and Mr. Middleton argued," the coroner said smoothly.
The stable hand was about fifty years old with iron-gray hair. He looked uncomfortable standing up in front of the coroner and magistrate as well as the rest of the men crowded into the hall. "I was just going up the stairs to me bed, in the loft," he said, carefully pronouncing each word. "I heard Middleton down in the stable yard, shouting. He said, 'I don't care what you do, I'm quit of you.' Then the other fellow said, 'Where are you going?' Middleton, he says, 'Down pub. Where I can drink with real men.'" Thomas cleared his throat, looked nervously at the magistrate. "Then the Romany man, he says, 'No, you're going to hell.'"
The coroner perked up. "And what did Mr. Middleton say to that?"
Thomas looked apologetic. "Mr. Middleton said, in so many words, that Sebastian should fornicate himself. A might more vulgar than that, you understand, sir."
The coroner nodded. "And then?"
"Middleton stormed across the yard and out of the gate to the lane. A few minutes later, I see Sebastian also let himself out the gate. I figured they would shout at each other all the way to Sudbury, and I went to bed."
The coroner nodded and dismissed him. As the man shuffled back to his bench, Sebastian sprang to his feet. "He is lying. I never said these things to Mr. Middleton. I never shouted at him."
"Mr. D'Arby, you have had time to tell your story. Sit down."
Sebastian remained standing, quivering. Several of the jury looked alarmed. I caught his eye, made a sit down, for God's sake motion with my hand. Sebastian saw me, lowered himself reluctantly to the bench once again.
The coroner turned to the jury. "Now, gentleman," he began.
He was finished. No more witnesses. The coroner, I could see, had made up his mind. I rose to my feet. "May I speak?"
The coroner looked at me, surprised and slightly irritated. "Yes, Mr. . . . " he peered at me shortsightedly, then realized he did not know me.
"Captain," I said. "Captain Lacey."
"Yes, Captain Lacey?"
"I would like to point out that I knew this man, Middleton, in London. He used to work for a gentleman called James Denis."
I do not know what I expected. Gasps, perhaps. The magistrate and the coroner simply looked at me.
Rutledge, on the other hand, reacted. He flushed until his face grew mottled, his brows thunderous.
"And how long ago was this?" the magistrate asked.
"Before he came here. Last summer, at the least."
"Last summer? Eight months ago? I beg your pardon, Captain, but I hardly understand how can it be connected with what happened here."
"This Mr. Denis is a dangerous man," I said. "I am suggesting that a connection in London, possibly one through Denis, caused Middleton's death. Perhaps some person followed him down here from London and killed him."
The coroner considered this. He took his time. "And why do you suppose that this person, whoever he is, waited eight months?"
"I have no idea," I said. "It is merely a suggestion."
"A suggestion." The coroner wrote something on the ivory colored paper before him. "And I have noted it. Thank you, Captain."
He turned his back and prepared to address the jury. I remained standing a few seconds longer, then realized there was no point. I sat down as the coroner began his summing up and instructing the gentlemen on their duty.
I waited in the chill room with everyone else while the jury conferred in low voices in a corner. I felt Rutledge's glare on me, but I did not acknowledge him. I simply coughed into my handkerchief, the dampness getting the better of me.
The jury at last returned, and their verdict was no surprise. They found that Oliver Middleton, head groom to the stables of the Sudbury School, had been deliberately murdered, and they named Sebastian D'Arby, a Romany, as the one who should be examined by the magistrate for the crime.
The constable came for him. Sebastian, on his feet, clenched his fists and shouted, "I did not kill him. I did not!"
The constable and another large man subdued him and led him away. The magistrate would try him, and very probably hold him until the assizes, where he would face a criminal trial. The inquest was at an end.
* * * * *
Chapter Six
I found myself plagued on all sides the rest of that day and into the next. I rode back to the school, annoyed at what I'd learned at the inquest, that Sebastian had quarreled with Middleton. I wondered why Sebastian had omitted this crucial fact when he'd told me his story, and I wondered why I had not heard the stable hands speaking of it. I supposed the stable hand could have invented the quarrel--Sebastian had seemed surprised and adamant that it had not happened. But why should the man, Thomas Adams, invent the altercation? I had no answer. I also had no satisfactory answer as to why Sebastian had not told me of it.
My thoughts bothered me, and so I was in no frame of mind to contend with all that came next.
The first plague to set upon me was Rutledge. As soon as I entered the quad after leaving my horse at the stables, Rutledge bellowed to me.
I forced myself to turn and meet him. He came striding through the gate, plowing through boys in their dark robes like a cat scattering sparrows. He stepped up to me and spoke in thunderous tones.
"Damn you, Lacey, why did you not tell me about James Denis?"
I sensed the lads' curious stares all around us. I said to him, "Perhaps we should speak of this privately."
Rutledge opened his mouth to roar again, but just then young Timson strolled by, his mild brown eyes fixed on us with obvious interest. Rutledge noted him, snapped his mouth shut, and commanded me to follow him to his rooms.
Once in the study, Rutledge commenced shouting. I sat down, relaxing my stiff leg, and balanced my sword stick across my knees. I waited until he ran out of breath before I attempted to speak.
I said, "I had not met Middleton here until this Sunday afternoon. And I could not be certain he was the same man I'd seen in London. Before I had time to discover anything, he was dead."
"You ought to have come to me at once," Rutledge growled. "How did you know him in London? Were you in league with the man?"
"I did not know Middleton in any sense," I said impatiently. "I had seen him during my dealings with James Denis. That is all."
Rutledge's face grew still redder. "James Denis is not a gentleman with whom another gentleman has dealings. That you do speaks volumes. I cannot fathom why Grenville never mentioned this. He has sorely deceived me."
"Perhaps he did not think it relevant," I said.
"Not relevant? Denis is . . ." He spluttered. "He has a foul reputation. No one can deal with him and maintain his respectability. Why the devil did you seek him out?"
"I did not," I said. "He came to me. You flatter me if you believe I can afford his services."
"He came to you?" Rutledge gave me an incredulous look. "Explain what you mean."
"I cannot explain. He has assisted me in several small ways and sometimes requests my assistance. I avoid the man as much as possible, believe me."
"He asks for your assistance?" Rutledge exclaimed.
"Yes."
In fact, Denis had once told me, in his cold, calm way, that he wanted to own me utterly. He wanted me in his power, under his obligation, wanted me bound to him. Needless to say, I resisted with all my might. Still, he had manipulated me more than once to do what he wanted. It was a tense game between us.
Rutledge was looking at me as though he needed to reassess me. The look in his eye, I was delighted to see, was one of trepidation, almost fear. I wondered very much whether he had crossed James Denis in the past.
Rutledge did not press me. He told me to go away in his usual irritable manner, but his tone was wary.
*** *** ***
My second pla
gue was Belinda Rutledge. She accosted me, or rather her maid Bridgett did, and bade me follow her.
Bridgett led me up several flights of stairs to a darkened hall, the servants' quarters, I surmised. She took me to a servant's room containing two plain bedsteads and a washstand.
Belinda sat on one of the beds. She rose when I entered. Her eyes were red and puffy, her face wet.
"Miss Rutledge," I began, trying to sound severe. Her insistence on meeting me in clandestine places would not help matters.
"They arrested him." She sniffled. "They arrested him, Captain. You said you would help him."
I grew irritated. "I cannot simply make the coroner or the magistrate do as I like, Miss Rutledge."
She looked at me, wide-eyed, then her face crumpled.
I tamped down my annoyance and gentled my voice. "I told you that I would assist you, and I will. I am putting things in motion even now. I assure you that we will have him free before the assizes."
My voice rang with confidence, but even I did not much believe it.
"He cannot bear to be confined," she whispered.
"I know. But you and he must be patient. I have friends in London who can help."
"My father wants him hanged. He hates Sebastian."
I had to admit that had Sebastian cast his eyes at my daughter, my attitude toward him would not be as benign as it was currently.
"Many do not like the Roma, Miss Rutledge. You must be prepared for that." I paused. "I suggest that even when I do get him released, you steel yourself to send him away."
She looked up at me, eyes wide, tears on her face. I saw, though, behind her immediate pain and worry, that she knew I was right. Though Belinda was downtrodden by her father, she was not stupid. She knew that an association with Sebastian would ruin her. Her hesitation in sending him away would only put off the inevitable.
"Think hard on it," I said. "Imagine yourself at my ancient age and decide what would have been best."
She sniffled again, gave me a watery smile. "You are not ancient, Captain."
I would have been flattered, had I not suspected she spoke out of pity. "I will do what I can, Miss Rutledge. And I will let you know of any outcome. Do not seek me out again. Your father will not like it."
Her misery returned. "It is difficult to wait and do nothing."
"Yes, but it must be done." I made her a bow. "Good afternoon."
Bridgett made to lead me back downstairs again, but I told her I'd find the way. I left her to comfort Belinda and made my way back to the lower floors.
Boys were pouring up the east staircase when I strolled down it. I spied Sutcliff the prefect giving a dressing down to one of the younger boys, who listened in sullen resentment.
Sutcliff, turning away, saw me, and gave me a curious look. Then he moved his lanky shoulders and swung away down the hall, his black robe billowing behind him. I had not forgotten Ramsay's conviction that Sutcliff had followed Middleton the night of the murder. I wanted to speak to him and moved to follow him, but I lost sight of him in the sea of boys.
*** *** ***
The third plague did not come upon me until the next morning. I woke early, determined to continue my investigations. I wanted to find Sutcliff and ask him why he'd followed Middleton--if indeed, Ramsay had been correct. I wanted to find Sebastian's elusive family, and I wanted to question the stable hand Thomas Adams myself about the quarrel he'd overheard.
I downed some bread and coffee and set off for the stables through a thick white fog. Thomas Adams was not in the yard when I arrived. A younger stable hand was there to help me saddle the brown gelding I usually rode.
"Did you hear them?" I asked him. "Middleton and Sebastian arguing?"
The young man looked phlegmatic and shook his head. "I was round t'other side. Drawing water. Didn't hear a word."
I questioned the other two stable hands, but they, too, had not heard the quarrel, neither of them having been in the yard at the time.
I gave up, mounted my horse, and rode off.
The fog became denser as I approached the canal, but the towpath was clear. I followed this path past the Sudbury lock and the lockkeeper's house. The lockkeeper was just opening the gates for a barge heading south, toward Bath. Several men stood on the deck of the narrow barge, but they were not Roma, not Sebastian's family.
The countryside was quiet, the muddy path muffling my horse's footsteps. The silent canal flowed on my right; high hedges and trees lined the path to my left. Sometimes the hedges broke, allowing me to glimpse green fields brushed by tendrils of fog. Sheep wandered across the greens, trailed by spring lambs.
As I neared Great Bedwyn, the trees became larger and more evenly spaced, the terrain flattening somewhat. I began to pass boats drifting up from Great and Little Bedwyn, the bargemen and their families continuing their journey toward Reading and the Thames.
When I reached Great Bedwyn, I saw, on a flat path on the other side of the canal, the woman I'd seen in Hungerford, the one I'd mistaken for Marianne. She wore a bonnet, and her was head bent so that I could not see her face. The gathered curls at the back of her neck were bright yellow, and her dress was fine, too fine for muddy walks through the Wiltshire countryside.
At the next bridge, I turned the horse across the canal and urged him into a trot. The woman glanced over her shoulder and saw me. She hurried off the road and into a stand of trees.
Marianne or not, her mysterious behavior intrigued me. I slowed my horse and ducked under the trees. There were enough saplings and overgrown brush here to make going precarious. I quickly spied the woman, and she spied me. She broke into a run.
"Stop," I called. "You will injure yourself."
She did stop. She stooped to the ground, dropping her basket. She came up, her hands full of mud and pebbles, and she flung them at me.
I swore. The horse, struck in the face, bucked and bolted. I strove to hold him, but my injured leg gave, too weak to help me. I lost my balance and fell heavily to the ground.
I found myself on my back, the wind knocked out of me. The horse trotted off, empty-saddled, my walking stick hanging from its pommel. As I struggled for breath, the woman loomed over me, her hands filthy, her eyes wide with alarm.
"For God's sake, Marianne," I gasped.
Under the bonnet, Marianne Simmons' doll-like face was as sharp as ever, her pretty eyes wary. "Lacey! What are you doing here?"
I pushed myself into a sitting position. My left leg throbbed and hurt. "I ought to be asking you that. I have taken employment at Sudbury. Did you not know?"
"Yes," she snapped. "I have heard the full details from him. I thought that if I bought myself a deep bonnet and only went about in the small hours of the morning, I could avoid you. I might have known."
"Why should you avoid me?" I demanded. "And why should you be here at all?"
She looked away. "I have told you so many times, Lacey, it is none of your business where I go and what I do."
"At least assist me to rise, please. Else I'll have to crawl all the way back to Sudbury, to the ruination of my trousers."
"They are already ruined," she said, unsympathetic. But she reached down to help me stand.
Once I was on my feet she said, almost contrite, "I would not have flung the mud if I'd known the horse would throw you. I thought I'd killed you for a moment."
"He did not throw me," I said. "I fell off."
"There is a difference?"
"Yes."
Even a very good horseman could be thrown by an unruly horse; an incompetent one simply toppled off. The horse had not been that frightened.
"I will have to lean on you," I said.
"Oh, very well." She retrieved her basket and allowed me to drape my arm across her shoulders. Surprisingly, she snaked her arm about my waist, supporting me while I hobbled painfully out of the trees and back toward the path. My horse, sadly, was nowhere in sight.
"I suppose you will rush home and write to him of this," Mariann
e said. Her words were muffled by the huge bonnet. "And tell him where I am."
"I do not report to Grenville," I said. "He will arrive in Sudbury soon in any case, because he wants to know all about the murder."
"Yes, I heard of it, and of the arrest of the Romany. My landlady in Hungerford speaks of nothing else."
"Things are not as straightforward as the landlady in Hungerford believes." I glanced down at her. "Did you walk all the way here from Hungerford? I must ask why."
"To confuse you," she said.
I professed myself confused. "Grenville is worried about you. He is on the verge of hiring a Runner to look for you. He will likely choose Pomeroy, my former sergeant. Your fate is sealed if that is the case."
She stopped walking, her eyes sparkling with anger. "I will return to London and to him when my business is finished. Why can he not let me be?"
I tried to mollify her. "I do agree that he should not try to keep you confined. But I must wonder, Marianne. He has been kind to you. In return, you treat him callously. He is a very powerful man, and he could make your life miserable if he chose."
"He treats you kindly," she said. "And some days you can barely bring yourself to be polite to him."
I had to acknowledge that. "He does like to control people and events, I admit. But at least he is benevolent."
"Is it benevolence?" she almost spat. "To have me dragged back to London by Bow Street? What happens if he decides to bring suit against me--accuse me of stealing from him or--or perhaps he'll force me to pay for the house and the clothes and the meals he's given me."
"I very much doubt that," I began, then broke off. I'd seen Grenville angry only a few times. He was a man who held himself in check, hiding his emotions behind a cool facade. His sangfroid made him enviable, and even feared, among the haut ton--a gentleman could lose the respect of others forever at one quirk of Grenville's eyebrow. I held such power in disdain, but I could not deny that he had it.
"You see." Marianne looked triumphant. "You cannot be certain what he will do. You must help me."
"Tell me what you are doing here."
"Damnation, Lacey."