Good day, my lord! Welcome to the Red Lion. “May I take your coat and cane, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you. I am meeting Lord Bergen.”

“Very good, my lord. His lordship is waiting for you in the taproom. This way.” The landlord nodded to one of his underlings, who led Edward to the taproom.

Bergen was perusing a newspaper and sipping a brandy when Edward walked into the low-beamed room.

“Weston! You look well. I had not considered that we would be spending time together just one day after the vows.” He flashed a grin. “This is a nice place. I did not realize such delightful accommodations existed here in Eynsham. However, I doubt screaming parrots would be welcome.” He pointed to the seat across from him. A snifter of amber liquid sat waiting on the walnut table. “I took the liberty of ordering you a brandy. I conjectured it must be important.”

“It definitely is, or I would not have interrupted my wedded bliss to spend time with you.” Edward stared at the window, without seeing it. After a moment, he swung his gaze back to the room. “Bergen, I think I may know who killed Robert.”

“How did you accomplish this? You were married only yesterday and in that space of time you have discovered the identity of the person responsible for your brother’s death? That is not the usual post-wedding activity, my friend.” He frowned and put down his brandy. “You have my complete attention.”

“Hattie overheard an argument and she shared the details with me this morning.”

“You think someone who attended your wedding killed your brother?”

“I think it is highly possible.” He leaned forward. “Mr. Philip Martin—you recall his late arrival at the house party, do you not? He is brother to Louisa, Lady Bentley.”

“Yes...and from everything I have heard about him lately, he is a blackguard. He is someone to avoid. Nonetheless, it will take some convincing for me to believe Lord and Lady Bentley were connected to anything to do with Robert’s death.”

“I confess I am not sure of their involvement. I have reason to believe it is possible. My wife—” His blood quickened when he mentioned Hattie. “—was heading to her bedchamber when she overheard Mr. Martin and his sister arguing loudly. She said she heard them discuss the duel, and the death of a person involved in the duel—although they did not name him, I believe it to be Robert. She told me Lady Louisa referred to the time which had elapsed as being less than a year, and also that the person killed had friends at the house party. It is puzzling. Yet my instinct tells me it is the same duel.”

Bergen reflected for a second or two. “There are rumors of his pockets being to let, as well as reports of extortion.”

“I had not heard those, but it fits with the rest.” Edward rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“You could be right. I would not have thought of him.” Bergen reached for his brandy. “He is a vindictive chap, or so I have heard from people who have crossed him. Still, I would not have thought him capable of murder.”

“Perhaps it was an accident. I do not know, but I doubt that. Barring an eyewitness or confession, we will have a difficult time proving his involvement. He did not confess to anything specific. Most likely, I will have to force a confession—unless a witness comes forward or can be discovered. It appears Hampton is also connected somehow, although thus far he has avoided me. Hattie said she was told he left in a hurry. Hampton’s behavior is entirely strange, do you not think?”

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Weston. I am having trouble believing that your new relatives could possibly be connected to your brother’s death. Besides, I am fascinated at the closeness you and your new bride have found together.”

“We rub along tolerably well, it seems.”

“Yes, I can see that you do.” Bergen allowed his smile to stretch across his face.

“Do be serious!” Edward regretted his burst of temper. He wanted Bergen to concentrate on Robert, not his marriage. “There is more. I have a letter that Martin penned to Robert. When I saw Mother before my wedding, she passed it to me. She said it was in Robert’s possessions. She did not see it to be of any significance, but I think he tried to extort money from my brother. He claims he is owed for vowels of mine, accumulated during the week before the duel.” He pushed the note across the table and waited for Bergen to read it.

Edward glowered at the bent head.

“Not only have I always settled my debts or gone to Robert myself, but I was in Paris, working. Robert knew this and I believe he refused to meet the man; either that or, perhaps, he threatened to have him arrested.”

Bergen finished reading the note and leaned back in his chair. “I agree. This fits with your extortion theory. With what Hattie reported, it points to Martin’s involvement.” He studied his drink. “There is no chance anyone saw Hattie when she overheard this, was there?”

“I hope not. She did not think so.” His throat felt dry despite the refreshment. “I have left her at the house, but Mother is there, as well.” He felt better knowing she was not alone. “They seem to be affable towards one another, strange as that seems.”

“And Archie…”

“Yes. The popinjay is there, too. No doubt that limits her activity.” He furrowed his brow. “Now that I consider it, I recall Perry, Hampton’s brother, complaining that Hampton had been driven out of Town, but he refused to be specific.”

“I have been thinking about that. What hold could Martin have over Hampton? The man has always been above reproach.” He laughed. “He is rather boring.”

“I could not say. Hampton has known our family all his life. Robert was his best friend. Why will he not meet with me? If he needs help, I would hope that he would feel he could talk with me.”

Bergen lowered his voice. “I think we need to talk to Hampton. We can use him to lure Martin out and possibly get him to confess.”

“That is a good idea, only our bait has gone.”

“Well, not exactly. A certain…lady…told me that Hampton is here.”

For the first time in what seemed an eternity, Edward felt real hope. He knew Hampton was key, but could not know exactly how. Could Hampton have seen something related to Martin and Robert?

“Hampton is here, at the Red Lion?”

Bergen nodded.

“Well, let us find him.” Rising, they both went in search of the innkeeper.

“My good man,” Bergen addressed the innkeeper, “we are in town for a wedding and the groom is staying here, upstairs. We would like to show him a good time before his big day.” He winked.

“That is very odd, my lord. We would have heard if we were having a wedding. What is your friend’s name?”

“Lord Hampton. And I believe the wedding is just a small family affair to be held at a small chapel down the road. We are surprising him. Do you know if he is in his room at the moment? We would like to surprise him. He is a little nervous about the big day,” Edward added, feeling as if he had fallen back in time to his days at Eton, where he and Bergen had always been playing pranks on the other boys.

“My lords, I should not do this, but I enjoy a good prank and I can see no harm in it.” The man glanced around him, presumably to ensure they were not overheard. “He is in the room at the end of the hall. That way.” He pointed to the stairs beside his desk.

“Thank you.”

“Keep this for your trouble.” Edward handed the innkeeper a gold sovereign and they hurried towards the staircase. “Wait.” he added, pausing with one booted foot on the bottom step. “We need a plan.”

“Weston, it is simple. We tell Hampton we know his secret, and we are going to help him with Martin.”

“Ah. As long as we can follow our plan it might work.” Edward fairly flew up the steps, taking them two at a time, with Bergen following close behind. Edward knocked on Hampton’s door and they waited.

The wooden door opened and Hampton stood looking at the two of them, his mouth agape.

“I do not need anything from either of you.” He looked at Bergen angrily and started to close the door.

“Wait.” Edward wedged his foot in the doorway. “This is about Robert. We know about Martin blackmailing you.” As they say, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“You do?” Hampton gave an incredulous look. He looked down the hall, and then back at them.. “Come in.”

Twenty minutes later, the three of them were riding towards the Bentley estate. Edward turned in his saddle to regard his companions.

“We are betting on a note from Hampton luring Martin to the stables. Bergen, would you mind delivering the note to the house? Rejoin us as quickly as possible. I doubt Martin will think anything of it if he sees you at the door and, in all probability, will assume I am still with Hattie.” He noticed beads of sweat above Hampton’s brow. There was more to this than gambling debts. “Hampton,” he continued, “I appreciate your helping us. You confirmed that this man killed my brother. I want him. The magistrate has agreed to meet us. Stay out of sight, now, until we have him.”

“I will.”

* * *

“Get the damn bird away from me or he will soon adorn some lady’s headdress!” Mr. Martin shouted at Hattie. He reminded her of her handy hat pin, so she slipped it from her bonnet and held it in her hand in case.

“How dare you threaten my Archie!” she screamed in outrage, momentarily emboldened by having her umbrella and a hat pin to use as weapons. It was clear this man was a menace and needed to be dealt with quickly. Unfortunately, her lessons had never included training in battle, and her knight in shining armor was nowhere to be seen, let alone riding ventre-à-terre to the rescue. He was away on Crown business.

She was quite used to saving herself in her spinster dreams; it was when she awoke from them she realized there was no actual knight. Now that she did have one, it would have been lovely to have been rescued.

“It is you and me, Archie,” Hattie said softly as she waved her weapons at the horrid man and tried to run towards the gardener’s shed. In there, she hoped she might find a sturdier weapon with which to defend herself. She was too far away from the house for anyone to hear her shouts, and so far, she’d been unable to get past him.

“You are mad,” Mr. Martin sneered, cutting her off once more while also attempting to fend off the bird’s pecking. “I will be doing Weston a favor, helping to rid him of an unwanted wife. I am afraid you now know too much for me to let you live.”

“Murderer! Murderer!” Archie squawked.

Hattie saw the man reaching for something in his coat and lunged at him with her hat pin.

“Archie, fly home! Get help!” she commanded. The bird obeyed and flew away.

“You witch!” he screamed, striking her with the back of his hand as she stuck the long pin into his arm. The force of the blow caused her to drop her umbrella. Undaunted, she tried to wrestle his weapon away from him. Her beloved new spectacles flew to the ground in the mêlée. The man might look a dandy, but he was rather strong. Could she lure him backwards into the privy and trap him? It was hard to think while struggling with the man over his knife, but she did manage to recall it latched from inside. The shed was a better option since it locked outwardly, she decided quickly. She let go of the arm which held the knife and ran the few paces to the shed, pausing by the open door as he ran after her. At the last second, as he attempted to swing the knife at her, she leaped aside. He fell into the shed, but managed to catch her leg and drag her in with him. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed a sturdy garden shovel with which to defend herself as the knife went skating across the floor.

He also attempted to scramble to his feet and reclaim the blade, but she struck him in the chest with the shovel, causing him to stagger. But she had not hit him hard enough to knock him out and escape. He’d grabbed a garden hoe and now blocked the doorway. What was she to do now?

He laughed, condescension dripping from every sound. “Did you really think to hold me here with that flimsy weapon until someone comes to rescue you? Or do you believe you can get the better of me with it?”

A peal of thunder clapped through the air, shaking the ground. The wind began to howl and, in the same breath, slammed the door shut.

“Drat!” Hattie muttered as she realized there was no hope for escape now. They were locked in.

He laughed again. “Have you just now realized you are trapped, Miss Longbottom? Forgive me, I mean, your ladyship,” he mocked.

“I do realize you seem to enjoy murderous pursuits. However, the shed locks from the outside, so we are both quite trapped in here until someone chooses to release us,” she snapped, still holding tight to her sturdy shovel.

“Do you think a simple latch will deter me?” He took a step toward her, but she swung her weapon at him in warning, managing to strike him on the wrist. “Bollocks!”

“Sir!” She reprimanded his language without thinking and for an instant he managed to flush.

“Save your self-righteousness for someone who cares,” he snarled. “By the time your dear husband finds us, you will have met with a terrible mishap and I was unable to go for help. They will find me most distressed.”

She held her ground, holding tightly to the shovel as heavy rain began to pour on the roof of the small shed. She scanned the enclosure, making note of other garden tools that could be used as weapons in case he should try to pull the shovel from her grasp.

They stood there for some minutes. He continued to look amused while she steadfastly stood her ground, scowling fiercely at him. She was uncertain how long she would be required to hold him at bay until someone found them there, but she refused to let him murder her and escape, or attempt to murder her Edward.

She tried not to let her thoughts wander as her arm grew tired from holding the heavy instrument. Biting her lip, she swung the shovel at him with renewed vigor whenever he attempted to approach, determined to see the adventure to its conclusion. Someone would have to miss them before long, would they not? She began to doubt.

“No one will willingly come out in the storm, Lady Weston,” he taunted as though he had read her thoughts.

“Mayhap they will not, but I will not willingly allow you to murder my husband as you did his brother!”

“You believe you are clever, but I am growing bored. There is no proof of your accusations, true though they may be. It will be your word against mine.”

“Stay back,” she commanded when he attempted to lunge at her to end their standoff. He grabbed for the handle of the shovel and tried to wrestle it from her hands. She managed to hold him off by rapping him on the knuckles with it.

“Ouch!” He sucked at the knuckles she had just hit, and then surprisingly fell to his knees. She had not struck him that hard, but he fell over on his side. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an object flash. His knife! She had forgotten it and he was attempting to retrieve it.

“Oh, no, you will not!”

Stepping on his knuckles and whacking him with the shovel, she kicked the knife back towards the door.

He tried to grab her feet out from under her, but never let it be said that Hattie Longbottom, no Weston, she reminded herself, was not an agile dancer. She evaded his clutches while managing to spin around and plant the end of the shovel squarely in the back of his head. His eyes rolled backwards and blood began to pour from his head.

“Oh Lord, what have I done?”

Quickly, she was on her knees, trying to stem the flow of blood; frantically ripping at her new petticoats and holding pressure against the otherwise lifeless form.

“Please, God, let someone find us before he bleeds to death!” she sobbed.

Thou shalt not commit murder! The Reverend Hastings’ voice, speaking the sixth commandment, played in her mind.

“Harriet Eleanor…Weston, you will hang and burn in hell for this!” She proceeded to torture herself thus for some time as she watched the horrid man dying in front of her very eyes.

“Murderer! Murderer!” she heard Archie crow outside as the rain eased, but unfortunately he was unable to open latches on shed doors and he had not gone for help as she had hoped. Her face fell in her hands in desperation.