CHAPTER EIGHT
“I’M JUST AN INSPECTOR. No more. No less,” Barnabas said as he started the horse down the drive.
“Your mother is styled a lady.” Henry gripped the tilbury’s seat with both hands until the wood underneath the seat was fair bruising her palms. Her heart pounded and she couldn’t get the funny sensation in the center of her chest to leave. “You’re an aristocrat.”
“No. My grandfather on my mother’s side was. I’m a commoner just like you.”
Not at all like her. She was a working class girl. A little voice in her head niggled. She ignored it.
His voice was calm and measured. “Only you would think my connections are a bad thing.”
Yes, a woman of her station should be impressed, flattered that he’d noticed her at all.
The horse clopped as they drove down the long drive. Since leaving the ornate sitting room—or whatever room they’d been in—heated waves kept coming over her, knocking her in the chest. A drawing room very like one she’d sat in once long ago as the world crashed down around her and everything she knew was turned on its head. Just as it had been today. Oddly she felt flat and inflated at the same time. “You could have warned me.”
“I would have, but you were so enraptured with telling me about Canada, Egypt, and India.” He looked over at her, his forehead knit.
She’d been feeling guilty about deceiving him about her true profession and had just grabbed at old stories her father told rather than risking blurting out the truth, but Barnabas had been deceiving her, too. Or at least he hadn’t been completely honest. While knowing he hadn’t told her everything should make her feel justified, she only felt worse.
“What is the matter anyway? My lineage doesn’t exactly equate with carrying the plague.”
Oh it was so much worse than that. She had respected him and at least thought he was trying to solve the murder before she’d seen him warn off Lady Avondale. “You are trying to throw the investigation.”
“What? I am not,” he said with far more animation than he’d used all day.
Henry risked looking directly at him. “You all but told them to not say anything if they didn’t want to become part of this case. What is this, some kind of nob code that you don’t turn on each other no matter what horrible thing one of you has done?”
In profile, his expression was unremarkable. His manner inside the house had been unperturbed, undaunted, unimpressed, but the tick of his jaw gave away his mood. He was angry, now.
“Do you really think I would have defied my family, become a whistle-blowing bobby, then an inspector, just on the off chance that one day I might be able to shield a man you seem to think is one of my kind from murder charges?” His voice was like the lash of a whip.
She ducked her head rather than feel its blow.
“I-I don’t know.” She hadn’t thought it through. Her head hurt now that she tried.
“And what must you think of the police commissioner who assigned me to this case.”
“I didn’t think you planned it out, just that you can’t see the truth. You’re too prejudiced to think one of your own kind could commit murder.”
“I’m prejudiced?” he demanded incredulously. “You are the one who is determined to believe Coleraine guilty no matter what.”
“No, I’m not,” she said quickly—too quickly. “He is guilty, you’re just too blind to see. I didn’t understand why before now.” She swallowed nervously. She should quit attacking him before he dumped her out on the side of the road and left her to find her way home. One thing she knew about nobs was that ordinary people didn’t matter. She should be conciliatory. Try to get whatever information out of him that she could. “Who is this Miss Hall you asked about?”
“Why are you trying to change the subject?” He turned the horse back onto the lane that led into Shefford. “We’re not talking about the investigation right now.”
“What are we talking about?”
“Why all the sudden you think I would try to shield anyone from prosecution.”
Her thoughts spun. “I don’t know what to think... You told me you’d arrest Coleraine if you found evidence that showed he was guilty, but if you are trying to ignore...or...keep evidence from coming to light...” She couldn’t make coherent thoughts form.
“I want justice as much as you do, Henry. I want to catch the killer no matter who he is,” he said vehemently. “I don’t believe that anyone should get away with murder. Not a commoner. Nor an aristocrat. I thought you knew that.”
She’d made him angry, but the way he’d warned Lady Avondale had made her sick at her stomach. “Then why warn Lady Avondale against getting involved?”
“That wasn’t what I meant, even if it sounded that way. Besides, I’m more interested in what her daughter has to say when she isn’t with her mother. Better that her mother think I’m not interested in asking more questions.”
“Oh.” There was a sort of twisted logic to what he’d said. Maybe he wasn’t as unintentionally corrupt as she thought.
He leaned back and looked over at her, then shook his head. “You have decided on the basis of watching one interview that did not go well, yet yielded some useful information, and that my mother is styled a lady, that I am incompetent?”
Her ears went hot. “Not incompetent.”
“I fail to see a distinction between too prejudiced to do my job and incompetent.” His gaze turned speculative. “So did your opinion of me change when you learned I had a connection to aristocrats?”
She didn’t answer. She merely stared at him mutely.
“Tell me why you hate nobles. It is more than that you blame Coleraine for your sister’s death.”
“They get away with...“ Shameless fraud, illegal marriage, ignoring their own children.
“Murder?”
And murder. “Everything.”
“Not if I can help it,” Barnabas said softly.
But she didn’t believe him anymore. What was more, he probably wanted something from her. She’d never known a nob to involve himself in the lives of ordinary people without wanting something. He probably planned to make her his mistress.
Really, why else bring her along to help investigate a case he had no real intention of investigating.
She stared straight ahead. Buildings lined the sides of the lane that led into town, first houses, then shops. The wheels rolled from packed dirt onto a cobbled street. Her stomach churned. Her thoughts flew through a thousand possibilities, but she came back to the only interest a nob could have in a girl like her was as a mistress.
She’d deluded herself into thinking he might consider courting her. She should have realized from that first kiss. A normal courtship would have been much slower to reach that point.
*~*~*
Barnabas was furious that Henry had accused him of skewing his investigation to shield a man from murder charges—ironically, the very thing he’d fought against most of his life.
She wasn’t wrong about the collusion of silence that noble families perpetuated. But he’d learned that sort of group loyalty, keeping secrets, and refusal to cooperate with the police wasn’t unique to aristocrats. Loyalty to family, to guild members, to fellow criminals could often run just as deep.
But this wasn’t like her. There was some reason she thought aristocrats were vile. More than what had happened with her sister. She’d been so ill at ease in Lady Willingham’s sitting room. He should have recognized there was more to it, but he’d still been off kilter after what she’d told him about Rachel. Thus far she’d resisted giving him specifics, but he would keep at it until she told him.
One way to get her to talk would be to rip open his own past and expose the core of what drove him, what haunted him, what mocked him daily. His secret was just as powerful in driving him to find justice as her sister’s suicide drove her to punish a man she thought responsible.
He considered speaking the words, my cousin was a murderer. Uncaught. Unpunished. Alleged murderer in others’ eyes. Not even alleged in his own family’s opinion. Falsely accused. By him. Words he’d been conditioned never to say out loud. He wasn’t supposed to think it, let alone say it. He’d said it before only to be met with incredulous disbelief. Would Henry believe him? Would she understand how that event shaped him into the man he was today? Revealing his past might draw her closer, and would surely cure her of thinking him biased in favor of an aristocrat.
Or maybe not. It might only reinforce her belief that nobles got away with everything. After all, his cousin had never been punished for what he’d done.
The secret was locked so tight, he didn’t know if he could call it up. No. He should tell her. She was the one person who could understand, given how her sister’s suicide drove her. He opened his mouth.
“You probably only brought me because you’ve decided to make me your mistress,” hissed Henry. “So don’t even try. I am not, nor will I ever be, your plaything.”
The new accusation was like a quick unexpected dagger thrust to his gut, unreal until the cut stung. His ears rung as they had once when his cousin had clapped his hands over both ears at once. Barnabas closed his mouth.
She’d insulted his investigative abilities, accused him of bias, and finally cast aspersions on his morality—hell, he’d been thinking about taking her home to meet his parents, not planning her seduction.
How could she think that about him?
He didn’t trust himself to respond. Instead he drew out his watch and checked the time—a tactic he would have recognized as stalling if he were interrogating a suspect. “We have to hurry or we’ll miss the next train to Bedford.”
Her knuckles were white where she gripped the seat. Was she spoiling for a fight?
“Put away your daggers while I turn in the tilbury and the horse.” He drew up in front of the livery stable next to the train station. By the time he reached her side to hand her down, she had already scrambled out of the moving carriage to the ground.
He shook his head and led the horse and vehicle inside the stable. He settled the rental and emerged to find Henry already walking to the train station. It didn’t take him long to catch her, but then she’d have to wait on him anyway. He had their tickets.
He caught her arm, leading her through the crossing people in the station. Their train was already boarding. On the platform he looked for an empty first class compartment, but all of them had passengers already. He finally guided her into a compartment with two people inside.
Henry had her lips pressed tightly together and folded her hands tightly in her lap. What was she thinking?
He couldn’t keep looking at her, or he’d start pressing her. They couldn’t talk freely with other passengers so near. He stared out the window. Was that really what she thought about him? The weight of the train might have been sitting on his shoulders as heavy as he felt. His own mother thought him a liar and a traitor to his family. Was it any surprise Henry thought so poorly of him? But she couldn’t be more wrong.
A pair of gregarious young men took the two remaining seats in their compartment just before the attendant closed the door. They regaled their fellow passengers with tales of school, boat races, and mishaps, preventing conversation. Thankfully, although their joviality clashed stridently with his mood.
The train chugged out of the station.
Barnabas steadfastly ignored Henry. He had work to do. Intending to add his impressions and recollections to her notes, he pulled out the notebook he’d given her to use. But as he went over her notes, he found them surprisingly thorough. She’d described not only the room and the occupants’ clothing, but also noted reactions. He hadn’t needed to add anything, unlike when he had Murdock keep interview notes for him. Not that it had been a long interview.
He finally risked looking at her. She looked unusually pale. Almost sick. She swallowed several times. Maybe she’d realized how unreasonable she’d been and would apologize at the first opportunity.
After a few more miles clacked by, she asked in a faint voice, “How long until we get there?”
He pulled out his watch. “Another fifteen minutes.”
“I say, are you all right?” asked one of the young men looking at Henry.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” She managed a smile for the boy.
Which somehow made Barnabas want to punch him. Probably because he wanted to throttle Henry more than he cared if she smiled at some stranger. A schoolboy. Probably closer in age to Henry than he was.
Looking out the window again he didn’t pay attention to the blur of scenery. Instead he went over in his mind the questions he needed to ask in Bedford, but nearly every other thought was about the aspersions Henry had cast on him.
One thing was certain, unlike the cold disapproval with which his mother froze him, Henry’s anger ran hot. Even though she was wrong, he at least knew what she was thinking. Once Henry was calm, they could discuss everything and he could make her see who he really was.
Finally, they pulled into the Bedford station after the non-stop ride. Henry breathed a deep sigh that sounded like relief. Maybe she didn’t want to sit beside him any more—or perhaps she was glad they would soon be free of the other passengers, and she could say she was sorry.
He handed her down to the platform in Bedford, and still her gloved hand in his made his blood rush in his veins. For a second she clung tightly before pulling her hand free.
As soon as they were a few feet away from other people he asked, “Do you have anything else you wish to say?”
She bit her lip and looked up at him. “No.”
He forced his gaze away rather than get lost in the blue depths of her eyes. His hand on her elbow, he guided her into the station house.
She trudged along beside him. “Should I have something more to say?”
So no apology would be forthcoming. His jaw ticked. “I’m sorry, Henry.” She’d insulted him in every which way, yet he was the one to apologize. Rancor tasted sour in his mouth and tightened his chest. ”I never should have brought you along. If I had known you blamed Coleraine for your sister’s demise, I wouldn’t have.”
She tossed her head and thrust out her chin. “Then why did you?”
He cast her a sideways look. “Because you have a sharp mind and think of good questions. But you aren’t of any help to me if you are out for revenge.”
“I tell you about my sister’s death and you decide I can’t be impartial. That isn’t fair.”
Everything in him clenched. “If anyone is being unfair, it is you.” She’d never once asked him what proof he had that Coleraine was innocent. “You have prejudged me on the basis of my pedigree and decided I can’t do my job.”
“So this is because I’ve insulted you by pointing out something you don’t want to think about yourself?”
“No. And you couldn’t be more wrong if you’d said the sky was underneath our feet.”
She blinked and then tightened her mouth. She looked away. As if he were the one being bullheaded.
“What exactly do you think could have been said that would make Lady Avondale willing to cooperate?” he asked.
“Maybe just asking any of them if they’d seen Coleraine that night. Not telling her what you wanted to know.”
“I’m certain she’s read a damn newspaper since then.”
“I still can help you,” she said firmly.
“No. You have already assigned guilt and your mind is closed.”
“I can keep an open mind.” She swung in front of him, stopping their progress.
He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t back down. He shouldn’t have considered letting her help. Allowing a civilian to take part in an investigation was unorthodox at best. “I’m not convinced you can, Henry.”
Her eyes flashed with hurt. “I just don’t see how it could possibly be anyone else when Coleraine is the one associated with so many missing women.”
Except the man didn’t act like any guilty man he’d ever encountered.
Well, he was stuck with her for the duration of the day, so he could at least be civil. “This way.”
He didn’t bother to hold out his arm for her, but simply walked through the station at a fast clip. She would follow. Touching her only seemed to make him search for ways to explain things to her.
She trotted alongside him. “Do you still want me to take notes?”
He’d be better if she were occupied and where he could keep an eye on her. Besides she took exemplary notes. “Fine. But today will be the last time I allow you to sit in on any questioning.”
*~*~*
Henry had to skip every third step to keep up with his long stride, when she’d never had to before. Barnabas probably didn’t care if he left her behind. She’d botched things so badly. He was supposed to be a source, but somehow it all got twisted. She had no idea how to repair things without piling lie upon lie. But the one thing she just couldn’t manage was pretending that Coleraine could be innocent.
Clearly, she’d angered Barnabas. He hadn’t even acknowledged her accusation about wanting her as his mistress. Either he didn’t want her that much and she looked a complete and utter fool, or he was angry she’d dared to refuse.
Fortunately, the inn was only a few blocks from the station and it wasn’t long before he held the door for her.
She steamed past him, heading for the public room. He caught her arm. “Wait. We need a private room.”
“Why?” she asked.
“So I can ravish you,” he said dryly. “Because I could only want you as my mistress.”
Being doused in cold water wouldn’t have shocked her more. Her stomach leapt into her throat. Of course. She didn’t know if she should just welcome becoming his mistress. It might be a way to get back in his good graces. A tiny part of her seemed in favor of that, while shock made her heart trip over itself.
With his free hand, he tapped underneath her chin making her realize her mouth had dropped open. With a slight crinkling around the edges of his eyes, he said, “To interview the innkeeper and Miss Meyer without others overhearing.”
Heat spread not only over her face, but all down her body to places it didn’t belong. But he was all but laughing at her. She tugged her arm loose. She could be professional, even if he’d tipped her on her side. “It would be faster if you questioned the innkeeper and I interviewed Miss Meyer. I could do it in the public room.”
“Faster isn’t the goal. Thorough is.” He shook his head. “This is my investigation, Henry. I need to hear what she says.”
His words stung, but then he didn’t know she was investigating for the newspaper, and she couldn’t tell him—or he truly would be angry with her.
He caught the innkeeper’s attention and requested a private room. The innkeeper opened a door just off the foyer to a dining chamber with a table that would seat eight. “Will this be sufficient for your needs, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He gave her an inscrutable look. “Will you give us a few minutes and then return?”
“Very good, sir.” The innkeeper backed away. He gave a questioning glance to Henry. “Miss?”
The last thing she wanted right now was to be alone with Barnabas. She didn’t trust him, but worse, she didn’t trust herself.
Barnabas pushed her through the open door before she could decide if she should ask for help.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “And not even a couch to use, I guess it will have to be the wall.”
Her knees threatened to buckle with an odd mix of apprehension and anticipation. Had he just been waiting until they had privacy to address her accusation about making her his mistress? Or did he figure, since she knew what he wanted, there wasn’t any point in being subtle? His expression was inscrutable.
“I’m just here to learn what can be learned from this woman.” Henry sidestepped.
“You don’t need to learn anything at all. I never should have told you anything about the investigation,” he said.
Well, if he was going to be a cad and not let her know anything, then she would just have to get what she needed on her own. She wasn’t going to spend one more minute alone with him than she had to. She cast him a dark look, swiveled, and asked the retreating innkeeper, “Do you have a woman working here named Doris Meyer?”
The innkeeper’s face screwed up and his eyes darted left and right. Obviously, the man didn’t want to answer.
“You do, don’t you?” pushed Henry. She knew how to get answers from someone who didn’t want to talk. She walked towards him and closer to the entrance to the public room. “That is why we’re here.”
Barnabas caught her arm again and pulled her to his far side.
His grip on her arm made her heart thunder.
He leaned near her ear and hissed, “Stop.”
A shiver rolled down her spine.
The innkeeper cast an uncertain glance in his direction.
“Miss Brown forgets that she is just here to assist me by taking notes.” While his tone was affable, Barnabas stepped in front of her blocking her. “I’m from Scotland Yard. I’m just here to make a few inquiries.”
Maybe she should ask the innkeeper for help. But she couldn’t figure out what she could possibly say. Barnabas hadn’t actually done anything untoward, other than make some ribald suggestions. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or just taunting her with her own accusation about his intentions. She didn’t know what to think—except she might have overreacted.
Barnabas showed his credentials to the innkeeper, but she couldn’t show hers.
“When you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you. And then with Miss Meyer. She hasn’t done anything wrong so I’d prefer you didn’t alarm her unduly. There is no need to let her know I’m requesting an audience until I’m ready to speak with her.”
The innkeeper’s forehead crinkled. “It’s about his lordship, isn’t it?”
Barnabas didn’t answer and his face was impassive, again. It was like he could put on a mask when he wanted to. When she tried to skirt around him, he sidestepped and put out his hand to stop her. “I’m afraid so.”
Was he trying to prevent her from seeing what was going on? If they were alone she’d shove him out of the way.
The innkeeper sighed. “I never would have thought it of him. Still can’t believe it.”
Henry darted around Barnabas. He wouldn’t stop her from learning what this man thought. “Believe what?”
“That his lordship killed that woman,” the innkeeper said. “He always seemed like he couldn’t abide seeing a woman in hardship.”
Bloody hell. Did everyone think Coleraine a saint? How could they fail to see the evil in him?