CHAPTER NINE
BARNABAS SHUT THE DOOR and rounded on Henry. The pleasant bland look on his face disappeared. His eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened. “Do I have to muzzle you?”
His fury was like a lash and she winced.
She wasn’t at all certain if he truly had meant to ravish her—although he probably didn’t like her enough now to bother. She put the table between them, just to be on the safe side.
“Stop looking at me like I’m about to pounce on you.”
“What am I supposed to think? You tell me we need a private room so you can ravish me,” she fired back.
“Is that really what you think of me?” He snorted and paced away from her. “I won’t ravish you. I’d have to arrest myself if I did. You have to know, Henry, if I meant to seduce you, I would have insisted this trip required an overnight stay.”
She pulled up straight. “I trust we shan’t encounter any difficulty in returning tonight then.”
“You can make any difficulties you’d like.”
Her cheeks heated. “I’m not going to make any difficulties.”
“If only I could trust that,” he muttered. He glanced toward the door as if mindful that servants could be coming in any moment. “Henry, you have to let me question people the way I do it.”
“But you said I ask good questions.” She folded her arms. “Besides it seems the innkeeper is already on your side.”
He blew out puffing his cheeks. “I don’t have a side. I have an investigation to find the truth.”
“Well, he shares your opinion of the saintliness of Coleraine.” She shook her head. “It seems like he inspires admiration in people around him. I wonder why that is.”
“Couldn’t possibly be because he is a man who does many good things.” He inhaled deeply his nostrils flaring and then exhaled in a quick burst. “Who could also be a murderer.”
She blinked at him, startled. Was he starting to see the truth?
Barnabas shed his greatcoat. “Will you sit down?”
It wasn’t really a question.
“But you don’t believe Coleraine is guilty.”
He caught her elbow and guided her to the table. “It doesn’t matter what I think, Henry. What matters is what the facts show. And what can be proven before the Queen’s Bench. I know you don’t think I know what I’m doing, but—”
“I never said that.” She drew up short.
He raised an eyebrow. “You most certainly implied it.”
She flushed and looked away. She thought he knew exactly what he was doing. “I was just upset.”
“Regardless of any bias or belief I have, I am here, investigating if any of the other women who were under his care have come to harm.”
He was at least acting on the information she’d given him. She had to allow that. Had she misjudged him?
She tugged at her gloves finger by finger.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw ticked. “You will let me interview these people unimpeded, or I will arrest you for perverting the course of justice.”
That was like a punch, because her stomach clenched and hurt just the same as if he had put a fist to her. She sputtered. “You wouldn’t.”
His mask dropped down and she no longer knew what he was thinking. “Don’t try me, Henry.”
He couldn’t be serious. But she couldn’t tell.
“You promised when I agreed to bring you that you would follow my lead.” His voice was like velvet, smooth and cajoling. “I need you to do that.”
Her mouth was tight, but she spit out, “Fine.”
She cast a glance toward the door. “Perhaps, I should just wait in the public room.”
She could question Doris Meyer while he talked to the innkeeper and find out what she wanted to know.
For a second he seemed to consider it, his mask slipping a little and he looked concerned. But then his expression hardened and he moved in front of the door. “Don’t even think it, Henry. I’ve seen that look on scores of criminals as they tried to craft their way out of something.”
Her stomach flipped. “What look?”
“That shifty eyed look. You will not muck up my interview with Miss Meyer by questioning her first. You’re staying right here where I can see you.”
She stared at him. Was he reading her mind? Or had she been that transparent? It didn’t matter right now. They both needed answers. So somehow she had to smooth this over. “I’m not trying to muck up your investigation. I’m trying to help.”
He relented. “Look, you don’t know the first thing about conducting a witness interview.”
Henry nearly blurted out that she’d been interviewing people for ages, but instead she bit her tongue so hard a coppery taste filled her mouth. For the last two years she’d reported for the newspaper. Before that she’d been a stringer and she’d written more than one scandal piece to sell before writing newspaper stories. She’d interviewed scores of people. But she couldn’t tell Barnabas any of that.
Nor would she be able to ask a single bloody thing of a woman who lived in that house if Barnabas had his way. She wanted more than anything to learn what went on in there, but how could she?
*~*~*
Barnabas had tried to placate Henry by pointing out he was the one with experience at interviewing people, while she had none, but Henry had glared at him before ducking her head. Which was an odd response, but he didn’t have time to ponder it.
She had the bit between her teeth and he had to get her under control. They couldn’t be at daggers drawn for the interviews. Nor should they be at cross-purposes. He’d threatened her with arrest, now he needed to draw the boundaries before she really did muck up these interviews.
“Here are the rules,” Barnabas said.
“Rules?”
“Yes. Rules. There are reasons upon reasons why I ask questions the way I do. If you ask nicely someday, I might explain the tactics of an interview.”
She rolled her eyes. “I imagine getting someone to talk is the first one.”
“Not always. What people don’t say is as important as what they do.” He shook his head. She already had him off on a tangent, and he doubted they had much time.
Like most citizens she probably underestimated the difficulties of an investigation. She probably thought it was as simple as gathering all the clues and assembling them like puzzle pieces. The only problem with that was one never had all the pieces and often pieces that weren’t a part of the puzzle were in the mix.
“First, I will ask all the questions. If you have a question, write it down and I will consider asking it after I’m done with mine.” He pulled out her chair. “Second, do not react to anything that is said.” He placed the notebook and the pencil in front of her. “If you can’t keep your expression neutral, just look down. Concentrate on writing.”
“Any more rules?” She sat in the chair as he pushed it in.
“Don’t distract me.”
She was damn good at that. She picked up the pencil with her dimpled hand and he had a moment of wondering what those little hands would feel like on his flesh. He closed his eyes, blotting out the thought.
The door opened. A boy scurried in with a lit rush and touched it to tinder on the grate. A woman followed him. She removed the place settings with a clatter.
When they were gone, Henry asked, “How do I distract you?”
Her blue eyes followed him as he took his seat at the end of the table. His pulse thrummed. She obviously knew how she distracted him with her refusal to become his mistress, but at times she seemed unaware of her power. And the last thing he wanted was to give her the blade she could wield to destroy his concentration. “Just try not to prejudge.”
“I don’t.”
He let out a puff of derision. “You absolutely do and have. You decided I must be shielding Coleraine when you learned of my connections.”
She chewed her lip. “I’m sorry. I was upset. I did not think—”
“No. You judged instead of applied reason.” If he could make her understand how an investigation worked perhaps she wouldn’t fight him. After all, he’d brought her along on a complex case and she had no experience at how an inquiry worked. “You cannot arrive at a conclusion and then try to make everything fit to it.”
“I’m not usually mistaken.”
She was entirely wrong about him. “I am the exception in all ways then?”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “This is how you distract me. Instead of concentrating on the case, I’m trying to figure out how you could think me an incompetent investigator and a philanderer.” Even saying it made his jaw tighten.
“You kissed me when you hadn’t known me much more than an hour,” she fired.
“You were giving me every indication that you wanted to be kissed or more,” he snapped back.
“I was?” Her cheeks turned rosy.
“You were brushing against me”—his gaze dropped to her chest—“every chance you could.” Those soft brushes against his arm even now echoed with the latent power to arouse him.
“I didn’t realize...”
The hell she didn’t. His gaze returned to her flushed face. He arched a brow at her.
Her half-hearted objection died away. She pressed her lips together. Turning, she looked toward the window. “You thought I was some sort of strumpet.”
She had the audacity to look hurt. He had the stupidity to feel guilty. She was impossible. Or inexperienced and unaware of her charms and the effects of her teasing.
“No. I wouldn’t have had any interest in you if that was what I thought.” He tried to keep his tone gentle, but there wasn’t any point in trying to whitewash it. “But I was willing to investigate further.”
She drew in a sharp breath. Her flush receded and her features drained of color. “What did you conclude?”
Watching her emotions play across her face was fascinating. Her passion drew him like a moth to a flame. “That you likely hadn’t been seriously kissed before.”
“I was that bad at it?” she blurted.
He couldn’t stop his smile. “So bad that I wanted to do it again and again.”
She gasped.
“Henry,” he put his hand over hers.
The door opened again and the innkeeper stood in the open doorway looking as if he’d rather bolt.
Barnabas discretely withdrew his hand. He had to focus on his investigation. He schooled his features and tamped down his thoughts about Henry. “Come in, please. I’ll try not to take too much of your time.”
He gestured to the seat to the left of his chair. He took a slow breath to steady himself. It didn’t take much for Henry to get him tied in knots. In spite of her poor opinion of him, he still wanted her. But he couldn’t think about her right now. He couldn’t let another opportunity for information be wasted.
Henry picked up the pencil and opened the notebook to a blank page as if she hadn’t been affected by their talk. Hell, he didn’t know what to make of her.
Work! he told himself.
After the man took the suggested chair, Barnabas asked several innocuous questions—his name, how long the inn had been open, how long the man had run the place. All the while, he studied the innkeeper’s manner as he answered. In the same casual tone, he asked, “How do you know Lord Coleraine?”
“He and a group of schoolmates used to stop here for lunch when he was going to school at Cambridge. He was a good lad. Once, when there was a bit of breakage when the group got a bit boisterous, he insisted on paying for the damage.” The landlord looked away and flushed slightly. Signs of guilt. “I knew he hadn’t done any of it, but he said the others could pay him back.”
Coleraine might have a different version of what had happened. The amount of money that changed hands might have been slightly inflated—as in two to three times the actual cost of repairs and replacement.
Henry’s lips went tight, but she ducked her chin and wrote in the notebook. She probably thought aristocrats bought their way out of trouble all the time. Too often they did.
“I’m sure it was a trifling amount to him,” Barnabas said sympathetically.
“Gave him an extra thick slice of meat every now and again after that,” the landlord said. “He started coming by himself or just one or two friends with him.”
So lessons learned on both sides. The landlord realized Coleraine was a valuable customer who could be counted on to make reparations if necessary and the earl had obviously distanced himself from his more destructive acquaintances.
After a few more questions, Barnabas asked, “So did Lord Coleraine ask you to give Miss Meyer work?”
The landlord shifted. “We had an arrangement. If I were to offer a position to a woman he sent to me and she stayed on a year, I’d get a perquisite payment.”
“Any woman?” Henry asked, but that was his question too, so he let it go with a stern look in her direction, which she ignored.
Barnabas took a deep breath to regain his focus.
“Well, Miss Meyer weren’t the first.” The landlord shook his head. “She’s the only one that made it this long. I run a respectable establishment. I’m all for Christian charity and giving unfortunates a fresh start, but I can’t have immoral behavior or laziness in my inn.”
“Of course, you can’t,” Barnabas agreed. “How many have there been?”
“Counting Doris, three. The first one, Liza Rummings, didn’t make it two weeks. Didn’t think she should twitch a finger to do anything.”
“Where is she now?” asked Henry.
Barnabas nudged her toe. She was supposed to let him ask the questions. Her blue eyes flashed in his direction.
“How should I know?” the landlord asked. “It was six or seven years ago.”
“And the second one’s name?” Barnabas asked.
“Mary, Marie?” The man’s eyes shifted up and to the left. Generally a good indication the person was sorting through his memories and not making up something. “No, it was something more unusual.”
Henry pressed her lips together, which distracted Barnabas. She scratched through what she had just written, and proceeded to draw lines over it until the word was obliterated. What the hell had she written?
“Mercy?” the innkeeper guessed. “No. I’m sure it started with an M.”
Barnabas needed to keep his focus on the innkeeper. “I’m sure the name will come to you. What happened with her?”
“I thought she was quite good until I realized some of the male patrons were too fond of her and I caught her with one. I sent her packing.”
“What became of her?” asked Henry.
The landlord shrugged unevenly. Then he glanced at Henry. “I don’t know.”
He did know. He just didn’t want to say, possibly because Henry was in the room. Barnabas wanted to tread lightly. He was trying to frame the right question, when Henry jumped in again.
“Did Lord Coleraine come and get her?”
The innkeeper looked surprised. “No. He said he gave her a chance, but if she didn’t take the opportunity...”
Henry narrowed her eyes. “Do you know he didn’t come and get her?”
Barnabas reached under the table and gripped her knee. Hard. “Sorry, Miss Brown gets carried away sometimes.”
She tensed.
He eased the pressure and rubbed the spot where he’d dug his fingers in a moment earlier. “Did you let his lordship know the women hadn’t worked out?”
“I wrote him.”
“Did he come here after he knew?” Henry asked.
Damn her. He shifted his hand higher on her thigh. He meant to pinch her, but the layers of her skirt and petticoats thwarted him. Then again he didn’t really want to hurt her. He settled for a slow rub, which wasn’t likely to make her back down. Unless he could distract her in the same way he tended to be distracted around her.
“The first time he did. He thanked me for giving Liza a chance, and asked if I would be willing to give it another go. But he didn’t come when I caught Mona or whatever her name was...” He again glanced at Henry.
“Behaving inappropriately,” supplied Barnabas. To make the innkeeper more comfortable, he could send Henry out of the room, but he didn’t trust her to not question Doris before he had a chance to speak with her. “Do you think she is still... behaving inappropriately?”
Henry reached under the table and pushed his hand away. He supposed he deserved the rebuff, especially while tacitly agreeing with the innkeeper’s condemnation of another woman’s licentious behavior.
“If you know, it would be a great help,” said Barnabas.
The innkeeper’s mouth twisted and he reluctantly said, “I’ve heard she strolled near St. Agnes’s Church after dark. But that was three or four years past.”
Prostitutes tended to congregate around churches. They had to keep moving or be arrested for loitering, and walking around churches became a common occupation.
“Where is St. Agnes’s?” asked Henry, undaunted.
This time he wrapped his lower legs around her ankles and squeezed. “Apply yourself to taking notes, Miss Brown.”
She tried to pull her legs free, but couldn’t without being obvious. After a second he relented, letting her loose. Although he left his feet parked in front of her chair, so their feet were tangled, no matter how she set hers down.
Really, Barnabas had learned enough. To assume Lord Coleraine returned to murder the women after the innkeeper let them go was stretching. If the earl wanted to murder them, why bother to set them up with employment? “Thank you for your time, sir. You can send in Miss Meyer whenever you can spare her for a few minutes.”
The man stood hastily as if glad to be done.
“Was her name Marigold?” asked Henry as the innkeeper moved toward the door.
He turned and nodded with his head cocked sideways. “That was it, Marigold Frampton. How did you know?”
Yes, how did she know?
Henry flushed, and thumbed back a few pages in the notebook. “I’m sure I saw the name somewhere.”
Not in his notebook. Barnabas directed a polite smile in the short man’s direction. “That will be all. Thank you.”
Henry seemed up to her eyeballs in this case. How much time had she spent looking into Coleraine and the women in his life? His insides knotting, Barnabas quirked an eyebrow in her direction. What did she know that she hadn’t told him?
The innkeeper closed the door behind him and she kicked his legs where they rested against her feet.
“As soon as we’re done, I want you to write down the name of every woman you remember passing through that house.”
“I would have told you all the names I know, if you would have asked,” she said belligerently. “I gave you the names of the ones who stayed the longest, and I told you there were more.”
No doubt, his failure to ask about the others before now was a black mark against his investigation. Although for all he knew Murdock likely had the name of this Marigold on the list he’d asked his sergeant to compile. But he should have asked Henry, too. Probably would have if he hadn’t been more interested in kissing her. “And do not ask another question without my leave.”
Henry looked like she’d drunk spoilt milk, but she muttered an insincere, “Sorry.”
Now he got his apology and it was woefully inadequate.