The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie

Beth took a breath. “And then?”

“The other four gentlemen remained downstairs playing cards. None of them went upstairs, according to the ladies, the gentlemen, and the servants. Only Ian and Sally Tate.” “And everyone departed after midnight?” “Stephenson, Harrison, and Thompkins enjoyed talking together so much that they decided to adjourn to Harrison’s home. According to their statement, Hart went with them but turned back almost immediately, saying he wanted to wait for his brother.”

“And did he?”

“According to Mrs. Palmer, Hart returned at about one, waited for Ian, who came down at two, and the brothers departed together.” Fellows smiled. “But here we reach a snag. One of the maids declared that Hart had gone upstairs at some point, then rushed out later on his own. When pressed the maid got confused and couldn’t swear to anything. But later, after Mrs. Palmer managed to get the girl alone, the maid changed her story and said that Hart and Ian had definitely left together at two.”

Beth bit her lip. Fellows wasn’t stupid, and the maid’s waffling was suspicious. “What did Ian say?” “I did not get the chance to interview your good husband until two weeks later. By that time, he couldn’t remember.” A small pain began in Beth’s heart. Ian remembered everything.

“Exactly,” Fellows said. “I thought I had enough to pursue him, but suddenly, my chief inspector pulled me off the case and took away my notes. My chief declared that a passing tramp killed Sally, and he faked the evidence to prove it. Case swept under the rug and closed.”

Beth pulled her thoughts together with effort. “What happened when Sally was found?”

Fellows sat back in the chair, his expression one of frustration. “What I was told happened was that a maid found her and screamed. The others came running, and Mrs. Palmer sent for the constable.” Fellows paused, giving Beth a keen stare. “What I believe happened is that Ian was found in the room with Sally, Sally dead. But the ladies of that house are all loyal to the bone to Hart Mackenzie, so they sent for Hart, who cleaned Ian up and got him out of there. Then they shouted for the police. By the time the constable arrived, Ian was on a train to Scotland, and his servants instructed to swear up and down that he’d slept at home.” Bloody hell. Beth knew it had happened just as Fellows said. Ian had to be taken away, because he wouldn’t know how to lie. He’d have told Fellows the literal truth and been arrested, perhaps hanged for a murder he didn’t commit.

Then Beth might never have met Ian, never seen his golden eyes warm with his fleeting glance, never kissed his lips, never heard his voice whisper her name in the night. Her life would have been empty and shallow, and she wouldn’t have known why.

“You’re a pillock, Inspector,” she said vehemently. He scowled. “Respectable ladies don’t use those words, Mrs. Ackerley.”

“Botheration about respectable ladies. You’ve rubbed my background in my face, so you will receive the brunt of it. You are a pillock. You have been so fixed on Ian that you’ve let the real murderer—probably one of the other three gentlemen or Mrs. Palmer—get clean away. Hart might have told Ian to lie, but Ian can’t. He doesn’t see the world like the rest of us, doesn’t know that people never tell the truth if they can help it. He thinks we’re all mad, and he’s right” Fellows snorted. “Ian Mackenzie will say anything His bloody Grace tells him to, and you know it. Lies or no lies.” “You don’t know the Mackenzies very well at all if you believe that. Ian doesn’t obey Hart. He does as he pleases.” She understood that now. “Ian helps Hart because he’s grateful to Hart for releasing him from that horrible asylum.” “And will lick Hart’s boots the rest of his life for it,” Fellows snapped. He stood. “You are the deluded one, my lady. They’re using you like they use everyone else. Why do you think the Mackenzie marriages fail? Because the wives in question finally realize they’re being chewed up and spat out by the uncaring machine that is Hart and his family.” “You told me Hart’s wife died bearing his child,” Beth said, getting to her feet to face him. “She hardly did that on purpose.”

“The woman was terrified of him, and the two barely spoke to each other, according to all gossip. His Grace was most relieved when she died.”

“That’s cruel, Inspector.”

“But true. Hart needed a good wife for his political career. He didn’t care if he never had a conversation with her, as long as she hosted his social events and gave him an heir. Which she proved she couldn’t. She was better off dead.”

“That’s a monstrous thing to say.”

“Spare me the ‘oh, they are so misunderstood’ speech. The Mackenzies are cold-blooded, heartless bastards, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.” Beth quivered with rage. “I think you are finished here. Please leave.”

“I tell you this for your own good, Mrs. Ackerley.”

“No, you tell me this so I will help you hurt them.” Fellows stopped. “You’re right They should be more than hurt. They should be destroyed.”

Beth met his furious gaze. After verbally fencing with Hart Mackenzie, Inspector Fellows didn’t frighten her anymore. “Why?”

Fellows opened his mouth to reply, then abruptly closed it. His face was red, the mustache quivering. “You’re not a lady who frightens easily,” he said. “And I can see you won’t take my word for it. But they’ll be the death of you. You mark my words.” He gazed at her a moment longer, then turned away. “Good day, Mrs. Ackerley.” He marched to the door and yanked it open, and then Beth heard the front door bang behind him. She sank into a chair by the front windows, watching through swirling London fog as the inspector strode away. She sat nuhibly, letting all he’d said sink in.