Page 34 of A Devil in Silk (Tales from The Burnished Jade #3)
“Perhaps you killed Miss Nightshade when she withheld your payment.” Anger flared in Clara’s voice. “Perhaps you poisoned your own wine and poured it into someone else’s glass when all eyes were on Lavinia.”
Murray’s bravado faltered. His mouth opened, closed, then twisted into a sneer that failed to reach his eyes. “You’ve no proof. You’re just looking for someone else to blame.”
“Am I?” Clara sat forward, her tone measured yet merciless. “You admit to lying. You admit to taking payment. How far is the leap from deceit to murder? A debt unpaid. A temper lost. A woman killed in cold blood. I saw the fear in her eyes when she looked at you, knowing death was closing in.”
Murray flinched, colour draining from his face. “Stop.”
“Did you slip poison into her drink?” she pressed. “Did you take pleasure watching as it crushed the life from her?”
“Enough!” His hands trembled as he raked them through his copper hair. “Why would I poison my own sister? She’s the only family I had.”
A stunned silence followed, hanging in the air like the toll of a funeral bell.
Daventry eased back in his chair, fingers steepled, the beginnings of a satisfied smile curving his mouth. “If I had to make a wager, I’d say you’re innocent of murder and guilty of extortion. Either way, only the truth will save you now, Murray.”
Murray bowed his head, shadows pooling beneath his eyes.
“Surely you want us to catch the person responsible,” Clara said, changing tack. “Perhaps you’ve been seeking answers yourself. Is that why you accosted Lord Tarrington outside The Prospect of Whitby tavern?”
Murray sat bolt upright. “Did Tarrington tell you that? Did he mention he punched me and hauled me into his carriage?”
“He did.” Clara relayed the lord’s account. “He said you accused him of being more than your sister’s patron. That you insulted his wife.”
Murray gave a harsh snort, thick with disdain. “Sometimes a man needs to hear the truth. Hypocrisy rules in the ton , and there’s no greater hypocrite than Lord Tarrington.”
“I’ll not argue with that,” Daventry said. “Are you saying Tarrington was more than Lavinia’s patron?
Murray braced his arm on his knee, every inch of him coiled as if preparing to deliver a warning.
“Sometimes people hide behind grief because it serves them,” he said bitterly.
“That’s how that scoundrel lured Lavinia in, playing the wounded soul while baiting his hook.
” He mimed casting a line. “I’m not saying she was a saint.
But I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed her. ”
Bentley feared they were chasing half-truths. Murray’s hatred of Tarrington was plain, but that didn’t explain why Lavinia blackmailed her patrons.
“Tell me something.” He fixed Murray with a steady gaze. “Could Lavinia commune with the dead?”
Murray laughed. “Commune with the dead? Lavinia couldn’t summon a flea, let alone a spirit.
Silas Scarth’s the one with the skill. He hired her.
She was the mouthpiece, the pretty face spouting his words while he pulled the strings.
He told her what to say, what to do, and now she’s paid the price. ”
The news came as no surprise to Bentley. “Did Tarrington know your sister was a fraud?”
“No one knew,” Murray said, shaking his head. “Lavinia guarded that secret like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.”
“Is it possible Tarrington found out?”
“Scarth might have told him.”
“Do you know where we can find Silas Scarth?” Daventry asked.
Murray shrugged. “I’ve not seen him since the seance. He was meant to bring the drink that stops Lavinia from choking. Maybe he poisoned her wine instead. Or maybe Tarrington killed them both.”
The room fell still as they contemplated the chilling possibility. Poison was the weapon of the weak, yet effective enough to conquer the strongest foe.
“Is that why you went to Scarth’s lodging house?” Bentley said, remembering someone else had knocked on Mrs Morven’s door looking for Silas. “To find proof he’d killed your sister?”
Murray exhaled sharply. “I did go. When Scarth disappeared, I assumed he’d taken Lavinia’s box of trinkets. I only wanted to see if he’d hidden it at the house. But I took nothing. The woman let me in, so it’s hardly a crime.”
Daventry’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s why you attacked Lavinia’s landlord tonight? You thought he had stolen the box?”
“Of course he’s stolen it,” Murray blurted, then caught himself, realising extortion was a crime. “I only meant to return the trinkets to their owners. Lavinia used them to better connect with the dead.”
Daventry laughed. “I hope you can afford a good barrister, Murray. You’re tripping over your own feet. How long had Lavinia been blackmailing her patrons? Be advised, I have the chest and her notebook.”
Murray blanched, sagging back in the chair like a man watching the prison doors swing shut. “Lavinia’s been promising to deliver salvation for a year. She didn’t mean no harm, only wanted to bring peace to those carrying burdens.”
“Peace?” Bentley’s laugh was short and bitter. “Like paying the boatman for safe passage? Hand over your jewels, whisper your sins, and hope she rowed you to paradise?”
His mother would have sold every worldly possession for a few reassuring words from Marcus, anything to quiet the grief that still hollowed her eyes.
Clara gave a curious hum. “There were whispers about someone watching Lavinia’s house, a woman seen loitering in the shadows. Did Lavinia ever mention trouble with her patrons? Anyone who might have threatened her?”
Murray looked at her like they were stupid questions. “People hounded her night and day for answers. That’s why she told Scarth she planned to retire, leave London, and settle by the coast.”
Though Bentley doubted it was a strong motive for murder, perhaps Miss Nightshade was blackmailing Scarth as well. If only they knew where to find him.
Daventry stood, gesturing for his agents to secure the shackles around Murray’s wrist. “You’ll be taken to Vine Street. I'll provide Inspector Mercer with the details. It will be his decision whether you’re charged with fraud and extortion.”
Murray protested his innocence, but Daventry remained firm. With a curt nod, he ordered the men to lead the prisoner away.
As Murray’s cries for clemency died, Bentley drew Daventry aside. “There’s been an important development. It concerns the Rosefield Seminary and why Lavinia thought she could blackmail Miss Dalton.”
His interest piqued, and looking somewhat impressed, Daventry stepped closer. “I was going to suggest sending an agent to the seminary. Hopefully you’ve saved me the trouble.”
Bentley explained what he’d learned this morning, but made no mention of Clara being there.
“My mother has spent the last forty years believing in a curse. Somehow Miss Nightshade knew about it. After what we’ve heard this morning, I suspect Silas Scarth told her.” Though that would mean he’d received the information from the nether realm. “Or perhaps Tarrington is responsible.”
Daventry folded his arms across his chest and thought for a moment. “The inspector believes there’s a connection between a reform fanatic who attended the seance and the article Miss Picklescott was writing about the Factory Bill.”
From Daventry’s tone, it was evident his suspicions lay elsewhere. The man was rarely wrong and had earned the Home Secretary’s trust.
“But you disagree?” Bentley said. The papers scattered over Miss Picklescott’s floor mentioned the Factory Bill and were probably left by the killer to lead them astray.
Daventry merely raised a brow. “Question Tarrington. Tell him to call at the office. Then visit the Rosefield Seminary and see what you can discover about the woman who died.”
Clara shifted. “But the seminary is in Cheltenham, sir. It will require an overnight stay at an inn.”
“I suggest the Dog and Duck in Burford. Take a chaperone. I’m sure Miss Woolf will be accommodating. Invite Rothley, too, in case you encounter trouble en route.”
Clara swallowed twice. “Trouble?”
“The clue to both murders lies at the seminary.” There was steel in Daventry’s voice, a warning to remain vigilant. “There’s every chance the killer will seek to silence you, too.”