Page 33 of A Lady’s Guide to Murder
CHAPTER 32
The Promised Scoop
‘You must go to London,’ Henrietta said to Theo.
Bruised, battered and bloody, they stood holding hands, looking down on Marlow’s limp body, bound with the ropes that had restrained Henrietta. Henrietta had struck his temple with the hilt of the knife one time more than was technically necessary, and that, combined with the effects of the alcohol the viscount had consumed, had rendered him not quite unconscious, but extremely mellow.
‘I shall stay here and ensure Marlow remains secure while you fetch the authorities,’ she continued. ‘Marlow must be the local magistrate, so seek Sir Robert Baker in London. But go first to Perceval and obtain his assistance.’ She put into his bruised hand her engagement ring, still attached to its ribbon necklace, and Marlow’s signet ring, which she’d yanked from his finger. The damn thing was no doubt responsible for splitting Theo’s beautiful lips, and for the sharp cuts on his cheeks and forehead. ‘Then go next to my father. Show him these rings and he will believe you. Once you have their support, all of you must visit the magistrate together. Sir Robert will listen, then.’
The household staff – who numbered only five, and were housed in an outbuilding near the kitchens – roused soon after Theo had left, and while the housekeeper and the maids wept from the ballroom doors at the sight of Eliza King’s bloodied body, nary a servant was the least bit concerned for their master.
‘A doctor for Miss du Pont,’ Henrietta said, when the only manservant asked what she needed. ‘And a pot of tea, please. But no one else must enter this room and no one can touch Miss King’s body until the magistrate and his Runners arrive.’
‘Should we close her eyes?’ Désirée asked after the servants had left them with a tea tray. The opera dancer shuddered as she looked at Eliza’s sightless stare.
‘We must leave them for now,’ Henrietta replied, adding several sugar lumps to the tea she’d poured for Désirée, who needed strength. ‘We mustn’t touch a thing and we mustn’t conceal a fact. The magistrate must know it all, even the part Eliza played in my husband’s death.’
Désirée took the offered teacup. ‘But we want Marlow to hang for that crime, do we not?’
Henrietta poured her own tea. ‘We want justice to be served rightly.’
‘But who then killed your husband?’
Henrietta dropped a sugar lump into her cup. ‘I am no judge or barrister, yet it seems to me Marlow and Eliza share the guilt.’
‘But what if he’s declared innocent and walks free?’ Désirée asked, her black eyes peering over her steaming cup. ‘He’ll come for us both then, you know.’
Henrietta stirred her tea and delicately tapped the spoon against the cup’s rim. ‘He is the undisputed murderer of the most popular reformer in Britain, and the co-murderer of the People’s Duke. He will not be declared innocent, Désirée.’
After that, they drank their tea in companionable silence.
It was a few hours past dawn before the London company arrived. Theo, whose bruises had darkened so dreadfully that Henrietta longed to smother him in gentle kisses and cool compresses, stood against the pedestal and portrait wall. Beside his father’s bust, as it happened, whether or not he realised. Henrietta’s father and George, who had come as well, sat on either side of her, in three of the prim chairs along the mirrored wall. In the centre of the room, Eliza’s body lay in a pool of congealed blood. Marlow was slumped against a chair on the far side of the room, his bruised face ghastly, his blonde hair and his shirt slick with his sweat. Désirée had been made more comfortable by the doctor – rather, the Millford apothecary – and lay on a pallet with her arm reset and bandaged, but she’d bravely and sacrificially refused all pain relief until after she could give her testimony to the magistrate.
Sir Robert and his Runners examined Eliza. They interviewed Désirée. Their questions for Henrietta were mercifully few, and delivered with respect and humility.
Then the magistrate knelt before Marlow. ‘My Lord Marlow, witnesses have given testimony that you boasted of giving the Duke of Severn a poisoned glass of wine, and that you were solely responsible for the cold-blooded murder of Miss Eliza King, whose mutilated body lies before us now. Do you deny these allegations?’
‘Fuck you,’ Marlow said, his speech still slurred. ‘Fuck you and fuck them.’
‘Do you deny these allegations of murder, sir?’
Marlow spat a wad of bloodied saliva directly onto Sir Robert’s bulbous nose. ‘Not in the least. I’m goddamned proud of it.’
Those were the last words Henrietta ever heard the viscount speak, for Marlow’s head then lolled back and he appeared to slip into unconsciousness.
‘Well, and so we have that answer.’ Sir Robert wiped his nose and then pulled himself to his feet. ‘Your lordships heard the confession?’ he asked Henrietta’s father and brother.
Papa and George gave curt nods, accompanied by severe scowls.
Quaking, Sir Robert inclined his head at Henrietta. ‘I owe Your Grace an apology.’
‘You will exonerate the duchess today in a public statement,’ Papa said, his blue eyes flashing, while George bobbed his head enthusiastically. ‘Before the sun sets, I want your statement released to every press in the kingdom. Otherwise, I shall take legal action against you for slander and defamation of character and putting my daughter to harm.’
Sir Robert hastily agreed. ‘I shall write the statement at once and send it to London with two of my best men on the fastest horses in his lordship’s stable.’
‘They will also deliver an article written by Mr Hawke,’ Henrietta added, looking towards Theo, who still stood alone by the bust of his father. ‘He will write the full account, and it will be published today, in a special edition of The Hawke’s Eye .’
‘ What? ’ George exclaimed. ‘You cannot be serious, Hen!’
‘I’m perfectly serious.’ Henrietta’s heart swelled as she smiled at her love. ‘I couldn’t have done this without Mr Hawke. He was my partner every step of the way, saving me repeatedly—’
‘You saved yourself, Your Grace.’ Theo sounded so loving, and so proud.
Tears sprang to Henrietta’s eyes, causing his handsome, bruised face to waver. ‘I promised you the scoop,’ she said. ‘That was our deal.’
‘I didn’t do this for the scoop, Henrietta.’
‘I know. But I want you to have it anyway.’
For a moment, silence reigned, and it was as if they were alone. Just them, and the bond of love stretching between them.
But some rather frantic head movements from Henrietta’s father and brother drew her back to reality. They were not alone – and George had gone exceedingly red in the face.
‘Now, see here, man,’ her brother said. ‘If you have been taking liberties with my sister—’
Henrietta laughed outright. ‘Oh, stop, George. And, Papa, don’t you begin. I’m quite capable of deciding who may and may not take liberties with me. It’s time you realise I am my own woman.’ She stood, mustering what dignity she could wearing Theo’s too-big clothes, now bloodied and muddied. ‘And now I shall take my leave in order to help Mr Hawke find paper and a pen. He has an article to write.’
They sought the library. As they walked through the soaring medieval-abbey-turned-grand-hall, early morning sunlight streamed through the eastern rose window, spilling red, blue, and gold over the flagstone floors.
Henrietta leant her head against Theo’s shoulder. ‘When you have finished your article, return with me to London in my father’s carriage. I intend to spend a few days recovering at Lockington House. We shall both have peace there.’
‘Oh, no, Henrietta,’ he said. ‘I cannot travel in your father’s carriage, nor would I presume to stay in his home. Your family despises me and with good reason.’
‘That is soon to be forgotten.’
Theo tugged at his bloodied shirt collar sheepishly. ‘Perhaps once my article is published and they have acclimatised themselves to our friendship, I might have a chance of redemption.’
‘Redemption has nothing to do with it. My parents will like you – no, they’ll love you – the moment they realise how dearly, how deeply, and how completely I love you.’
He halted, his eyes searching hers, hope flickering in their gold-brown depths. ‘Do you truly? Can you truly love me?’
Her cheeks warmed as she cupped his chin gently. ‘I love you so very, very much.’ The tension melted from his features, joy shining despite his bruises. Smiling, she nudged him towards the library door. ‘But now you must write, sweetheart.’
‘Not quite yet, my love.’
Theo swept her into his arms. As his lips found hers, the beams of light from the stained glass seemed to brighten, surrounding them in the most glorious colours, and the love in Henrietta’s heart filled her chest to bursting.
In Theo’s embrace, she was home.
And though they didn’t need fireworks, Henrietta imagined them anyway.