Page 25 of Murder of a Dead Man

The corner of James’s lips kicked up in a faint smile. “Consider you will be conversing with people at the sanatorium when I am not present to hear. We shall have to trust each other.”

She laughed and nuzzled his hand as he slid it down the side of her face. “And we do,” she said.

“Yes, we do. I have requested breakfast for myself in the private parlor after which I will be on my way to the gaol. Mr. Price says it is about six miles away. I shall see about renting a horse so I may ride. It will be quicker and easier. He will see that food is sent here for you.”

She nodded. “I shall be ready to go to the sanatorium on your return.”

“Excellent,” he said. He leaned over to give her a quick kiss. She pulled his head down for a deeper kiss.

“Be careful, my love,” she said when he stood again.

“Always.”

The Stamford BoroughGaol was a four-story, free-standing stone building at the back of the town hall. James rode up to the gatehouse and asked to enter.

“Visitors on’y on Saturdays,” the turnkey declared. He looked askance at James. “What dealin’s would you be havin’ with the likes of these people? We gets the scum here,” he shook his head, his lips compressed tightly.

“I should like to see the Earl of Soothcoor,” James told him, his voice measured and quiet, but with a honed edge of steel he’d developed in his military days.

“Oh, he’s not in the bridewell proper. He ain’t been tried and him being a peer and all—at least until the trial.”

“Then where is he?” James asked.

“He’s in a room in the warden’s house. Normally, that’s where we put the debtors, but we don’t have any now, and he being a peer and all…,” he repeated and trailed off.

James nodded. “I need to speak with him about the charges against him.”

“He kilt that man! What’s to know?”

“Has the trial occurred yet?”

“No. Be ’nother three weeks ’afore the next assizes, I’m thinkin’.”

“Then he is not guilty yet,” James said evenly.

The turnkey scowled and scratched his head. “I guess.”

“Where might I find the warden?”

“In his office.”

“And where might that be?” James continued patiently.

The man’s expression cleared. “Oh, that door over there,” he said pointing to the left.

“I shall speak to him then. Thank you,” James said, walking past the turnkey.

The turnkey frowned but didn’t stop him.

James knocked on the heavy oak door. There was an opening covered with iron bars over a small door set eye height on the larger door. When the small door opened, all James could see were pudgy, filmy gray eyes peering through the opening.

“Visitin’ hours t’aint till Saturday. Didn’t that foolheaded turnkey tell ye that?”

“I am here to see the Earl of Soothcoor,” James said evenly. He didn’t say anything more and passively stared at the gaol warden.

The man behind the door squinted his eyes. “And who be you?”

“Sir James Branstoke.”